TITLE: Complexity
SERIES: Kinky Connect Chronicles
AUTHOR: Harper Miller
COVER ARTIST: Taria Reed Digital Artist
LENGTH: 140 Pages
RELEASE DATE: July 8, 2016
BLURB: Fairy tale endings weren’t made for people like me. Happy for now usually ain’t in the cards, either.
The dents on my wall
from where my headboard kept knockin’ against the same spot was the first clue
that I needed to calm my ass down. At the rate I was racking up notches and
plowing through hookups, I wasn’t ever gonna find nothing real. Guess I kinda
jinxed myself. I created my circumstances. You can’t get what you want if you
keep falling back into the same pattern of bad habits. But then things changed.
I stumbled onto somethin’ I never in a million years expected to happen. You
gotta understand, I’m never the guy who wins. It was supposed to be just sex,
but that shifty, rhyming and scheming bastard, Cupid, pulled a fast one.
I may have changed some
stuff to protect a couple of people. But before you go believing the tabloids,
make sure you understand that you’re gettin’ the lowdown straight from the
source.
I needed to get this
off my chest and it’s only fair that you at least get my side of it all. At
some point, I might regret telling you any of this, but for now, you need to
know.
*Disclaimer* This is a novella. Not a short
story, novelette, or novel. This tale features an M/M pairing. If gay
erotica/erotic romance is not your cup of tea and you are offended by same-sex
relationships or crass language, you should bypass this story. Content is
intended for a mature audience, 18+.
The liquor smolders as I hold it in my mouth and sink
onto the couch. My head falls back and I swallow, letting the melancholy lyrics
and angry electric guitar riffs amplify my foul mindset. This song is taking me
somewhere I didn’t want to go. Now I’m stuck and in a funky-ass mood. The kind
of mood where I don’t give a damn about anything or anyone. The kind of mood
where the only thing I wanna do is drown my sorrows in a shit-ton of alcohol
until I’m so sloppy I forget my own name. Oblivion is exactly where I wanna be.
At least I admit I drink too much. Over these last few
nights me and this bottle have become besties. Ain’t that some shit?
Might as well get smashed, then maybe I’ll be able to get
a decent night’s sleep. I haven’t slept right in about a week. That’s a lie. I
haven’t slept well for about six months. Six months of tossing and turning. Six
months of being one moody motherfucker. Six months of being chill one minute,
then pissed off the next.
My friends think I’m fuckin’ nuts. My own brother won’t
come anywhere near me. I can tell he wants to have a heart-to-heart, but I don’t
have it in me to tell him why I’m a basket case. To me, he’s still a kid, even
though he’s grown, has a good job, and a girlfriend he’s been shackin’ up
with—but I don’t want him to look at me differently. It’s stupid, and I’m
probably overreacting, but Juan and I have a good relationship. I can’t jinx
it. We’re all we’ve got: me, Moms, and the kid. We’re one tight-knit family,
and I wanna keep it that way.
I’ve got emotional ADD, and the shit’s so bad my
stomach’s twisted. But I don’t feel anything ’cept empty.
After toeing off my kicks, I try to find a comfortable
position. This right here is good: Me with a death grip on a bottle of booze,
ass planted on the couch, and feet propped up on the coffee table. When I
finally settle, taking a couple of deep breaths to ease the tension in my body,
my phone vibrates.
I sit up and place the bottle on the table before digging
the phone outta my pocket. I glance down at the screen and frown the moment I
recognize the name.
Of course it’s him. Fuck him.
I ignore the call and turn on the ringer—forgot to do
that after my last client. Can’t afford to miss any calls when you’re
self-employed, but you sure as shit can screen ’em. The couch cushions are
tryna swallow me whole, and I’m not putting up much of a fight. I’m beat. My
body is worn down, and I know I look like shit because I feel like shit. I
wanna muster up enough energy to shower and sleep, but I know sleep won’t come.
Look at me, winning all over the fuckin’ place.
Why does everything have to be so complicated?
My voicemail alert chimes, but I delete the message
without so much as a listen, and then toss the phone across the couch. Just
leave me alone. I haven’t seen him in a week and haven’t answered any of
his calls, either. Was that a punk move? Yeah, but it’s what needed to happen.
I ghosted because I thought we needed some space. For once I was being smart.
Giving us both time, ya know, to figure out what the fuck we’re doing. I have
no clue where this thing is going. Even worse, I don’t know what the hell this thing
is. And I doubt he has any idea how I feel about him . . . or maybe he does.
Never in my life have I been so
confused. Am I still bi if I only wanna be with a dude? Well, one dude,
specifically? My sexuality has never been an issue, but now I got questions and
feelings and fuckin’ feelings about feelings, man.
Harper Miller is a thirty-something native New Yorker. She's traveled the world and lived in a variety of places but always finds her way back to the Big Apple. A lackluster love life leaves time to explore new interests, for Harper it is writing. The Sweetest Taboo: An Unconventional Romance is her debut novel. In her mind, the perfect Alpha male possesses intellect, humor, and a kinky streak that rivals the size of California.
When she isn't writing, Harper utilizes her graduate degree in the field of medical research. She enjoys fitness-related activities, drinking copious amounts of wine and going on bad dates.
For regular updates on upcoming books and more by Harper Miller, sign up to her Newsletter
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