Favorites from 2016

I've been fortunate to read some great books this year. Each of these books had a something special to make it stay on my mind. Thank you, authors.

Connection Error by Annabeth Albert, REVIEW, excerpt and giveaway

Title: Connection Error

Author: Annabeth Albert

Series Title and Number: #Gaymers, Book 3, but stands alone well too

Publisher: CARINA PRESS

Cover Artist: CARINA PRESS

Release Date: September 5, 2016

Heat Level: 4 (explicit m/m sex, but lots and lots of plot too!)

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: approx. 66,000 words

Genre/Tags: Romance, M/m Romance, contemporary romance, military romance

Synopsis

It's typical of video game programmer Josiah Simmons to be the last one on the plane on the way to the biggest meeting of his career. Though he's (mostly) coping with his ADHD, he can't handle another distraction. But he also can't ignore his rugged seatmate—especially once he learns the military man's a fan of his game.

Ryan Orson refuses to let his severe injuries pause his career as a navy SEAL. He's got hours of grueling physical therapy ahead of him, and no time for anything that might get in the way of his return to active duty. But that doesn't mean he's above a little first-class flirtation with geeky-cute Josiah.

When a delay strands the pair in St. Louis, they agree to share a hotel room and a night of gaming. Neither expects their new connection to move to the next level in the light of day. Opposites may attract, but is this game over before it's even begun?

Book Three of the #gaymers series

Review

This may be book 3 in a series, but it reads perfectly well as a standalone. Or as a jumping off point into the others, because Reader Knows Something Character Doesn’t is a fun place to be, and I suspect Josiah does more than his share of bumbling around in the other stories.

Josiah isn’t very secure in his adulthood, being twenty-three and seriously ADHD. He’s also very good at what he does, which is write computer games, and he’d better get good at what he needs to do next, which is lead the development team. He’s used to other people treating him like a project to be kept on track, not being the one to keep the train running. We get a glimpse of him here without his meds, and the poor guy is random.

Which isn’t to say he can’t manage his life or his team, it’s just skills that he needs to acquire, and watching him learn with a little coaching from Ryan is a lovely part of the story.

Navy SEAL Ryan, on the other hand, is scary controlled at managing, because his entire training is at taking that control into chaos and chaos loses. So when he gets into a situation he can’t possibly control with his body and his career, he needs to work on adapting to a loss of control. Josiah’s a wild card in this, but he has a few things to teach Ryan, and Ryan has a few things to coach Josiah on.

Because Ryan is so tightly wound, he’s slow to warm up to Josiah, and there are physical issues to contend with as well as mental ones. Watching these two guys get their acts on the same page makes for a slow burn: Jos knows what he wants and lets it all hang out trying to get it, while Ryan can barely admit he wants Jos in the same room. Not that they were off to such a great start with that, when Jos says the first thing that flies through his brain. He’s honest, not tactful.

These guys intersect and learn to be friends first and lovers second, which Ryan needs, but it makes for a very distant romance arc, and frankly, Ryan’s been through so much crap that starting a relationship is more than should be asked of him. Don’t expect a lot of sex here: among Ryan’s other losses was a relationship that meant a lot to him, and he has to get past all that and learn to see Josiah as a functioning adult and not a kid to be guided.

So I didn’t quite buy the big finish with I love you. This is hurt/comfort, except there’s not a lot of comforting going on, Ryan won’t accept it. The ending has a lot of the story to carry for a romance. I can’t help but feel that much of the story went on between the last chapter and Epilog, but I enjoyed reading all the same. 4 marbles

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Somewhere between the third newsstand and the fourth moving sidewalk in LAX, Josiah regretted not joining his friend Ravi in training for a 10k charity race. Nothing like a flat-out sprint from the check-in counter to the slow-moving security lines and another dash from security all the way through gates to make him rethink his aversion to cardio. And the worst part was that for once in his life he’d made every effort to be on time, getting up before the alarm, starting coffee, making sure they were out of the house by o’dark thirty ready for his early morning flight to Germany via a stop in Washington, DC.

Passport? Check.

Carry-on with both laptops, tablet and assorted accessories? Check.

Suitcase with more shirts with buttons than he’d ever owned in his life? Check.

Double-checking that his ticket was booked under “Josiah” not “Joseph”? Total fail, but in his defense, it never occurred to him that the travel agency his employer used would give the wrong name. And the check-in attendant at the airline counter didn’t want to believe that there was a mistake. Thus, every careful endeavor he’d made to ensure that he was on time—early even—went up in a huff of waiting for a supervisor and then another supervisor.

And now finally he was sprinting to make sure he didn’t miss the plane. Forget being there in time to priority board, he was going to be lucky to make the plane period. His first time flying first class—thank you, Space Villager for being such a bestselling game—and it was off to an inelegant start thanks to a stupid mistake.

Finally, finally, he reached the last few gates of the terminal. The TV sets scattered throughout the waiting area were all taking about that huge freak snowstorm heading for the New York area and whether it might veer south enough to cause snow along the whole Eastern Seaboard. Josiah shook his head, trying to not get sucked in to the TV. As long as he got to Germany on time, it wasn’t going to affect him and he needed to stay focused on—

“Last call for Flight 324 nonstop service to Washington Dulles International,” the loudspeaker blared.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he panted as the gate attendant set the red phone back on its hook. He held out his ticket. The woman was around his mother’s age with very red lipstick and very short blond hair and a spectacular frown just for him.

“Ah. Mr. Simmons.” She looked up after scanning his tickets, decidedly less frosty once she saw his first-class seat number. “Come with me, I’m going to have to walk you down.” She spoke into a walkie-talkie as they headed down the walkway. “We’re going to need to gate check your bags. I’m so sorry, but the first-class overhead compartments are all full.”

“Crap.” She gave him a questioning look, and Josiah remembered that he was supposed to be Mr. Smooth and Sophisticated Project Manager, not some whiny kid. “Sorry. That’s fine. Just let me grab my laptop.” He grabbed the laptop with the longer battery life before the attendant put a pink gate-check tag on his two bags. “But…uh…fragile.”

She gave him a tight smile, but added a yellow Fragile tag to his laptop bag. “You’re in Seat 1A,” she said, handing him his ticket back. “You’ll get your bags back when we land, I promise. Enjoy your flight.”

After a brief conversation with the gate attendant, a male flight attendant shut the plane door behind Josiah. “Welcome aboard,” he said to Josiah in a tone that clearly meant, “thank you for pushing back our departure.” In fact, the plane was rolling away from the gate before Josiah almost tumbled into the empty aisle seat of the first row.

“You made it.” A warm chuckle eased past the pounding of Josiah’s heart.

“Wha—what?” he whipped his head over to the window seat—a farther distance than one might expect. The first-class seats were huge padded affairs and there was a thick console dividing the seats. And…hello, most gorgeous guy Josiah had ever seen.

Wide, mischievous smile. Sparkling hazel eyes. Unshaven jaw. Short dark brown hair. And holy hell, arm muscles for days. Bulging biceps with tats poking out of his T-shirt sleeves.

All of a sudden this flight started looking way up.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I just meant I was beginning to think I’d get the row all to myself.” The guy’s voice was possibly even more attractive than his model-worthy face, deep and soothing, with an undercurrent of the sort of confidence that never failed to make Josiah shiver.

And he was all Josiah’s for the next five hours.

Well, except for the part where he seemed ready to take a nap and tune Josiah out—the guy had a pillow behind his head and a blanket on his lap. He yawned, revealing gleaming teeth worthy of a toothpaste ad.

“You’re not a model, are you?” As usual, Josiah’s tongue leaped into action before his brain could restrain it.

“What? No, not a model.” The guy laughed, more of that smoky chuckle that did things to Josiah’s insides.

“TV star? Athlete? Because it seems like I should know you from somewhere, and I don’t want to get to DC and people be like, hey, you were next to that Laker the whole flight…” He trailed off because his friends were right that he had absolutely no filter, and that was triple true around Muppet-flail-worthy hot guys.

“Nope, not famous.” The guy studied Josiah for a long moment, considering, the sort of are-you-for-real expression on his face that Josiah was well used to. Seeming to come to some sort of decision, the guy stuck his right arm across the console. “Lieutenant Ryan Orson, US Navy.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Josiah accepted the handshake. Navy made sense given the Navy-emblazoned T-shirt stretched tight over the guy’s aircraft-carrier-wide chest. Holy crap, the guy was big. Josiah was a skinny 6’2” with big hands and feet that always got in the way. But this guy’s hand made Josiah’s feel downright dainty. “I’m Josiah, Josiah Simmons.”

“Well, Josiah, want to know a secret?” Ryan asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Sure.” Josiah was down with whatever secrets this guy wanted to share.

“Not only am I not famous, I’m not even supposed to be in first class.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope.” Ryan winked at Josiah. He had a very disarming wink, all good humor and twinkly eyes.

“The check-in clerk bumped me into first.”

“You got the nice clerk.” Josiah was still a bit grumbly over the name hassle.

“She lost a brother over in Afghanistan.” There was a subtle hint of “grow up” in Ryan’s tone. Josiah straightened, remembering again who he was supposed to be. And here was this impossibly attractive guy to practice on. Sure, he might be Josiah the clueless geek back home, but here he was Josiah the new project manager. This Josiah knew the right way to act and speak and could impress even tough audiences.

“That’s so sad for her.” Josiah tried for sophisticated empathy, something he knew he kind of sucked at.

“Yeah, it is.” Something indecipherable passed over Ryan’s face, his eyes getting darker and cloudier and that wide smile flagging a bit. “Anyway, guess she saw…the Navy connection and had a spare seat to bump me into.”

“What do you do? In the Navy I mean?”

The guy went silent, considering, and Josiah was afraid he’d been too nosy again, but right when he was about to apologize, Ryan finally spoke. “I’m a SEAL. I do a little bit of everything, but mainly I make things go boom. You?”

“Oh my God, you’re Special Forces. Do I ever have questions for you!” Josiah babbled again, only slowing down as Ryan’s easy smile morphed into grim line. “Sorry. I’m just excited because I’m a video game designer. And special ops is our new expansion pack.” And it happened to be the one Josiah was in charge of.

“You program games?” Ryan blinked, and Josiah wasn’t sure what he’d expected Josiah to do, but this clearly wasn’t it. “Anything I’ve heard of?”

Ah. That was it. He assumed Josiah was some sort of kid programming a dot matrix game in his basement. Josiah knew he looked too young for his job, because he was too young. At twenty-three, he was the youngest lead developer on the design team. Thus, he took no small amount of pride in saying, “Space Villager.”

“Oh wow, really?” There was a new note of respect in Ryan’s voice. “I love that game, especially the pod racer and first-person shooter expansion packs.” There was a hint of Texas or something else Southern in his voice, and Josiah could listen to him all day.

“Yeah? Well you’re going to love our special ops expansion pack even more.” Josiah projected far more confidence than he actually felt. He could make this project a success. He had to. The PR team had already hinted that the next expansion pack would revolve around special ops activities on a small war-torn planet, so Josiah didn’t worry too much about sharing this much with Ryan.

“I bet. My ex got me to back the crowdfunding drive, and I’ve been hooked ever since. My buddies were already teasing me about how much time I spent gaming, but there’s something particularly addictive about your game.”

Your game. Josiah liked the sound of that. He only knew a handful of women who played Space Villager, but the ones who did tended to be rabid fans. It was possible he might even know Ryan’s ex by her user handle, but Josiah had just enough self-control to not ask.

“Prepare for takeoff,” the pilot intoned over the PA. This was the part Josiah hated, the acceleration and stomach-dropping ascent. Today he hated it even more, knowing they might catch the edge of that storm. Focusing on turbulence that was probably hours away wasn’t logical, but then, Josiah’s brain seldom was.

“You always so antsy or are you a nervous flyer?” Ryan asked.

Oh crap. Guess he wasn’t doing such a bang-up job projecting the aura of a with-it project manager. He laughed nervously. “Both?”

“I promise we’re going to be okay.” Ryan gave him a quick friendly pat on the knee.

Oh. Josiah’s eyes went wide. Ryan was missing part of the pinky finger on his left hand and had some wicked scarring further up his forearm. Josiah tried not to stare, but knew he failed miserably.

“Mission gone wrong,” Ryan said gruffly. “Now back to flying, millions of people fly every day. It’s safer than car travel.” His tone made it clear further discussion of his hand was not on the table.

“I know flying’s safe. Knowing that’s not the same as believing it.”

Ryan’s answering laugh seemed to strip some of the tension from his face. “How well do I know that attitude. My ex got nervous before every flight, and his buddies used to razz him about it mercilessly.”

Man, two ex references in five minutes. Ryan must be totally hung up on his ex…wait. “His buddies”…What the hell?

“Your ex is a guy?”

“Yup.” Ryan’s smirk said he’d pegged Josiah ten minutes ago, probably when Josiah couldn’t peel his eyes away from those tasty biceps.

“Cool.” He was grinning, but he couldn’t make his facial muscles behave. Hot damn. Gorgeous, muscled, single, gamer, and gay. He ticked every last one of Josiah’s “perfect man” boxes. And if the gods were kind at all, Josiah could keep it together long enough to make a lasting impression.

Purchase

Carina Press | Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Google Play | Itunes | Kobo Books

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Meet the Author

Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.

Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.

Represented by Saritza Hernandez of the Corvisiero Literary Agency

Facebook | Facebook Author Page | Twitter | Tumbler | Fan Group | Newsletter

Giveaway

Rafflecopter Prize: One winner will be selected to win a $20.00 Amazon Gift Card.

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All Note Long by Annabeth Albert, giveaway, review

Title: ALL NOTE LONG

Author: Annabeth Albert

Series Title and Number: Perfect Harmony, Book 3, but stands alone well too

Publisher: Kensington

Cover Artist: Cora Graphics/Kensington

Release Date: August 2, 2016

Heat Level: 4 (explicit m/m sex, but lots and lots of plot too!)

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: aprox. 80,000 words/ 232 pages

Genre/Tags: Romance, M/M Romance, contemporary romance, multi-cultural

Add To Goodreads

Synopsis

Giving true love a spin . . .

Michelin Moses is a country music star on the rise. With a hit single under his Texas-sized belt buckle and a sold-out concert tour underway, his childhood dreams of making it big are finally coming true. But there’s one thing missing—a promise to his dying mother that he’d find it—him—when the time was right. With a little luck, he won’t have to wait too long . . .

Lucky Ramirez is a hunky boy toy who dances at The Broom Closet, one of West Hollywood’s hottest gay bars. He loves what he does, and he’s good at it—almost as good as he is at playing dumb when he spots Michelin Moses at the bar. What happens next is off the charts—and keeps Michelin coming back for more. He’s just not sure it’s the right move for his career. But if Lucky gets his way, Michelin will get Lucky—and no matter how the media spins it, neither of them will be faking it . . .

Review by Cryselle

Another series I’m starting in the middle and have to go back for the first one! This was some good reading, and if Michelin and Lucky have parts elsewhere, gotta catch up now. This book stands alone, but more is good!


I loved this take on the “fake boyfriend”. Michelin, who’s a full time resident of Narnia he’s closeted so deep, gets convinced that the only way to defuse the horrendous outing he’s just taken is to embrace it fully, and along with it, to embrace Lucky. Neither of them is sure this is a good idea, but the sharp-tongue’d publicist in charge of damage control swears this will improve Michelin’s image and contain the fallout.

Lucky is the opposite of thrilled here: once again he’s being mistaken for a hooker, and it’s hard enough to be a go-go dancer without getting groped as it is. Michelin’s outing derailed Lucky’s plans for his own career, and the next time someone waves money at him for something he's not selling, he’s going to go ballistic! Both guys have their attractions and their reasons for keeping apart.

The author plays these guys like a well-tuned guitar. Each “come a little closer” from one of them gets a brief moment and then a “back away farther”, all the while fulfilling the public expectations that they’re a couple. The tension is fierce and the going is rough.

I did want to smack Michelin sixteen or eighteen times for being a passive player in his own life, but fortunately, he gets over it in a spectacular way. Lucky’s more aggressive about what he’ll tolerate, which becomes a really good thing, considering how many people are trying to meddle with his life for their own reasons.

The guys are hot together—they figure out how to push each other’s buttons in the best ways, and if they could just get to the same page about what they are to each other… It’s a great story.

The name Michelin was kind of unsettling: all I can picture is a puffy tire monster, and the image did keep rearing its head. I suppose after the character appears in other books it’s an established fact, but puffy tire monster and hot dancer is an image you just don’t want at certain moments.

The tweetstream at the beginning of each chapter does a lot in a few words to inject the rest of the world into the story. It's a great device here to keep us posted on what's happening elsewhere without devoting a lot of scenes to people outside the immediate circle.

I gobbled this book down, and want the rest of the series. 4.5 marbles

Excerpt

Michelin Moses had no business at a gay bar, especially not one as notorious as West Hollywood’s The Broom Closet. And the line to get in totally underscored that—the vestibule was a long, narrow tunnel filled with kids out to enjoy their Friday night. Babies, really. Fresh-faced young things who probably didn’t even need to shave jostled one another in the tight space, laughing and joking as they admired one another’s club wear and gossiped about who was fucking who.

Not that Michelin was listening in, but the space was so tiny it was hard not to. He didn’t have club wear to ogle. He had “please for the love of God don’t notice me” clothes. And the idea of openly pointing to another dude in line and announcing to one’s friends, “Oh yeah, I hit that last weekend” was so totally foreign that he couldn’t help but gape a bit. The plexiglass walls of the tunnel gave off weird shadows—neither the lights outside the club nor the dim track lighting along the bottom edge of the tunnel were enough illumination.

He tugged at the collar of his Henley shirt. Damn, it was hot in here. Too small. Too tight. Not enough air. Shut up. He was not claustrophobic. If this line ever moved, he’d feel better once he was inside the Closet.

If that’s not a metaphor for your whole damn life…

“ID please.” Finally, the line reached the bouncers who were taking ID. Michelin couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had to stand around like this, show ID. At least unlike these nineteen-year-olds with their fake identification, Michelin’s Oregon driver’s license was likely to hold up. The bouncer was a huge guy—so tall and jacked that Michelin felt for the tiny stool that held him up—with surprisingly small, delicate hands.

He held the card aloft before finally handing it back and nodding. “Okay, cowboy. Enjoy your night.”

At least he hadn’t laughed outright at the name. That was something. Shoving his license back in his wallet, he stumbled a bit coming out of the tunnel.

“Watch it,” someone barked behind him.

“Sorry,” Michelin mumbled. Hell, he couldn’t even successfully enter the Closet. A nervous laugh bubbled up in his throat, something he stamped right back down. Forget the stupid bar, coming out of his personal closet was out of the question, and he didn’t need the crowd jostling behind him to remind him of that.

“This your first time here?” a kid to the left of him asked—short little guy with far more bravado than brains. Michelin made a noncommittal response but the kid grabbed his sleeve, his eyes going soft and hooded. “How about you be my daddy for the night? We can make sure it’s your lucky night.” The kid winked.

Ugh. Getting lucky wasn’t even remotely in the cards for his night.

“No thanks.” He pulled away from the kid, scanning the cavernous space for signs of the private party room his friends had promised. And oh holy hell, knowing in the abstract that this place had go-go dancers was a far cry from actually seeing said dancers dispersed through the place on platforms and in cages and even on something resembling a trapeze. Gleaming bronze skin and tiny shorts everywhere he looked.

Fuck the private room. I need a soda. Something to relieve his suddenly parched throat. He turned toward the main bar area and ran smack into one of the elevated dancers’ platforms. Two platforms flanked the opening of the club, directing the stream of traffic toward the bar, sort of like how a different sort of place might have large statues. Only instead of works of stone or ice, this…piece of art in front of Michelin was all man.

And what a specimen he was. The dancer probably wasn’t much older than the kids waiting to get into the club, but there was nothing juvenile about his tall, ripped body or that juicy bubble butt that he worked to perfection the way Michelin’s guitar player did a solo—each muscle working in concert with the others, each wiggle carefully choreographed for maximum appeal. Said butt was encased in a pair of shorts. Or at least Michelin guessed that one would call them shorts—they were longer than underwear, but not by much, and made of a clingy, silky red material. The stitching did things to the guy’s package that shouldn’t be legal.

Those muscular legs and that smooth, oiled chest also needed outlawing. The dancer had completed his look with thick, chunky combat boots, sunglasses, and a necklace with a medal on it. The boots and glasses upped the hotness factor to supernova, giving him an untouchable appeal that made it no surprise that he had a fair-sized crowd around his platform. Right as Michelin completed his muscle-by-muscle catalog of the guy, the dancer’s glasses slipped, revealing chocolaty eyes. His eyebrows went up, and the message he sent Michelin was unmistakable: You gonna stay there all night?

Oh fuck. Michelin was blocking the line of traffic, and more important, blocking access to the platform for the patrons who wanted to slip tips in the guy’s waistband.

Should he? He shoved a hand in his pocket, considering. Did he dare risk touching a piece of that gleaming skin? The lights reflecting off the dancer’s body totally made Michelin think of caramel dripping off flan—rich golden tones only enhanced by the contrast of the shiny black combat boots and his closely cropped black hair.

What the fuck was the protocol in a situation like this? Hi, I’m sorry I’ve been eye-fucking you for the last ten minutes, here’s a five? He’d never been to a straight strip club either. Hell, he avoided most bars like the plague. And eye-fucking? He never ogled—and not just because it could be disastrous to his career. Most of the time he simply felt oblivious, but something about the dancer perked up parts of Michelin that usually stayed dormant. Two people shoved around him to stuff money in the dancer’s shorts, their arms trapping Michelin briefly in place. Coming here had been a giant mistake, just as Gloria had warned him.

“You can’t go to that party! Gossip is already high about you mentoring two gay groups—”

“They’re not gay groups. They just happen to have gay members,” Michelin said wearily, already tired of this latest publicist the label had shoved at him.

“Whatever.” Gloria flipped her bony wrist. “They’re a risk you can’t take right now.”

“It’s no big deal. There will be straight people at the party.” Michelin didn’t bother with the “other straight people” pretext. Gloria knew the drill. “There’s no risk in celebrating a friend’s birthday.”

Except now, looking at the dancer, Michelin knew how wrong he’d been. This place was risk personified, and that dancer was the embodiment of everything Michelin denied himself. The dancer was a triple pour of top-shelf whiskey and Michelin couldn’t stop thinking about the heady rush touching him would bring. He should turn around now. Get back to his car now before he really embarrassed himself—

“Mi—boss! There you are!”

Oh thank you, small mercies, that Lucas stopped himself before he said Michelin’s name. Still, Michelin turned toward him warily. Play it cool, he tried to tell Lucas with his eyes.

Lucas nodded, just slightly. Message received. Like everyone else in the club, Lucas was in his early twenties and about a decade younger than Michelin, but at least he was one of Michelin’s favorite kids, especially because he was here to lead Michelin away from the temptation that was the dancer with the sculpture-worthy ass.

“The party room is back this way.” Lucas motioned with his hand. “Follow me.”

“Babe!” A familiar rangy figure with a punk haircut draped himself over Lucas. “You found him.” Cody had a smile for Michelin, but his affection was all for his boyfriend.

Ordinarily, Michelin loved being around the two of them and the other guys he mentored. Their energy was infectious, and their passion for music renewed his own. But tonight, Michelin’s stomach cramped as he followed the two of them to the rear of the club. Happiness practically rolled off them and their movements were totally in sync with each other. Once Michelin had thought he might get to know what that was like, but those days were long past.

“Don’t even think about doing anything now. You’ve got too much riding on this year. Don’t be foolish. You’ve got the number one country song in America right now. Don’t mess with your momentum.” Gloria’s voice rang in his ears. Nope. No way was Michelin ever getting what his friends shared. No sense in pining for it either. He had a career he loved, friends who made him laugh, and family at his back. He’d known what the trade-offs were when he decided to trade his rock stardom for country crossover success.

Tonight’s strange melancholy mood had him aching to get back home, push all these feelings into working on a new song. With any luck, Michelin could say happy birthday to Jalen, make a round of greetings to the other musicians he was mentoring, and get the hell out of Dodge. Preferably without running into the dancer again. He didn’t need another reminder of how little he fit into this world—or how much he wished life were a bit different.

Purchase

Kensington Publishing | Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Google Play | Itunes | Kobo Books

Meet the Author

Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.

Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.

Represented by Saritza Hernandez of the Corvisiero Literary Agency

Facebook | Facebook Author Page | Twitter | Tumbler | Fan Group | Newsletter

Giveaway

Rafflecopter Prize: One winner will be selected to win a $20.00 Amazon Gift Card.

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Knit Tight by Annabeth Albert Review, blog tour, and giveaway

Welcome to the party for Annabeth Albert's new novella, Knit Tight, the latest story in the Portland Heat collection. We have goodies from the author, and some opinions from me. Very happy opinions, I might add.


Knit Tight 

(Portland Heat Series, #4)

by Annabeth Albert


It’s no secret that Portland, Oregon, has some of best restaurants, shops, and cafés in the country. But it’s the hard-working men who serve it all up that keep us coming back for more...

One of Portland’s hottest young baristas, Brady is famous for his java-topping flair, turning a regular cup of joe into a work of art. Every Wednesday—aka “Knit Night”—hordes of women and their needles descend on the coffeehouse, and Brady’s feeling the heat. Into the fray walks a tall, dark, and distractingly handsome stranger from New York. His name is Evren, and he’s the sexy nephew of Brady’s sweetest customer, the owner of the yarn shop down the street. He’s also got a killer smile, confident air, and masculine charm that’s tying Brady’s stomach in knots. The smitten barista can’t wait to see him at the next week’s gathering. But when he tries to ask Evren out, his plans unravel faster than an unfinished edge. If Brady hopes to warm up more than Evren’s coffee, he’ll have to find a way to untangle their feelings, get out of the friend zone, and form a close-knit bond that’s bound to last a lifetime…

Review:

How am I coming in so late on this series! Must.Read.Them.All!

Here we have a talented barista raising his younger siblings after their parents died. Brady’s twenty-three, overwhelmed, and trying to make his family function in spite of considerable challenges. Time enough for a relationship is tough to come by: he’s lucky if his eighteen year old sister doesn’t flake out on being the designated adult for the evening if he’s working.

Evren overlaps a little with work hours, especially when he comes in for a themed evening at the coffee shop, where he quickly becomes the apple of everyone’s eye, including Brady’s. His Turkish background makes him exotic, his knitting skills are his livelihood, and his particular interests make him both very exciting and nearly impossible for Brady to hit his radar. He’s come to Portland to care for the ailing aunt who helped raise him.

We get a long, slow burn, because both men’s life situations have made free time a rare commodity. Friendship looks like a better bet, because Brady comes with what Evren considers a deal breaker: he’s bisexual. Evren has some bad experiences to reinforce some negative stereotypes, making Brady wonder if he can ever convince Ev he’s a good choice for a partner. 

For everyone who's been clamoring for bisexual books without erasure, here's your story. For those who say Ew! We only love the bi guys without encountering ladybits, this is your story too. This is in no way contrived, it's very organic to what's going on, and Brady is hiding nothing.

We get Brady’s POV for most of the book, which is fine: he’s a colorful character and very bright on the page. Evren’s POV comes through in snippets of his knitting blog posts, heavy with subtexts. It’s a clever take on alternating POVs and the effect is charming, letting us see Evren’s mind changing, event by event. He still advises putting a ring on the boyfriend before knitting him a sweater.

I ended up loving both these guys, and breaking my heart as theirs did, both with each other and with their home situations. The romance is lovely and heartrending all at once, and slow, while trust grows. If you require lots of ass-pounding in your story, look elsewhere, but I found the intensely emotional and everything-but sex scenes to be wonderfully refreshing.

This story will run you through every emotion you have, leaving you with a sigh of satisfaction for love fulfilled with happiness. 5 marbles

Available for purchase at 

            

Excerpt (a naughty one)

 “Why? Am I turning you on?” My hand wandered over my fly. Not stroking, just firm pressure. We’d danced past sexy talk, far out of the friend zone, now meandering into something dark and heady. I pressed hard against my aching erection as I waited to see how far Ev would let himself go.

 “Perhaps. I told you some things, now you tell me. What is your favorite thing?”

 “Uh. The long, slow grinding ending in oral that you just described sounds amazing and hits a lot of my buttons. For the record, I’m totally good with…mess. And I like giving oral. Love getting my throat fucked. Being pinned down while grinding or getting my throat fucked, that gets me going.”

 Ev was silent a long moment. Perhaps I’d pushed him too far. “Tell me about this throat fucking. How do you like it?”

 Aw yes. I’d never had phone sex, but I had a feeling we were about to head in that direction. “Where are you right now?”

 “In my bed. With a closed door. Are you going to ask me what I’m wearing next?”

 “Knitted underwear?” I laughed as I headed for the bathroom—the one room with a lock. My usual jerk-off method was a locked door and a longer-than-necessary shower.

 “Sorry to disappoint. Pajama bottoms. I worry Hala Mira could need me in the night.”

 “Hey, you don’t have to apologize to me. I share a room with a ten-year-old. I’m going to the bathroom now, though. And locking the door.”

 “You require a locked door to tell me about giving head?”

 “I require a locked door, a quiet house, and about three hours to show you,” I countered. “Fuck, Ev. I want you to wear me out.”

 “Oh, I could. Do not doubt that, Brady. You want me to wear your throat out? Use you so much you need me to feed you some gelato after?”

 “Fuck yes,” I whispered. “I’d like it if you were on the bed or in a chair and I were kneeling in front of you. Or you were standing in front of me. Me on my knees is the key thing.”

 “You ever try with your head over the edge of the mattress? It happens that this bed is the perfect height for that…”

“Oh yes. Tell me more. I want to jerk off while you fuck my throat like that.”

 “Ah. But I don’t want that. Perhaps we will need to find other occupation for your hands.”

 Oh man. Ev knew how to turn my crank big-time. “I’m good with having my hands tied.”

 I could tell from his inhalation that it worked for him, too. “How flexible are you?”

 “Bendier than I look. I had to do yoga stretching exercises to rehab a skateboarding injury. Turns out I dig it.”

 “Nice. Very nice. I like your mouth very, very much.”

 “Like the beard? Because if you want my mouth more…exposed, I can work with that. Beard is pure Northwest laziness on my part.”

 “The beard is…part of the appeal. Your mouth is very full and your beard always seems like it’s…teasing. I think I want your hair down, though, yes?”

 “Go for it.” Getting into it, I pulled my hair free of the ponytail, let it flop against my shoulders. Spit gathered in my mouth like I really was about to get a go at Ev’s cock. Fuck. Just the thought had me throbbing. I unzipped to get a little more breathing room. “I want to—”

 Knock. Knock. Knock. “Brady, are you in there? I don’t feel so good,” Jonas called through the door.

 Fuck. I kept my curse to myself. “Just a minute, buddy,” I called.

 “You need to go?” Ev said in my ear. “I understand.”

 “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

 “Another time, Brady, another time.”

The Portland Heat Series

About The Author

Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.

Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter.  In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.

You can find Annabeth at 

            

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