Stay tuned for more WIP Wednesday!Even Roger couldn’t hold me spellbound like this. I’d long ago developed an immunity to even the most charismatic politicians, but Jesse worked me just like he worked everyone in this crowd. Whatever my doubts or reservations about this inexperienced candidate, one thing was for certain: Jesse was born for the podium.
It didn’t hurt that good-looking, charismatic politicians like Jesse had an advantage. They didn’t always win, but a gorgeous, clean-cut candidate with a flawless smile and perfect poise had a distinctly easier time persuading people than a grizzled, aesthetically off-putting opponent. JFK had capitalized on that in the television debates against Nixon, and while such a thing wouldn’t win an election, it certainly helped to have that point of favor in the subconscious of the public.
Which was one hundred percent why I was staring at Jesse. He was the flawless package deal: a confident, smooth talker with a stunning smile, the perfect stage presence that came from a lifetime under the camera’s scrutiny, and youthful good looks that promised “fresh, new, something different from the old” to the public. That was why I was staring. Only that. No other reason.
Oblivious to me, Jesse gestured as he spoke, and a light glinted off his wedding ring. I couldn’t help a quiet, self-deprecating laugh.
A straight, unavailable man? Again? Really, Anthony?
I’d never broken up a relationship or tried to “convert” someone, but for whatever reason, the men who piqued my interest were always either taken, hetero, or both.
Sighing, I kept watching Jesse. I mean, the press conference. I kept watching the press conference.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
WIP Wednesday - Where There's Smoke
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
WIP Wednesday - Where There's Smoke
Stay tuned for more WIP Wednesday next week!“One other question, though.” He shifted in his chair. “Why exactly are you running on an independent ticket?”
I regarded him silently for a moment, narrowing my eyes as I searched his. Finally I took a breath. “I’m assuming you’re going to tell me that’s a mistake and I should get on the Democratic ticket.”
Anthony laughed. “You catch on quick, don’t you?”
I scowled.
“Look.” His expression shifted from amused to stern, almost annoyed, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. “You’re an unknown, Jesse. You’re a risk for the people of California. A huge risk. They see your name, they’re going to associate you with your uncle, which is good. The people like your uncle. They see an ‘I’ next to your name? They’re going to get nervous, and nervous voters won’t elect you.”
“So you suggest I run as a Democrat, even if I don’t think like a Democrat?”
“Do you think like a Republican?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then you think like a Democrat.” There was an edge to his voice, one that suggested he wasn’t interested in debating the subject. “And therefore, you run as a Democrat.”
I exhaled and shifted my gaze to the lazily rippling swimming pool. So this was politics. Pretending to be one thing so everyone was damn certain I wasn’t another. Games. Charades. Smoke. Mirrors. And here I thought I might have a shot at being an honest politician.
Anthony thumped his knuckle on the table, startling me and drawing my attention back to him. “Listen, you want to win this election? Do things my way. You need a party’s endorsement to be taken seriously and get votes. Fuck doing shit just on principle, fuck anti-bipartisanship. Face it, kid. You’re not getting elected without a campaign manager, and this campaign manager says put a ‘D’ next to your name and let’s quit fucking around.”
I was already a happily married straight man. Why not be a Democrat while I was at it?
“All right,” I said. “Democrat it is.”
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
WIP Wednesday
This week, I'm working on Meredith Reclaimed, the third book in the Light Switch series, and Meredith is frustrated with her search for a wedding dress.
Stay tuned for more WIP Wednesday!“It’s your call.” He kissed me lightly, and slid his hands up to cup the sides of my neck. “As far as I’m concerned, you could cover yourself in burlap, and I’d still marry you.”
Grinning, I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Burlap would be a little itchy, don’t you think?”
“Probably.” His lip brushed mine. “Just means you won’t want to wear it very long, which is fine by me.”
I laughed and drew back. “So you want me to wear something uncomfortable so I’ll want to get naked faster?”
He shrugged. “Shortest distance between dressed and naked—”
I rolled my eyes and playfully pulled out of his grasp. “Scott Moore, you are so predictable.”
“Predictable.” He gasped and put a hand to his chest. “Well, I never.”
“Whatever.” I kissed him lightly. “I need to finish changing out of my work clothes.”
A toothy grin prompted me to roll my eyes again.
“And into something more comfortable,” I said.
The grin broadened.
“God, you’re incorrigible.”
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
WIP Wednesday
Stay tuned for more!Streetlights glowed halfheartedly along the boulevard, yellow clouds of mist swarming around each burning bulb. The headlamps on passing cars sliced hazy bands of orange, brown, and yellow into the fog, the color depending on how much life the driver had tried to squeeze out of that particular set of bulbs. Even with the horrendous visibility down here, only so much of a man’s pittance of a salary could be spent on anything that couldn’t be eaten.
There was a time when the artificial lights, even in this foggy darkness, would have necessitated a pair of sunglasses to keep from burning my photosensitive eyes. These days, the caustic air stung, but my most recent optical mod included a tint that changed with the light, keeping out even the most brutal fluorescents and mercury vapors. Now if the cybernetic companies could just do something about my skin, I’d be happy. Maybe if they spent less time creating super soldiers and sex goddesses, they could outfit the city’s vampires with a mod to keep us from bursting into flames on contact with the daylight.
“Soon, Liam,” Richard Harding, the owner of Cybernetix, had said when we spoke the other night. “We’re working on a mod that will do just that. It’s still in the experimental phase.”
I’d scowled—he couldn’t see me, as I never communicated via telescreen—and muttered, “Still? Hasn’t this been in development for years?”
“It’s not an easy modification,” he said. “Very delicate. Difficult to make. It’s getting close, though. But that’s not why we’re talking. Let’s discuss our…arrangement.”
We’d discussed our arrangement. We’d made the deal. And now here I was.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
WIP Wednesday
The number wasn’t one I recognized, but the area code was all too familiar. I wanted it to be a wrong number, but that would be too easy. No way a call from a thousand miles away could conveniently be a wrong number. Not when it was the same area code I’d hoped never to receive a call from again as long as I lived.
With my heart in my throat, I dialed my voicemail, and I wasn’t prepared for the words that followed:
“I’m hoping I have the right number and have reached Meredith Whitley. Meredith, this is Anthony Raymond from the district attorney’s office. I need you to give me a call back as soon as possible at the following number.”
My mouth went dry. I ended the call without writing down the number—it matched the one on my missed calls list—and stared at the screen.
Why now?
Check back next week for more WIP Wednesday!
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
WIP Wednesday
Here are the opening paragraphs of Conduct Unbecoming, a contemporary M/M erotic romance:
Stay tuned for more snippets next Wednesday!“Dude, Okinawa is a fucking shithole.”
My cousin’s words echoed in my head as the plane slowly descended from the night sky. I scowled out the window, thankful for the darkness that obscured most of the island that would, for the next three years, be home. In the dark and viewed from here, it didn’t look so bad: city lights glittered with considerably less intensity than those of Tokyo or San Diego. Headlights wound between buildings just beyond the airport, and the occasional tiny, bobbing light indicated a boat out in the ink black water. Distant pinpricks of light suggested power lines and cell towers along uneven, maybe mountainous terrain, and faintly glowing areas implied cities and towns extending much farther into the distance than I’d have expected on such a small island.
It didn’t look so bad from here, but I wasn’t getting my hopes up.
“Trust me, man,” my cousin Andy had told me. “That place blows. Everything’s so Americanized, it barely even counts as living in a foreign country. The people fucking hate us, they can’t fucking drive, and oh my God, there is nothing to do.”
Great. I’d probably finish out this tour just like everyone else who came here: bored out of my mind, itching to go back to the States, and with a substantially higher alcohol tolerance than I’d ever imagined possible. As if my divorce and my last two commands hadn’t already ratcheted up my alcohol tolerance to unhealthy levels.