IT'S ALL RELATIVE by J.M. Snyder

IT'S ALL RELATIVE by J.M. Snyder

Re-released with an updated cover!

When Michael Knapp brings his lover Dan Biggs home to meet his parents, he doesn't expect things to go smoothly. His mother's been trying to marry him off for years, and sometimes he isn't even sure his father knows he exists. He has always felt like the shadow son, competing with his terminally stupid older brother and smart-mouthed little sister for his parents' attention. Coming out to them over dinner seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally get noticed.

But an unexpected phone call interrupts his announcement -- Aunt Evie, the family matriarch, is dead. With Dan in tow, Michael follows his family to Sugar Creek, where he spent his summers growing up, to prepare for the funeral.

Amid an overabundance of memories and relatives, Michael's world begins to slip. His dysfunctional family, Evie's death, and an old friend's confession all threaten to smother him. Worse, in his grief and confusion he seems determined to inadvertently push everyone away, including his lover. Can he and Dan move beyond his family and his past to a new life together, before Michael's insecurities tear them apart?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.


Dan wakes before my parents or Ray -- it's the military in him. He can't sleep in even if he doesn't have to be on base before dawn. When I hear him in the kitchen, I give Caitlin a quick grin and hurry in to kiss him good morning. "Hey," I sigh, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist. He stands at the sink, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, and he looks something close to amazing in his gray ARMY t-shirt and PT shorts. They're tight around his ass and hang loose on his thighs -- whoever designed those things knew just how to show off a soldier's best assets. I'm glad the t-shirt hangs low enough to hide what Dan's packing from Caitlin's young eyes and sarcastic mouth.

He half-turns in my embrace and kisses me in greeting. "Did you sleep well?" he asks. I nod in reply. With him beside me, I slept like a baby.

"I can make you breakfast," I tell him, just because that's what I do in the mornings, I cook for him. Mostly eggs, though I saw some pancake mix in the cabinet, if he's up for that. Since we're alone in the kitchen, I run my hands up beneath the bottom of his t-shirt and rub his taut stomach. Kissing his shoulder, I murmur, "I love you."

He sets the orange juice aside and turns to hug me close. His hands smooth the bangs away from my forehead, tuck the wavy hair behind my ears, but the strands fall back into place on their own accord as he cradles my chin to kiss me again. "Love you," he purrs, and between us I feel faint stirrings of interest at his groin. "We can head back to bed, if you want," he suggests. "Breakfast can wait."

"My eyes!" I frown at Caitlin as she stumbles into the kitchen, eyes closed, cereal bowl in one hand and the other thrown out in front of herself dramatically to feel her way. "Jeez, boys. Take it upstairs, why don't you? What will the neighbors think?"

I kick out at her as she passes, but she's quick -- she dodges my foot and still manages to sock me in the arm with one small fist. I slap her shoulder and she hits me again. Damn, she has good reflexes. When I'm about to try a third time, though, Dan catches my hand and folds my arm between us as he holds me tight. "Don't," he admonishes. "No fighting."

I'm well aware that I'm suddenly Caitlin's age again, picking with her the way I am, but she doesn't seem to mind. "You're just jealous," I tell her. I stick out my tongue and marvel at how I can go from twenty-five to two in one minute flat. "I've got a hot boy to freak and you don't."

Caitlin flips her hair over her shoulder and gives me a look that simply says, puh-leaze. "You don't know my hot boy," she says. "I ain't jealous of yours, trust me."

Intrigued in spite of myself, I let Dan slip free and lean against the sink. "You have a boyfriend?" I ask as Dan pours himself a bowl of cereal.

"Of course," Caitlin snorts. As if she might not. "I'm not Ray, Michael. I date."

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KNOCKING BOOTS by JM Snyder

KNOCKING BOOTS by J.M. Snyder

Johnny thinks he's the only guy on the ranch interested in sharing a fellow cowboy's bedroll ... until he witnesses an illicit tryst between his foreman Hal and another ranch hand named Delfino. After watching Delfino pleasure Hal, Johnny can't get the Mexican vaquero out of his wet dreams. He wants Delfino to do the same things to him, and he'll do whatever it takes to hook up with the cowboy.

To his surprise, Delfino doesn't mind showing Johnny a good time in the barn ... for a price. Once the two men are alone, Johnny learns first-hand just how well a hot stud like Delfino can please a man.

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

The footsteps come closer and I raise up a little, just enough to peer around the mare’s neck. Hank comes into view, his blond hair tamped down around his scalp in the shape his Stetson left behind. He runs a hand through the tangled strands, tousling them. The other hand tugs at the bolo tie he favors, loosening it to unbutton the collar of his shirt. “Delfino,” he says in a slow drawl that sounds like smooth bourbon poured into a chilled glass. “Don’t act dumb, kid. You know exactly why I called you out here.”

Behind him comes Delfino -- Hispanic, maybe my age, maybe a year or two older, with dark eyes like pools of liquid ink and black hair that falls straight across his forehead in a blunt cut. He has pouty lips that look too red to be real and cheekbones that hint at native blood. Why hadn’t I noticed this one before? He stands out from the others, from all the others, white or otherwise. He has an insolent air about him, a slow grin and sly eyes, that makes me wonder if Hank’s really the one in charge here or if Delfino has a secret or two he keeps hidden from the foreman.

He wears a threadbare work shirt, the chambray worn shiny in spots where the fabric rubs over his muscles, at his shoulders, his elbows, his biceps. He glances around and I duck down, hands flat against the mare’s withers to keep her quiet. She nickers gently into the bucket of feed I gave her when we first entered the barn and swats at me with her tail, threatening to dislodge the hat hiding my face. I push it down further over my eyes and hold my breath, waiting.

Why are they here? Hank says Delfino knows, and something in the air between them tells me they think they’re alone. If they find out I’m here, hiding, what will be said? I should’ve stood up as soon as they entered, cleared my throat, dropped the curry comb, something to announce my presence. Maybe if I stand suddenly, pretend I don’t even know they’re here, I can still get out before ...

I start to stand, rising my chin to peek out from under my hat, and what I see stops me in mid-stretch.

Hank’s shirt is completely unbuttoned now, hanging open to expose a firm chest covered with thick, graying hair and the start of a slight paunch above his belt. Delfino has closed the distance between them, his hand flat against Hank’s belly, the fingertips lost in the tufts of hair. He’s staring into Hank’s face but the foreman doesn’t see him -- Hank’s eyes are shut, lips parted slightly. As I watch, Delfino rubs his hand up Hank’s furry chest, the tip of his middle finger finding a hard, pink nipple amid the hair. Hank gasps, both hands dropping to the buckle of his belt. “That’s it,” he sighs as Delfino plucks his nipple, squeezing and teasing it erect. “God, yes.”

Holy shit.

I need to get out of here, now, I know it, but suddenly my knees have locked up and my hands are fisted in the saddle blanket still tossed over the mare’s back. A sudden heart beat throbs at my crotch, and in the confines of the tight jeans I wear, my cock swells with eagerness. My mind is a whirl -- Hank, here, Delfino, here, with me not ten feet away and watching.

Here.

Thank you, God, I pray silently. For this, here, now. For letting me see it. For letting me know things like this do exist between men. Can exist. For me.

Carefully I ease around the mare and, staying hunched over so I won’t be seen, I come up against the side of the stall. There are knotholes in the wooden slats, wide enough for me to peer through without being seen. Please keep doing whatever it is you’re doing, I pray as I squat in front of one of the larger knotholes. I have to tilt my hat back so I can press my face to the wood and look through.

Hank’s belt is unbuckled now, his fly open, his dingy gray underwear gaping through the fly with an obscene bulge. He leans back against a stack of hay bales and sighs Delfino’s name as the Mexican trails a hand down Hank’s belly, seeking the package beneath it. When Delfino grips the bulge, I see his fingers encircle Hank’s cock through the thin material and almost come in my jeans at the lusty moan that escapes Hank’s throat. “That’s it, Delfino. You know what to do.”

I watch, wide-eyed and breathless, as Delfino kneels in front of Hank. With both hands, he peels the underwear down, exposing a long, thin, hard dick that curves at the end like a question mark. Delfino ducks below it and, tongue out, licks at the tip of Hank’s hard shaft.

Yes, my mind cries as I rub my hand over the straining crotch of my jeans. Yes, yes, yes.

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PUBLISH YOURSELF by J.M. Snyder

PUBLISH YOURSELF: CREATE AND SELL YOUR OWN E-BOOKS by J.M. Snyder

If you've ever wanted to retain more of your royalties or try publishing e-books but didn't know where to start, this book is for you!

Recently e-books have exploded onto the publishing scene, making it easier than ever for writers to break into the market. But many people who read e-books aren't familiar with how to create them. What formats should you offer? Where do you sell them? What do you use for a cover? And, most important, how do you go from a Word document to an EPUB, MOBI, or PDF file?

Best-selling, multi-published author J.M. Snyder has written this no-nonsense, hands-on guide. She takes the mystery out of e-publishing while making the process of creating an e-book simple, cheap, and easy.

Using Microsoft Word (or an equivalent word processing program) along with inexpensive or free software readily available online, you will learn how to create the nine most common e-book formats. You will be walked through cover art design, interior book layout, and e-book creation, as well as given many of the tips J.M. has learned along the way. Also included is a brief guide to online bookstores where you can sell your finished e-book.

Let J.M. Snyder help you discover how easy it is to publish yourself!

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EXCERPT:

Introduction

When someone learns I publish e-books, one of the first questions I’m asked is simply, “How?” I’ve given advice on the subject to many authors seeking to self-publish their stories in electronic format, but my general replies never seemed to be enough. People want in-depth explanations, from start to finish, on how to format their stories into e-books: how to lay out the books so others can access them, how to convert the books into a variety of e-book formats, and where to sell the finished product.

After one too many e-mails soliciting advice, I realized what seemed second-nature to me wasn’t necessarily as intuitive to others, so I decided to write this book. Be warned -- it isn’t the end-all, be-all of publishing guides. It isn’t going to make you millions overnight so you can quit your day job and write full-time. Hell, it may not even tell you anything you don’t already know. But it will explain to you in no-nonsense detail how I personally create an e-book from beginning to end, how I format a book into nine of the most common electronic formats, and where I publish my stories online. Following the instructions in this book, you will be able to create and sell e-books, too.

Sure, there are other publishing guides out there, but many of them are overpriced and don’t offer any real assistance. I’ve never understood why someone who spent little or nothing creating an e-book thinks they should make $15 or more per copy. The beauty of an e-book is that there are few, if any, overhead costs, and 100% of what you earn, you keep. Many distributors have no set-up fees, conversion software can be found online for little or no cost, and the techno-savvy person can generate an e-book without spending much beyond what they’ve already paid setting up their home computer. So why spend an arm and a leg to learn how to do it?

You may think my sharing the process with you is tantamount to giving away trade secrets, but I don’t see it that way. There are always going to be writers who want to work with publishers -- people who don’t want to bother with the creation and marketing of books, who don’t want to go through the hassle of dealing directly with multiple distributors, who don’t want to muck about with cover art and interior design and whatnot. People who only want to write and will leave the messy and sometimes complicated business of getting their words into print to someone else.

This book isn’t for those writers.

Instead, it’s for people like myself who enjoy controlling every aspect of writing, from a story’s inception through to seeing it published. People who want to learn how to format their own stories, who want to track their own sales, who want a more hands-on approach than what is offered through traditional publishing venues. People who have already self-published a book in print but now want to explore the budding world of e-publishing. People who want to keep more of their profits.

People who believe in their own stories and are going to get their books out there for readers regardless of whether or not a publisher decides to take them on.

This book is for you.

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MAINTENANCE! by J.M. Snyder

MAINTENANCE! by J.M. Snyder

Though maintenance man Elliot has a list of work orders a mile long, he decides to knock out one of the easier jobs right before lunch -- an upper floor apartment has a leak in the A/C's condensation line. It'll take five minutes to blow through, then Elliott can take a break.

When he arrives at the apartment, he finds the female tenant in the shower. He debates coming back later, but he's already there and wants to get the job over with as soon as possible. He's halfway finished, too, when the bathroom door opens and there stands Donnie -- very wet, very naked, and definitely very male.

Suddenly Elliott wants to blow something other than an A/C line.

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



I noticed the bathroom door was shut. Light seeped under the crack along the floor. I closed the apartment door behind me -- didn’t want that supersonic cat making a break for it -- and crossed the short hall to the bathroom. I heard the rush of a shower running inside, and was the fan running, as well? A man’s voice sang out, some rap song I didn’t recognize. She probably had the radio on, too. No wonder she couldn’t hear me.

I debated waiting. I didn’t want to knock on the bathroom door and startle her -- what if the music playing came from an iPhone within reach on the corner of the sink, and she decided to call the police? What I should do, I reasoned, was knock off early for lunch and come back after I had something to eat. Give her time to get out of the shower and get dressed.

But I was already there, I’d dragged the shop vac upstairs, and it would take literally two minutes to clear the a/c line and vacuum up any condensation she’d heard dripping behind the panel. I could be done with it in no time. She’d never even know I’d been inside the apartment until she found the work order I left signed on her counter.

I’d work fast, I assured myself. And if I heard the shower cut off, I’d holler out again so she wouldn’t be surprised to find me in her apartment.

Sounded like a plan to me.

The air conditioning unit was in a maintenance closet inside the apartment’s utility room. I went inside, stepping around a pile of dirty laundry and the cat box on the floor, pulled the shop vac in after me, and shut the door for more room. When I opened the closet, though, I realized too late she used it for additional storage -- a broom, an old mop, and a snow shovel leaped out at me like some poorly constructed booby trap. I dodged them aside, catching the mop and broom handles, but the shovel was shorter and I winced as it clattered to the floor. Shit! Was she seriously not hearing this?

I strained to hear through the closed door and yep, the shower was still flowing in full force. All right, fine. I planned to be quick, didn’t I? And already I’d wasted a minute fiddling with broomsticks. I leaned the broom and mop against the side of the washing machine and got to work unscrewing the a/c unit vent. As I was on the last screw, I heard the a/c kick on and I could’ve groaned in frustration. Why hadn’t I cut that off?

It didn’t matter now. Plugging the shop vac into the outlet behind the washer, I leaned into the unit and blew out the line, then vacuumed up the condensation that had pooled on the floor. It was an awkward reach -- one of the cooling lines blocked my path, and my arms weren’t long enough to reach all the way inside the unit. The closet was too small to hold my bulk. Easier to go around the front of the unit and unscrew the vent in the hallway.

Which was just across from the bathroom door, now that I thought of it.

But I’d be done in a heartbeat. I’d get all the dripping water out of the a/c and the unit would be as good as new, until the line decided to block up again as they tended to.

So I turned off the vac, pausing a moment to listen for the sound of the shower. Yes, it was still running. Good. I pulled myself out of the cramped closet, unplugged the vac, screwed back on the vent cover, shoved everything that had fallen out of the closet back into it, and shut the door quickly before the broom and its friends could jump at me again. Then I opened the door to the utility room, took a step out into the hall, and came face to face with an incredibly sexy -- and incredibly naked -- wet man.

He rubbed a towel over the top of his head, letting his slim, toned body air dry. Shower spray beaded in the scant tufts of hair on his chest, glistened on his arms and legs. Water ran down chiseled muscles to the V of his crotch, where a fistful of black curls coiled above his heavy dick. I caught a glimpse of his face, nothing more, then couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away from that thick, ruddy, semi-erect cock.

Sweet Jesus. My day just got a whole hell of a lot better.

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JUST WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED by J.M. Snyder

JUST WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED by J.M. Snyder

Curt, a college professor, lives with his lover of several years, a pediatrician of Chinese descent named Lee. Eager to write, he receives a grant to take the summer off and work on a novel. Then Lee's mother calls -- she wants to visit. Curt is eager to meet her but Lee isn't so sure ... she's of a different generation, a different culture even, and doesn’t speak much English. Still, Curt insists.

But when Mrs. Gui arrives, Curt finds himself struggling with writer’s block. He feels like an outsider in his own home when Lee and his mother converse in Cantonese, leaving him out of the conversation, and even his sex life suffers with her in the bedroom next to theirs. Can Curt and Mrs. Gui move past their cultural differences to see that they both love Lee and have his best interests at heart?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



By the time Lee returned I was already relaxing in the hot tub, head back, eyes closed, clothes gone, the water warm and welcome on my bare skin. The plates sat on a towel I had spread within reach, the steaks done to perfection, the shrimp still sizzling on the skewers. Red wine winked in our glasses, the champagne saved for later. I had no intention of leaving the water until absolutely necessary -- I planned on eating right where I was, leaning over the side of the tub if I had to.

When I heard the sliding door squeal faintly over the soothing sounds of Kenny G's soprano sax, I let myself sink a little further into the water, until the bubbles tickled my chin. "Well?" I asked with a slow smile. I heard the solid thud of a belt buckle hitting the floor and opened one eye to see my lover undressing by the side of the tub. "That your mom?"

"Yeah." His pants bunched at his ankles as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. In the last of the sunlight slipping through the blinds around us, his skin took on an olive tone, dark and exotic. His hair stood up in defiant clumps as if he had run his hands through it again and again while on the phone, something he always did when he was nervous or upset.

That bedraggled look told me more about the call than the forced smile on his face or the worried look in his eyes. "Everything alright?" I asked, concerned.

Kicking away his pants, he shrugged off his shirt and dropped it at his feet. The cuff of one sleeve brushed over the wine glasses before falling away. "Fine," he told me, but the way he didn't quite meet my gaze told me he knew I knew better. He hooked his thumbs into his briefs and, with the complete lack of modesty only a seasoned lover could feel, pushed them down his legs. He stepped out of them and into the hot tub, the steam beading on his body like sweat as he sank down until the water covered his slim shoulders. "She's fine," he murmured, gliding towards me.

Beneath the water, I felt his hand on my knee. It slid up my thigh as he closed the distance between us, but I caught it before it could tangle in the kinked hair at my crotch. "That's dessert," I told him. He laughed and let me reel him in, and I kissed his jaw as he sat down beside me. I wanted to take his mind off whatever his mother might have said and get it back where it belonged ... on me. So with a nod at the plates, I said, "Your dinner's getting cold."

"Yours too." He swam around me and pulled the towel with our plates on it a little closer to the tub. I watched his hands as he cut the steaks with sure movements, even and unhurried. In their calm I sensed a guarded wariness as if he had something on his mind and didn't want to ruin my evening with it. "So," he said, the knife working effortlessly. "Now when people ask what you do for a living, you can say you're a full-time writer. No, full-time author. By this time next year, Oprah will be knocking down our door to get a piece of you."

I laughed. Sidling up behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist and let my fingers play against his inner thighs. An inch or two higher and ... the steak he was so carefully cutting wasn't the only thing I wanted to swallow down. "She can't have me yet," I teased. Like two pieces of a complex puzzle, our bodies locked together perfectly, the cleft of his buttocks fitting nicely against my hardening shaft. I kissed the nape of his neck and tasted sweat and chlorine. "Tonight I'm all yours."

"Didn't you say this was dessert?" Lee asked, wiggling his hips back into me.

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MORE LIES by J.M. Snyder

MORE LIES by J.M. Snyder

In Beautiful Liar, former childhood television star Johnny Thomas wants to get back into show business. He hires his old manager, Lou, who has heard rumors of Johnny's sexuality. Though he's advised to play it straight, Johnny falls for Brett, a photographer whose candid shots of the lovers almost sinks Johnny's career before it can get off the ground.

More Lies takes place several months after Johnny's landed a coveted role in the upcoming Roxy Greene summer blockbuster. Lou tells him Roxy wants the media to think she and Johnny are a hot item off the set to build buzz for the movie. Now that he's dating Brett, Johnny doesn't feel comfortable lying about his love life, but surprisingly his boyfriend thinks it's a great idea.

But when Johnny and Roxy meet for the first time, it's evident neither of them are keen on the charade.

If Roxy's attitude is any indication, she can't stand Johnny. What happens when she finds out he's lying about his sexuality to keep his role in her film?BUY THE eBOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



Lunch is a disaster. Despite the cameras and the fans clamoring for attention mere yards away, Johnny feels invisible. Lou and Becky talk shop, leaving him to entertain Roxy, but she’s more interested in her iPhone than anything he might have to say. The few questions he asks go unanswered -- she’s either playing a game on the phone or texting someone, and it takes all her attention. Even though she sits beside him, she’s a million miles away. She even props her head on her hand, letting her hair fall like a veil to obscure her face from him.

He doesn’t know her and already he hates her.

He could really use that rum and Coke now, but when he tries to signal the waiter, Lou intervenes. “Just soda,” the manager says, staring Johnny down. “Who’s picking up the tab?”

Johnny glares at the salad sitting in front of him, a starter course he isn’t interested in eating.

As if feeling the tension at the table for the first time, Becky glances over at her daughter and clears her throat. Roxy ignores her, and Johnny feels a foot brush his under the table, then Roxy jolts as if kicked. She brushes the hair from her face long enough to frown at her mother. Because he’s watching, Johnny sees Becky mouth the words, “Put that away.”

Who’s idea was this lunch again? Because Johnny doesn’t think anyone at their table is enjoying it.

With a huff, Roxy pockets the iPhone and picks at her salad. She tucks her hair behind her ear and glances at him, still scowling. “Who are you again?”

Her mother hisses, “Roxy.”

“Johnny,” he says, glad to be spoken to at last. “Johnny Thomas. I’m in your movie.”

Roxy stabs at her salad with her fork and grunts. “Oh yeah, right.”

Uneasy silence settles over them again. Johnny watches her eat for a moment before deciding to give his own salad a try. Searching for something to say, anything that might get her talking, he asks, “Who were you texting?”

Her answer is short and clipped, hostile. “Mel.”

He almost chokes on his salad. “Boyfriend?” If so, why is he here again?

The look she gives him could curdle cheese. “Don’t you even watch my show?”

There it is -- the million dollar question. Brett had tried to prep Johnny for the luncheon by bringing him up to date on Roxy’s stardom, but Johnny only half listened at the time. He hadn’t honestly thought she’d ask him anything about her television series. Who was that egotistical?

He could lie. Shrug and say, “Sure,” and hope she doesn’t start asking random trivia questions for him to answer. Or he could be honest with her and face the consequences. Yeah, he thinks, swallowing the lettuce he’s chewed into pulp, because everything about this meeting is honest. Bullshit.

Still, the truth has to start somewhere. Reaching for his soda, he admits, “I’ve never actually seen it.”

Her eyes widen until the whites perfectly frame her irises. It’s a spooky look, dark eyes rimmed with white outlined with black kohl. It gives her a frightened appearance. “What?”

“Your show.” He gulps his drink -- too late to turn back now. “I’ve never watched it. To be honest, I didn’t even know who you were before I auditioned for the movie.”

He tenses his shoulders, waiting for the diva-esque backlash he’s sure will come.

To his surprise, she laughs.

He winces and sort of smiles as he turns toward her, not really sure what she expects. Her face is lit with an open, easy expression he can almost like. Leaning closer, she lowers her voice and admits, “It’s okay. I’ve never really watched it, either.”

With a grin, Johnny thinks, Now we’re getting somewhere. “So who’s Mel? Love interest?”

“Best friend,” Roxy corrects. “Female, I might add. So no.”

Her gaze shifts past him to her mother before dropping to what remains of her salad, and something in that worried glance makes Johnny think he’s not the only one playing a part in someone else’s script.

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BEAUTIFUL LIAR by J.M. Snyder

BEAUTIFUL LIAR by J.M. Snyder

At fifteen, JT Pierce was the star of a hit TV show and had the world in his hands. Every teeny-bopper magazine had his face on it; every teenage girl had his poster on her wall. But then the show went on hiatus, and JT wouldn’t lower himself to bit parts or commercials. Slowly, his star faded from view.

Seven years later, JT is Johnny Thomas, who hopes to jumpstart his career by hiring his former manager, Lou Merrin. He wants to do serious movies, a huge blockbuster or two, and claim one of those coveted Oscars for himself. But Lou cautions Johnny about the paparazzi, who can make or break a star these days, and he’s heard rumors of Johnny’s sexuality that might prevent him from landing those coveted leading roles.

Still, Johnny’s nothing if not persistent, and he swears he’ll play it straight. Until he meets Brett, a photographer who turns his life -- and his heart -- upside down. Suddenly the celebrity gossip website Z-23 seems to have exclusive pictures of Johnny, and someone close to him leaks information about an audition that was supposed to be kept quiet. When photographs surface that Johnny thought were taken in confidence, he realizes he must choose between the career path Lou offers him and the love he wants to share with Brett.

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



Inside the club, the air is close and smoky. The crowd moves like the tide, flowing from one side of the room to the other, catching Johnny in the undertow and pulling him along until he’s washed up against the side of the bar. He’s seeing stars he only dreams about meeting one day and he stands with his back against the bar, watching them bob past him like ships in the night. All the big names are here, and he feels his own status burn a little brighter just being this close to the others. This is what he’s missed all these years. This is where he should’ve been, where he belongs.

Someone bumps into him. He moves aside to make room but the stranger presses against him, clinging to his side. He feels a strong hand ease around his arm to settle somewhere in the small of his back, and hot breath curls into his ear. A masculine voice sighs into him, “Hey.”

Johnny spares a glance and finds himself staring into deep eyes the color of rich chocolate. His gaze flickers to take in short brown hair, lighter than his own, streaked by the sun and standing up from a tanned, sweaty brow. A strong, aquiline nose above too red lips. A small gold hoop earring in one ear and, around a slim neck, a black cord with a handful of white puka shell chips like all the surfer guys wear. The shells fall in the hollow of the stranger’s throat, accenting his dusky skin.

One thought crosses Johnny’s mind. Fuck Lou. He isn’t famous yet, right?

His grin must be encouraging, because it makes the stranger grin back. Leaning against Johnny, he shouts to be heard over the music and the crowd. “Anyone ever tell you that you should be a model with a smile like that?”

Johnny laughs. “Is that your best line?”

“I’m serious. Brett Cary.” The stranger holds out a business card for Johnny to read. Freelance Photographer. “With your looks? I could make you a star.”

Taking the card, Johnny jokes, “That seems to be the general consensus today. You do headshots?”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Brett says.

His suggestive look says he’s not only talking about photos, either. And suddenly Johnny’s evening goes from just alright to hell yeah.

“You come here often?”

Johnny shakes his head. “I’m usually at the Den downtown,” he calls out, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd.

The Den, only Hollywood’s hottest gay club. Johnny watches Brett smile, a slow, sexy grin that says he got the hint. Closing the distance between them, he leans down over Johnny’s shoulder, one hand brushing over the soft skin on the inside of Johnny’s elbow. The touch is ticklish but Johnny doesn’t pull away. Instead, he studies those dark eyes and imagines they’re shadows he could disappear into tonight. Brett’s mouth curves into a bemused grin. “Can I buy you a drink?”

His gaze flickers past him and Johnny turns to see the bartender, waiting to take his order. When he moves, his back presses against Brett’s arm -- warm, firm, strong. With a coy glance over his shoulder at Brett, he suggests, “How about some Sex on the Beach?”

The photog’s eyes widen at his brazen words, but a moment later, they soften and the smile’s back. One hand drifts to Johnny’s waist, nimble fingers easing into the band of his jeans. “You want to wait that long?” he teases. “I was thinking the VIP Lounge upstairs ...”

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FLASHED! by J.M. Snyder

FLASHED!

by J.M. Snyder

Read an excerpt or buy your copy today!

BLURB:

A novel is a love affair, with its ups and downs, but a short story can sometimes be nothing more than a one night stand, a brief date, or a quick kiss in the dark. Flashed! is a collection of 36 very short, "flash fiction" stories and a handful of love poems by J.M. Snyder, best-selling author of gay erotic romance. Each vignette is a glimpse into the lives and loves of very different couples. Some erotic, some bittersweet, every story in this collection celebrates a passion found only between two men.

From drag queens to college hoops players, veterans to rockstars, one time lovers to lifelong companions, men at work to men in tights, there's a little something for everyone in this collection. Some of these stories were once posted to the author's blog or appeared online elsewhere, but fans will find many new stories -- and characters -- to love once they've been Flashed!

Read an excerpt or buy your copy today!

EXCERPT:

Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



Can I Just Say?

the taste of you still lingers on my tongue
can i just say
you taste like salt and the sea
and sticky taffy and sand
can i just say
you taste like summer and the rain
and hot pretzels drizzled with honey and mustard
can i just say
you taste like cola and the tears i cried
as you held me close on the beach
after we had sex even though i told you no

* * * *

DJ ‘N’ Mr. Yes

On weekends, the city’s pulse quickens in time with thundering hip-hop beats bleeding from the clubs out into the night. DJ follows the crowd, surfing from one party to the next, looking for the latest music, the trendiest clothes, the hottest bodies. He wants someone hard and tight, muscles barely sheathed by tanned skin, enough of an ass to grind up against in the dark. Someone to please him, someone to tease. Someone to take him in as far as he’ll go and beg for more.

He finds such a guy at a club downtown. Young, blond, hard abs beneath a mesh tank and arms that DJ could barely encircle with both hands. Eyes like the ice in whatever it is he’s drinking, and lips he licks wet when he sees DJ looking. The music moves him closer, each bump of his hips cranking DJ’s lust up another notch, until he’s rubbing his groin against DJ’s in welcome. His eyes ask that eternal question: “Where?”

DJ leads the way to the bathroom. In a cramped stall, DJ’s hands smooth up under the mesh tank, his tongue circling around pert nipples until the guy moans, “Yes.”

DJ works his way into those painted-on jeans, finds a thick erection and thumbs behind it, earning him another “Yes.”

A damp mouth on his, legs spread at his touch, hands fisted in his shirt when he raises those knees to ease inside that puckered hole, yes.

Hot breath in his ear, barely audible here, yes.

DJ pierces into him with rough thrusts, fucks into the warm, willing ass again and again. The skin that sheathes his cock shudders with the music, a fevered heartbeat that races into the night. Yes, and yes, and yes, until they both come in a sticky, heated rush.

Yes.

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BETWEEN STATES by J. M. Snyder

BETWEEN STATES by J.M. Snyder

The year is 1863.

Caleb Chilson is a private in the Confederate Army, currently camped in the Virginian woods.

Most of his time is spent on picket duty, on the lookout for a Yankee attack. But when the moon is full, he manages to slip away from the encampment and into the woods to become something a little less than human ...

Imagine his surprise when he meets another werecat like himself. The only difference? Brance Brenneman wears a Yankee uniform.


Contains the stories:
•Book 1: Under a Confederate Moon
•Book 2: Beneath a Yankee Sky
•Book 3: A More Perfect Union

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EXCERPT FROM "Beneath a Yankee Sky"
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Brance chased after Caleb, their feline bodies mere shadows racing among many in the night. His teeth were bared and Caleb’s scent filled his nostrils, enflamed his instincts. He wanted to mate and to eat, in that order. But his lover liked to run -- he liked to be caught, and kept just out of reach as they tore through the underbrush, scaring up mice and birds and any number of small creatures in their wake.

Ahead, the trees opened into a small thicket. Too late, Brance realized he was running headlong into an ambush; he skidded to a stop in the thick grass and turned as a bobcat’s battle cry filled the clearing. Before he could speak, Caleb tackled him, a ball of fur and strong hind legs. They rolled back into the grass, Brance’s jaws snapping for purchase, Caleb’s wet nose nuzzling into his ballocks as his tail tickled under Brance’s nose. The woods were alive with Caleb’s scent, a wild, rangy smell that Brance wanted to pin down beneath him and rub against until his senses exploded in orgasm. ::Fuck me,:: Caleb demanded, tongue licking below Brance’s tail to entice his penis to extend. ::What are we waiting for here? If you’re not going to --::

Brance’s growl cut him off. ::Can’t you ever be still?::

Chastised, Caleb rolled away from Brance. He sat on his haunches, eyes closed, as if he hadn’t just been cavorting like a kitten a moment ago. With feline dignity, he licked one forepaw, smoothed it back over his ear, repeated the gesture. ::Fine.::

Lying on his side, Brance watched his lover, wary. The grooming was a ploy, nothing more. He watched the large paw run back over the ear, turning it inside out until Caleb flicked it right again. Caleb kept his eyes closed, his whole body still except for the paw and the tip of his tail, which tamped down the grass. With an almost human-like sigh, Brance drew in a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. The last thing he wanted to admit was that it seemed too quiet now, with Caleb pretending to ignore him. His own tail slapped the grass in a quick, angry motion.

A ragged purring erupted from Caleb. He lowered his body down to the ground, stretched out his paws, and extended his claws to rake through the soft fur on Brance’s underbelly. When Brance didn’t move, Caleb dared to inch closer, nose wrinkling as he sniffed his way along his lover’s body. The second that wet nose touched his fur, Brance raised his hind leg and set his paw against Caleb’s forehead to hold him back.

::Please,:: Caleb said. He came closer still, widening the space between Brance’s legs, nose drawn once again to the other cat’s genitals. His rough tongue licked out to taste Brance’s tender ballocks. ::Just let me ...::

Brance’s growl raised his own hackles. ::Have I no say in the matter?::

Caleb huffed, his nose filled with Brance’s fur as he routed out the erect pink penis below Brance’s anus. When Caleb’s tongue licked it, an intense pleasure shot through Brance and he kneaded the ground with his forepaws, his growl dissipating into a loud purr. Amused, Caleb countered, ::I think this says it all.::

In one fluid motion, Brance extracted himself from Caleb’s ministrations and leapt to his feet. Before the other bobcat could react, he pounced -- his teeth sank into the thick fur at Caleb’s neck, holding him in place. A rowdy mrraow filled the night. Beneath him, Caleb arched his back, raising his rear haunches into the air to present himself. His claws tore up the grass in his need; as Brance’s underbelly rubbed over his backside, Caleb’s tongue darted out, lapping up the air. One word passed between them, over and over again, a litany of affirmation, acceptance, love. ::Please,:: Caleb begged as Brance’s body covered his. ::Please,:: as Brance’s penis rimmed Caleb’s flaring hole. ::Please, please, please.::

Then Brance entered him, and their mingled cries of lust drowned out all other sound.

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ENCORE by J.M. Snyder

ENCORE by J.M. Snyder

BRAND NEW FICTION FROM J.M. SNYDER!

In Beautiful Disaster, pop superstar Corey Evans realizes how hollow he feels until he discovers he's in love with his best friend and band mate, Ian Coltraine. Together they form the successful pop duo 2ICE, and this story picks up where the first left off.

A couple not only onstage but in the bedroom now, Ian and Corey have managed to hide their newfound relationship from the fans, the press, and -- most importantly -- their management. But when manager Dean Summers stumbles upon the two of them together, he's determined to put an end to what he sees as a destructive course which can only end up tearing the band apart.

Is the budding love Ian and Corey share strong enough to stand up to the pressures they face?

If you haven't read Beautiful Disaster, this story may not make much sense. So pick up the first story before diving into this short, satisfying sequel!

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

The kiss was electric, spiking between them, burning away the moment, the world and everything in it, everything that wasn’t Ian on Corey, in him. Yes, Corey thought, the single word eclipsing all other processes in his brain. Yes, God yes, this, please.

When Ian broke away, Corey fell back to the pillow and stared up at his lover, breathless. For a long moment, neither said anything. Truth be told, Corey thought they could never move or speak again, and he’d die happy. Ian was his, here with him now, and nothing else mattered.

Then a familiar glint lit up Ian’s eyes, a hunger Corey knew all too well. The heated blush of arousal spread through him like a fever -- the anticipation of things to come. Of them coming, together. Coyly Corey asked, “What?”

“You know what.” Ian half-rolled onto Corey, pressing his groin against Corey’s hip. “The condoms are in my bag on the sink. Unless you aren’t interested ...”

“When am I not interested?” Pushing himself up with both arms, Corey claimed another quick kiss, then slid off the edge of the bed.

He didn’t get far -- Ian caught one hand and held onto it, pulling him back.

“Give me one more,” he said, puckering his lips.

Corey obliged. What began as a quick peck deepened, and Corey had to lean heavily on the bed with his knees to keep from falling back to the mattress. Releasing him, Ian ran a hand up Corey’s forearm, over his bicep, up to his shoulder then down the thin muscles of his chest. One of Corey’s legs rose of its own volition, already climbing back into his recently vacated spot beside Ian. Fuck the condoms. He needed this.

Before he could climb back into bed, a hard knock rapped on the room door.

Corey’s eyes flew open. He found Ian staring back at him, a look of fear frozen on his face. When the knock came again, Ian groaned and closed his eyes in frustration. “Fuck,” he whispered, his hands falling from Corey’s body. “It’s too damn early for this.”

Corey frowned. “Who do you think it is?”

Ian touched Corey’s stomach. “You think I know?” When Corey grinned, Ian poked his forefinger into Corey’s belly. “Go find out. Tell whoever it is we’re busy and don’t wish to be disturbed.”

“We need one of those signs.” Corey stretched as he stood, and Ian’s finger trailed down his stomach, over his slight pubic mound, to tweak his half-erect cock. With a laugh, Corey danced out of reach. “Maybe it’s room service. I could use breakfast in bed.”

Ian rolled onto his back, the bed sheets sliding down to expose bare skin. “I didn’t call.”

A third knock kept Corey from answering. As he crossed the room, he snagged his boxer briefs from where they lay discarded on the floor and tugged them on, tucking his swollen dick roughly into the front of the underwear. If it wasn’t room service, it better damn well be something serious. His spot in the bed was getting cold, and he wanted Ian’s arms around him again. Quietly he approached the door and peeked through the peephole.

Their manager Dean stood on the other side. He blinked in the bright lights and looked down the hallway, scratching the back of his neck as he waited.

“Who is it?” Ian asked, snuggling deeper into the blankets.

Corey’s breath fogged up the peephole. “Dean. Shit.”

Before Ian could respond, Corey unlocked the door and opened it a crack, hiding behind the sturdy wood. “Yeah?” he asked, frowning.

Dean blinked at him and took a step back. “Whoa, wrong room, man. Sorry about that.” He looked down the hallway again and frowned. “Wait a minute -- aren’t you on the other end of the hall?”

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BEAUTIFUL DISASTER by J.M. Snyder

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER by J.M. Snyder

Twenty year old Corey Evans is one-half of 2ICE, the biggest duo on the radio at the moment. Pronounced twice, they're number one on the Billboard charts this week with their latest single. And number one in download sales, with two albums that have already gone platinum, to hear their manager tell it. And currently on their second U.S. tour, which has sold out stadiums across the nation.

Despite this, there's an emptiness inside him which Corey can't seem to fill, no matter how many groupies he takes to his bed. He sees this same emptiness mirrored in the eyes of his band-mate, Ian Coltraine, who drowns his evenings after each show with a bottle of whiskey. Ian's the one Corey turns to when he wakes beside an unknown fan, still asleep in his bed and needs help evicting her. He's Corey best friend, the only person on the tour he can confide in, who he really trusts ...

The one, Corey finally realizes, with whom he is madly, deeply, terribly in love. And he suspects Ian might feel the same.

But his recent string of one-night stands makes Ian cautious about Corey's true feelings. He's wanted Corey for so long, and has watched him go through countless fans in search of ... what? Ian doesn't know. And he doesn't yet believe Corey when he says Ian might be it. Ian hopes so, but can't bring himself to believe Corey's fickle desire won't be gone in the morning.

Can these two young men somehow move beyond Corey's past and Ian's pain to embrace a love they both so desperately desire?

NOTE: The paperback also contains the short stories Encore and Render, which feature the same characters.

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Corey pulled back the comforter, exposing pristine white sheets that still looked ironed. Ian hadn't slept in the bed at all. As Corey eased between the covers, the sheets cool on his skin, he frowned and tried to forget about the girl in his own bed down the hall. What the fuck was he going to do about that in the morning?

He didn't know.

Leaning back against the pillow, he pulled the comforter up to his armpits and looked over at Ian, who sat in the chair watching him. Watching him. So he still existed. He was still real, still alive, still here. "The bed's big enough for two," he murmured.

"I'm fine," Ian replied, but suddenly he didn't look fine to Corey. He looked sad and old and alone, and not fine in the least.

With a sigh, Corey rolled his eyes and let a slight whine creep into his voice. "Ian. There's plenty of room." To emphasize his point, he patted the empty space beside him. When Ian didn't reply, Corey said, "This is your bed. I'll sleep on the floor if I have to. Is that what you want? It doesn't matter to me. Just as long as I don't have to go back --"

"Fine." Ian hoisted himself out of the chair and stumbled to the bed. Sitting on the edge farthest from Corey, he kicked off his shoes and glared at the floor. "You happy now? You got what you wanted, Corey. You fucking happy?"

"Jeez." Corey didn't say another word as Ian began to undress, slipping out of his shirt and tugging down his pants until he stood in just his boxers and undershirt. As he reached across the bed to cut off the lamp, his shadow fell over Corey, blocking the light from his eyes. Then the room plunged into darkness, and the bed shook as Ian climbed beneath the covers.

Corey lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, blinking to assure himself his eyes were still open. He waited until Ian settled into a comfortable position before he turned toward his friend, who was rolled on his side away from him. All Corey could see was the slump of Ian's shoulder outlined against the dim glow of the curtains. "Ian?"

"What?" His voice was muffled, his mouth probably buried in the pillow.

Clearing his throat, Corey asked, "Are you mad at me?"

For a moment he didn't think Ian would answer. Then Ian sighed. "No."

Corey released a shaky breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Good."

Now that the lights were out and Ian was just a shadow in the darkness, Corey's mind couldn't stop turning, and he didn't want the silence that surrounded them to get inside. He wanted to hear Ian's deep voice, soft and comforting and slurred, wrap around him and hold him close. He wanted to hear Ian's steady breath drown out the tick of the alarm clock and the sounds of the city beyond the drawn curtain. "Ian?" he asked again.

"What?" Ian replied, gentler this time.

"Talk to me." Talk to me and make me real. Make this real, so I'll be able to look back on it when I'm alone and scared again and know for a few moments at least I existed to someone as just Corey and not anything else. Please, Ian. Please give me that much.

Ian chuckled. "You wanted me to get into bed so we could sleep. Now you want me to talk to you? What do you want me to say?"

"Anything." When Ian didn't answer, Corey prompted, "What were you doing in the lounge?"

"Drinking," Ian said.

Corey grinned. "I know that. What were you thinking about?"

"You," came the soft reply.

"Really?" Corey frowned at Ian's back. "Me? Why?"

Ian sighed. "I don't feel like talking right now, Corey, okay? I just don't."

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