Showing posts with label demisexual. Show all posts
Showing posts with label demisexual. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Sophmore Surge by K.R. Collins - Release Blitz with Excerpt and Giveaway


Title: Sophomore Surge
Series: Sophie Fournier, Book Two
Author: K.R. Collins
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: November 25, 2019
Heat Level: 1 - No Sex
Pairing: No Romance
Length: 94400
Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, Contemporary, new adult, family-drama, sports, ice hockey, Concord, teammates, rivals, championship, demisexual

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Synopsis


Entering her second season in the North American Hockey League, Sophie Fournier sets her expectations high. The Concord Condors will make the playoffs for the first time in franchise history. They have the veteran core to do it and the new talent to give them the extra push.

From the beginning, things don’t go according to plan. The season begins without one of their best players, and they lose others to injury and trades as the season progresses. Hockey is a team sport, and Sophie can’t drag them to the playoffs on her own. Is her voice loud enough to convince her team to believe the way she does?

Excerpt


Sophomore Surge
K.R. Collins © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Sophie braves the Manchester airport, her ball cap pulled down low over her eyes so she won’t be recognized. On a different day, she wouldn’t mind being noticed by kids or even their parents. It would be a sign of how quickly hockey has caught on since she made her debut with the Concord Condors last season. Today, though, she’s on a mission.

Theodore Augereau, one of her teammates, is flying in, and she promised him a place to crash during the convention. Fan Fest is Concord’s first event of its kind, a weekend-long celebration of Condors hockey. They’ve planned autograph signings, player panels to answer questions, photo-ops, everything their PR team could think of to drum up support and excitement for the 2012-2013 season.

Sophie’s been in town for a few days helping to prepare, and her teammates are finally trickling in to join her. She spots a familiar figure in the crowd. Teddy has his hat tipped to hide his eyes, same as her, but she’d recognize those scrawny chicken legs anywhere. His goalie pads make him appear twice as large as he is, but in shorts and a T-shirt he looks small.

“You’re too skinny,” she tells him once they’re together. “Don’t you know the off-season is for bulking up?”

Teddy taps her shoulder where her shirt stretches thin to accommodate the breadth of her muscles. “You hit the weight room enough for both of us.”

She grins, pleased he noticed. She spent the summer training, determined to drag Concord into the playoffs this year. The last time she saw Teddy, his shoulders were hunched, the same misery in his eyes reflected in hers because it was locker room cleanout day, and their season ended too early. It’ll be different this year. They’ll have a postseason for the first time in franchise history.

“The guest room is made up for you,” she says as the baggage claim belt begins to move. “I even stocked the fridge.”

“You’ll spoil me.”

“You’re my goalie.” Goalies are meant to be protected—and spoiled—at all costs. Happy goalies make for happy teams. Jakub Lindholm—Lindy—is their starter, but he was Matty’s long before Sophie came to Concord. She knows better than to think she’ll separate their number one goalie from their captain. But she claimed Teddy last year, fair and square.

Teddy finds the black suitcase with a white 30 embroidered on it and hefts it off the belt. “Will you carry my bag?”

He grins as if he’s teasing. Sophie matches his smile. “Sure. I mean, it looks like I’m the only one who worked out this summer.”

“I tried!” Teddy slaps her hands away as she makes a grab for his bag. He lifts it up even though it has perfectly functioning wheels. His muscles flex, but where Sophie is thick and solid, he’s wiry like one of those Gumby figures she played with at her grandparents’ house.

“Men and their egos,” Sophie sighs.

“The summer didn’t make you any nicer.”

“I picked you up from the airport, I’m feeding you, and I’m giving you a place to stay.” She ticks each reason off on her fingers. “But you’re right. I’m not nice at all.”

“I’m not going to win this one.”

She laughs as she playfully bumps his shoulder. “I rarely lose.”

“Welcome to my apartment.” Sophie opens the door and ushers Teddy in. Last year, given her status as the first woman in the League, the Condors organization felt it was best for her to live with her general manager and his family rather than with one of her teammates. The Wilcoxes had been kind, but she’s ready for something different.

Sharing an apartment with Elsa will be new, but, more importantly, it’ll make her feel normal. Most players don’t eat dinner with their GM after practice or babysit his kids on their off days. They play video games with their teammates and eat too many tacos. She’s spent so much of her career set apart from what typical hockey players do. She’s excited to finally be like them.

She and Elsa haven’t talked much this summer which means Sophie’s done most of the decorating for their apartment on her own. The living room, the first thing anyone sees when they walk through the door, is all Sophie. The floors are hardwood, which is how the apartment came, but she picked out a slate-gray suede couch. It’s extra wide to accommodate hockey players, and she bought the matching love seat. The smaller couch won’t work for napping, but it’s somewhere for people to sit if they ever have company.

The coffee table is the same one displayed when she went furniture shopping. It’s square, with a glass inlay in the wood. The woman at the store said it’s ideal for displaying magazines without cluttering the top of the table. In deference to the saleswoman, she placed a few copies of After the Whistle inside. Carol Rogers, the reporter for the segment, also publishes weekly articles on the state of the League. At the end of each season, they compile her articles and interview transcripts into one large publication. It’s a look-back on the season, and Sophie can trace the history of the sport she loves by paging through the issues.

“Do you want a snack before your shower or after?” Sophie asks Teddy as she moves into the kitchen. It’s smaller than her parents’ kitchen, but it’s functional. There’s an oven with four cooktops and a fridge with a freezer big enough to store all the ice packs she and Elsa will need.

“The shower isn’t optional?” Teddy grins as he slides his shoes off near the door. “What’re you trying to say about me?”

“You smell like airport. You can’t take forever, we have places to be today.” Matty—Daniel Mathers—offered Lindy’s house for a team get-together before the convention. It’ll be a good opportunity to see everyone before they have to be on their best behavior for the fans. “The guest room is the one at the end of the hall. The bathroom’s the one with the toilet.”

Teddy laughs as he wheels his suitcase down the hall. Sophie pulls two bags of tortilla chips out of her pantry and takes out the salsa dip she made after a frantic Google search last night. It’s a layered dip with shredded buffalo chicken, and she hopes it tastes good. Cooking’s still new to her. At Chilton Academy, all their meals were provided to them and not much has changed since she made the jump to the North American Hockey League. Last year, Amber Wilcox and the team accounted for the majority of her meals.

When she asked Elsa if she has any hidden talents in the kitchen, Elsa sent back a picture of an open-face sandwich with either pickles or cucumbers on top. Sophie reapplied herself to finding easy, but trainer-approved recipes. At least if things become dire, she and Elsa can always order takeout.

“What are these?” Teddy pops back into the kitchen, holding a powder-blue hand towel with a seashell border.

“They came as a set; shower curtain, rug, towels. It means everything matches.”

Teddy stares at the towel. “Seriously?”

“It’s the guest bathroom. There are no seashells in mine.”

“Do they make towels with embroidered hockey pucks or do you have to custom order them?”

“Fuck off and shower.”

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

K.R. Collins went to college in Pennsylvania where she learned to write and fell in love with hockey. When she isn’t working or writing, she watches hockey games and claims it’s for research. Follow K.R. on Twitter.

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Monday, March 18, 2019

Time Taken by C.B. Lewis - Release Blitz with Excerpt and Giveaway




Title: Time Taken
Series: Out of Time, Book Three
Author: C.B. Lewis
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: March 18, 2019
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 124900
Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, science fiction, time travel, historical, action adventure, intercultural/interracial, bisexual, demisexual, British, Muslim culture, illness

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Synopsis

Time travel is a precarious business at the best of times, but when Qasim El-Fahkri’s mission to the past ends in violence, it has a ripple effect through every level of the Temporal Research Institute.

Rhys Griffiths finds himself caught in the wake of the disastrous jump, his own career uncertain. With the Supervisory Board breathing down his neck, operatives demanding answers to baffling questions, and life outside of work bearing down on him, his only respite comes from Qasim’s company. As the professional slowly becomes the personal, they must confront the echoes of their own pasts to try and move forward in the future.

But another past is waiting for Qasim, and there may be no coming back from this one…

For full enjoyment, it is recommended to first read books 1, Time Waits, and 2, Time Lost.

Excerpt

Time Taken
C.B. Lewis © 2019
All Rights Reserved

The rain had finally stopped. The cobbles gleamed in the hazy moonlight, dappled with the warmer glow from the windows of the houses. It was late enough for the streets to be deserted, and the marketplace was silent.

Booted feet tramped by through the streets.

Half a dozen Janissaries. Members of the Sultan’s elite guard. All armed with swords and guns. In better days, they would have been a comforting sight. Now, they were the reason people shuttered their windows and closed down their shops at night. With tensions rising across the city, it was better to stay out of their way.

In the shadows between the stalls, a dark figure crouched out of sight.

It wasn’t the best idea.

Less than three feet away, there was a broad gutter cutting through the road ankle-deep with the waste of the day. Even with the breeze from the Bosphorus, it stank.

A donkey turd bobbed by.

Qasim El-Fahkri made a face, leaning further back into the shadows and away from the gutter.

It was going to be a relief to get back to the twenty-first century, a time with better hygiene and less danger.

Something brushed against his shoulder.

Only a few years earlier, Qasim would have screamed like a kid, fallen over, or added a sample of his own to the gutter. Thankfully, he’d been on enough missions to know how to control himself, even if his heart was slamming against his ribs and he’d snapped his mouth shut so hard he’d gashed his lip.

There were no shouts and, whatever it was, it didn’t have fingers or a grip on him or a knife at his throat.

He twisted around.

A cat was standing on the cobbles, within arm’s reach, glowering at him as if he had mortally offended it for getting in its way. Standard cat, then. Relieved, he turned his attention to the soldiers. They were at the edge of the market now. He just had to stay out of sight a little…

The cat yowled.

Qasim whipped around. “Shh!” he hissed. “Please, shh!”

The cat either didn’t speak panicked human or didn’t care and yowled again. The soldiers weren’t leaving. Their footfalls had turned, coming back, approaching.

Qasim glanced around wildly. There were only two exits from the marketplace, and one of them was definitely not available, on account of the swords and the men attached to them.

The cat wasn’t shutting up either.

Some part of his brain must have been operating because he grabbed the sodden creature and shoved it down the front of his robe. It squirmed but, mercifully, didn’t remember it had claws. Qasim wrapped his arms over his chest and held his breath.

The footsteps came closer, paused, then moved away again.

Qasim exhaled, closing his eyes.

Too close. Far too close.

Cautiously, he slid closer to the edge of the market stall and peered around it. Between the other stalls, he could see the soldiers heading for the gate. All five of them were marching briskly, and he waited until they were out of sight, then slipped out from behind the stall and straightened up.

Maths. Bollocks! Always a weakness, but he’d never failed to count to six before.

The lingering Janissary—sneaky bastard—grabbed at him.

Everyone thought Qasim was cool in a crisis, which was frankly hilarious. He was the proverbial swan: majestic on the surface, paddling like mad underneath.

Still, there was always a bit of him that seemed to know what it was doing, and it dinged the man hard across the head, hard enough to send him reeling and crashing into the nearest stall.

The cover on the stall gave way, taking one of the support beams with it. The silence shattered as wood and canvas and a full-grown, fully armed man crashed down on the cobbles.

Qasim turned and ran. Behind him, the fallen soldier was yelling. There was some very vulgar Turkish in there, nearly beyond Qasim’s vocabulary, but enough for him to feel offended on behalf of his mother and goats.

The streets were a labyrinth—one he’d memorised as much as possible in the weeks leading up to the mission. Just in case, Dieter and Gulshan had both insisted, and as Qasim ducked down a passage and skidded around a corner into a broader alleyway, he wanted to kiss them both.

There was a wail from inside his robe, and the cat wriggled against his chest, but there was no time to stop or release it. “Shh,” he panted as he vaulted over a staircase wall and dropped into the alley below. He ducked under the stairs to catch his breath.

From the street above, the shouts of the men chasing him rang out.

For once, he appreciated the curfew. The drama at the Hippodrome had people on edge. It wasn’t official, but with Janissaries raising arms, people preferred to take refuge indoors. A political storm was about to break. No one wanted to be caught in it. It also meant no one would flag the guards down and let them know where he was. Problem was he was out in the dark with roaming bands of Janissaries and had a rendezvous point at least a half a mile away.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

C.B. Lewis is small, Scottish and writes pretty much anywhere, any time. She loves to travel and tends to bring home at least four new plot bunnies from every trip she goes on. She’s very excited to continue the adventures of the Out of Time series.

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