Hi guys, we have Jamie Dean stopping by with his upcoming release Not Just Passing Through, Jamie chats about his inspiration for NJPT and we have a great excerpt so you can check out the story, so enjoy the post! <3 ~Pixie~

Not Just Passing Through

Jamie Dean

Socially awkward, closeted virgin Avery Malcolm passes his days and nights running his bigoted aunt’s motel in rural New Mexico. He dreams of getting away and hitting the road, but with one friend, a few acquaintances, and no real life to speak of outside his duties as front desk clerk, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get a chance.

Fate sends hot drifter Chase Lancaster to the Red Ram Motel, riding in on his sexy black motorcycle. Within twenty-four hours, Avery’s life is turned upside down. Before long, even though Chase’s sexual interests seem to run exclusively toward women in bars, Avery finds himself falling for the beautiful biker with no permanent address. Chase is much more than his bad boy persona, so while it’s nice to have another friend, Avery doesn’t know how he’ll survive with his heart intact when Chase inevitably moves on.

Jamie Dean & His inspiration

Hi there! I’m Jamie Dean, author of the upcoming erotic male/male romance Not Just Passing Through.

“How do you get your ideas?” is a question popular with interviewers, but it’s generally not so popular with writers (and possibly other artists, as well) because it’s so rare for the author to actually know. Most of the time, something sparks the seed of something else, and you may not even remember later what sparked it in the first place. In the case of NJPT, however, I actually have an answer.

Well, sort of.

Sometimes when the insomnia faeries are paying me a visit, I use story ideas to lull myself to sleep. Usually this means pulling from a list of ideas I’ve previously brainstormed and letting a few scenarios play out in my head until I fall asleep, so that the next morning, I can write whatever sticks.

One particular night about eighteen months ago, none of the ideas I was trying out were particularly interesting to me, and I wasn’t sleeping. I had pretty much given up and had moved on to using yoga relaxation techniques, when I was suddenly hit with what felt like a movie playing in my head at supersonic speed, the dialog a little fuzzy, but the scenes as clear as day. It was too fast to catch the nuances, but fully-formed enough that I had almost the whole story.

I was so excited by this new idea that I gave up on sleeping and got up to write down as much of the plot as I could remember and sent it in an email to my sister and sounding board. As soon as I finished the email, I went back to bed and went almost instantly to sleep.

The next morning, Sis—normally a great judge of my writing and whether it will be a good story or not—told me she didn’t like the idea at all. I don’t remember all the reasons why now, but she basically hated the synopsis I’d sent. This was an unusual occurrence, particularly when I was so sold on the idea myself. Since I was so enamored of it, I wrote her a more fleshed-out version of the details. She was still not convinced, but said if I felt that strongly, I should write it up.

However, having her react so negatively had had an impact and I was a bit disheartened. I didn’t feel like writing on it at all that day, and instead worked on another chapter of a previous work. I pretty much let my darling idea go, and went on with my day.

Then it was bedtime once again. I closed my eyes and within a few minutes, the opening scene of Not Just Passing Through came into my brain, almost fully formed. I could see the motel. I could see Avery and Chase and the pine trees behind the Red Ram. Even now, I can clearly picture the layout of the motel and the office and Avery’s little suite of rooms. And it was so vivid, so loud, I had to get up and write it down before I was able to sleep.

I sent it to my sister. She was intrigued. It was far better in practice than my original sketched out idea, she said. The tone was different. The characters were more likable.

Every night for two weeks it was like this. I would lay down to sleep and wake up to a new scene. During the day I worked on other things—namely writing work that paid—and every night a new scene would drop into my head and demand attention, refusing to allow me to sleep until I’d written it down. And thus, the original draft of Not Just Passing Through was born.

So, how did I get the idea for Chase and Avery’s story? It was given to me by the insomnia faeries.

Excerpt

 

NEW MEXICO was a hellaciously dusty place, so one of Avery Malcolm’s jobs at the Red Ram Motel was to sweep the walkway at least once a day. He was almost done when he heard the distinctive whine of a motorcycle coming up the highway. He watched a small dark spot resolve itself into a slightly larger figure until finally he could see the shape of a person atop a slim bike.

In the glare of the afternoon sun, he couldn’t tell the sex of the rider any more than he could tell the color of the motorcycle, at least not until the black bike and equally black-clad male rider pulled up sideways in front of the walkway.

A long, muscular leg swooped over the bike and hit the kickstand down before two large hands reached up to pull off the helmet, revealing the thick dark hair beneath. For a second, all Avery saw were freckles. Then the eyes opened and twin blue lasers pinned him in place.

Avery forgot to breathe and just stood there, broom still, staring at the rider and his unfairly long-lashed blue eyes until a smirk appeared on the biker’s face and a deep voice, full of amusement, asked, “You got a room for rent or are you hoping I’ll just bunk in with you, blondie?”

Avery felt his face flush as he found his voice at last. “Yeah—yes, there are rooms available. Uh, smoking or nonsmoking?” He resisted—barely—the temptation to fidget with his short-cropped blond locks.

“As you can see I’m smoking enough already,” the biker answered with a wink and an open-mouthed grin. “Nonsmoking.”

Avery thought his face might actually be on fire. After parking his broom against the wall, he walked into the front office. It was somewhat cooler inside, even though they weren’t running the AC yet. The small fan and all the shade kept the heat from being so oppressive on this side of the door.

Avery tapped the keyboard to get the screen to come back on, minimized his game of solitaire, then brought up the reservation software. He still didn’t understand why Aunt Nicole had upgraded to an electronic system for the motel.

It wasn’t like keeping track of twenty rooms—most of which stayed empty more nights than not—was too much to do by hand. He thought it probably had a lot more to do with the attractive man selling the computer system than a desire for efficiency. The ancient phone was evidence of how little regard his aunt held for modern technology.

Regardless, he was thankful for the system now, as it allowed him to avoid looking at the new occupant directly. Seeing him in his peripheral vision was bad enough.

“Just one night?”

The biker leaned on the counter, bringing him close enough for Avery to smell the man’s cologne and his leather jacket.

Oh, God, he might pass out if the guy got any closer.

Avery leaned to his left slightly, drawing away from him.

The biker laughed. “I make you nervous or something?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he asked, “Is it cheaper for a week than by the night?”

“Yes, there’s a weekly discount rate.” Avery was relieved that his normally deep voice didn’t go up several octaves.

“Then book me in for a week. There somewhere to eat around here?”

Avery picked up one of the restaurant fliers and set it up on the ledge near the guy’s arm. “Um, name please?” he asked as the computer prompted for it.

“Chase Lancaster.”

“Mr. Lancaster, may I see your ID, please?”

Avery received a full-out laugh at that. “Dude, call me Chase.” His focus shifted slightly and he picked up the flier, scanning over the list. “Are any of these places any good?”

Avery was still waiting on the ID, but he took a moment to examine Chase’s face while he was absorbed in the flier. He was paler than Avery would’ve expected for a biker, though his whole face was covered in freckles. His eyes were no less blue when they weren’t looking directly into Avery’s, and his lips were practically obscene­—plump and dusky and oh-so-soft-looking.

Avery dropped his gaze down to the flier and forced himself to speak.

“The diner is good. The bar—the, uh, Wander In tavern? It’s probably not the healthiest choice, but the food is good and it’s cheaper than you’d expect.”

“They got a pool table?”

“Yes. More than one, actually.” He glanced at the screen again. “So, can I get your ID?”

“Yeah, okay.” Chase turned sideways, bending backward to reach into his pocket for the wallet. It caused his already tight jeans to pull even more snugly over his crotch—and made it jut forward slightly. Avery lowered his gaze to the apex of those thick thighs, but he brought it up sharply when he heard a chuckle.

His skin prickled with heat when he realized Chase had seen him checking him out. Dammit. Chase didn’t seem to be a homophobic asshole, but that was no excuse for being reckless.

Chase passed the ID over. “You’re welcome to look all you want. Long as you understand I don’t swing your way.” He leaned a little closer and dropped his voice a bit. “Like I said, I know I’m pretty damn smoking,” Chase reminded him with a wink.

“I-I’m sorry,” Avery stammered as he took the small white card and started putting in the information. “Not a lot of good-looking people come through here, and my social skills aren’t exactly the best. I—sorry,” he repeated lamely as he handed back the ID.

“Hey, man, it’s cool, uh—what’s your name?”

“Avery.”

“Uh-huh. Well, it’s cool, Avery. Don’t sweat it. Think of me like a painting in a museum,” he said, sweeping his arms wide and showing off even more of his toned chest and abs. “Look all you want, just don’t touch.” The cocky grin and the eyebrow wiggle took any possible sting out of the words.

Avery couldn’t help but laugh at that. Feeling braver, he swept his eyes over the handsome biker in a show of appreciation, then held his hands up in the air in a show of not touching, drawing a fantastic laugh from Chase.

“That’s the spirit!” Chase grinned and made a clicking sound. Then he nodded toward the computer. “So what’s the damage?”

Avery gave him the total and Chase handed over some cash. As he waited for Avery to count out his change, he glanced back at the door and asked, “There a good place to get a six-pack around here?”

Avery nodded. “If you take a right out of the parking lot, there’s a store about two miles away. Another four miles is the bar.” Avery gave him his change and a room key. “You’re in room one-oh-six, up that way.” He pointed to his left.

“Cool. Well, nice meetin’ ya, Avery.” Chase said his name like it amused him. “Make sure and watch me walk out. I look even better from the back.” His throaty laugh was the last thing Avery heard before Chase strode out through the door.

About Jamie

Jamie Dean is passionate about food, beer, and hot men wading together through a sea of angst, sarcasm and sexy times.

When he is not reading or writing gay erotic fiction from his front porch swing, he might be painting, playing with his dogs and cats, or cooking experimental meals for (or drinking beer with) Jay, his husband and muse. He loves old cars, science fiction, road trips, and spending time with family and friends.

He came to terms with his sexuality only later in life, so that struggle is a frequent theme in his work. He has since embraced it with pride and considers himself an LGBT* activist, a feminist, and a champion for equal rights.

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