Hello Dear Readers,
I’ve been working all day on tidying up by website/blog to make it more user friendly, and I’ve added teasers or links to excerpts for all of my books. Please take a look around.
I’m happy to announce the next installment of the Crystal Coast series, Crystal Coast Christmas, is scheduled for release toward the beginning of December. It’s a M/F romance, and I’ve been told it’s quite the scorcher. I can’t wait to get the cover, but more on that later. Today, I’d like to share a teaser from my current work in progress, a sexy M/M love story about a handsome cop and the first crush he never got over. I haven’t settled on a name just yet, but I have a few contenders. I hope you enjoy this small taste of love at the Crystal Coast in all of it’s raw, unedited glory.
The flicker of lights in his rearview mirror drew Razor’s attention. His nostrils flared as he recognized the familiar azure illumination. Wonder what the chances are he isn’t pulling me. The squeal of the siren dulled his hopes. ‘Fucking pigs—I don’t have time for this now.’
He pulled off on the side of the road and used his foot to employ the kickstand before turning off the engine. Before the cops could draw on him, he reached in his pocket and retrieved his wallet, grasping it in his palm as he raised both of his hands. “Don’t shoot, officer.”
He watched the reflection of the policeman striding up to his motorcycle. “Do you know how fast you were going?”
“No.” Razor slowly lowered his arms and flicked up the visor of his silvery-gray helmet, taking a moment to size up the man looking down his nose at him. Not bad. He was tall, though not as tall as Razor, and lean—filled out his uniform nicely. He caught the man’s gaze, his heart quickening as he noted Officer Hottie’s icy, cerulean stare.
“Fifty-five miles per hour.”
Razor lifted an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the speed limit?”
“Not on this road. You trying to get yourself killed or kill someone else driving that fast?”
“Dude, I’m not in school anymore, and I’m not up for any lectures. If you’re going to write a ticket, do it and save the lip.” Razor removed his license from his wallet and shoved it in toward the officer’s face.
The right side of the officer’s mouth curled upward as if he were going to smile but he soon pursed his lips, taking Razor’s identification. The officer’s forehead creased as he examined the ID, and Razor bit down on his bottom lip.
“Plates are clean,” the other pig, a bald, black guy, called out from the squad car through his rolled down window.
Razor glanced at his watch and winced. He had to get going. “Well?”
The officer looked up from the license, studying Razor’s face before glancing back down again to read off the name. “Raymond Johnson?”
“That’s me.” Razor glared up at the fine ass policeman, narrowing his eyes defiantly.
“Did you go to North Beach High?” The officer’s brown hair had been slicked back, exposing his forehead, probably to keep his cute, baby-face from making him look like such a kid. Didn’t work—a beard might have helped, but this guy was clean-shaven. He had a high forehead and a triangle-shaped face with a thin-bridged nose and a strong jawline.
“Yeah, so what? I don’t have time to skip down memory lane with you. My dad’s up at county breathing his last.”
The officer’s eye’s widened and his chiseled jaw dropped as his thin, walnut-brown eyebrows lifted. “Coach Johnson is dying?”
Razor’s back stiffened. Hearing the words spoken so bluntly was jarring. “Yeah.”
“Shit, sorry to hear that.” He handed Razor’s ID back to him. “Follow me. I’ll give you an escort to the hospital.”
Razor’s head jerked back as he looked up at the cop. He couldn’t believe the po po was giving him a break. That had never happened in this town before. “Thanks.”
There you go. Until next time.
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