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review 2019-10-07 06:49
Love On The Hudson - K. D. Fisher

David left for college a broken young man trying to build a new life.  Coming home to care of his father, he must rebuild again.  Past loves and friendships become new again and then he must choose.


Nick is still struggling to get his life started.  Starting over after his divorce, he soon finds out his childhood best friend has moved back.  Can he repair the hurt he caused and allow them to start over?


This was a complete slow burn.  The story moved at a slower pace than I usually like, but I loved it all the same.  The characters were sweet and sexy, and easy to fall for.  Rooting for them to be together seemed right.  I loved the honesty and richness to the story.  I give this read a 4/5 Kitty's Paws UP!



***This copy was provided by Netgalley and its publishers, in exchange for an honest review.

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text 2019-09-30 07:05
Blog Tour - Love On The Hudson
Title: Love on the Hudson
Author: KD Fisher
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: September 30, 2019
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 98400
Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, contemporary, friends to lovers, second chance love, coming out, artist, farmer, family drama, hurt/comfort, in the closet, coming out

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Art historian David Webster left his childhood home of Saugerties, New York ten years ago and hasn’t looked back. Intelligent, successful, and proud of his sexuality, David has built a comfortable, if lonely, life in Chicago. But when he learns his father has suffered a debilitating stroke, he decides to leave his prestigious museum job and move home to care for his dad. Until now David has never questioned his devotion to academic and professional success. Suddenly he’s forced to confront and reevaluate his desires, chief among them, his former best friend Nick.
Nick Patras has spent his entire life trying to be the perfect Greek son. From devoting himself to football, to forgoing an athletic scholarship to work at his family’s diner, to denying his sexuality and getting married to his high school sweetheart, Nick got used to putting his family’s dreams ahead of his own. The facade shattered, however, when Nick divorced his wife and left the family business to follow his dream of starting an organic farm. Finally content with the life he’s built for himself, Nick is still haunted by the mistake that ended his friendship with David a decade earlier.
When David and Nick reunite their old feelings are undeniable, but can David trust Nick with his heart a second time around? As David embarks on a new career as an artist, he must decide whether or not Nick fits into this composition.


Love on the Hudson
K.D. Fisher © 2019
All Rights Reserved
I step onto the salt-white sidewalk and into a stream of traffic noise. Rush hour commuters pour their anger into their car horns, laying on them for what feels like minutes at a time. The familiar scents of bus exhaust, cigarette smoke, and the caramel-sweet fragrance of roasted nuts from the stand on the corner overpower the rich steam rising from the to-go cup of coffee in my hands. It’s cold. I know March in Chicago is always cold, really still winter, but the bite of the wind makes me edgy. I find myself constantly checking the weather forecast the moment I wake up, hoping I can stow away my heavy, unattractive coat for the season.
I rush toward the museum, knowing I’ll be early for my meeting but hurrying nonetheless. As I walk, I mentally go over the presentation I’d practiced endlessly the night before. We can work with Chicago Public Schools to widen the reach of the museum and diversify visitorship. I’ve already talked to the assistant superintendent, and she loved the idea, saying the partnership would help supplement the arts programs that got cut a few years ago when the state couldn’t agree on a budget. I’m lost in thought, half hoping I’m not practicing my talking points aloud, when I realize I’m already standing at the bottom of the lion-flanked steps of the museum. It bothers me that I do this—zone out and navigate the streets on autopilot. I chastise myself for taking the aesthetics of the city for granted. On any given day I pass the spaceship-like hulking form of the Thompson Center without batting an eye. I breeze by major public artworks by Picasso and Miró. I whisk past Burnham and Sullivan buildings with my eyes trained on the ground.
When I first moved to Chicago for undergrad, I was fascinated by the city. Everything was vibrant and engaging, unlike Saugerties, the small town where I’d grown up. Every chance I had I hopped on the bus, pretentious leather sketchbook in hand, and went north from my school’s South Side campus to the center of the city. I took silly architecture boat tours filled with tourists who largely tuned out the information pouring from the scratchy PA system as the boat chugged through the dingy river. Spending hours on Google Maps, I planned walking tours of Oak Park for myself, enjoying the lull of the suburban streets as I basked in the gorgeous lines and thoughtful details of the Frank Lloyd Wright houses.
Again I’m lost in thought because I’m now enveloped in the quiet of my office, coffee still in hand, coat and scarf still on, but seated behind my desk. Shaking my head, I set my coffee down and busy myself with the tasks of a Monday morning. Check my voicemail, start my computer, glance at the Post-it-covered Stendig calendar tacked to my wall. As I’m about to reread my notes for the thousandth time since I woke up, my desk phone rings and the small light for the main museum reception line blinks red.
I pick it up on the second ring, running my fingers through my hair as I speak. “This is David Webster.” I always lower my voice when fielding an unexpected call. Although I tell myself it’s to sound professional, I’m a bit self-conscious about the soft, lilting cadence of my words.
A timid female voice responds. “Uh, hi, Mr. Webster? I have a call for you from a, uh, hospital. The nurse said she tried your cell but…” The woman’s voice trails off, growing somewhat hoarse.
“Oh, sure. Okay. You can go ahead and put her through.” The tremble in my voice does not surprise me. My heart races and my fingers shake as I reach for my bag to retrieve my cell phone.
“Mr. Webster?” My name is tinged with the upstate New York accent of my youth.
“Speaking,” I squeak out. “What’s going on?” I know it’s something with my dad. Or fuck, could it be Anna? There’s a sickening swooping sensation in my stomach. Did something happen to Nick? Unbidden, his intense gray gaze appears in my mind’s eye. I shake my head to clear the thought. No one would call me about him.
“You’re listed as next of kin for Dr. Richard Webster. You are his son, correct?”
“Yeah. Yes. Is he okay?” I hold down the button on the side to start up my phone. I always keep it off between the hours of midnight and seven to preserve my sanity and mitigate my technology addiction. It had been my New Year’s resolution. Clearly this is not a good choice when your elderly father who lives alone hundreds of miles away is hospitalized.
“Yes, sir. Your father’s condition is stable. We were unable to reach you on your primary contact number. He suffered an ischemic stroke. We have him on tPA and he’s resting in the ICU. We’ll keep him for a few nights for monitoring and scans. Then we can start talking about rehab. A…” She pauses and I hear a few mouse clicks over the phone. “James Webster is with him now.”
Jimmy must have called me. Quickly I unlock my phone to see a barrage of texts and missed calls from my uncle’s number, as well as three voicemails from an 845 area code, very likely the hospital’s number. I scan through Jimmy’s increasingly panicked then calm texts without responding to the nurse.
“Mr. Webster?” she asks, a note of irritation creeping into her voice.
I tear my eyes away from my phone screen. My hands clench white and my arms are suddenly insanely heavy. My torso is hollow. “Yes. Sorry. I’m in Chicago. Like, I live in Chicago so I need to fly up. But he’s okay, right?”
Line two rings on my desk phone—startling me—and I know it means the superintendent has arrived. My head spins and I lean forward, scrunching into myself and trying to resist the urge to collapse even though I’m sitting. A few moments later I have wrapped up my conversation with the nurse and managed to write down the relevant information on the back of a deli receipt on my desk. I’m about to return one of Jimmy’s dozen calls when Marc blusters into my office, eyes wild.
“Uh, David?” his voice is shrill, and it’s one of the first times I have ever seen him look so irritated.
“I know. She’s here, right?”
“Yes!” he hisses, running his slender fingers through his perfectly messy dark hair. I notice he’s even wearing a tie today. A nice touch for the meeting, I think, and I smile to myself.
“My dad had a stroke,” I say softly. Repeating the information I was told makes my stomach twist sharply and a wave of nausea rolls over me.
The irritation drains from Marc’s face and he quickly crosses over to my desk. “Shit. David, when? Why didn’t you call me?” His groomed eyebrows are raised, earnest.
“I just got the call here… You know, my phone was off.”
Marc groans. “You and your stupid phone thing. I knew it was going to be a problem someday.” He claps a hand over his mouth. “And I’m nagging you right after you found out your dad’s sick.” He paces my small office, from the wall plastered with my calendar and some framed landscapes to the window overlooking Millennium Park. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll take care of the meeting. Call, well normally I would say call me…but Vic can handle booking you a flight to New York. You should be able to take leave for this.” He runs his fingers over his lips, leaning back against the window. I know his mind is vibrating at its highest frequency. “Lane and Nisa and I can handle everything for a few days or whatever you need. Go, David.”


NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo


Meet the Author:

KD Fisher is a queer New England-based writer of authentic, heartfelt LGBTQ+ narratives. KD grew up all over the United States, bouncing from North Carolina to HawaiĘ»i to Illinois, and finally settling in Maine where she spends far too much time at the beach. When KD isn’t writing, she can usually be found hiking with her overly enthusiastic dog, obsessing over plants, or cooking elaborate meals. She loves classic country, perfectly ripe tomatoes, and falling asleep in the sun.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest


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review 2019-08-21 08:30
New Release Blitz - Hitting Black Ice
Title: Hitting Black Ice
Series: Heart and Haven, Book One
Author: Heloise West
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: August 19. 2019
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 75100
Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, FBI, double agents, action/suspense, medical profession, action, suspense, theft, gay

Add to Goodreads





Shawn is on the run from the law and love, to protect himself and anyone else involved. Until he meets Hunter, and he no longer wants to run.

ER physician’s assistant Hunter guards his heart carefully, but that doesn’t stop him from falling for the temp front desk clerk. He keeps his distance from relationships for a good reason but just can’t help himself when it comes to Shawn.

Forced into a hostage situation, buried passions explode in the aftermath, and sex in the supply closet brings both their hearts back to life. But as they explore their relationship, the past catches up with Shawn.

FBI agent Nick Truman has finally found his man, and when Shawn escapes, he focuses his attention on Hunter. Will Shawn sacrifice himself to save Hunter from the man who framed him for murder?





Hitting Black IceHitting Black Ice by Heloise West
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Hunter & Shawn work at the same hospital. They admire one another from afar. After tragedy strikes, they have a moment full of passion. Hunter finds he cannot resist Shawn.

Shawn is on the run. He tried to have the law help him, but what he found out is that he has to help himself. He never wanted to involve Hunter, but resisting him is no possible.

This was kind of a slow burn, with bursts of heat. It had a good mystery, and the pace is steady. I liked the characters and hope to see more of them in this new Heart And Haven series.

***This copy was given in exchange for an honest review only.

View all my reviews





Hitting Black Ice
Heloise West © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Hunter had a crush, a big one.

In the cafeteria late one night on his break at the hospital, he sipped at a coffee and focused on Shawn, the night desk clerk for the ER, sitting a few tables over. With long black hair tied back neatly and eyes of faded denim blue, Shawn had a lean body, his face long and bony. Tonight, he wore a brown turtleneck under a white-and-green-striped button-down. The rolled sleeves revealed muscled forearms dusted with golden hair, as mismatched to the dyed black hair as his pale eyebrows and lashes. A silver skull ring and silver studs in his ears appeared at odds with the lanyard and dangling ID card.

Hunter drank more coffee, barely tasting it. He’d tried to talk himself out of it, but he couldn’t squirm away from the attraction. When he’d walked past the registration desk to the water cooler—again—or hung out there a moment too long with an empty clipboard in his hands, he caught those tiny flicks of interest in Shawn’s eyes. Hunter must have given away his interest, because the nurses smirked at his pretended obliviousness.

He bent to the not-very-engrossing crossword in the newspaper, imagining what tattoo might lie beneath Shawn’s cool demeanor. Maybe gargoyle wings across a broad and muscled back, or a snake wrapped around his thigh. Something more esoteric—a phrase in Latin, like Hunter’s own primum non nocere, or a bit of wisdom in Chinese characters. Or an old-school Aerosmith tat? Hunter glanced up from filling in the little squares with black ink blocks. He could have sworn Shawn hurriedly dropped his attention down to the paperback in his hands. He turned the page and shot a second glance at Hunter. Gazes locked and jumped away.


Heat rushed through Hunter all at once and climbed up to his face. Too aware of the black-haired man with biceps to die for and long legs to—well, never mind. Taking a boner back to the ER was not a good idea.

He had touched those biceps once when he gave Shawn a flu shot back in the fall. Shawn had taken the needle without a flinch.

Shawn stood with his tray in hand and walked toward the trash container behind Hunter. The back of his neck prickled as if Shawn breathed on the little hairs there. Hunter picked up his coffee cup once more but tasted only the dregs.

Good thing he’d decided to become a physician’s assistant and not an actor. He didn’t talk to Shawn unless he had to, the worst giveaway of all. No shy bones in his body, yet he feared conversation led to more conversation, to flirting, and the next thing he knew, they’d be going on a date, Hunter falling head over heels, and then the asshole—

Stop. You know how the story ends.

Behind him, Shawn cleared his throat. Hunter didn’t turn around. Shawn returned to his seat, picked up the paperback, and slumped down into the chair with a scowl.

Marisa slipped into the seat across the table from Hunter, and he smiled.

“I’m onto you,” she whispered.

“Uh-huh.” Hunter moved his body slightly so he could still see Shawn around her.

“You’ve been taking late lunch for three weeks now. I know why—or who.” She smiled, a small Hispanic woman with curly chestnut hair framing her heart-shaped face and hazel eyes. If Hunter weren’t himself, and she weren’t married, he thought he’d be with her. Her lips always gleamed with gloss, and her eyes snapped with fire when she got pissy. He loved it, most days, even when she aimed for him.

She leaned toward him. “Shawn, right?” Her eyes took on a warning snap now and dared him to contradict her.

“I don’t even know if he’s gay.” Which wasn’t true, but he knew better than to deny it to her face.

She sipped at her coffee with her gaze on him. Her mouth left lipstick smiles on the rim of the cup. “There’s something different about this one. And he’s lovely to look at.”

“Lovely.” Hunter snorted. Dead sexy Shawn. Hunter spied him out at the clubs twice now but avoided him there too. Shawn undulated like liquid fire across the dance floor.

“Talk to him, honey.”

“Please. Don’t.” He must have spoken louder than he meant to. Shawn glanced at them and away again.

“You’re letting Jerry’s death run your life.”

Hunter slapped the magazine down. “I’m too sober for this conversation.”

“It’s like he’s locked your heart away.”

Mindful of the potential audience, he lowered his voice. “You’re jumping way ahead here.”

She shook her head. “I know you. You have so much love to give, and I hate to see you suffer.”

Her probing questions about Hunter’s past, family, present situation were all familiar ground. Friendship he could manage; he recognized it when it was offered to him. He’d been out since he was nine. Always been out was what he told people. She was one of the few friends to whom he could confide nearly everything. Jerry’s addictions had killed him, but his family and friends blamed Hunter, and on a deeper emotional level, he blamed himself too. Marisa knew this, and it worried her. She wanted him to find love and move on, be part of a couple. She knew, but she didn’t understand.

He wasn’t abstinent now, not at twenty-five, and never got involved with anyone beyond one- and two-night stands. Hunter didn’t want to take responsibility for another heart.

When the tide of emotion and memory washed through him and left him able to speak again, he said, “I’m not suffering here.” He kept much of the darkness at bay with whiskey and anonymous sex. Who needed Prozac with a warm, muscled body in the bed?

“Stagnating,” Marisa said.

“Maintaining.” It had been a far prettier day in May, eight months ago now, when he walked out of the ER at Boston General to Jerry waiting for him in the parking lot with a gun.

“Ask him out on a date. An old-fashioned date where, at the end of the night, you kiss him good night.”


“Don’t get angry.” She patted his hand.

He whipped it away. “Too late.”

Marisa sighed. “I’ll make it up to you. Toni, Anna, and I are going to Twisters tonight. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Hunter gathered up his tray. He liked the ER crowd. They always had fun when they got together in off-work hours, and he agreed to meet her at Twisters before hitting the clubs.

When his shift was over early in the morning, he drove back to his apartment and crawled into bed as the day glowed behind the blackout curtains. The end of the week had left him exhausted, and his sleep was blessedly dreamless.




NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo




Meet the Author:


Heloise West, when not hunched over the keyboard plotting love and mayhem, dreams about moving to a villa in Tuscany. She loves history, mysteries, and romance. She travels and gardens with her partner of fifteen years, and their home overflows with books, cats, art, and red wine. Find Heloise on Facebook.




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review 2019-08-20 06:54
Hitting Black Ice - Heloise West

Hunter & Shawn work at the same hospital.  They admire one another from afar.  After tragedy strikes, they have a moment full of passion.  Hunter finds he cannot resist Shawn.


Shawn is on the run.  He tried to have the law help him, but what he found out is that he has to help himself.  He never wanted to involve Hunter, but resisting him is no possible.


This was kind of a slow burn, with bursts of heat.  It had a good mystery, and the pace is steady.  I liked the characters and hope to see more of them in this new Heart And Haven series.  I give this a 3/5 Kitty's Paws UP!



***This copy was given in exchange for an honest review only.

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review 2019-07-16 07:10
New Release Blitz - Bumper To Bumper


Title: Bumper to Bumper

Author: Gretchen Evans

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: July 15, 2019

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 19300

Genre: Contemporary, age gap, contemporary, dirty talk, gay, hookup app

Add to Goodreads






Gabe is bored with hookup culture. He’s in his thirties and wants something more stable. But sitting in traffic is even more boring. He expects more of the same tired, headless torsos when he swipes open Cruised, the most popular hookup app for men, during his morning commute. Instead, he meets Mark. Mark is handsome, funny, and interested in conversation. He’s also interested in meeting Gabe in coffee shop bathrooms for quickies on the way to work.


Mark doesn’t rush out of the room after sex either. He’s tender and sweet, and way more than Gabe had hoped for. The sex is hot, but the connection between Gabe and Mark is something deeper. Gabe’s feelings grow each time he and Mark text, but seeing an attractive woman driving Mark’s car stops Gabe cold. He doesn’t want to hookup with a cheater. He doesn’t want to stop seeing Mark either. But could it all be a misunderstanding? Gabe knows nothing about Mark’s life or how to negotiate a hookup into something more. Does Mark want something more, or is he already taken?





Bumper to Bumper

Gretchen Evans © 2019

All Rights Reserved


Gabe’s car lurched as he stomped on the brake. His bumper stopped inches from the expensive-looking sedan in front of him. He was going to be late. Again. He groaned and let his forehead rest on the steering wheel.


The traffic on I-40 was terrible. Every day it seemed to get worse. It was also unpredictable. Some days, his twelve-mile commute to the office took fifteen minutes. Other days, it took forty-five. It was impossible to tell which it would be before hitting the on-ramp.


At least he wasn’t the only one suffering like this. He spent so much time sitting in traffic during morning rush hour that he recognized a lot of the cars around him. It was a strange camaraderie. There was the middle-aged lady in the tiny hatchback whose hair color changed every week. The old hippy in a political-bumper-sticker-covered hybrid always rode in the left lane, even when traffic cleared up. The white luxury SUV driven by the angry twentysomething blonde only showed up some days, but she had passed him on the shoulder first thing this morning. He did his best to ignore the giant red truck with gun and Confederate flag stickers that always cut in front of him.


He moved ahead a few feet but stopped almost immediately. The car behind him swerved onto the shoulder to avoid rear-ending him. If someone hit him, he’d at least have a good excuse to give to his boss. But there was no way his twenty-year-old, hand-me-down car would survive.


Gabe gave up dreams of getting into a minor fender bender and inched ahead again. There must have already been an accident up ahead. Traffic was always slow, but it wasn’t usually this bad.


Sure enough, a fire truck and police car zoomed past on the shoulder. Great.


He picked up his phone to text his work wife he’d be late. He’d done that a lot lately, so she was a pro at covering for him. Maggie was great to have around but definitely the only type of wife he was ever going to have. She dodged traffic by taking backroads to the office, so Gabe didn’t feel too bad getting her to cover his ass. Her idyllic suburban lifestyle could support his terrible commute.


Maybe Miss Impatient in the SUV was the cause of whatever had them all trapped here. Gabe was annoyed enough to smile at that uncharitable thought.


Text sent, and he was still sitting at a dead stop. There was no harm in using your phone in the car if you weren’t actually driving, right? The highway was basically a parking lot right now.


Gabe tapped open Cruised, the hookup app he’d had the most luck with in the past.


Not that he’d had much luck. In quantity, sure, he’d had lots of luck. Gotten hella lucky. But in terms of quality? Nah. It was a desert of huge cocks with no brains attached out there. But, it couldn’t hurt to look. Looking was pretty much all he did these days, but it was nice to see some headless torsos and dick pics. Better than trying to figure out what the specialty license plate in the lane next to him meant.


He thumbed through profiles, most of which he’d seen before. It didn’t seem to matter if he was checking at home, work, or in the club, it was always a collection of the same tired old faces. Or not-faces. As frustrating and predictable as morning traffic. He glanced away from his phone to cover a few feet of space left open by a car switching to a moving lane. Why was the lane next to him always moving?


His phone buzzed in his hand—a surprise. No one ever messaged him first. Well, some guys did but no one he wanted to respond to. The message wasn’t from a name he recognized either.




That had promise. He swiped the message open.




That had…less promise. But at least it wasn’t a dick pic right away. And he’d managed to spell out “hello.”


Hi, Gabe tapped out as he crawled forward. He kept one eye on his phone and the other on the bumper in front of him.


The response came back immediately. Maybe everything seemed instantaneous when Gabe was traveling along at less than five miles an hour.


Your pictures make you look attractive.


Was that a neg? thats bc i am attractive


Your pictures make you look VERY attractive.


Damn right Gabe’s pictures made him look attractive. He’d spent a long time taking the perfect selfie to highlight his dark eyes and scoured through old text messages to find a shot of him at the beach to show off how his light-brown skin shone in the sun. It helped that the clearly defined abs he’d once had were on display too. Gabe tapped over to his mystery man’s profile but didn’t find anything other than the stranger’s picture. No preferences, or kinks, or anything.


Even his picture was just his head and shoulders, turned slightly away from the camera but not fully in profile. And with the sun shining directly behind him so everything was in shadow. The only things easily seen were the outline of his jaw and the clean-cut lines of his hair, but that was it. Very artistic, but not very illuminating.


your picture doesn’t make you look like anything


A little snide, perhaps, but these conversations never went anywhere. SilverFoxxx would eventually ask for a dick pic, Gabe would say no, and that would be the end of it. Or he would skip straight to asking to meet up for a fuck. Gabe might say yes, but he always ended up disappointed.


He was reaching the point where meaningless hookups weren’t doing it for him anymore. Even if the sex was good, it left him strangely listless afterward.


Maggie would say that was what happened when you turned thirty, and Gabe would tell her to take her soccer mom ass back to the suburbs and shut up about it.


That didn’t mean she was wrong, though.


His phone buzzed again.


I value discretion.


Was this guy a robot? Who said stuff like that? Who texted in full sentences?


Traffic started to clear a bit, and Gabe was able to get up to nearly twenty miles an hour. It was exhilarating but short-lived. They slowed back to a crawl less than a quarter mile later. He was going to be very late.


With his foot firmly on the brake and nothing else to do, Gabe turned back to his phone. SilverFoxxx’s last message continued to glow up at him. It was too tempting to ignore.


a hookup app isn’t for u if u want to be discreet


He should have spelled out you. SilverFoxxx probably thought he was an idiot. Ordinarily, Gabe didn’t care about stuff like that, especially from randos on Cruised, but this time, he was anxious. He stared at his phone until the car behind him laid on the horn.


Gabe crawled two car lengths forward but stopped again. Lights flashed on the left shoulder ahead of him. Hopefully, traffic would clear after this accident, and he could get to work.


The vibration of his phone in his hand sent a little thrill down his spine. Traffic was trickling forward, so Gabe glanced back and forth between his phone and the road.


But it’s convenient. What are you here for?


Gabe wasn’t sure what to say. He could be flirty. Or more than flirty and jump to the next predictable step. Or he could be honest.


not sure. mostly bored in traffic


Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to text and drive?


There was no hint of tone, but Gabe smiled anyway. Deep, rich, and sardonic—this guy’s voice was already in his head. So Gabe’s type. Obviously, he wasn’t stretching. Not at all. SilverFoxxx sounded like he was teasing.


im rebelious


I bet you are.


Gabe’s grin grew wider. This was fun. No gross comments or pushy requests yet. It was like SilverFoxxx could actually hold a conversation.


His phone buzzed again before he was able to think of a response.


Traffic is clearing up.


Gabe checked the location information. It seemed like SilverFoxxx was closer than he’d been before.


are u texting and driving too?


Gabe skidded all the way into the work parking lot looking for a response that never came.




NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo




Bumper to Bumper (Cruised, #1)Bumper to Bumper by Gretchen Evans
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Gabe is sick of the long boring commute to work. He is also sick and tired of hook ups that go no where. Trying one app just one more time he hits the proverbial jackpot. Now all he has to do is convince Mark he is worth taking the chance.

Mark is very attracted to Gabe and he is not afraid to show it. He finds the best locations to meet up and make sure to get alone time with the amazing Gabe. The only catch here is he really wants to take it to be something more. Is it time to try?

This short story is a sweet tickle of hotness. The book itself may be small, but the content is still very HOT! Nice treat for any avid romance reader.

***This early copy was given in exchange for an honest review.

View all my reviews 








Meet the Author:


Gretchen Evans is a bisexual, cis woman living with her partner in North Carolina. Her day job involves figuring out the best way to ask people questions they don’t want to answer. In the evenings, she does hot yoga and watches any TV show that can be read as queer-coded. She only drinks beer disguised as root beer and her perfect Sunday involves half listening to an NFL game as she reads a book. She plans to continue writing queer romance with engaging characters, sexy times, and feelings. You can find Gretchen on Twitter.





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