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6 Days Series, Book Two
A Nick & FatBoy Romance
Novel Blurb:
Mixologist Nick Valentine never thought
love was in the cards, but after a scorching Valentine’s Day kiss from bouncer
Davis “FatBoy” Newman, he’s beginning to think it’s possible. After four weeks
of dry spell, Nick’s losing patience—it’s time FatBoy stop acting the gentleman
and just throw him over the bar or Nick may just change his mind.
All FatBoy wants is a shot at winning
Nick’s heart. As long as meddling bosses, an Irish hurling team and a bar riot
don’t ruin his chances forever, he might just get lucky and take the man of his
dreams, home.
Excerpt:
I'd
been a bartender a lot longer than I'd known FatBoy, and in much seedier places
than Frisson: places that kept sawdust on the floor to help soak up the blood,
vomit, and spilled beer left in the wake of a typical weekend.
When I was bartending at twenty-one, I
was smaller, less muscled than the clientele. It was harder to intimidate the
drunks with my physical presence, and the places I worked didn't employ beefy
bouncers to keep the peace, so I developed numerous strategies to head off the
worst of the altercations. Having the sheriff close you down at midnight just
when the wallets had finally been pried wide open was akin to flushing half a
week's wages away, so I adapted.
Bar defense is a skill set, not unlike
proverbial bicycle riding, which you just don't forget. So when I hopped up on
my bar and hosed down a bunch of angry Irishmen with water, it felt like just
another rowdy Saturday night on the outskirts of town.
And just like that, silence fell.
Thirty faces stared at me in shock, and
in the void, you could hear wet gasps and the sound of water making fat splats
as it hit the floor.
Rory stood shuddering in front of me. He
was soaked, looking like a large wet rat with his hair plastered to his head,
making the point of his nose and chin more pronounced. While still wet, Corwyn
had managed to avoid the same full body drenching as Rory—either he was lucky
or he had the reflexes of a Formula One driver and had used Liam as a shield to
avoid the bulk of the deluge. Fortunately for them, all the high-tech athletic
gear they were wearing already seemed to be doing its job, wicking away most of
the liquid. They'd dry fast.
Maybe I'd send them outside to run laps
around the parking lot.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Juan
standing in wait, a mop in his left hand and Louisville slugger in his right. I
guess Juan had worked in the same kind of bars I had.
Our chef Marco had joined him, standing
at his shoulder, arms crossed over a nine-inch omelet pan. I wasn't sure if he
had plans on feeding the rabble to death or using their carcasses in the
night's specials, but he seemed particularly amused by the proceedings.
I glared, the water nozzle still
clutched in my hand, and addressed them.
"Are you all done being assholes,
or do you need to be run through the rinse cycle one more time? I'm assuming
this isn't what y'all meant by an exhibition, but maybe I'm wrong and this is
how you normally behave at home..."
Juan moved in with the mop and a large
stack of clean bar towels, tossing them to the men who dispersed to tables and
stools, drying themselves off out of the line of fire as I waited for my
apology. It looked like I might get one from each and every one of them. With
their sheepish shuffling and lowered eyes, they resembled a group of chastised
children rather than the aggressive angry men they'd been channeling a minute
before.
As cute as some of them were, they
either needed to settle down and go back to drinking peaceably or get the hell
out of my bar. I wasn't paid enough to babysit.
Corwyn alone was willing to look me in
the eye, or at least in the direction of them as I stood above him actively
ignoring the water droplets clinging to his bangs and dripping onto his cheeks
and how they made me think of showers and naked wet skin...
"Ah, deepest apologies, Nick. We
didn't mean to disrespect your place here. Forgive us. Here... let me help ya
down..."
His dimple was back, and when he reached
up to me, it seemed safe enough to risk. Corwyn put his hands on my hips after
guiding mine onto his shoulders and stepped back, muscling me off the bar and
against the safety of his body.
He leaned back far enough to give me
room to slide slowly down the front of his wet torso, avoiding barstools and
hurlers alike.
I felt a shiver as I stuttered to a
halt, eye to eye with the man. His were warm and liquid—full of invitation, the
look hot enough to quick dry the bar itself. I swallowed, unable to look away.
For a split-second, I didn't move, frozen like a bunny cornered by a cobra.
I blame his wet shirt and my damp apron
for causing the friction that prevented me from slipping easily away from
danger, but like everything else in my life lately, I seemed in need of
perpetual damage control.
I felt someone large move up behind me,
hot breath teasing my ear as the drawl I'd been dying to hear just moments
before was now making my balls shrivel at being caught hung up like this.
"I didn't realize you started
having Wet T-shirt Tuesdays, Nicky. I can't wait to see what you plan on givin'
the winner."
Fuck me.
Excerpt from 6 Days To Get
Lucky copyright 2018 LE Franks
About The Author:
LE Franks is an author of Gay Romance
fiction, living in the SF Bay Area surrounded by inspiration; and after years
of ignoring the voices in her head, she’s now giving them free reign. Her
stories are a unique mix of humor and drama with enough suspense to produce
fast-paced action filled with emotion and passion, featuring characters that
are quirky and complicated.
For the latest, check out her website
for links to current works, news, and social media. www.lefranks.com
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available exclusively on Amazon & Kindle Unlimited
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