I’m about to do something huge, and it could change... everything.I met Matt in second grade, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. We went to the same schools, studied at the same college. When we both got jobs in the same town, we shared an apartment. And when my life took an unexpected turn, Matt was there for me. Every milestone in my life, he was there to share it. And what’s really amazing? After all these years, we’re still the best of friends.
Which brings me to this fragile, heart-stopping moment: I want to tell him I love him, really love him, but I’m scared to death of what he’ll say. If I’ve got this all wrong, I’ll lose him—forever.
Buy links: Dreamspinner | Amazon US
Cat gives this one 5 Meows with a 2 Purr heat index...
BFF is the story of two young men and how they fell in love. They met at the age of seven and became best friends. The story starts out with One of them, David, talking about writing a story for NaNo ( A 50k story in 30 days). His BFF Matt tells him to write what you know. They decided to write their story.
I actually liked how the story was written. It is well labeled with dates, beginning when they were age 7 and progress. Then he would put a note telling his feelings or looking back what he should have thought. It is like getting two stories in one, the past and the present.
The characters are well developed and I loved both guys families as well. I literally stayed up all night reading to see what happened next. The story is very sweet since they are very young through at least the first half. They don't actually get together until about 80 percent or so and there is some sex, but it is well done and tasteful, very fitting to the story.
If you like a story with lots of feels, friends to lovers, slow burn, gay for you, and an allover great romance this is for you.
Excerpt...
I’VE ALWAYS wanted to write a novel.
Even when I was a kid, I loved writing. My mom remembers me handing her my first “book” when I was five or six. I’d taken several pages from a drawing book, written God knows what on them, and then folded them over. Of course, my writing was for shit back then, but apparently I was so proud of myself. I’d even drawn a pretty picture on the cover.
So yeah, I guess the idea stuck with me, although it got shoved to the back burner for a while. Grandpa had a hand in that. He agreed with me that, yes, most people had a book in them somewhere. His view, however, was that for some folks, it should definitely stay there.
When life threw me a curve ball, it made me look at myself in a whole new way. Nothing like staring death in the face to make you reevaluate your existence. So when Matt brought up the topic of NaNoWriMo, I figured it was fate giving me a shove in the right direction. Get that book out of my system once and for all.
For those of you not in the know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, and it happens every November. The goal is to write fifty thousand words in thirty days. When Matt first mentioned it, I’ll be honest: I stared at him and said, “Are you fucking crazy? 50K? Yeah, right.” Then, when I’d stopped laughing, he tried to put it to me another way. He went on his phone, pulled up his calculator app, and said if I broke it down, that was 1.6K a day. Sixteen hundred words, people! That made a difference. That was a nice, manageable chunk.
Yeah, I could do this.
Only thing was, Matt had to go and ask me a sort of important question: “What are you going to write about?”
Like I had a clue.
I sat around for weeks, tossing ideas back and forth. Matt suggested sci-fi, seeing as I was a die-hard fan of Star Trek, Babylon 5, Star Wars, Dune, Doctor Who, Torchwood, Battlestar Galactica…. You name it, I tuned in. Great idea, but scary as hell. I mean, we’re talking building worlds here, and as much as I loved the idea of being the next Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, or Frank Herbert, I didn’t think I had it in me. Hell, let’s be realistic here! So we scratched that one off the list and got our thinking caps back on.
Historical stories put me to sleep. Thrillers? Yeah, think I’ll leave those to John Grisham and James Patterson. Fantasy? Sorry, but J.K. Rowling pretty much gets the prize for that one, and if I couldn’t write the next Harry Potter, what was the point?
So one night we were sitting quietly after dinner. Nothing on TV to make it worth switching on. Both of us kinda contemplative. Then Matt looked at me, and I swear I saw a light bulb go on behind his eyes.
“Write what you know.”
“Huh?”
“Something I read online today. It was a forum on writing, and that was one of the suggestions. If you write what you know, what you’re familiar with, it makes things easier. You can draw on your own experiences, and that will make your writing better.”
It made sense, I suppose. I considered the idea. “Okay. So what could I write about?”
He gave me one of those smiles of his that lights up the room. “Us. Write about us.”
“Why would people wanna read about us? And would I have enough to write about?”
Matt laughed. “Are you kidding? How old were we when we first met? Seven?”
“I guess.”
Matt was nodding, his eyes bright. “That means we’ve been friends for twenty years, David. Twenty years. Face it, you could write a book based on the last couple of years alone and you’d have a damn sight more than 50K.”
He had a point. They sure had been… eventful. “When you put it like that….”
Matt grinned. “See? What did I tell you? Pulitzer Prize winner, right there.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Not sure about that part, but….” I had to admit, it was a great idea. There was just one thing. “Where in the hell would I start it?”
Matt was giving me That Smile again. “At the beginning, where else?”
I could see it now.
Once upon a time, there were these two little boys sitting next to each other in class….
1996, Van Hise Elementary School, Madison, WI.
MRS. DELANEY handed me back my test, and I beamed when I saw the gold star.
All right!
“Well done, David.” She smiled at me. “You’re still at the top of the class chart for spelling.”
I thanked her and gave Wendy Taylor a sideways glance. Yeah, she looked mad, not that I was surprised. She’d been telling me all week that she was going to be top. Guess it sucks to be her, then. But soon I pushed mean old Wendy from my thoughts. Mom and Dad were going to be so pleased. Dad had promised that if I got another gold star, that weekend we’d go to the lake. I loved going to Lake Mendota, especially when Dad hired a boat and took us out on the water.
Mrs. Delaney was moving around the classroom, handing back papers and comments with equal measure. The weekly spelling test took place every Monday, and with our results on Tuesday came the slip of paper with twenty more words for the following week’s test.
I guess I was lucky. Spelling was never a chore for me, and my favorite subject was English. Listening to Mrs. Delaney read aloud in her quiet voice that still managed to carry around the room was perhaps the highlight of my week. Writing came a close second. Man, I loved writing stories. There were times when I was in my room, sitting on my bed, a pad of paper balanced on my knees and me lost in my writing. Every time I wrote a new story, Mom would listen to me as I read it aloud. Then she’d get me to think about what I’d written.
I’d always remember the time we discussed one of my stories. I’d described this boy, Billy, as being angry.
Mom looked at me for a minute in silence. “David, have you ever seen me really angry?”
I giggled. “Sure. When the mailman brought you a package that was all busted open.”
She nodded. “And how did I look?”
I thought for a moment. “Your face was all red and scrunched up, and your nostrils did this funny thing.”
“They flared? Like they opened up wide?”
I smiled. “Yeah. That’s it.”
“Okay, then.” Mom pointed to my page. “Well, instead of telling me Billy was angry, why don’t you show me how angry he was?”
I frowned. “But… how do I do that?”
Mom beamed. “You just did it. Write how his face was red, how his nostrils flared. I don’t need to see the word ‘angry’ to know that he is. Your description does that.” She sat back in her armchair. “So next time you write a story, think. Is there a way you can describe what your character does or how they look that gives away how they’re feeling? Your writing will be better that way.”
“I like that. Mrs. Delaney is always telling us to describe things.”
Her eyes shone. “There you go. You try it next time you have a story to write, and see what Mrs. Delaney says.”
I guess that was the start of my love of writing stories, because after that? Yeah, Mrs. Delaney loved my writing.
I have a really cool mom.
And yeah, although English was never that difficult for me, there were other kids who weren’t as lucky. Like Matt Thompson, the kid whose family had just moved to Madison and who was now in my second-grade class. Matt sat at the desk next to mine, and I watched him wince every time Mrs. Delaney handed him back a test paper. He usually didn’t do so well on tests.
That morning was no different. I glanced across at him, noting how his head was bowed and his hands had clenched into fists. Yeah, Matt was all kinds of miserable.
I took a quick look at Mrs. Delaney, but she was still handing back papers. I leaned across the aisle and whispered, “You okay?”
Matt raised his head and peered at me. “’M fine,” he murmured.
He sure didn’t look fine, but the way he said it sort of made it obvious he didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, by then Mrs. Delaney was standing at the front of the class, telling us to make sure we didn’t go home without the list for the following week’s test. I knew she’d remind us again before we left at the end of the day.
When the bell for recess sounded, I bolted from my chair and made a dash for the door, eager to be out in the sunshine. June had started warm, and I was praying it stayed that way. Only a few weeks to go until the summer vacation started, and I couldn’t wait.
“’Snot fair,” Wendy whined as I passed her, heading out to the far corner of the yard. “You always get gold stars. Just like you do in every subject. It’s so unfair.”
I ignored her. Like I didn’t hear the same thing every week. I went on my way, past the group of girls who were jumping rope and the group of seven or eight kids playing tag. I didn’t want to play, not that they’d have asked me anyhow. I wanted to find my quiet place by the old tree and sit with my notebook and a pen.
Only when I got there, my usual space was already taken.
Matt sat on the cool grass in the shade of the tree, his back against the wide trunk. His eyes were red, his face puffy, and he was sniffing and wiping at his nose. The sight of him took away my annoyance at finding him there.
“Hey,” I said cautiously. “Can I sit with you?”
Matt jerked his head up and stared at me. “Sure.” He scrambled to his feet. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“Hey, no, you can stay.” I felt awful, as if my turning up had made him feel even worse than he evidently did.
Matt regarded me, his mouth downturned, his eyes kind of… empty. “Okay,” he said carefully, resuming his position. I sat cross-legged on the grass facing him and threw my notepad onto the ground beside me. He studied me for a second or two. “You’re David, right?”
I nodded. “Where did you move from?” He’d only joined the class about a month previous.
“Kentucky. My daddy got a new job working for a company that rents out equipment. He’s a mechanic.”
I liked the way Matt’s voice sounded kinda like music when he spoke.
“Cool. Does your mom work?”
Matt shook his head. “She stays home and looks after my baby sister. My brother is in ninth grade.” He cocked his head. “What about you? Got any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope, there’s just me.” I’d always wanted a brother or sister, but so far there had been no sign. I’d resigned myself to it being just me.
Matt nodded and then fell silent, his shoulders hunched over.
Yeah, if he was fine like he said, my name was Mickey Mouse.
I could’ve kept my mouth shut. I could’ve… but I didn’t. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”
Matt blinked. “Nothing’s wrong.”
I huffed. “Yeah, right. Ever since you got your test back, you’ve looked like you lost a dollar and found a nickel. Didn’t you do so well?”
He sighed. “I never do well. I’m… stupid.”
It was my turn to blink. “No, you’re not.”
Matt opened his eyes wide. “Oh yeah? And what would you know? Did you see my test paper this morning? My spelling is crap.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re stupid. Besides, I heard you last week when you gave that report about animals in danger of being wiped out. You knew tons about it.”
A faint smile crept across Matt’s face. “You liked that?”
“Sure!” I hadn’t missed a word of it. “You didn’t even read it. You just opened your mouth and out it came. Now, that doesn’t sound like you’re stupid.”
He shrugged. “I watched a lot of shows on TV. Plus, my momma found lots of National Geographic magazines, and we talked about it. And I didn’t read it because… I don’t read so well.”
“But that doesn’t make you stupid,” I protested. “My cousin Donna couldn’t read well, but she’s as smart as a whip. She’s in college now. Turns out she has this thing where she sees words differently.” The term escaped me, which irritated me greatly, because words were important.
“Really?”
I nodded. “Her mom and dad got her tested. Then they got her a tutor.”
“And… that helped?” Matt bit his lip, his eyes wide and shining.
“Seems so. Hey, maybe you need to get tested too!” I considered the issue. “Do you read at home with your parents?”
Matt shook his head. “Daddy doesn’t have time. When he gets home from work, he’s usually tired, and on the weekend, he does stuff around the house. Momma… she doesn’t read so well either.” He gazed at me with interest. “Do you read to your parents?”
“To my mom, yeah. We read together every night before I go to bed, and she always helps me when I’m studying for a test.”
“Sounds neat.” There was an expression of longing on Matt’s face.
“Maybe your parents need to ask school for you to be tested like my cousin. Maybe all you need is a little help.” Then it came to me. “I could help you.”
He frowned. “How?”
“Well, I could read with you. Maybe we could get together on the weekend, or after school. My mom wouldn’t mind if you came to the house. She’d probably be really happy about it, come to think of it.”
“Why’s that?”
I waved a hand in the air. “Oh, she’s always asking why I never bring friends home from school, or why I never hang out with them.” I grinned. “I can’t really tell her most of the kids in my class would be happy talking about playing in the sand pit.”
Matt snorted.
“Tell you what. Why don’t we start today?”
Matt regarded me keenly. “With what?”
“Well, we have another twenty words to learn for next Monday. We could start with them.”
Matt arched one eyebrow. “I can’t see us making that much of a difference in a week.”
“We’re never gonna know until we try,” I announced firmly. I really liked the idea.
Matt pursed his lips and fell silent. “Okay,” he said at last. “Let’s give it a try.”
“Excellent. You can go home first, if you like, and then come over later. Where do you live?”
“On South Segoe Road.”
I gaped at him. “You’re kidding. Me too. What number?”
“Four sixty-five.”
I beamed. “I’m at one twenty-five. We’re neighbors. You have to pass my house on your way to school.”
“Neat.” Matt’s expression brightened. “I’ll go home after school and tell Momma. Then I’ll come by your house. You’re sure your mom won’t mind?”
“Positive.” I knew she’d be fine with it, and actually? I was looking forward to it. I had a really good feeling about Matt.
Maybe I’ve finally got myself a friend.
Even when I was a kid, I loved writing. My mom remembers me handing her my first “book” when I was five or six. I’d taken several pages from a drawing book, written God knows what on them, and then folded them over. Of course, my writing was for shit back then, but apparently I was so proud of myself. I’d even drawn a pretty picture on the cover.
So yeah, I guess the idea stuck with me, although it got shoved to the back burner for a while. Grandpa had a hand in that. He agreed with me that, yes, most people had a book in them somewhere. His view, however, was that for some folks, it should definitely stay there.
When life threw me a curve ball, it made me look at myself in a whole new way. Nothing like staring death in the face to make you reevaluate your existence. So when Matt brought up the topic of NaNoWriMo, I figured it was fate giving me a shove in the right direction. Get that book out of my system once and for all.
For those of you not in the know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, and it happens every November. The goal is to write fifty thousand words in thirty days. When Matt first mentioned it, I’ll be honest: I stared at him and said, “Are you fucking crazy? 50K? Yeah, right.” Then, when I’d stopped laughing, he tried to put it to me another way. He went on his phone, pulled up his calculator app, and said if I broke it down, that was 1.6K a day. Sixteen hundred words, people! That made a difference. That was a nice, manageable chunk.
Yeah, I could do this.
Only thing was, Matt had to go and ask me a sort of important question: “What are you going to write about?”
Like I had a clue.
I sat around for weeks, tossing ideas back and forth. Matt suggested sci-fi, seeing as I was a die-hard fan of Star Trek, Babylon 5, Star Wars, Dune, Doctor Who, Torchwood, Battlestar Galactica…. You name it, I tuned in. Great idea, but scary as hell. I mean, we’re talking building worlds here, and as much as I loved the idea of being the next Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, or Frank Herbert, I didn’t think I had it in me. Hell, let’s be realistic here! So we scratched that one off the list and got our thinking caps back on.
Historical stories put me to sleep. Thrillers? Yeah, think I’ll leave those to John Grisham and James Patterson. Fantasy? Sorry, but J.K. Rowling pretty much gets the prize for that one, and if I couldn’t write the next Harry Potter, what was the point?
So one night we were sitting quietly after dinner. Nothing on TV to make it worth switching on. Both of us kinda contemplative. Then Matt looked at me, and I swear I saw a light bulb go on behind his eyes.
“Write what you know.”
“Huh?”
“Something I read online today. It was a forum on writing, and that was one of the suggestions. If you write what you know, what you’re familiar with, it makes things easier. You can draw on your own experiences, and that will make your writing better.”
It made sense, I suppose. I considered the idea. “Okay. So what could I write about?”
He gave me one of those smiles of his that lights up the room. “Us. Write about us.”
“Why would people wanna read about us? And would I have enough to write about?”
Matt laughed. “Are you kidding? How old were we when we first met? Seven?”
“I guess.”
Matt was nodding, his eyes bright. “That means we’ve been friends for twenty years, David. Twenty years. Face it, you could write a book based on the last couple of years alone and you’d have a damn sight more than 50K.”
He had a point. They sure had been… eventful. “When you put it like that….”
Matt grinned. “See? What did I tell you? Pulitzer Prize winner, right there.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Not sure about that part, but….” I had to admit, it was a great idea. There was just one thing. “Where in the hell would I start it?”
Matt was giving me That Smile again. “At the beginning, where else?”
I could see it now.
Once upon a time, there were these two little boys sitting next to each other in class….
1996, Van Hise Elementary School, Madison, WI.
MRS. DELANEY handed me back my test, and I beamed when I saw the gold star.
All right!
“Well done, David.” She smiled at me. “You’re still at the top of the class chart for spelling.”
I thanked her and gave Wendy Taylor a sideways glance. Yeah, she looked mad, not that I was surprised. She’d been telling me all week that she was going to be top. Guess it sucks to be her, then. But soon I pushed mean old Wendy from my thoughts. Mom and Dad were going to be so pleased. Dad had promised that if I got another gold star, that weekend we’d go to the lake. I loved going to Lake Mendota, especially when Dad hired a boat and took us out on the water.
Mrs. Delaney was moving around the classroom, handing back papers and comments with equal measure. The weekly spelling test took place every Monday, and with our results on Tuesday came the slip of paper with twenty more words for the following week’s test.
I guess I was lucky. Spelling was never a chore for me, and my favorite subject was English. Listening to Mrs. Delaney read aloud in her quiet voice that still managed to carry around the room was perhaps the highlight of my week. Writing came a close second. Man, I loved writing stories. There were times when I was in my room, sitting on my bed, a pad of paper balanced on my knees and me lost in my writing. Every time I wrote a new story, Mom would listen to me as I read it aloud. Then she’d get me to think about what I’d written.
I’d always remember the time we discussed one of my stories. I’d described this boy, Billy, as being angry.
Mom looked at me for a minute in silence. “David, have you ever seen me really angry?”
I giggled. “Sure. When the mailman brought you a package that was all busted open.”
She nodded. “And how did I look?”
I thought for a moment. “Your face was all red and scrunched up, and your nostrils did this funny thing.”
“They flared? Like they opened up wide?”
I smiled. “Yeah. That’s it.”
“Okay, then.” Mom pointed to my page. “Well, instead of telling me Billy was angry, why don’t you show me how angry he was?”
I frowned. “But… how do I do that?”
Mom beamed. “You just did it. Write how his face was red, how his nostrils flared. I don’t need to see the word ‘angry’ to know that he is. Your description does that.” She sat back in her armchair. “So next time you write a story, think. Is there a way you can describe what your character does or how they look that gives away how they’re feeling? Your writing will be better that way.”
“I like that. Mrs. Delaney is always telling us to describe things.”
Her eyes shone. “There you go. You try it next time you have a story to write, and see what Mrs. Delaney says.”
I guess that was the start of my love of writing stories, because after that? Yeah, Mrs. Delaney loved my writing.
I have a really cool mom.
And yeah, although English was never that difficult for me, there were other kids who weren’t as lucky. Like Matt Thompson, the kid whose family had just moved to Madison and who was now in my second-grade class. Matt sat at the desk next to mine, and I watched him wince every time Mrs. Delaney handed him back a test paper. He usually didn’t do so well on tests.
That morning was no different. I glanced across at him, noting how his head was bowed and his hands had clenched into fists. Yeah, Matt was all kinds of miserable.
I took a quick look at Mrs. Delaney, but she was still handing back papers. I leaned across the aisle and whispered, “You okay?”
Matt raised his head and peered at me. “’M fine,” he murmured.
He sure didn’t look fine, but the way he said it sort of made it obvious he didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, by then Mrs. Delaney was standing at the front of the class, telling us to make sure we didn’t go home without the list for the following week’s test. I knew she’d remind us again before we left at the end of the day.
When the bell for recess sounded, I bolted from my chair and made a dash for the door, eager to be out in the sunshine. June had started warm, and I was praying it stayed that way. Only a few weeks to go until the summer vacation started, and I couldn’t wait.
“’Snot fair,” Wendy whined as I passed her, heading out to the far corner of the yard. “You always get gold stars. Just like you do in every subject. It’s so unfair.”
I ignored her. Like I didn’t hear the same thing every week. I went on my way, past the group of girls who were jumping rope and the group of seven or eight kids playing tag. I didn’t want to play, not that they’d have asked me anyhow. I wanted to find my quiet place by the old tree and sit with my notebook and a pen.
Only when I got there, my usual space was already taken.
Matt sat on the cool grass in the shade of the tree, his back against the wide trunk. His eyes were red, his face puffy, and he was sniffing and wiping at his nose. The sight of him took away my annoyance at finding him there.
“Hey,” I said cautiously. “Can I sit with you?”
Matt jerked his head up and stared at me. “Sure.” He scrambled to his feet. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“Hey, no, you can stay.” I felt awful, as if my turning up had made him feel even worse than he evidently did.
Matt regarded me, his mouth downturned, his eyes kind of… empty. “Okay,” he said carefully, resuming his position. I sat cross-legged on the grass facing him and threw my notepad onto the ground beside me. He studied me for a second or two. “You’re David, right?”
I nodded. “Where did you move from?” He’d only joined the class about a month previous.
“Kentucky. My daddy got a new job working for a company that rents out equipment. He’s a mechanic.”
I liked the way Matt’s voice sounded kinda like music when he spoke.
“Cool. Does your mom work?”
Matt shook his head. “She stays home and looks after my baby sister. My brother is in ninth grade.” He cocked his head. “What about you? Got any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope, there’s just me.” I’d always wanted a brother or sister, but so far there had been no sign. I’d resigned myself to it being just me.
Matt nodded and then fell silent, his shoulders hunched over.
Yeah, if he was fine like he said, my name was Mickey Mouse.
I could’ve kept my mouth shut. I could’ve… but I didn’t. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”
Matt blinked. “Nothing’s wrong.”
I huffed. “Yeah, right. Ever since you got your test back, you’ve looked like you lost a dollar and found a nickel. Didn’t you do so well?”
He sighed. “I never do well. I’m… stupid.”
It was my turn to blink. “No, you’re not.”
Matt opened his eyes wide. “Oh yeah? And what would you know? Did you see my test paper this morning? My spelling is crap.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re stupid. Besides, I heard you last week when you gave that report about animals in danger of being wiped out. You knew tons about it.”
A faint smile crept across Matt’s face. “You liked that?”
“Sure!” I hadn’t missed a word of it. “You didn’t even read it. You just opened your mouth and out it came. Now, that doesn’t sound like you’re stupid.”
He shrugged. “I watched a lot of shows on TV. Plus, my momma found lots of National Geographic magazines, and we talked about it. And I didn’t read it because… I don’t read so well.”
“But that doesn’t make you stupid,” I protested. “My cousin Donna couldn’t read well, but she’s as smart as a whip. She’s in college now. Turns out she has this thing where she sees words differently.” The term escaped me, which irritated me greatly, because words were important.
“Really?”
I nodded. “Her mom and dad got her tested. Then they got her a tutor.”
“And… that helped?” Matt bit his lip, his eyes wide and shining.
“Seems so. Hey, maybe you need to get tested too!” I considered the issue. “Do you read at home with your parents?”
Matt shook his head. “Daddy doesn’t have time. When he gets home from work, he’s usually tired, and on the weekend, he does stuff around the house. Momma… she doesn’t read so well either.” He gazed at me with interest. “Do you read to your parents?”
“To my mom, yeah. We read together every night before I go to bed, and she always helps me when I’m studying for a test.”
“Sounds neat.” There was an expression of longing on Matt’s face.
“Maybe your parents need to ask school for you to be tested like my cousin. Maybe all you need is a little help.” Then it came to me. “I could help you.”
He frowned. “How?”
“Well, I could read with you. Maybe we could get together on the weekend, or after school. My mom wouldn’t mind if you came to the house. She’d probably be really happy about it, come to think of it.”
“Why’s that?”
I waved a hand in the air. “Oh, she’s always asking why I never bring friends home from school, or why I never hang out with them.” I grinned. “I can’t really tell her most of the kids in my class would be happy talking about playing in the sand pit.”
Matt snorted.
“Tell you what. Why don’t we start today?”
Matt regarded me keenly. “With what?”
“Well, we have another twenty words to learn for next Monday. We could start with them.”
Matt arched one eyebrow. “I can’t see us making that much of a difference in a week.”
“We’re never gonna know until we try,” I announced firmly. I really liked the idea.
Matt pursed his lips and fell silent. “Okay,” he said at last. “Let’s give it a try.”
“Excellent. You can go home first, if you like, and then come over later. Where do you live?”
“On South Segoe Road.”
I gaped at him. “You’re kidding. Me too. What number?”
“Four sixty-five.”
I beamed. “I’m at one twenty-five. We’re neighbors. You have to pass my house on your way to school.”
“Neat.” Matt’s expression brightened. “I’ll go home after school and tell Momma. Then I’ll come by your house. You’re sure your mom won’t mind?”
“Positive.” I knew she’d be fine with it, and actually? I was looking forward to it. I had a really good feeling about Matt.
Maybe I’ve finally got myself a friend.
I've always written, right from an early age. I was always writing stories as a child, and as I grew up, I had the idea of writing a novel, like so many people do. Born and raised in the north-west of England, K.C. Wells always loved writing. Words were important. Full stop. However, when childhood gave way to adulthood, the writing ceased, as life got in the way. K.C. discovered erotic fiction in 2009, where the purchase of a ménage storyline led to the startling discovery that reading about men in love was damn hot. In 2012, arriving at a really low point in life led to the desperate need to do something creative. An even bigger discovery waited in the wings—writing about men in love was even hotter.... K.C. now writes full time and is loving every minute of her new career. The laptop still has no idea of what hit it... it only knows that it wants a rest, please. And it now has to get used to the idea that where K.C goes, it goes.
Website: http://www.kcwellsworld.com/my-books/
Thank you for the excerpt. It looks like a great read.
ReplyDeleteI got to meet K.C. at RT last month and bought this book! I can't wait to read it and thanks for the great review!
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