Hi guys! we have K.C. Burn stopping by for a visit today with her new release Just Add Argyle, we have a short intro from KC, a great excerpt and an awesome giveaway, so check out the post and click that giveaway link! <3 ~Pixie~
Just Add Argyle
Tate Buchanan is a troublemaker who can’t keep a job, no matter how many times his lucky argyle sweater gets him hired. Add to that a learning disability and an impetuous nature that sends him into altercations to protect the defenseless, and he hardly manages to make friends, let alone find a man who’s interested in him for more than one night.
Most people think EMT Jaime Escobar is a player, but the truth is he wants a serious partner—he just can’t justify wasting time on guys he knows aren’t a match. But when he treats a gorgeous redhead after a fight, he finds the spark he’s spent so many years looking for.
Jaime wants to take the next step with Tate, but it’s clear Tate’s not going to curb his impulsive behavior—his next fight sends him to the hospital. Jaime’s relationship with a near criminal isn’t something his family is ready to accept, not any more than Tate is willing to be kept a secret. Jaime will need a lot of understanding—and some luck of his own—to keep them both. But this is one fight he’s going to see through to the end.
Hello! I’m KC Burn and I want thank Pixie for hosting me. I’m thrilled about my upcoming release, Just Add Argyle, available April 21. For those of you who’ve read the first two books and wondered if Jaime was getting his own story, the answer is yes. For those of you who haven’t, you should be able to read it as a standalone. Here’s a wee taste the day after Tate tangles with two men trying to assault his friend.
“If you’re in there, you lazy ass, you gotta go to the store.”
The screech combined with pounding on his door made Tate bolt out of bed before he realized what a stupid idea that was.
He took a few deep breaths to keep from screaming as his muscles protested the previous evening’s treatment, and his mother didn’t stop banging on his door.
In moments the spike of pain smoothed down to a more manageable level. “I’ll be out in a minute.” His reply sounded almost normal.
Fuck. The day after always seemed more painful than the actual beatings. When he got in a fight, he got wired like he was on something, and although the blows stung, he didn’t notice them nearly as much as he did the next day. Groaning, he leaned over the stacked plastic tubs that served as his dresser, trying to find something clean and not too ratty. Sometime today he was going to have to start looking for more work. Hitting the laundromat wouldn’t be a bad idea either if he was job searching, but during the day on Saturday was the worst time to go. Maybe he could pretend he was going to work later tonight and hang around the laundromat until his mom passed out.
He grabbed jeans and a long-sleeved button-down, both with cuffs that were only a bit frayed, and one of his special job-seeking vests, before turning back to the bed. The pain might be worse, but the wobble in his step wasn’t as bad as it had been walking home from Area 52, and he could mostly see out of both eyes. Gingerly he pressed the skin around his left eye. The swelling had gone down substantially, but by now the worst would be the bruising.
Moving like an old man with arthritis—that big fucker had a long reach despite Tate’s wooden weapon—Tate dressed. He smoothed the navy-and-teal argyle vest over his shirt. Over the past couple of years, he’d found a few argyle sweaters and vests at thrift shops. He had some good memories associated with argyle, and they were the most respectable pieces of clothing he owned—they made him look reliable, smart, and sedate, even though he was none of those things. Whether he was fooling himself or not, he usually managed to get new jobs before too long, and he credited that success to his argyle sweater-vests. Some people thought he was crazy for wearing them in the Florida heat, but even though the house he’d lived in all his life was shaded by an old grove of trees, it didn’t have air-conditioning. Tate could tolerate high temperatures in a way most tourists and many natives couldn’t. After he transferred his final pay from last night’s pants to today’s jeans, he gathered his laundry into a plastic garbage bag, ready for a swift retrieval later on.
He briefly considered a shower, but he’d showered right before his shift last night, and he didn’t think his mother would be happy waiting any longer than she had to. After taking care of necessities like pissing and brushing his teeth, he peered around the cracks in the mirror.
God. His face. His eye was still puffy and starting to purple, which meant the most vibrant colors were still to come. There was an angry scrape on his face that he didn’t remember getting, and he didn’t bother checking out the other bruises on his body. They hurt like a bitch, but he didn’t need to see them. At least his knuckles had been spared, since he’d used a piece of wood. As a high school dropout, he wasn’t smart enough to do many jobs, and most of the ones he could were a bitch to do with busted knuckles.
Tate turned away from his depressing reflection and headed reluctantly for the kitchen. For a change, it was just his mom slumped at the table, wearing a sad, wrinkled animal print nightie, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from her fingers. Despite the drinking, drugs, and multiple men, his mother was still young and attractive.
Tate didn’t know if there was a “boyfriend” asleep in her room or if he’d left last night, and he wasn’t in a hurry to find out. Why his mother took pleasure in such skeevy company, Tate didn’t know.
If it hadn’t been for a couple of sweet but naughty guys at a few of his previous jobs, Tate wouldn’t have thought sex was worth the effort.
“There you are.” His mother shook herself awake, flicking cigarette ash in the direction of the ashtray, uncaring that she missed. “Jesus, what the fuck happened to you? Try to suck a straight guy’s dick?”
Her laugh was rough and broken, and Tate did his best not to flinch. His mother found lots of things funny that Tate did not.
Then she frowned at him. “You better not have gotten into a fight at work. They’ll fire you for that shit, and God knows there aren’t that many jobs out there for people like you.”
Stupid, she meant. Tate kept his mouth shut, though. He could sometimes control his anger, and if he got into a screaming match with his mother, he’d get kicked out for sure. Living with his mother sucked, but it was better than being homeless.
At least she was too tired or hungover to bother giving him a slap or two herself. She stood up and shuffled to the counter where her purse sat and rummaged through it.
Holding up a bill in one hand, she spoke slow and loud, making Tate grit his teeth even harder. “This one is for cigarettes.” She lifted her other hand, waving a bill with a slightly different color. “This is for vodka. Don’t be an idiot and fuck it up.”
KC Burn has been writing for as long as she can remember and is a sucker for happy endings (of all kinds). After moving from Toronto to Florida for her husband to take a dream job, she discovered a love of gay romance and fulfilled a dream of her own — getting published. After a few years of editing web content by day, and neglecting her supportive, understanding hubby and needy cat at night to write stories about men loving men, she was uprooted yet again and now resides in California. Writing is always fun and rewarding, but writing about her guys is the most fun she’s had in a long time, and she hopes you’ll enjoy them as much as she does.