C.F. White's Blog, page 3

With just over one week to go until Leap of Faith goes live, here’s your chance to read the first chapter before release day.

Chapter One
Dismount

“You need to face up to things. Youscrewed up.”

Thosewords burned Charlie like an infection. Even though his ear buds drowned outthe external revving from the airplane engine as it prepared for take-off,those taunting words echoed through his mind and suffocated him far more thanthe packed cabin of Ryanair’s Boeing 737.

Rampingthe volume up on his playlist, he settled back and waited for the flight totake him home. Or away. The cabinshook, vibrating Charlie’s seat as the wheels screamed on tarmac. He had nodesire to watch the ascension. It’s why he’d opted for the end seat and not thewindow one that he’d pre-paid for. He’d happily given that up to the toddlerwho’d bounced down the aisle in excitable delight and had stopped with a poutat his row on realising he didn’t have the best seat in the house. Good luck tothe kid. It would only pain Charlie more to have to see Birmingham—moreimportantly Loughborough—disappear into the distance.

Sohe focused on the music in his ears as the plane lifted from the ground andtore into clouds. Goodbye England.

“Maybe they’ll forgive you for next time.”Coach Fergal’s voice wouldn’t fade even with the rock music blaring from hisplaylist, nor the passenger beside him crunching through peanuts and laughingat his tablet screen whilst ignoring his child’s pleas to watch the miniatureworld below.

“Thepeople are like ants, Daddy!” the child said, shaking his father’s arm. “I wantto fly in the clouds forever!”

Charliesqueezed his eyes shut. Poor kid. He didn’t yet know that all dreams came to acrashing end.

Hopefully not his plane with thepassengers still on it.

“That’sgreat, Bobby. Keep watching.” The dad turned up the volume on his tablet andchuckled away to his comedy show on catch-up. Charlie thought the bloke mightwant to share in his kid’s excitement. But Charlie shouldn’t comment. His father had been as apathetic abouthis birth and life thereon. And he’d turned out okay.

Onsecond thoughts, this journey home proved he hadn’t.

Anhour later, the plane bumped down at Jersey airport. The child in the windowseat was as excited about that as he had been for take-off. The father still asindifferent. Charlie kept his buds in as the plane parked up and he was thefirst out of his seat to drag his sports bag from the hold above.

Hecaught the little kid’s eye. “Good spot?”

“Itwas sick! Thank you!”

Charliesmiled, and gave him a wink. The kid’s gaze trailed to the chest stitching onhis tracksuit jacket. Jaw dropping, he thumped his dad beside him but Charliewas long gone before the man could peer up from his screen.

Thelast thing he needed was thatconversation.

Hewaited, impatiently, behind the queue of tourists lining up to vacate the cabinand start their holiday. There were a few Channel Island commuters decked outin suits on their way home from their offices—an hour flight from Jersey to Englandwas worth the best of both worlds for some. Charlie couldn’t understand thatlife. How did they ever know if they were coming or going?

Thedoors opened, and Charlie strode out onto the metal steps, squinting up at theblaring sun that should have been dipping down into the horizon rather thanbeaming on him like an interrogation spotlight. It was as though it was homingin on him with a sly tut and the words of, well, well, well, look what Ryanair dragged home.

“Fuckoff,” Charlie muttered under his breath.

“Excuse moi?” The elegantly thin woman infront twisted to face him, a scowl crossing her thin lips and her to-die-forcheekbones sharpening.

Realisinghe hadn’t cursed as under his breath as he’d thought, Charlie fiddled with hisphone to switch off his music.

“Pardon.” He’d replied in French as itwas clear this madame was from thatside of the island. Or visiting that side. “Jene vous parlais pas,” he said. Because it was true. He hadn’t been talkingto her. He’d been talking to the sun that hadn’t burned his face as much as hisfaux pas had.

Thewoman flicked her dark plaited hair over her shoulder, then twisted back tohelp her toddler down the steps of the aircraft, marching court-shoe heelsacross tarmac. Charlie sighed. The sun tutted and offered him a welcome home inthe form of sweat patches forming under his armpits on the base layer he worebeneath his team tracksuit. He’d forgotten how warm Jersey was in the height ofsummer. Even at nine p.m.

Withoutany baggage apart from his sports holdall, Charlie was able to speed througharrivals and passport control, finding himself exiting the terminal and in thetaxi queue faster than any other passenger. He should have jumped on the busand saved the limited cash he had left from his student loan, as it would haveto last a while, but the thought of clambering on that shuttle, packed in withthe tourists, wasn’t so appealing anymore. He’d have to keep the titbits oflocal islander info to himself this time.

I’m more a visitor myself these days. 

Thetaxi cruised to the front and the driver nodded for him to get in. As Charliewent to open the back door, his fingers shook, pain searing through to hiswrist and he sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. He almost kicked thealloy wheels in frustration, but the driver’s narrowed eyes prevented him fromhaving to use even more of his loaned cash for damages. So he used his lefthand instead, and shouldered the passenger door open. The driver watched himthrough the rear-view mirror. Seasoned cabbie. He could tell the locals fromthose who’d need his welcoming chauffeur service in order to secure a largertip.

“Whereto?” the cabbie asked, flicking on the air conditioning. The sudden blast ofcool breeze ruffled the tufts of spiralling curls that Charlie had meant to getcut into a short back and sides ready for—

“StHelier,” he replied to cut his thoughts off instead. He no longer had to worryabout hair in his eyes. He had to worry about what waited for him at the end ofthis journey. “Drop me at the Pomme d’Or.” Maybe he could catch up with Joshbefore having to face the wrath that was his mother? As much as his mum gavegreat hugs, she would also be exceptionally disappointed in him. And want toknow his plans.

So would I.

He’dbetter come up with something before he dumped all his problems on his mum whoalready had a ton of her own. Josh might be able to help with that. If hewasn’t still chasing skirt in the form of the visiting French girls.

Slumpinghis chin into his hand, he watched his homeland out of the back-passengerwindow during the drive down Beaumont, to the seafront where the sun dipped andmelted into the sea. He’d missed the sea. And the beach. It had been his placeto escape to when things had got too much. But coming home was hard. And ittightened his chest ever more when the sixteenth-century fortress of ElizabethCastle came into view, the tide high and waves sloshing around that focal pointboth waving and dragging him closer. A few hours ago, he couldn’t think ofanywhere other than home to go to, but now he was here, the anxiety weighedheavy in his gut at having to admit to the whole waiting island as to what hadcaused this tail-between-the-legs moment.

Hisfingers cramped and he winced. At leastthe shaking has stopped. Ignoring the fleeting concern from the driverthrough the rear-view mirror, he pulled out the roll of fabric tape from hisbag and strapped his fingers together. He should have seen the doc about them.Except, he no longer had access to those perks. He had to treat his owninjuries how he saw fit. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had the shakingbefore. He was on his own now. He could make his own bad decisions. Nouniversity behind him. No trained professionals. No team. There was just him.

Alone.

Ona different path.

Onehe had no idea where it led. 

Thecab pulled up to the layby at the front of the hotel and Charlie handed overhis English cash to the driver. The man returned a few Jersey notes, which madeCharlie breathe out a melancholic sigh. He pocketed the money, grabbed his bagand bundled out of the taxi. Glancing up at the Pomme D’Or and its iconicgrey-stone entrance, his eyes stung. But he couldn’t blame that on the sun asit had now vanished to make way for dusk and the only lights blinking were fromthe Yacht marina opposite. The car drove off, making way for the sounds of hometo grip him harder—the trickling water from the fountain monument, the lowdrones of chatter and the clinking of glasses from the packed out al-frescodiners surrounding Liberation Square. Along with that unrelenting flick andwhoosh of a revolving door.

Grippinghis bag handles, Charlie jogged up the front steps and into the hotel’s foyer.It was relatively quiet for a summer’s evening. The bar only had a handful ofcustomers inside and the lone receptionist was busy tapping on a tablet screen.Not exactly the grand welcome home that he’d expected when he should have beenreturning in three months’ time.

Won’t ever happen now.

“Hey.”He slipped his elbow on the reception counter, leaning toward the red-hairedgirl he didn’t recognise and attempted an authentic smile he didn’t feel. “IsJosh working tonight?”

Browneyes regarded him, and a petulant curl of lips followed as the girl returned toacknowledge her computer screen instead. “Joshua?” she questioned in that voicethat said she knew exactly who Charlie had been referring to. “Gallichan?”

“That’sright.” Charlie slid away from the desk. “Works here. Concierge?”

Sheglanced up, her red hair not the only fiery thing about her. “I know who heis.”

Right.She clearly did know Josh. Like allthe visiting tourist girls did. Typical.

“He’sworking the bar.” She raised her chin in indication of the bar opposite, gazenot leaving her screen.

“Thankyou.”

Shedidn’t reply, so Charlie sauntered off and nipped farther into the hotel. Ithad been a while, but some things never changed. And the mostly glass frontedbar with black tables and stools, with the deep brown distressed leather sofasadding to the ambiance of a small but cosy hotel cocktail bar, was one of them.Especially when Charlie set eyes on the man serving the drinks.

Joshleaned forward on his elbows, laughing with a couple of customers at the end ofthe curved counter. Charlie gave him a moment. He was working the charm. Andthe American couple were transfixed on whatever tale Joshua would be regalingthem with this time. So Charlie dumped his bag beside a stool, sat andlistened.

“Bewith you in one second, sir…” Josh threw over to him, then returned hisattention back to the couple. “As I was saying, this hotel was the base for theGermans during the occupation…” His smooth, amiable voice pervaded over thecounter and he glanced back to Charlie as if checking his eyes hadn’t deceivedhim. He then stopped, mid-sentence. Stood straighter. And did a double take.

Charlietilted his neck and gave a wry smile that might as well have been a, ta da!

Josh’ssmile lit up his boyish features. Slamming his hands on his hips, he shook hishead as if in disbelief. He looked good in that uniform. Not that Charlie wouldever admit that to his very heterosexual best friend. It might ruin theirtwenty years thick-as-thieves friendship. But those figure-hugging blacktrousers, translucent-thin white shirt and silken black waistcoat clung toJosh’s slender frame like a second skin. The whole ensemble made him appearmore sophisticated than his bellboy outfit had. More mature. Charlie had athing for men in uniform. Mature menin uniform. Costumes too. Because some costumes were uniform.

Sore subject.

“CharlieAvrill,” Josh breathed out, his cheeks indenting dimples from his wideninggrin. “I was just telling this couple about you.” He indicated to the man and womannow studying him with anticipation and stirring straws in the cocktails thatJosh had no doubt mixed to perfection. “Darlene, Cody.” Josh gestured towardCharlie. “Meet the island’s star athlete. He’ll be bringing home the gold onthe horizontal bar, the rings and whatever else there is in the Olympiccategory of gymnastics.”

Josh’sannouncement oozed a pride that Charlie couldn’t bear. Nor did he want to seethe impressed gawps from the American couple. So he hung his head and staredforlornly at the gleaming wooden bar surface.

“Shouldn’tyou be on your way to Rio right now?” Josh asked.

Charliecouldn’t put it off any longer and he swallowed his pride when he said, “Notthis year, my friend. Not this year.” He gave a sad smile to the couple, then settledhis gaze on his old friend.

Josh’ssmile faded. Gone was the pride, the steadfast devotion and seeping to thesurface was the rotten disappointment. He obviously didn’t know whether heshould jump at Charlie and demand an explanation or to continue charming thepants off the tourists in the hope of the extra tip he’d just lost. Strangely,or perhaps not so strangely, he chose the former and, chucking the bar towelover his shoulder, he slipped closer to Charlie.

“Whathappened?” Josh asked, letting the Americans continue their vacation alone.

“Idon’t really want to talk about it.”

“Isthis a joke?”

Charlielaughed, albeit strangled. “Sadly not.”

Josh’sshoulders deflated and he tilted his neck. “Mate, I’m so sorry.”

“Notas much as I am.”

“Doesyour mum know?”

“Notyet. I needed to work my way up to that.” Charlie angled his head to theAmericans. “Guess I can’t be your claim to fame and the island’s notable figureanymore.”

CatchingCharlie completely unawares, and in stark contrast to his previous sympathy,Josh punched Charlie on the shoulder. He toppled back on the stool, grabbingthe gleaming gold bar that ran the length of the surface to prevent his tumbleto the floor.

“Don’tbe daft, mate,” Josh said. “I have a ton more claims to fame to use. So, you’reback? For good?”

“Summerbreak. After that? Don’t know. I’m not even sure Loughborough will take meback.”

“Charlie…”Josh clucked his tongue. “What did you do?”

“SomethingI shouldn’t. Let’s leave that there.”

Joshheaved in a vexed breath, then seemed to shake free the disappointment andmerged into the Josh Charlie had come to seek out when he said, “So I got youfor the summer vacay?” He slapped the bar counter. “Could use a wingman for thedarlings heading this way.”

Charliepeered out to the foyer. “I see you’re doing fine without me.” He tried to getthe jealousy out of his voice. He’d long abandoned the idea that Josh mightswing his way eventually.

Joshfollowed his line of sight. “Ah. Ivy.” He winced. “I didn’t call herafter…well, y’know. Apparently, there’s a cut off. Did you know that? You’vegot, like, three days to return a text before you’re toast.”

“Threedays, huh?”

Joshshrugged. “Work like that for your lot?”

By‘your lot’, Josh had meant gay. It was his way of separating the them and us.The Charlie from Josh.

“Notreally.” Charlie shrugged. “Not that I’d know.”

“Ha.I’ll bet you get enough attention with that arse.”

Charlienarrowed his eyes. “Get me a beer.”

“Aren’tyou gonna check in with your mum first?”

Charliehoped his glare was enough to tell Josh what he could do with that statement.Stick it up his not-so-pert-through-years-of-strength-and-muscle-training-arse.

“Allright.” Josh pulled a glass from the rack and poured a pint of Amstel from thetaps. “So what’s the plan?” he said after dumping the cool, crisp pint in frontof Charlie.

Charlielicked his lips. He hadn’t had a drink in months. Wrapping his uninjuredfingers around the glass, he knew right then what his immediate plan was. So heanswered Josh with all heartfelt conviction when he said,

“I’mgoing to drink this. Then another one. Then I might move onto somethingstronger.”

“Andafter that?”

Charlie heaved in a deep breath. “Not a fucking clue.”

Pre Order Now

Sometimes all you need is a little push.

Running from his shattered gymnastics career, Charlie Avrill’s one hope for redemption is the strange and colourful world of the circus. His skills should make him a good fit for seasoned performer, Darius Lungu. But Darius won’t compromise his high stakes act for just anyone.

Still mourning the loss of his performance partner who unexpectedly abandoned the show, Darius’s heart can’t take another temporary filler. No matter how perfect Charlie might seem at first glance. But the circus is dying, and Darius owes his bosses a stellar act to sell.

Putting their differences aside to recreate the star attraction, Darius and Charlie grow closer with each rehearsal. But Charlie’s only in the ring for a one-night-only performance and the circus is due at its next stop—off the island and into Europe.

Can Charlie push aside his fears and take the leap of faith to change his entire life? And, if he does, will Darius still be there to catch him?

Leap of Faith is a standalone age-gap, enemies to lovers, mm romance where the twists and turns don’t only happen in the ring. 

OUT 31/03/21

I’ve just hit approve on the audio version of Fade to Blank (London Lies 1) so it’ll be coming to Audible very soon!

Fancy a little teaser? Well, here you go…

Accused of a murder he didn’t commit, vilified celebrity Jackson Young enlists the help of a rookie journalist to clear his name and write his biography.

Jackson has a secret though. One he must keep from becoming public. But Fletcher’s dreamy green eyes, Irish drawl and effortless charm makes it hard to suppress those long-buried feelings, even if it could compromise his innocence.

Uncovering the murky past behind Jackson’s rise to fame, Fletcher grows closer to a man he’d once declared as talentless and their intense attraction starts to affect not only his professional integrity, but the life he’d made since moving to London.

Falling for the subject of his book could be fatal for Fletcher, and Jackson should know better than to trust a journalist.

Fade to Blank is the first book in the London Lies trilogy set in 1999 and is a slow burn, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort romantic suspense.

Add it to your TBL now!

Fade to Blank, the first book in my new romantic suspense trilogy will be out on 27 July 2020 but you can be the first to receive your copy by pre-ordering from Amazon now.

Order Now




Accused of a murder he didn’t commit, vilified celebrity Jackson Young enlists the help of rookie journalist, Fletcher Doherty, to clear his name and write his biography.

Jackson has a secret though. One he must keep from becoming public. But Fletcher’s dreamy green eyes, Irish drawl and effortless charm makes it hard to suppress those long-buried feelings, even if it could compromise his innocence.

Uncovering the murky past behind Jackson’s rise to fame, Fletcher grows closer to a man he’d once declared as talentless and their intense attraction starts to affect not only his professional integrity, but the life he’d made since moving to London.

Falling for the subject of his book could be fatal for Fletcher, and Jackson should know better than to trust a journalist.

Fade to Blank is the first book in the London Lies trilogy set in 1999 and is a slow burn, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort romantic suspense.

Read on for a snippet of the first chapter.

Or, if you’re more of a listening person, scroll down to hear the sample read by the ever-talented audio-book narrator Piers Ryman!

(Audio to follow soon).

Chapter One
Released

1999

Jackson Young was no more.

The bell signified the end of that life when it shrieked yet another
first command for the day. It didn’t rise in steady increments for a gentle
awakening. It drilled through his skull with maximum intensity. Loud.
Demanding. Angry. Like most of the other inmates at HMP Flaymore.

Jackson wondered, for all of the four seconds he now had to emerge from
the uncomfortable plastic cot and walk to the door, if he’d ever get used to
being woken with such brutality. He hoped not. That would be admitting defeat.
Not that he had much fight left in him. He’d become accustomed to believing
that this was it. This was his life as he now knew it.

Not life, existence.

With the signal impaling his brain, he ripped the standard itchy grey
cotton blanket from his pale and dilapidated body. He was already dressed, as
he rarely bothered changing any more. There wasn’t any point. For someone who’d
been a style icon for nearly a decade, he was a sheep in the same standard grey
tracksuit as the mob he now mingled with. He no longer stood out.

Which was his only saving grace.

Settling his bare feet onto the cold concrete floor, he shuddered. Then,
as with all mornings, he shut himself off. He forgot his name. He forgot who he
had been before and sank into his numbed mind. It was the best approach to get
through the day.

The electronic lock clicked, a ripping buzz, and the metal door slid
open with a thud. He could smell freedom, or breakfast and recreation as the
schedule preferred it be known.

Six a.m. Every day. The same monotonous cycle. Considering the hundred
or so other men incarcerated at Flaymore had no train to catch, traffic to
battle with or school run to add congestion to, the early wakeup call had
nothing to do with the daily commute that motivated the rest of London to rise.
All jobs took place within the fifty acres of concrete. And there weren’t that
many available. None of them belonged to Jackson.

He had nothing but his thoughts to help him pass the time.

At the door, he slipped his bare feet into the standard plastic
flip-flops. Tired, cold and shit fucking scared all now hidden behind the mask
of indifference he’d become more accustomed to wearing a darn sight better than
the grey tracksuit.

The deep bellow from the guard bounced off the thick walls and jolted
the wing to life. The only debilitating life that the men all shuffling out
from their cages would have for the foreseeable. Jackson inhaled a deep and
unnoticeable breath before stepping over the yellow line and joining the
onslaught of inmates along the second-floor corridor, down the metal steps and
toward the dining hall.

The silence was unbearable. No one talked on the descent, so when
Jackson reached the breakfast room, the boisterous chatter thundered in his
ears like fireworks. He ignored the whistles, the catcalls, and the groups who
huddled together to give him the death glare, and took his tray to the last
remaining vacant seat in the overcrowded hall. It was among the other misfits.
The crazies, the nutjobs, the ones who everyone else avoided. Jackson wasn’t
among type, of course, not yet. But he still gravitated toward their strange
safety net.

The porridge was cold and bland. He shovelled it in regardless. His
mouth was used to it and he swallowed it easier than the first few mornings
he’d been there, back when he’d thought this was all a horrible dream. Back
when he’d thought he’d be given a formal apology at any moment, maybe even
hefty compensation. Back when he’d thought truth outweighed vengeance.

Now he knew different. Now he forced down the breakfast offering,
heedless of how it clogged his throat to make him gag. He wouldn’t be given
anything else. He had no celebrity clout here. In fact, quite the opposite.
He’d been reprimanded too many times for not eating as it was. Going on hunger
strike hadn’t achieved his release. Those in charge at Flaymore were as
coercive as the convicts he shared his time with. The guards couldn’t let him
starve, though. They could let him rot in his own filth, but not starve.

Scraping the last spoonful, Jackson ignored the shadow looming over him.
It was a survival mechanism. Keep his head down, and eyes and hands to
himself. 

“Young.”

Jackson paused the spoon at his lips. He didn’t look up.

“Come with me.”

Order Here

February, 2013

“You!”
Seb pointed a frustrated finger at the quivering dark-haired lad who stood
centre stage. “Are not meant to be happy about this!”

The
kid opened his mouth to speak, wide kohl-lined eyes filling up with an amateur
fear that Seb wasn’t going to cave into this time. How much stage direction did
they need, for fuck’s sake?  

“You’re not meant to be smiling,” he continued, voice bouncing off the echoing acoustics. “It is a sombre moment. The point is to try not feeling anything. You want to be numb. You want all those conflicting, hurtful, gut wrenching emotions that are eating you up inside to stop. You want to fucking die!”

Silence imbued the Art House Theatre. The kid on stage did nothing but stare back, a slight nod of confirmation but also, maybe, perhaps, a slither of recognition and, Christ, pity. A few creaks of seats from behind in the stalls indicated that the others watching on were finding this confrontation a little awkward. But Seb needed authenticity. He had to lay his heart and soul on the line for this one. And this straight out of Guildhall quotation marks actor, hadn’t learned the first thing from reading the goddamn script. It was as though he’d skimmed read it on the District Line and filled the blanks in with ignorance.

Seb
slid his gaze to the other one hovering behind. The blond one. He offered up a
nervous smile that suggested he got it. He probably would. He was the better
actor. He’d been whipped out of Les Mis for this. Plus he looked like he would
know a thing or two about gut wrenching heartache.

“Right. Go again.” Seb waved a hand then leapt off the stage and into the first row. Slapping the middle seat down, he fell into it and snuggled in between Martin Chang and Noah Fitz. His band mates. The two thorns in his side. Or maybe his conscience. Both of their unease was noted in a quick exchange of glances over his head.

“Don’t
say it.” Seb huffed and folded his arms, his leather jacket rasping at the
seams.

“Should have paid out for professionals,” Noah did say it, slinking farther down into his seat as the stagehands above returned the set to the start of the scene.

Seb hung his head. “He looked the part, okay?”   

“Looks
aren’t everything—” Noah was then cut off by a loud clang from behind.

All three whipped around, peering over the back rests. Two children’s heads lurched up as they scrambled onto their seats in the back row of the stalls.

“Sorry, daddy!” the pig-tailed six-year-old in the middle held up an iPad. “It didn’t break this time!”

“All
right, sweetpea. Just be careful, yeah.” Noah widened those authoritarian
father eyes.

Seb
rolled his.

“Okay,
daddy!”

“And
you’re looking after your sister, aren’t you? Sharing and all that?”

The
girl nodded, although the bite of her pouting bottom lip suggested she wasn’t exactly
being truthful. Her four-year-old sister beside her was probably used to being cast
aside. Seb wouldn’t know. Nor understand. He hadn’t been brought up with
siblings. And he’d always been given everything he’d ever asked for.

Well,
almost.

Which reminded him—

He glared at Noah to hurry the fuck up.

Noah smiled, but it faded from his face when he hollered a quick, “Beth? Lottie?”

The
two girls peered up from behind the blinking screen. “Yes, daddy?” they called
back in a perfect unison fit for the acoustics in the closed off Art House theatre.

“Uncle Seb’s looking at me like he wants to rip that iPad from you and smash it over my head.” Noah popped a chewing gum into his mouth. “Dial it down, yeah?”

“Okay,
daddy.” Beth’s hushed whisper still trailed down to the front row and the volume
on the game she was playing faded to its lowest setting.

Noah
met Seb’s gaze once more. “All right?” he barked.

“On
all days. On all the effing days…”

“Can’t
help it, can I? Ann’s back at work.”

Seb
tsked. “Between those two and that one,” he nodded to the carry cot perched on
the seat beside Martin in which his baby slept covered in mounds and mounds of
blue blankets, “we might as well just call ourselves the Daddy Drop Offs.”

“Leah
needed a break,” Martin said, gently rocking the car seat. “He doesn’t sleep. Ever.”

“Except
to one of my songs sung by a kid who wouldn’t know emotion if it spat at him.”
Seb needed to get a handle on his temper. They didn’t have long left to rehearse
this and he’d needed his band mates here to help with the music, but their work
slash life balance wasn’t as one sided as Seb’s was.

“Sebastian,
darling!” Then that all-familiar, grating, New York accent travelled down from
the back seats to the front row and irritated him further.

Seb
pinched the bridge of his nose. This morning could not be going any worse. “Yes,
Sylvia?” he placated.

“Can
I just add a little insight here?” she asked, swishing her dark hair over her
shoulder as she sauntered down the left aisle toward the stage.

“No,
fuck off.”

Noah’s
two girls giggled behind him and Martin gasped, tucking the blanket around his
baby son’s ears as if four month old Rocky would be able to hear through his
snoring and decipher the curse to use as his first word.

“Darling,
you invited me to come take a look whilst I was here in London.” Sylvia stopped
beside the first row of seats, hands on her slender hips. “The least you can do
is respect my professional opinion on this.”

Dressed
in skinny jeans and a tucked-in floaty black top with her hair stylishly tousled,
Sylvia Ricci still radiated a youthful star-filled glow that was impressive for
a woman nearing her fifties. Seb’s mother defied aging. Unlike Seb, who had
noticed the few flecks of silver running through his dark hair that morning and
plucked them out in an attempt to pretend they had never existed.

“I
can handle this, Syvlia.” Seb clenched his jaw. “It’s my sodding show. Go be the
babysitter or something. Call it research for playing the part of a granny one
day.”

“Chance
would be a fine thing,” she said, rather poignantly.

Seb met her gaze, challenging and forcing down the retaliation that burned on his tongue.

“It’s
not like I’ll ever have the real thing, is it?” Sylvia sighed, ruffling a hand
through her hair.

“Because
your maternal instincts are just second to none, Sylvia.” Seb’s sarcasm could
have scraped the black paint of the walls.

“I
could have a second chance at that, couldn’t I. But no—”

“What
did you want to say about the performance?” Seb cut her off before she could be
the other mother figure in his life who yearned for something he couldn’t give
them.

It
wasn’t only his fault.

“Oh,
right, yes.” Sylvia bounced on her knee-high boots, radiating an excitable glow.
“If you want your two boys up there to really perform this scene, then you need
to explain the story to them. Let them get inside your head. They’re straight
out of acting school, darling, they can’t expect to know the depths of true
emotional anguish just yet. Wait ‘til they’re rejected a few more times for
being too fat, too skinny or too beautiful.”

“Mum,”
Seb warned, yet Sylvia smiled at the rare use of that word. Not that it meant much
to Seb, usually it was his way of getting her to shut up. Often it worked.

“Tell
them the scene.”

“I
just did.”

“No,
you barked orders. Tell them what happened. Tell them why this part in
particular means so much to you.”

Seb
inhaled a deep breath. Then, leaping out of his seat, he clambered up on to the
stage to stand in front of the two kids. He shouldn’t really be referring to
them as kids. They were both the right age to be playing their roles. Early
twenties. Perhaps it was Seb’s milestone thirty that made him feel that anyone
still in their twenties was a kid. Considering these two were practically cover
models, bodies honed to perfection and standing there in just a pair of boxers
each, Seb should refrain from thinking they were children.  

He
pointed to each one and rushed the words out, “He loves you, you love him. You’ve
not told each other because your stupid. No, sorry, that’s not right.” He shook
his head, swiping fingers across his brow in the hope to invigorate the memories
to words. “It was a bit too early for those declarations. I mean, what was it?
A week? Two? When does anyone know if something is right? Or what love is?”

He
looked at the two actors for validation. They stared blankly back. Seb huffed. “You’re
leaving,” he pointed a finger to the dark-haired one, then back to the blond, “You
don’t know but he senses somethings up. It’s a tender moment. It’s not about
sex. It’s not about getting into bed. It’s about realising that what you have
is special, but you can’t keep it.” Seb then glanced down to his mother. Was he
asking for approval? He’d never sought it from her in his life. But something
about her encouraging smile gave him a warm tingle, so he continued, “The song,
this scene, is about wanting to pause time. Stop feeling. Live in this
moment, forever. Together. Get it?”

“So
you loved him then? At this point?” That was actor one, dark hair. Ben
something or other.

“Yes.”

“So
why didn’t you just tell him. Now. Like, when he came out to you, why didn’t
you just say it?”

Seb
bared his weight from one foot to the other. Hands on hips, he worried on his
bottom lip and stared up at the stage lights above. Good, fucking question. Why
hadn’t he? What had stopped him back then from holding on instead of letting
go?

“What
if he had walked away?” he finally said, drifting his gaze back to the men in front
of him. “Like my mother did?”

A
startled cough earned its way to Seb but he didn’t turn around. He was focused
on getting this scene the way he needed.

“I
was scared.”

The
two actors glanced at each other, an understanding flickering between them. Seb
breathed out a sigh of relief then waved two hands, jumped down from the stage.

“Okay,
band, go!” he hollered and the band at the top of the stage, elevated from the
main set, called into action with a drum lick starting the song.

The
two men returned to their first positions just as the accompanying lead and
base guitars filtered in, followed by a gliding violin. Seb held his breath as
Ben—as Seb—started to sing his lyrics. His song. His feelings.

“Isn’t
it weird,” Noah whispered out the side of his mouth, “to have your life played
out on stage like this?”

Seb
didn’t reply. He was too mesmerized, enthralled, enraptured by what was
happening on that stage. It was like looking through a mirror to the past.

“The
drummer’s decent,” Noah added then turned back to the scene, allowing Seb to indulge
himself in that moment once again.

Every
hair on his body stood on end as the scene played out. Ben’s voice was higher
than his, more classically trained, but it worked the song well. Especially
when the duet started up and they entangled themselves in a dance that near
broke Seb’s heart. They’d got it. They understood. And they sang to the empty
theatre, bar the Drops and their children, about wanting to pause time as they
clung onto each other and fell onto the bed centre stage.

The
music climaxed. Everyone held their breath.

It
was Sylvia who clapped first, followed by Noah and Martin who stood for the
ovation. Seb, however, was frozen. That scene had done what it was meant to. Paused
him. He was back there. That time, that heart wrenching moment.

“Well,”
he finally croaked out. “If there’s a dry eye in this house when you do that on
opening night, I declare them robots.” He shrugged. “Or Daily Mail press.”

Ben
“Seb” clambered off the makeshift bed and hauled the other actor up by his arm.
They both beamed their pride and gratitude down to the front row. And that,
there, almost caused a painful lump in Seb’s throat. That view. That had been
the start of something quite…spectacular.

The start of somethin’ else.

Stage
lights switched off, musical instruments clanged, and various people shuffled
out from their hidey holes around the theatre, declaring an end to the day’s
rehearsal. Good job as the phone in Seb’s back pocket rang, and he shuffled out
from the front row behind Martin carrying his baby to the aisle to answer it.

“How’d
it go?” Jay asked the other end of the line.

“It
was…” Seb glanced up to the two actors, heads together, as they made their way
back stage to the dressing rooms. “Doable.”

“Good.
How long you gonna be?”

“Why?”
Seb followed the others up the aisle, through the red velvet curtain that led
to the steps leading to the main foyer which doubled up as a café and bar.

“Mum’s
called an emergency meetin’.”

“About?”
Seb waved off a few of the stagehands and other various staff as they clambered
out to the street.

“Check
your news app. Court Yard. Asap.” Jay clicked off.

Seb
didn’t have a chance to thumb through his apps to check whatever it was as Noah
bundled up behind him, two daughters held in each hand with Martin bashing the
carry cot into Seb’s legs. The baby within squealed.

“Thanks
for coming today,” Seb said. “I know it wasn’t scheduled. But I needed you
there. This is yours as much as it is mine.”

“It’s
good, Seb.” Martin tapped him on the shoulder, shushing baby Rocky as he did so.
“Really good.”

“Yeah,”
Noah agreed over the screeching baby. “Never thought our songs would fill a
fucking West End musical, but they kinda rock.”

Seb
snorted. “Rock musical.”

“You and Jay off celebrating?” Noah asked, an almost painful jealousy that he couldn’t do the same.

“Apparently
we’ve been summoned to meet his parents.” Seb glanced down at his phone to open
the BBC News app and read the first story. “Oh…Oh. Fuck.”

“What
is it?” Martin asked.

Seb grinned and pocketed the phone. “It’s been passed.”

Noah
and Martin shared confused glances.

“We
can get married.” Seb tucked the phone into his back pocket, his heart
thrumming with excitement. It could happen. It could really happen.

This year was getting better and better. Jay had finally been called up to play for the national team. The Drops’ musical had gone into production. And now he could legally marry his east end Cockney boy.

Bring it the fuck on!

That’s right… the full trilogy series of The District Line is now available in Audio. Piers Ryman did a fantastic job of bringing these characters to life and it was a pleasure to listen to from start to finish!

For those who might not be familiar with the series, here’s a chance to sample the audio and catch up with east Londoner Jay Ruttman and Kensington elite Sebastian Saunders as they embark on their rocky road journey to that ever sweet tasting HEA.

The District Line Series: A footballer forced in the closet. A rocker forced into his birth right. The collision that kicks off a star crossed romance.

Kick Off (The District Line #1)

What happens when men from the opposite sides of the track collide?

East Londoner Jay Ruttman has only ever wanted one thing― to be a professional footballer. But after a disastrous brawl on the pitch gets him released from his pro-Academy, he has to follow plan B and enrolls as university Sports Scholar. Head down, train hard and get scouted is his motto. Until he crashes into the man who might just shoot his dreams out of the park.

Kensington elite Sebastian (Seb) Saunders has only ever wanted one thing―to be a rock star. But his father has other plans for him, including taking the helm of his multimillion-pound new business venture across the pond. Live it up, chase the dream and rock out for as long as he can is his mantra. Until he crashes into the man who might just rock his world off its scale.

Jay and Seb live at opposite ends of London’s District Line, separated by wealth, status, family traditions and their own life-long dreams. This startling and gritty contemporary romance series sees them both having to overcome barriers, face fears and beat rejection to fight for the love they need to achieve it all

http://mybook.to/KickOffAudio

Break Through (The District Line #2)

Should falling in love really get in the way of your lifelong dreams?

Sebastian Saunders is 3000 miles away from home. Working for his father’s expanded business in New York, he’s left behind the music career he craved, the friends he relied upon and possibly the love of his life. In a city that never sleeps, how can the nights cure a broken heart?

Jay Ruttman is in London, throwing himself harder into football and his quest to make it on the professional playing field. Locking himself back in the closet, how can he ever open the door, and his heart, again?

A chance encounter in New York where Jay and Seb rekindle their lost romance sets them both on a path to self-discovery and coming to terms with their past, their present and their future.

This is the second part of the District Line serial, where half-time oranges are swapped for the Big Apple.

mybook.to/BreakThroughAudio

Come Back (The District Line #3)

The bigger you become, the harder you fall.

Sebastian Saunders is a rising rock star. Jay Ruttman is a Premier League football player. Their year-long relationship is hot commodity. Hounded by the press and fans alike, the lovers struggle to keep their private lives private.

Flying high in the charts and having Jay by his side, Seb is finally living his dream. But Jay’s new, promising career is threatened when a horrific injury on the pitch has him side lined—not only in the game but also in his relationship with Seb.
Jay’s crippling self-destruction spirals out of control, tearing them apart. To move forward, both men must learn to leave their past behind—not so easy when it keeps coming back to haunt them.

Can their hard-fought relationship survive the ultimate test?

This is the concluding part to the District Line series where the full-time whistle could signal an end to their turbulent journey… or is it just the beginning?

The deep, chainsaw growl grated through Jay as though he was being sliced apart. He flipped onto his side, grabbed the crispy white pillow and shoved it over his head.

It didn’t help.

Still the vibrating snorts rumbled through the dark room, shaking the curtains, bouncing off the walls and rattling Jay’s nerves. He checked the clock, cursed under his breath and lay flat on his back. He’d been at this two hours. He only had four hours left to sleep.

He was not going to be on his game.

Grunts, crackled breathing, then a whistled exhaling from the next bed irritated him further. Jay lifted up, glanced over and had a sudden attack to want to commit murder. Or would it be manslaughter?

Self defence?

They’d have no defence if he did that.

So he didn’t. And resigned himself to having to contend with tomorrow’s game against Liverpool on zero shut eye.

Luckily his phone beside him on the table lit up and vibrated against the solid wood. It didn’t quite drown out the other loud drone, but it was a welcome distraction. Scraping the phone toward him, he smiled at the display then hit green.

“All right?” he greeted, not even attempting to lower his voice.

“Did you know there are gay penguins in New York zoo?” Seb’s rushed out information tugged a smile on Jay’s lips and he settled down into the single bed to listen to more. He knew his boyfriend wasn’t finished. He never was. “Two male emperor penguins rescued a discarded egg from some bitch whore of a mother who clearly had a one night stand with Percy, the head honcho of the penguin posse, and decided that would admit shame on her already married status with Pepe, so she kicked it away. Peter and Paul found it, sat on it and they’ve just had their first chick. Little Pingu is a beautiful, fluffy grey sweetheart and the family are a happy, contented unit that are accepted into the penguin pool as though there’s nothing odd about it. Star attraction too. They’re selling the chance to have your photo taken with the family.”

“You wanna go to New York to have a snap with a family of gay penguins?” Jay peered over to the other bed. No stirring. He rolled his eyes.

“Yes! Of course.”

“All right. Book a flight.”

“Already done it, Champ. We’re going next week. And I booked the Hilton because there is not a chance in hell we’re staying with Sylvia, but we might have to do dinner with her. She’s pissing and moaning about not having seen me since last year. Yes, I did mention that I didn’t see her through my most impressionable teenage years. Her reply, it’s why she needs to mother me now.” Seb tsked. “Honestly, how do you cope with this family responsibility bullshit?”

“Dinner with your mum?” Jay scraped his hair back, staring up at the ceiling with a frown. “All right,” he said and started to panic.

Sylvia was so… touchy feely. Still, it was a darn sight better than the stiff upper lip of Seb’s father that always made Jay feel like he wasn’t good enough.

Thank fuck Seb’s family gatherings were few and far between. Non existent, really. Unlike his own over-the-top east end relatives who used his and Seb’s gaff as though it was an extension of their own property network.

A droning rumble from the next bed along was so loud, Jay dropped the phone into the pillow.

“What the fuck was that?” Seb asked when Jay settled the phone back to his ear.

“Davids.” Jay sighed. “He snores.”

“You’re sharing a room?” Seb’s lilt in his voice suggested he was unaware of away game arrangements.

“Yeah. We always share on away games.”

“Oh.” Seb paused, his deep breathing rivalling the throat rips from West Ham’s main defender. “I was not aware that my boyfriend—my fiancé—sleeps with other men when he leaves my bed cold for a weekend.”

Jay gave a fond smile that he was aware Seb wouldn’t see. Probably a good thing.

“You share with Martin and Noah when you tour,” he retaliated.

“That is entirely different. And not always.”

“How is it different?”

“They’re my friends. My band mates! I’ve known them forever. And they both stink.”

“Davids is my team mate. And married. With kids. Straight.” Jay glanced over to the figure sprawled in the next bed along and the man snorted, his lips flapping. “Although I ain’t got no clue how she puts up with that noise every night.”

“Oh, I know…” Seb’s amused tone followed by a chuckle made Jay frown. “Kick him. Hard. Or hold his nose. There is another surefire way but I’m not sure you should attempt it.”

“What’s that?”

“Go down on him.”

Jay sat up. “What?”

“I said you shouldn’t try it. But it works for me when my boyfriend sounds like a foghorn on repeat.”

“That why I wake up in the middle of the night mid blowjob?”

“Of course. What? Did you think I was just horny at two a.m.?”

Jay fell back to the bed. “You’re always horny.”

“True. It’s why I was watching the docu about the penguins.”

“What? You get off on gay birds now?”

“No. I’d exhausted the porn site. Seriously, there’s only so much of those muscle bound meat head’s pounding into each other with over the top grunts I can take. Masterbation loses its fun eventually. So I thought I’d be high brow. Watch an Attenborough. Turns out, penguins are now my favourite animal. Bollocks to the lions. All they do is lie around, yawning, looking down on everyone until they get hungry and pounce.”

“Sounds like you.”

“Go fuck yourself, Champ. I’m a penguin. An emperor fucking penguin. Suave, sophisticated. I could also pull of being a rockhopper penguin simply for their hair. But mainly, it’s because I look good in black, mate for life, and flap a bit when I’m antsy.”

“What am I?”

“You? You’re a horse. Most of the time you’re silent and stable. A presence, watching over the others. But you’ll lash out and trample a fellow if they get on the wrong side of you. Horses a sporty too, aren’t they? Fast runners. Aaaaand, you’re always ready to be mounted.” Seb chuckled a deep and suggestive tone that merged terribly with the snores across the room.

“Cheers,” Jay said, unimpressed. Well, it was hard to get on board with that when he was lying next to a bloke who sounded like a dying sea lion.

“Anyway, reason for my call.” Seb sounded a little serious and it piqued Jay’s interest a notch that this call wasn’t just an attempt for Seb not to feel so alone back home. “The penguins got me thinking.”

“Yeah? About how there must be a ton of other gay animals? Search the discovery channel. There’s bound to be some docu on that.”

“No, not that. Although, hang on.” Rustling filtered down the phone, a few clicks and a final flump that indicated Seb had set himself up in bed to watch whatever it was he’d found. “Wow. There is. My gay dog and other animals. Thank you, Auntie beeb.”

“Enjoy.” Jay chuckled as another loud, ear deafening snore boomed across the hushed room. He flinched then couldn’t hold his annoyance in any longer so threw his pillow across to the other bed.

It landed just shy of Davids’ head. Jay rolled his eyes. He should’ve kicked it. He never missed an open target with his left foot.

“That noise is worse than the band who opened for us last month,” Seb said. “Some punk outfit the venue made us go with. It was dire. Noise. Just fucking noise.”

“Your gettin’ old.”

“Fuck you.” Seb’s cursing was always a little gentler than usual when aimed at Jay and Jay smiled through it. “But speaking of getting old… that’s sort of why I was calling.”

“Thought it was for gay penguins?”

“Yes. That too. But there’s something on my mind and you know how you said I should just talk to you before doing anything brash?”

“Yeah ’cause that last tattoo you got, I just would’ve appreciated knowing you were gonna go there.”

“Noted. No more ink in places reserved only for the Rutters.”

“Golden. So what is it this time?”

“Babies.”

Jay sat up. “Babies? You want a tattoo of babies?”

“No. Well, I would tattoo my own baby’s darling little cherub face on my calf.”

“Calf?”

“Only space left.”

“Stomach? Right chest?”

“All good options but the leg tatt is proving quite the fashion accessory right now. Plus calf is the name of a baby cow. So it’s quite fitting.”

“Only if you’re going to fuck a cow.”

“Which I hope to never do.”

“Just horses and penguins that do it for ya, is it?”

“I don’t want to shag a penguin, Jay!”

“All right, all right. So what is this baby and penguin call about?”

There was a pause. An inhale. A shaky breath.

Then a snore.

Jay threw his last pillow and it whacked Davids slap bang on the face. The man didn’t move. He didn’t snore either.

Result.

But the short lived peace was broken when Seb said, “I want to have your babies.”

Jay fell back against the wall, his head slamming against hard, solid brick. He’d feel that in the morning. “You what?” he asked, just for clarification.

“Let’s have babies, Champ. Let’s have little Jays running after their footballs and little me’s rocking out on the guitar. Well, we’ll start out on the ukulele because, little hands. But by three I’ll expect to upgrade.”

“Babe—”

“I know what you’re going to say. No womb. But, penguins, baby, look at the penguins! We could do that. We could so do that.”

“Steal an egg?” Jay licked his dry lips just as his pillow fell from Davids’ face onto the floor when the man wriggled onto his side.

What could only be an elongated grunt thundered from Davids’ throat and rattled the wardrobe doors. Jay clenched his jaw.

“We get given one.” Seb’s grin could be felt two hundred miles away and down the telecom system, only mildly preventing the need for Jay to kick the bloke in the next bed to him. “And we know our very own bitch whore!”

“We do?”

“Ann. Let’s use her eggs and borrow her oven.”

“I don’t—”

“She’s agreed. I already rang her.”

“So much for talking to me first before doing anything rash.”

“I didn’t impregnate her,” Seb declared in a mockingly accusatory tone. “That would be considered brash. Anyway, think on it. We’ll talk tomorrow. My programmes just started.”

“Right. Enjoy the gay dogs.”

“Oh no, not that. I went back to porn. Although, I could probably search that on this site. Puppy play.”

“Night, Seb.”

“Night, Daddy. I love you.” Seb cut off the phone before Jay could retaliate with anything.

He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. That was some head fuck. Babies. Seb wanted babies. With him. And plural at that. Yes, he’d mentioned it before but he’d though the bloke was just flapping his lips like he always did. This was serious.

And if he’d already spoken to Ann…

A text buzzed through.

Yes, you can borrow my eggs and oven. Love you. A

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” Jay flopped his hand to his leg staring at the screen.

“Oi, Rutters. Some of us are tryin’ a sleep ‘ere, yeah,” Davids said, slinging a pillow across the room that slapped Jay in the face. “Keep the effing noise daaan.”

Jay did his best not to retaliate to that either.

“I’d have done anything for him. Anything. I was in love with him. I would have stood up in that courtroom and said anything to keep him from going to prison…”

Won’t Be Fooled Again (St. Cross #2)

Today marks the day for the general release of the long awaited follow up to the St. Cross Children’s Hospital series: Won’t Be Fooled Again (St. Cross #2)

 Friends to Lovers

Welcome to the FOURTH OF JULY HOP and GIVEAWAY, hosted by Autumn Breeze!

You can win tons of prizes from lots of amazing authors, including (1) $100 AMAZON GIFT CARD, (1) $50 AMAZON GIFT CARD & (1) $25 AMAZON GIFT CARD.

Today I’m giving away an ecopy of Love & Tea Bags (Pink Rock #1)

Please read the instructions below carefully so you’re not disqualified!!!

Post a comment on hereSubscribe to my newsletter by entering your email address here:
http://www.cfwhiteauthor.com/ Like my Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/CFWhiteAuthor Post Screenshot of each action to qualify for entry on my facebook page!

Winners will be chosen at random.

Giveaway is open from 12pm CST on
6/4 until 12pm CST on 7/4.

The next stop on the hop is Scarlett Black.

To enter to win their prize, please visit their page here: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorScarle...

Don’t forget to enter the Grand Prize Giveaway at https://www.authorautumnbreeze.com/4th-of-july-hop-giveaway for a chance to win (1) $100 AMAZON GIFT CARD, (1) $50 AMAZON GIFT CARD & (1) $25 AMAZON GIFT CARD.

Good luck and I hope everyone has a HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!

Facebook giveaways are in NO way
sponsored, endorsed or administered by, or associated with Facebook.
Information collected is NOT collected by Facebook. In signing up for this
promotion, participants release and indemnify Facebook from all liability.

I’m ridiculous excited to be showing off the new cover for my latest release… coming soon to Pride Publishing, Love & Tea Bags is the first book in the rom-com Pink Rock series.

This book is a bit of a change from the norm for me. Whereas I’ve been known to write gritty and angsty series, this one is my first foray into romantic comedy. And a real British seaside romp it is! The cover is almost too perfect for it.

Set in a small coastal town in the South East of England, the Pink Rock series centres around a little Tea Shoppe located beside a pebble beach and the customers and staff who come into contact with it. First up in Love & Tea Bags we have hitting his forties, Mark, a tea-obsessed Brit going through his mid-life crisis!

Drum roll for the cover and blurb… followed by an exclusive excerpt!

Fate can be written in a tea bag too.

Mark Johnson is hitting his forties and is stuck in a rut.

He’s had the same boring office job for ten years, with no motivation or inclination to change it. The same crumbling house for ten years, with no cash or know-how to fix it. And the same Facebook status for five years—it’s complicated. It isn’t. He’s single. He just doesn’t want to correct it. That would be admitting defeat.

The day a tea bag splats onto his face whilst he’s emptying the dregs of his morning cuppa at Macy’s Tea Shoppe is the one that makes him question each of his current life choices…the tea bag and that the shop is currently being run by one rather friendly, rather hunky, but rather young Australian named Bradley Summers.

Tea has never tasted so good.

“A stripper who appreciates Star Trek.” Mark cleared his throat. “That’s
quite an unusual combination.”

“Not really. Actually use it a bit in my
act.”

“Your act?” Mark coughed. “You have an act?
Isn’t it just stand on stage and slowly peel your clothes off to I’m Sexy and
I Know It?”

“Right, so you can’t be that old. You know
LMFAO.”

“Of course.” Mark agreed. “That I do. Down
with the kids. Exactly. Good band.” Please don’t ask, please don’t ask, please
don’t ask.

Bradley raised that one darn eyebrow. Maybe the other one is just lazy?

“What does it stand for?”

He
bloody asked.

Mark glazed over, swishing the contents
in his pint glass. “Well, if it were an abbreviation for people my age, it’s got
to be Let Me Find An Orderly.”

Bradley laughed, his pectoral muscles wobbling
through his painted-on top. Even the man’s chuckles sounded Australian. He made
such a racket that the rest of the bar seemed to stop to glance over at them.

“All right, all right.” Mark tutted.

“Sorry, mate. I was just, you know, laughing my fucking arse off.”

“Glad I can be of amusement to you. It is
my life’s work to be of joy to others.”

“No.” Bradley smiled. “LMFAO. Laughing.
My. Fucking. Arse. Off.” He shrugged. “That’s what it means.”

“I see,” Mark lied. He didn’t see. “Clever.”

“So how old are you then?”

“Too old.”

“For what exactly.”

“To hear about how you dress as a Star Fleet
captain then rip it all off.”

“Actually.” Bradley’s eyes sparkled. “I
come on dressed as a nerd. You know, anorak, hair slicked down, broken glasses,
buck teeth, Thermos.”

“Sounds delightfully sexy,” Mark mocked.

“Wait for it.” Bradley waggled a finger.
“Told you, the ladies like a tease. So I do these clumsy things around the stage.
Try to open my tea flask but it spills over my top, have to take it off, don’t I?
Then I try to pick up something from the floor, trousers rip. Oops, they gotta go.”

“This sounds awfully like most of my days.”
Mark shrugged. “Except people tend to tell me to keep the blasted things on.”

“I doubt that.” Bradley winked. “Anyway,
I’m sure you’re catching the drift. My glasses snap, so they come off. I get thrown
some water from the stage which sorts the hair. Then—”

“Please don’t say you soil yourself in order
for the underwear to come off.” Mark grimaced, holding up a hand to stave off whatever
was going to tumble out of Bradley’s mouth next.

“No.” Bradley cocked his head in contemplation.
“Although, that might work better.”

“Better than what?”

“Setting them alight.”

Pre-Order Date: 4 June 2019
Release Date: 16 July 2019

https://www.pride-publishing.com/book/love-and-tea-bags

Told you it was going to be fun

Author of Volatile, Avylinn Winter

Today I am so pleased to welcome fantastic author, and an amazing friend, Avylinn Winter to my blog where I’ll be probing into her writing habits and the secrets behind her ever complex characters.

I’ve known Avylinn since my early days on Wattpad, where I started out as a newbie writer on the online platform with absolutely no idea what I was doing! Avylinn had been around for a while with an ever growing fanbase and gaining over million reads on her story, Volatile. Despite being so popular, and extremely busy, she always took the time to help others, supporting new writers and offering to read those coming up in the ranks and give great advice. I became a super fan early on and was privileged when I got the chance to beta read her re-release of Volatile (mostly because I wouldn’t ever pass up an opportunity to get up, close and personal with two of the most complex and elusive characters).

Avylinn has re released her debut novel, first in her Treacherous Chemistry series. It’s available from today in Kindle Unlimited and to buy from Amazon in ebook or paperback! You’ll most definitely want to pick up a copy of this one as I can assure you it’s got all the feels and Dante and Chris will have you’re heart racing.

Here’s a little intro to the book:

Chris Sinclair fades under a dark cloud after losing his mother to cancer. On the cusp of adulthood, he doesn’t know where he should go or how to get there. But watching life pass him by was never the plan, and when he is forced to attend a concert in an attempt to coax him out of his shell, he discovers that life might have more to offer.

Dante Heron holds the audience between his delicate bow and the tips of his fingers. He plays the violin as if every heart is his to command, but the discipline needed to perfect his skills has left him with nothing to spare. He’s a fire that burns too bright or not at all—unpredictable and demanding.

When Chris is unexpectedly offered a job to travel around Europe as Dante’s assistant, or ‘friend’, he surprises himself by accepting. Their journey barely starts before Chris realizes he’s in over his head. Every step along the way is fraught with tension, and the farther they go, the closer they veer to a breaking point.

Invisible strings are at play, stitched into Dante’s life by those who should have taught him how to love. Perhaps Chris is right to be afraid, but sometimes, what you fear the most is what you can’t afford to lose

This story has been published previously in another version. This second edition includes material from the companion short story, Magnetic, and is extensively rewritten and expanded.

Now you’ve read the blurb, let’s meet the author…

Did you always want to be a writer, or did you fall into it one day? How did your writing journey start?

I totally did NOT see myself as a writer when I grew up. I’ve always loved reading, but no one ever said I could write. It was when my boyfriend bought me an e-reader (back when Sony had their version of one) that I started to download a lot of stuff I hadn’t normally come across. Those stories got me thinking that I could write if I tried. So I tried, and I started posting online. People liked it and since then I’ve tried to keep it up.

So we should all thank Avylinn’s boyfriend right now… You said you started out writing on Wattpad, what made you make the leap from the online community to publishing in the “real world”?

I think it was the success I’d had on Wattpad that lured me into thinking that it would be possible to make a break also in the ‘real world’. Turned out it wasn’t so easy to make that switch, but I’m happy I tried. Wattpad was a great place to grow up as a writer, to find my legs and all that, but it’s also more rewarding to have something solid in your hands at the end of the day. Wattpad also attracts mostly young readers, which is a bit different from writing for a mature audience. I would say that publishing for an adult audience taught me a lot about myself and maybe forced me to grow up a bit.

Having started on there too, I couldn’t agree more! It’s a totally different readership. What have you found are the main differences of online writing to traditional publishing?

Online writing is a lot more forgiving, and especially
online readers who don’t expect a manuscript to be fully edited when they read
it. I would say that it was healthy for me to have a bit of a lower bar to
begin with. But it’s not only the editing, it’s the content and the subject
matter. For instance, the categories that exist in traditional publishing,
which have been around for a long time, do not exist so much on online
platforms such as Wattpad. Crossovers between genres are much more common and
readers won’t give you the evil eye if your book is not spot on genre specific.
It was a bit of a shock for me to discover that when I left my safe corner and
invited the rest of the world. People began to say that I wasn’t really writing
Romance, and I couldn’t understand
what they were talking about. I have learned more about that along the way, so
I guess I’ve also complied to the rules now.

I can totally relate to that too! There are certain formulas you must follow to be considered a romance writer. So, do you have a writing ritual or can you write anywhere? Are you a plotter or a pantser?

I’m a total pantser! I like writing at home, but other
than that, I don’t really have strategies that work. If I ever find one, maybe
I’ll start to become a bit more productive again.

Same, Avy, same! Your latest re-release, Volatile, book one in the highly angsty Treacherous Chemistry series has gone through some major changes from its first release on Wattpad and with Pride. Can you tell us something about Volatile that no one else knows…

I think I’ve analysed that story to death, and I assume
readers from both Wattpad and the first edition know everything there is to
know… but of course, the second edition is a little bit different. I can say
that some of the new influences comes from the fact that I met up with two
classical violinists after a chance encounter on a train. So I got to question
real life versions of Dante. One of them reminded me so much of him that it was
a bit eerie. The other managed to be a complete opposite. Both were lovely!

Wow! A real life Dante! That’s amazing. How did the plot come about for Volatile? Was it the plot or the characters that spoke to you first?

Actually it was the premise that spoke to me first I
think. I heard a violinist at one of Stockholm’s subway stations. He was good.
Really good. I decided then and there that I would try to write something about
a violinist. Then it sort of snowballed from there.

A busking violinist, I can hear it all now! Tell us your favourite scene from the book…

My favorite scene is one of the new ones. But it would be
kind of a spoiler to talk about it. Let’s just say that it involves removing a
lot of stuff from walls. I think that scene more than any other offers a
release.

I know that scene