Hi guys! We have Lynn Lorenz popping in today with her upcoming re-release New Orleans Second Line, we have a brilliant guest post and some great excerpts, so check out the post and enjoy! <3 ~Pixie~
New Orleans Second Lines
Lynn Lorenz
Matt and Lane grew up together, best friends, sharing almost all their secrets. But on the last day of college, those secrets spilled in one night of passion and tore them apart, sending Matt to the West Coast and Lane home to New Orleans.
Now, Hurricane Katrina is set to destroy New Orleans. This might be the worst time to try for a second chance, but nothing can keep Matt from Lane. The man he let get away.
For Lane, no hurricane can pry him from the city, especially without Sebastian. The older man has been a dear friend and his landlord since Lane returned from college. Sebastian refuses to flee, preferring to stay in his Creole cottage in the French Quarter and ride out the storm.
Sebastian’s life becomes intertwined with Lane’s, as Matt finds out when he’s drawn into capturing Sebastian’s memoirs of being gay in New Orleans. The elder gentleman’s stories are full of surprises and lessons for the young men.
The most important ones Sebastian teaches them—and himself—are that second chances don’t come along often, and you’re never too old to fall in love.
First Edition published as Pinky Swear, Pioneers, and C’est La Vie by Amber Quill Press/Amber Allure, 2010.
Release date: 17th July 2017
Pre-order: Dreamspinner Press ebook | Dreamspinner Press paperback
Lynn Lorenz & Excerpt!
In my hometown of New Orleans, the second line is the group of people who follow the marching band. Any marching band, whether it’s a jazz funeral, an impromptu street parade, or a high school marching band during a Mardi Gras parade.
It’s people gathering to celebrate. Death. Life. Love.
For my story, it’s a second chance at love, to dance again to the music of two hearts beating in time.
There is a certain rhythm to the second line. A sort of side-stagger-walk to the syncopated beat of the drums and horns. No one holds hands. This is a free-for-all. It’s done with joy in your heart, an umbrella or a hankie in your hand, as you’re moving to the beat of the bass drum, wherever the music and the spirit takes you.
For those who don’t know it you can listen to this version by the Olympia Brass Band. Some of you might recognize it. Whether you do or not, grab a hankie and dance!
Anyone can second line. All ages, colors, economics, class. Standing or sitting It’s done all over the city, from Uptown, Central City, Downtown, the Ninth ward, the Quarter, and the Lakefront. Usually to a certain song – Second Line – that starts with the horns and then explodes with the bass drum. Once the crowd hears those first notes, they’re off and dancing. There are no words to this song, because you hear it in your heart and soul and everyone hears it different.
Just like when your heart finds it’s match—it’s off and running, strutting and dancing and shaking it like you just don’t care.
For Matt and Lane, who grew up together as best friends as kids, teens and then young men, the sound of that music was never in syncopation—just slightly off rhythm, just missing the beat. But when Hurricane Katrina hits, it will drag them back together, and they’ll discover what was missing, but will they be brave enough to dance to it and finally let their hearts revel to the same beat?
But this is a story with two sets of men, one young and one old.
As for their older, sophisticated landlord Sebastian, he’s had love and lost it. He’s had he’s experienced everything that could make a man let that parade pass by as he watches from the shadows of his French Quarter Creole cottage. But a second chance for love finds Sebastian dipping a tentative toe into the flow of the parade. If he can let the beat and the music sweep him away in the flood, he might just really start living.
Here’s Matt and Lane—out of sync—
~~~
“You’re my best friend, aren’t you?”
Matt nodded.
“Come on.” Lane held out his hand.
Matt didn’t take it, but he did follow, stumbling after Lane in the dark to the back porch, up the steps, and into the kitchen.
“Mom! Dad!”
His mom rushed into the kitchen from the living room and skidded to a stop. “Oh my God! Matt, what happened?”
“His dad.” Lane huffed. “Drunk again, but this time….”
“He threw me out,” Matt whispered.
“What?” Lane’s mom clearly couldn’t believe it. “What did you do?”
Lane jumped in. “Mom, he didn’t do anything. His dad’s been coming home drunk for as long as I’ve known Matt and beating the crap out of him, just because he’s a mean old bastard.”
“Lane!” His mother gasped at his language, but he didn’t care.
“Matt needs help.”
His dad came in and paused in the doorway. “Honey, let’s get Matt cleaned up. He might need stitches.”
She nodded and went to work, wetting a washcloth, sitting Matt in a chair at the kitchen table, and wiping the blood from his wounds as Matt winced and hissed.
His dad sat opposite Matt. “He put you out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What if you go back?”
“He’ll kill me.” Matt stared straight into his dad’s eyes, completely convinced of that.
Lane’s dad sat back and ran a hand over his face, then glanced at his mom. They shared some sort of secret parent code look, and his father cleared his throat. “Matt, would you like to move in here with us?”
Matt stared at his father, then at Lane, and then down at his feet. Lane followed his gaze, never realizing before that his best friend was barefoot.
“All I have is in my backpack.” Matt’s voice, once so cocky and sure, had turned quiet and fearful. Beaten down. Battered.
It just about killed Lane.
“Never mind.” Lane’s mom waved her hand. “Let us worry about that. Now, what do you think, darling? Stitches?”
His dad peered closer at Matt’s cuts. “No. Just some strips to hold the edges together and they’ll be fine.” He rose, got a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, and handed it to Matt. “Hold this against your cheek and eye, Matt. Lane, take Matt upstairs. He can have the guest room.”
Lane nodded and grabbed Matt’s arm. “Come on, man.”
Matt let Lane pull him from the kitchen, up the stairs, and to the room.
He opened the door and pushed Matt inside. “Make yourself at home. Get some rest. We’ve got school in the morning.”
Matt turned to face him, dropping the bag of peas to his side. “Thanks, Lanie. I… you’re the best friend in the world. I don’t deserve you.” He shook his head, his one visible eye dark and troubled.
“Of course you do. See you in the morning.” He almost closed the door, then opened it and stepped back in.
Lane stuck out his little finger, hook up. “Pinky swear, Matt.”
“What?”
“Pinky swear to me that you’ll be here in the morning. That you won’t run away. That you won’t leave.”
Matt took a step closer. They joined fingers and pulled.
“One, two, three, four, five….”
Matt broke the link between them. “Five years, Lane.”
“After college.” Lane nodded. “You’re sticking around until then.”
Matt nodded, his gaze never leaving Lane’s until the door shut.
Lane crossed the hall and slipped into his bedroom. After undressing, he crawled under the covers, put his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling.
It was more important than ever for him not to come out to his parents about being gay. If they thought anything was going on between Matt and him, they’d put Matt out for sure.
Lane snorted. Like that would happen. Matt was so out of Lane’s league it wasn’t funny. And Lane knew once Matt turned eighteen and hit college, he’d have more men throwing themselves at him than he had ever dreamed of.
For Lane, Matt had been all he’d ever dreamed of.
~~~
For Sebastian, his problem was he was old. At least that’s what he believes. It might take Matt and Lane to get him to realize love doesn’t care about age, if you open your heart to it.
~~~
“Hold still!” Lane pushed Sebastian’s good hand away from his ascot. “I almost had it.”
“Dear boy, there is a proper way to tie an ascot, and then there is your way.” Sebastian gave his young tenant a sniff, unimpressed with Lane’s current effort. The young man was taking forever, and Sebastian’s date would be there soon.
“Nervous much?” Matt laughed from the chair he lounged in. “You’re acting like this is the first date you’ve ever been on.”
“It is. In this century.” Sebastian sent him a withering glare, then smiled. “It feels like the first time. And blast it all; if not for this wrist of mine, I could dress myself.” He waved his arm, with cast, at Matt.
“The doctor said the cast is coming off in six weeks, not a day sooner. Besides, Matt and I don’t mind helping you out. You’ve done so much for us.” Lane bit his bottom lip as he pulled the silk over and stuck the garnet-studded gold pin through it.
“Who wears ascots any more?” Matt groused. “Not that I don’t love the burgundy velvet jacket, but isn’t that overkill?”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead at Galatoire’s without one,” Sebastian gasped. “It just isn’t done.”
Lane slipped the black sling over Sebastian’s head and adjusted his arm in it.
Matt chuckled as Lane stood back to present Sebastian. “You look truly dashing, Sebastian. The cast adds a certain something. Think about an eye patch.”
“Incorrigible boy.” Sebastian swatted at Matt’s foot, but he moved out of reach.
“You’re going to knock his socks off,” Lane assured him.
“Don’t give him any ideas, Lanie.” Matt laughed. “You do look handsome. He’s not going to be able to resist you.”
Sebastian stared at his image in the mirror of the small bedroom in his French Quarter cottage. “It’s just a first date. Just dinner.” He waved a perfectly manicured hand, nails buffed to a high shine. The deep garnet-and-gold pinky ring caught the light and flashed in the mirror.
“He’s taking you to Galatoire’s.” Lane sat on the bed. “I’d say the man is seriously wooing you.”
“Where you’re concerned, there is no ‘just dinner,’ dearest.” Matt mimicked Sebastian perfectly, even to the arched eyebrow.
Sebastian tsked at them. “It’s just dinner.” But the butterflies in his stomach told him otherwise. He hadn’t felt this way since Frank, over twenty years ago. He’d thought he’d never feel it again, then last week—poof!—there sat Raymond Chou, across the next table from him, eating fries at the burger place on St. Charles Avenue.
~~~
New Orleans Second Lines is the second of my stories paying homage to the city I love the best, the Crescent City, the City That Care Forgot, that Dreamspinner has so graciously re-released. If you want the first, check out On The Streets of New Orleans, and meet Scott and Tony, two young homeless men who find each other in the devestation of Hurricane Katrina, and Charlies and Devon, each trying to make the city a better place, and maybe heal what’s broken in themselves.
Thanks to everyone at Dreamspinner and to MM Good Book Reviews for giving me a blog post. And thanks to my readers, old and new, for giving my stories a home in your hearts.
About Lynn
Lynn Lorenz is an award-winning and bestselling author who grew up in New Orleans but currently lives in Texas, where she’s a fan of all things Texan, like Longhorns, big hair, and cowboys in tight jeans. She’s never met a comma she didn’t like, and enjoys editing and brainstorming with other writers. Lynn spends most of her time writing about hot sex with even hotter heroes, plot twists, werewolves, and medieval swashbucklers. She’s currently at work on her latest book, making herself giggle and blush, and avoiding all the housework.
Reblogged this on MM Good Book Reviews.
This sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to read it!