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Nicholas Eternal
-- Only $1.99 for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: Nick leaned on Noory as alcohol emanated from every pore. “It’s gone on forever, you know.” “What has?” Noory asked. “Me, saving them. Sometimes not. I’m exhausted, Light.” He looked at her with a sad smile. “Light? You know my name means light.” “I do. I can see it, too. It’s like a soft glow,” Nick said, passing a hand over her head to indicate an aura around her. Noory wondered if he could see anything else about her but didn’t dare ask. She was suddenly afraid to know. “Now,” she said, “how could it have gone on forever? You don’t look like you’re much older than me. You’re what? Thirty?” Nick laughed as he failed typing the pass code to get into his penthouse. “Third time’s a charm,” he said. The door gave a soft click, and Noory helped him inside. She looked around at the open space and large windows framing the Atlanta skyline as the city lights twinkled in the night. The place was all polished dark wood floors and leather furniture, but she didn’t see any pictures of family or friends. She led Nick to the couch, and he fell onto it as she sat down beside him. He looked at her. “Do you hear them, too?” he asked. “Who?” Noory thought she saw a glimmer of hope in his whiskey-brown eyes. He placed his hand on the top of her head, warm and strong, if a little clumsy. He ran his fingers down the length of her hair, past her cheek, her neck, and dangerously close to her breast. The look of hope was replaced by desire for the briefest of moments before she marked the instant he withdrew back into himself. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Nick exhaled and sank deeper into the couch. She watched as his eyelids grew heavier. “You’d be surprised what I’d believe, Nick.” She leaned over and gently brushed the thick brown hair from his forehead. As she did, her sleeve fell back from her wrist, revealing a small tattoo of an “X” with a tiny hook on the top right corner. Nick’s eyes opened wider in recognition before they rolled back into his head, and he began to softly snore. Noory passed her fingers across the tiny hooked “X” and wondered if he had really known what it meant but doubted he would remember seeing it in the morning. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Reasons Why Not to Date the Best Friend
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Finn stepped through Maggie’s back door and immediately ducked, dodging the flying tennis ball at the last second. Without that fourth cup of coffee, that sucker would have nailed him right in the damn eye. As it was, he was alert—and jittery—as hell. Don’t give the caffeine all the credit. Tossing his keys on her kitchen counter, he hesitantly walked across the tile floor, approaching the living room with caution. There was… Shit, he didn’t know what to even call the wide assortment of household items littering her floor. There was obviously a purpose to it all, but that was a code only Maggie could crack. Entering her Alice in Wonderland of a mind made The Butterfly Effect look like a walk in the park. “What the hell am I looking at right now?” Maggie’s head whipped in his direction, whisps of her dark hair plastered to her temples where she was sweating. “Canine calisthenics.” She stated it like he was dumb for not seeing it with his own eyes. “The vet says Berkeley’s weight is teetering right on the edge. Gotta keep my boy in shape, Jamie Lee Curtis and John Travolta style.” “Isn’t that the movie where they spend an entire scene air-humping each other from across a room?” He dodged another tennis ball that came flying at his head. “Leave it to you to only remember the tawdry details of an 80s classic.” The closer he looked at the objects around him, the more shapes he could make out. She had created her own makeshift obstacle course for their four-legged pet. Canine apparatuses of her own invention were set up throughout the house. As was always the case with Maggie, there was a method to her madness. One only she understood, but there was something to be said for it. Finn rolled his eyes. “Just so you know, the vet only says that so you’ll keep coming back. He’s more interested in checking out your ass in your spandex pants than whether Berkeley’s put on a pound or two. Trust me, his weight is fine.” A new song came over the speaker that Berkeley seemed to recognize because his tail started wagging like crazy. Maggie caught him when he excitedly stood up on his hind legs, and they proceeded to dance in the middle of the living room. Oh, Jesus. Finn only just noticed the matching leg warmers they were wearing. And headbands. “Since when is my dog a Shakira fan?” “Since always. He’s part Colombian, after all.” “We found him on the side of Highway 21, Mags. Pretty sure he didn’t hitchhike from Bogotá.” “But his spirit animal did.” “He is an animal.” When Maggie swerved her hips, he swore Berkeley mimicked her. Finn scraped his hands down his face, groaning. “Look what you’re doing to my dog. He’s going soft on me. He didn’t even bark when I entered the house without knocking.” “Why would he bark at you?” “He wouldn’t have known who it was when the door first opened.” Berkeley dropped back down to all fours and copied Maggie when she started twirling in circles. “If anyone is softening up this dog it’s you with all those steaks you’re feeding him. Why do you think he’s having weight issues?” His molars ground together. “He’s not having weight issues. The vet is having infidelity issues. Dude is married, yet he’s drooling over you like Berkeley does when I pull our steaks off the grill.” “Ribeyes or porterhouses?” “What does it matter?” “If I’m going to be compared to a steak, it better be the finest slab of meat on the market.” For whatever reason, the moment she said those words, Finn’s eyes dropped straight to her ass. He wasn’t even conscious of the action. Some otherworldly compulsion—likely a demonic possession—seemed to take hold of him. She had on a pair of those ungodly tight pants women wore when they worked out. There were slits cut in the spandex that were made of a sheer, mesh material, and her top was one of those dri-fit tanks that had a built-in bra thing. Maggie still always wore a brightly colored sports bra when she worked out, though, regardless of any built-in material. She couldn’t exactly go without one, considering how…ample…her chest was. Jesus Christ. Why was he thinking about her chest size? Or her bras? For fuck’s sake, he only looked because Maggie talking about being compared to a steak had the words prime meat flashing like a goddamn neon sign in his head. Holy shit, he was as bad as the vet. An actual Neanderthal. The next words out of his mouth proved it to be true. “You know you’re filet mignon, Mags.” She tripped over a couch cushion and stared at him in shock. Oh, motherfuck.
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Quicksand Series by Delanie Diamond #Contemporary Romance @Xpresso Book Tours30/6/2023
Quicksand Series Boxset
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: Bang. Bang. Bang. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Anton rolled onto his back and squinted against the sunlight coming in through the curtains. Bang. Bang. Bang. The noise was coming from the front door. Someone was knocking. Loud. Rolling onto his side with a groan, he checked the clock beside the bed. Seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. What the hell? Who would-- Bang. Bang. Bang. Irritated, he tossed off the sheets and marched to the door with angry strides. The person on the other side better be dying, or they’d be getting their butt kicked. Though upset, he took the precaution of peering out the peephole to see who was attacking his door and was taken aback when he saw the petite woman out front. Wearing a baseball cap low on her head, he could tell she was attractive even through the distorted lens and the angry pucker of her lips. “Open the door, Calvin!” she screamed. “I know you’re in there, and I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well come out.” She started banging with her fist again. How could someone so small make that much noise? Anton swung open the door and her hand remained suspended in the air, mid-bang. Her eyebrows winged together in a startled expression, and then her gaze traveled from his bare chest, down his pajama pants, to his bare feet. His skin tingled everywhere she looked, as surely as if she’d dragged her palms down his chest. “Who are you?” she demanded. “I should be asking you that question. I live here, not this Calvin person you’re looking for. You have the wrong address.” She smirked. “Nice try. I know he doesn’t live here, but I know he’s here with that b*tch.” She then lifted a baseball bat he hadn’t seen through the peephole, over her right shoulder, as if she were standing at the plate ready to swing. Anton’s hands lifted in defense. “Whoa, hold on. There’s no Calvin here, and I don’t know who the b*tch—I mean, woman—is that you’re looking for.” One sculpted brow lifted above her skeptical dark eyes. Despite the volatile situation, he couldn’t help appraising her features. When was the last time he’d seen anyone quite so… stunning? With a round face, high cheekbones, and catlike eyes that glared at him but managed to look sensuous at the same time. Her nose tilted slightly upward at the tip, and her full, thick lips could be too much on the wrong face, but settled on hers in a way that drew the eye and made him temporarily forget the damage she could do with that bat nestled on her shoulder. She wore a red top that, well… it was rather revealing, exposing her midriff and showing off the dark walnut of her flat stomach and the white-gold belly ring nested in her navel. He had to force himself to look at her face and keep his gaze there, which wasn’t an easy task. Anton swallowed hard to beat back the lust that reared its head as he admired nature’s handiwork. “Sure you don’t know them. Unless you want some of this”—she waved the bat—“I suggest you get out of my way and let me handle my business.” “This is my apartment,” Anton insisted. These gated communities weren’t worth the money. Why pay extra when it was so easy for crazy people to slip in behind someone else, like this psycho obviously had? “Calvin!” the stranger screamed. When she tried to shove past him, Anton slammed his hand on the doorframe. “Listen,” he said, lowering his voice to a lethal level, “I don’t need you waking up my neighbors and causing me problems, all right? This is my apartment. I’m not telling you again. There is no Calvin here. This is 2516 Hargrove Street Apt C. You have the wrong address.” Bad enough she’d woken him up out of bed after a long week, but now she was getting on his nerves with her insistence of trying to get past him to find this Calvin dude. “No, I do not have the wrong address. Tell me this, do you know who Melissa is?” Shock jolted Anton’s back ramrod straight. “Melissa?” The stranger smirked knowingly. “You do know her. Where is she? Tell her I want to talk.” She tapped the bat in her left palm, looking like anything but someone who only wanted to talk. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Wasted On You
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GIVEAWAY! --
Sparks Fly
-- EXCERPT: Standing to the side of the house, I hang my matte black Beanie helmet on the handlebars of my Harley. I just arrived at my dad and stepmother’s lake house. I wasn’t coming this weekend, and if it wasn’t for my dad sounding disappointed when I told him I needed to work, I wouldn’t be here. The bar I own was a complete dive when I bought it, but I’ve turned it back into its glory state. It’s slowly becoming a popular site with the locals and even the surrounding towns. You would think my stepmother would give me recognition. I’ve done everything on my own at the young age of twenty-two, but my stepmother’s snooty ways think a bar is beneath her. Her demands of always wanting to be in high society’s social life, only eating at five-star restaurants, being at fancy country clubs, and socializing with people who care less about her have never interested me. Her son possesses many of her snooty traits. Running my hands through my short, dark hair, the sound of someone spitting out profanity catches my attention. I spot a set of gorgeous long, toned, and tanned legs. My eyes move up to a perfect, tight ass that makes my dick twitch, but when I scan her breast and her barely covered tits, my cock hardens. Fuck! Seeing her face, I realize it’s the girl from my apartment complex. Her blonde hair is up into a messy bun, displaying more of her tan skin around her slender neck. My dick hardens to full mast, pushing against my zipper, and begging to be released. I can still feel how it felt to have her pushed against me. Who the hell is she? Why is she here? I adjust my cock. Fuck, she’s hot! Walking out onto the back patio, I stand over her, blocking the sun. I use this moment to get a close look at her full lips and think about how badly I want to see parted as she screams while I pound into her. Her head stretches up, trying to look up at me. She lets out a small gasp through her plump lips. “Umm, can I help you?” Her voice comes out shaky. She can help me with this rod in my pants. “I’m Colt,” I announce, “And you are?” “Maggie,” she whispers. “Don’t I know you?” Pulling my t-shirt over my head, I don’t miss how her lips part and her nipples harden through the thin leather fabric. She has sunglasses on, but I can tell she’s enjoying the view. I see her throat work. “I’m not sure. Can you move? You’re blocking the sun.” “Are you sure?” I grin. “You can admit if you would rather—” “I would rather have the sun burn my eyes out.” She makes a swiping motion with her hand. A smirk creeps up on my face. Feisty as shit is just my type. Moving to the lounge chair beside her, I throw my shirt down and unzip my pants. “What are you doing? “I’m taking off my pants.” I give her a cocky grin. “I can see that. Why?” she asks as her face reddens. I point to the pool. “I’m going to take a swim.”
GIVEAWAY! --
Runners
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo --
GIVEAWAY! --
The Springfest Sprint
-- EXCERPT: With my mother’s announcement, I start out at a slow pace past the attentive hunters. The other prey falls behind me like I’ve started a human jogging club. When we squish together to enter the rocky ravine, and females crunch together, arguing for more space, I’m even more appreciative that I shoved my way to the front. As soon as we pass through, I yell, “Good fortune to those who wish for it,” and dash left toward the river, listening to the others mumble and clop noisily in all directions. Twenty flutters into my sprint, silk tangles around my quick legs and I halt too late, tumbling to the forest floor with a screech as my wings try desperately to break free from the bindings. “We’re not meant for running,” I grumble, staggering to my feet. Especially not in too-long panels of silk. My knees leak crimson, and I shake my head. Bleeding will not help me hide. I need to get to the water. Tying the silk panels together, I fashion something close to a silky diaper—maybe that will deter the hunters as well—and get back to my escape plan. Has it been forty flutters or forty-five? I finally find what I’m looking for, leaping from rock to rock as I close in on the river. Some don’t pay attention to our territory, leaving it to the work of the gentry and army, but I studied these woods and this stream until it formed a detailed map in my mind. Now, I move closer to what I can only hope will hide me well enough for the others to be claimed first. It’s definitely been fifty flutters, and I waver between sticking to the trees and underbrush so I have coverage or dashing along the rocks so my steps are silent. A distant scream stops me in my tracks, and then a jumble of yelling takes over. I run with renewed fervor, sticking to the coverage of trees, because whatever scuffle is unfolding won’t last long enough. A buzz of wings sounds and I throw myself against a tree, trying desperately to ease my heaving lungs. The sound halts, and a tree branch creaks to my right. This is where someone who was panicking would run, but I’d be caught four steps into a sprint. I dig my fingers into the bark and slowly blow out the air from my burning lungs. There’s another buzz, and for a moment, I hope they’ve flown away, but one speaks. “Have you seen Quartz?” Stone has to be only a tree over. Too close. “Nah. My eyes are set for one.” Jasper’s voice makes me grit my teeth. Go, please. Leave. “That little tart is trouble, and you know it.” Stone’s voice is quietly conspiratorial. Hey. I cut my eyes in his direction, but don’t dare to move. Jasper chuckles. “It’s worth it.” I roll my eyes. That says a lot. Not she’s worth it, but it—my title and status. That’s all Jasper has ever been interested in. “Well, I doubt the little princess would have made it this far already, nor would she come here. Too close to mud and stream muck for her precious self.” I can count myself fortunate that Stone isn’t interested, though it’s hard for me to stay still instead of turning around and giving him the what for, the peephole. “You’re probably right. Maybe she’s in the fields.” Jasper gives a disgruntled hum, and two sets of wings flutter off. I rescind the peephole insult. Stone can lure Jasper away anytime. Keeping still and calm for another long moment, I listen to the sounds of the forest: birds, distant buzzing, and there are definitely moans coming from the west. Two are out of the game, it seems. Pushing off the tree, I step into a run, wincing at the slight crunch of last year’s plant remains between the clumps of fresh growth. The creek comes into sight and I grin. Then I screech as I’m tackled, landing hard amongst a bed of daffodils.
GIVEAWAY! --
The Broken Protector
-- EXCERPT: I can’t stop scowling at his back, pathetically speechless. Yeah, I’ve got to find a better way to say dick. I’m not even sure why he riles me up so much. Probably that juvenile Miss New York nickname and the way he always shows up without warning. Or it’s the laughably inappropriate way he got me to stop fixating on the dead girl by teasing me about sleeping on his sofa. Or maybe it’s just that he’s so flipping tall. I’ve been a short stack my whole life. And I’ve had more than one person try to make me feel small, crowding me out of daring to take up space. “…hello? Miss?” Oh. Trisha’s talking to me. My face goes hot and I whip my eyes back to her, clearing my throat. “Sorry. So, about those membership plans?” It doesn’t take long before I’m set up with a monthly trial plan. I’m almost shocked at how cheap it is when I’m used to NYC markups on everything. I could’ve saved even more if I’d committed to a quarterly plan. But maybe I’m thinking about dead bodies, quietly wondering just what my limit is for how many I’m cool with before I panic and hightail it out of town. Or I’m just being dramatic, and what’s actually on my mind is tree-lined lanes and how nice it would be to jog down them at sunrise, no membership required. Sighing, I do a quick five-minute set of stretches before I claim one of the treadmills with House Hunters on TV for company. I’ve barely started a light jog when the men’s locker room door swings open and Lucas Graves stalks back out, sans gym bag. He takes one glance at me—a glance that lingers too long, making me nearly trip on my own feet—before he looks at the television. Somehow, he switches the channel over to Better Call Saul before climbing on the treadmill next to mine and gliding into a steady, pounding pace. Holy hell. The man goes from nothing to a strong, violent run in under five seconds. Almost like a racehorse bursting out of the gate. He runs for two solid minutes without even huffing. This. Is. So. Bad. My mind goes terrible places, wondering what else his body can do with gym-freak stamina like that. “I was watching that, you know,” I mutter when I can’t stand it any longer. He doesn’t look at me, his mile-wide chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. “So change it back. You’ve got thumbs, right?” His gaze stays on his digital readouts as he shrugs. “Um, yes. I have thumbs. Very observant.” Glaring, I manage to hold up a thumb instead of another middle finger salute. I’m being nice today. I shake my head, ready for more of his crap, but apparently he’s holding back too. “So change it back,” I mouth, scowling, but then slow the treadmill and step off it. I brace my burning feet on the floor for a second before I stomp over, grab the remote on a little console table under the TV, and flick the channel back to my show. I don’t even make it back to my machine before the sound changes, and Bob Odenkirk starts yelling at a couple cartel guys who look like they eat kittens for breakfast. Yep. Looks like I’m going to get arrested for assaulting a cop today. I whip my head up, glaring at the TV, then at Lucas. He’s got his phone out, not even missing a stride as he taps his screen. I catch a glimpse of the Roku logo. Oh, that absolute jerk. He’s got an app synced to this TV, and he just-- Argh! A little growl slips up my throat. Still gripping the remote, I punch the button back to House Hunters, staring at him pointedly the entire time. He’s still got his head bowed, his face unreadable as the TV changes again. “Oops,” he whispers. “Butterfingers.” “Butterfingers, my ass!” I hiss back, stabbing the button again. “Dude, do you mind?” He spreads his hands. With his long, easy stride, the motion makes the muscles in his waist pull dangerously tight against his A-shirt that’s finally starting to darken with sweat. “Don’t know what’s wrong with this damn thing,” he lies. “It’s busted today. Just keeps switching back on its own.” Right as he taps his phone again, watching me with a mock-innocent look. Right on cue, the TV flicks back to his stupid suspense show despite me mashing the button down like my life depends on it. “You don’t know what’s wrong with it, huh?” I can’t believe I’m this annoyed and yet somehow smirking helplessly. Idiot. I jab the button again—really fast this time, stabbing it with my fingertip—just as he hits the button on his screen. The TV starts flickering back and forth like a psychedelic kaleidoscope of noise and color. “Maybe your thumb’s broken,” I say. “Mine are working, last I checked.” He glances at his hand languidly then, lifting his thumb off his phone. “Must be. Would you look at that. It should stay now.” I snort and hit my channel again, shaking my head as I try to pick up the pace and try to have a normal workout. I point two fingers at my eyes and then at him. I’m watching you.
GIVEAWAY! --
No Cooldown for Love
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: She migrated in her sleep. Not that he had an issue with it—he’d enjoyed having her in his arms. Stretching, he yawned and burrowed back into the bed, pulling the blankets up to his neck. No rush in getting up, as they weren’t going anywhere. He snuggled up against the wall she’d made and inhaled, drawing in her scent with each slow breath he took. The door cracked open and he held his breath as Hope poked her head in. Watching her through slitted eyes as she snuck into the room, he had this insane urge to smile like a fool. Even now, she was trying not to disturb him. “Morning.” She squealed and jumped, hand slamming against her full chest. He slowly sat against the headboard and stared at her, eyebrows up. “You sure are jumpy this morning.” Hand flexing against her chest, she shook her head. “You scared me.” “I scared you?” Mitchell didn’t take his eyes off her for a second, just stared, wishing the fire burned a bit higher so he could see more of her facial expression. She propped her hands on her full hips, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “That’s what I said. I don’t scare myself. I was minding my own business when you…” She waved a hand around. He smirked. “Said ‘morning’?” Hope gave him a sage nod. “Exactly.” “I can see how that would’ve been scary,” he said drolly. “Opening my mouth to say one word to you.” Hope narrowed her eyes at him. “I was trying not to interrupt you.” She cleared her throat. “Wake you.” A deep breath. “Whatever.” He scratched his stomach through his shirt, not ignoring the way her gaze darted toward the movement. “Interrupt me? That’s intriguing. What exactly were you envisioning me doing in this bed, Hope?” He leaned forward, lips curling up in a full-fledged smile. “And if you were concerned, why not knock on the door? Did you want or hope to catch me doing something in this bed?” “Sleeping.” Her voice was higher and he wasn’t positive but he felt like she was blushing. “Oh,” he replied as he tossed the blankets back, sucking in a breath at the difference in temperature outside the bedding. “Sleeping, huh? You wanted to catch me doing what I was doing when you snuck out?” Disbelief smacked hard. And damn it, he enjoyed making her engage with him. Her gaze drifted to his arms and he flexed one, loving how she nibbled on her lower lip without looking away from him. He’d heard Emma mention to Linc about how his arms were porn-worthy. Did Hope feel that way about his? Something definitely worth finding out, but he thought she did, considering how her eyes continued to drift to his forearms. “Or whatever.” Heat filled her eyes and he loved that she didn’t drop her gaze. “Hope,” he said, rising from the bed. He watched and waited for her to stop staring at his arm. “Yes?” “You didn’t have to put the wall back up. I already know you travel when you sleep.” In basketball, traveling was a foul, but in bed, he was all for her doing it again. Tonight.
GIVEAWAY! --
In The Moment During
-- EXCERPT: Grayson looks at me, gesturing for me to sit. I pull out my chair and take my seat, and he does the same across from me. Scooting in, I glance around the restaurant, scanning the other diners. All are in their thirties and older, most in their forties and fifties. We’re definitely the youngest patrons here. “Stop staring.” He pushes the menu in front of me. “Pick out something to eat. Get whatever you want.” Encouraged, I look down, scanning the prices first like I’ve always done. Whoa. Everything is in the double digits, and most start with three. I feel weird. “Stop looking at the prices and get whatever you want, okay? This is our one big date, so make it count.” Our one big date? I thought he was joking about making this stretch, but was he? Maybe that wasn’t a joke at all. I’m sure this will work itself toward an argument, but I need to understand what he means. Setting the menu down, I look up. “You’re saying I don’t get any more after this?” “Until prom?” He thinks about it, tilting his head. “Eh. Probably not.” “That’s in like, six months.” “Which is why you should make this one count.” “Grayson.” “What?” I narrow my eyes at him, but he only stares back. Oh, no. He’s not getting by with this one. “I didn’t ask you to roll all our dates into one big-ass crazy one.” “Is that what I’m doing? I said big dates—not all dates. This is our first official one, hence it’s a big one.” He picks up his menu with both hands, his eyes already dipping back down the paper. “You really got to pay attention.” I replay his words, trying to find what I missed. Oh. Tilting my head, I lock onto his eyes, holding him accountable. “So that means I get more dates then?” “How many dates am I supposed to take you on?” “I don’t know…twice a month?” “Twice a month?” He thinks. “So, according to your math, you’re owed twelve dates over a six-month period?” “Uh, sure—yeah.” He nods to himself. “Think I can handle that. Just don’t expect each date to be up to this caliber, okay? Again, this one is a big deal. A special situation since it’s our first official date. After this, it’s fast food and streaming services. Completely downhill from here.” I stare at him a long moment, wondering how his weird little brain works. “You know sometimes, I still think about strangling you.” “Are we naked when you imagine it?” “Hello.” A black lady stops at our table, her arms behind her back. She’s wearing the same thing as the other servers—a white blouse with black slacks and shoes. Her hair is pulled into a braid down her neck, and unlike some of the other servers, she’s wearing very little makeup. “And welcome to Donald’s. My name is Latoya. Have you dined with us previously?” “No ma’am,” Grayson answers for us. “Well, welcome. I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu, but first, let me tell you about today’s specials…” Latoya prattles off her rehearsed description, and it actually sounds delicious—grilled salmon in butter herb sauce with rice pilaf and cherry tomatoes. So good. Once she’s done, she leaves us with a smile and promises to return shortly with two waters and a basket of warmed bread. Grayson is back to staring at his menu, his eyes pouring over each option. “What’re you thinking about getting? The salmon sounds good, but I haven’t had lobster in fucking ever.” 
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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