I'm off to run in the Race for the Cure today, but I HAD to let you all know of my newest novel that was released this week!
CHASING VICTORY is available at Torquere Press in both print and ebook format! Race cars, track paramedics, everything good. It received a lovely in-house review and is steadily climbing the best seller list for new releases. I'll leave you with a snippet!
Mitch’s cell buzzed angrily from its holster on his belt. “That’ll be Jarvis,” Mitch sighed. “He’s all wound up whenever we come to Martinsville.”
Pacey stood and wandered down the short hallway to the bedroom. “From what I’ve seen, that guy’s wound up most of the time.”
“True.” Mitch grinned and didn’t answer his phone, unwilling to let Jarvis intrude on the visit Pacey had paid him. “But it’s a hard pit road here. Small track means small pits. Guys make contact all the time and there’ve been plenty of wrecks from guys just trying to get to their pit. The pit stalls are wrapped almost all the way around the track. Jarvis gets freaked, even though I’ve always pitted safely here. He’ll want to talk about it before the green flag.”
“Oh.” Pacey stopped in the doorway of the bedroom and looked back at Mitch. “I didn’t know that. I’m kinda learning as I go, since it’s my first year as a roving ASCRA medic. I found the red hot dogs, though.” He gave Mitch a thumbs up.
Bright red hot dogs were another staple at the Virginia track. Mitch had eaten plenty of them. “If I win, I’ll buy you another one.”
“Deal.” Pacey disappeared into the bedroom. “Hell, you got a king bed in here? This place is definitely better than my house.”
Mitch moved to the doorway in time to see Pacey flop down on his bed and stare at the ceiling. “You don’t have a king?” He had to look away as Pacey’s sweatshirt rode up and exposed a thin strip of tanned stomach. If he got carried away, chances were he’d never make it back out to the track on time.
“Got a new queen bed last year and thought I was living well.” Pacey sat up with a smile. “I sleep on a twin bed at work, so anything bigger than that works for me.”
Mitch advanced further into the bedroom. Now Pacey’s hair was mussed and his sweatshirt was all rucked up around his torso. The man just got hotter every time Mitch laid eyes on him. And damned if he wasn’t nice, too. Good looks and a nice guy? Mitch definitely hadn’t counted on that. “Yeah, I… need a king. Space and all that. Lots of room is good.” God, the words coming out of his mouth were barely even sentences.
Pacey smiled a bit, eyes showing amusement. “Room in bed is good. Except when you don’t need it because you like sleeping close to someone. Did you know you can fuck in a twin bed and then cuddle, too? I bet you could do a lot more than that in a king.”
Was that an invitation? Or just playful teasing? Mitch had never felt this unsure when bantering with casual fucks before. Wait, was it a casual fuck? The questions flew at him faster than he could duck.
“I have thirty minutes,” Mitch said awkwardly, then kicked himself. Christ, what was he expecting?
“And a king bed,” Pacey grinned. He patted the duvet. “I can do a lot in thirty minutes.”
Oh hell, yes, it was an invitation. Mitch put his phone on silent and tossed it in the direction of the motor home’s living area, hoping it made it to one of the couches. He didn’t hear it crash on the tile, so he slipped in the bedroom and closed the door.
The pent-up energy that always made Mitch jittery before the start of a race was threatening to spill over. He crawled onto the bed next to Pacey and pushed the man to his back. “I can a lot in thirty minutes too,” he said. “But I prefer longer.”
“We don’t have longer.” Pacey smiled up at him. His hands settled at Mitch’s waist and he planted his feet on the bed. “So why don’t you show me what thirty minutes gets me?”
“Do you let guys fuck you?” Mitch had learned long ago that asking outright and getting an answer was preferable to priming himself for sex and then discovering his partner wouldn’t bottom.
“On occasion.” Pacey rocked his hips up and rubbed against Mitch’s crotch, revealing that he was hard and ready.
It was easier to assume that this was one of those occasions. Mitch’s hands were shaking from the pre-race adrenaline. He nodded and leaned down to kiss Pacey hard, too anxious and hot to be gentle or even sort of careful.
Pacey responded in kind. He reached up with one hand and fisted it tightly in Mitch’s hair while snaking his other hand between them to fumble with zippers and button-flys.
Mitch let him work out the details of getting their jeans off. Mitch was too busy kissing and tasting and trying to remember if there were condoms in his nightstand drawer.
“Pocket,” Pacey whispered against Mitch’s mouth. “Rubbers in my pocket.”