Texas artist Tucker Williams arrives in New York City for a gallery showing of his work and finds the city blanketed in snow. He meets free-spirited underwear model Calvin McIntire on the steps of the Midtown library and is captivated by a wild beauty that manages to compete with the demons that occupy his soul and fuel his work with their lust for blood and erotic imagery.
Unable to deny a new inspiration, Tucker sublets a studio and finds the city’s energy almost as addictive as Calvin.
Tucker is obsessive, barely holding on to sanity as his art consumes him, and Calvin is dealing with demons of his own, trying desperately to protect his soul in a business where only his appearance has value. They each prove to be the perfect remedy for the other’s personal brand of crazy until, in the midst of stress and exhaustion, they discover that a promise Calvin needs is the one thing Tucker can’t give him, and their heaven turns to purgatory.
Can both men find a path toward wholeness in Tucker’s beautiful but chaotic Texas home? In order for them—and their passionate relationship—to thrive, they’ll need to adapt, share their psychoses, and find a true balance between New York City and rural Texas.
Buy links: Dreamspinner | Amazon
Cat gives this one 3 Meows with a 4 Purr heat index...
Cover: I didn't quite get this cover or the title in relation to the story. I will admit if I saw this I wouldn't pick it u to even read the blurb. The reason I chose it was that BA Tortuga is an auto-read author for me.
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Tucker is a reclusive artist from Texas that paints strange pictures of demons and other odd pictures. He does quite well though. He finds himself in New York in the snow at the library where he meets Calvin a gorgeous underwear model. Both men have their demons to battle but will it wreck their newfound relationship.
Refraction is a unique story about two very different young men. Calvin has t maintain his weight and body image for his work and sometimes doesn't eat for days. I never really figured out Tucker's demons, though the story keeps bringing them up. I would have liked to know exactly what caused hi the have such a dark side and see all these demons everywhere. It felt like a story was lurking there in the background that never unfolded.
I did like both Characters and how well they fit together. There are some sweet scenes and the dynamics between these two men are hot. I like both of these authors and the story was interesting. If you like Jodi Paye, BA Tortuga, collaborated stories, artists, models, a sweet romance, Insta love, and some relatively hot man-sex you will like this one.
Excerpt...
TUCKER WILLIAMS leaned against the steps of the library beside the big stone lion and watched the white stuff fall out of the sky. Colder than he’d ever been in his whole life, he shivered, trying to figure out what the fuck a guy like him was doing all the way up here.
The logical part of his brain, the part not frozen solid, reminded him that he had a gallery opening tomorrow. A major opening. Right.
So he was up here touristing all by himself and freezing his nuts and his toes off and waiting to show up in his best jeans and jacket tomorrow night.
Go him.
Christ on a sparkly pink crutch, everyone here wore black, and no one smiled a bit. Surely there had to be somewhere here with friendly folks and heat.
Right on cue, one of those black-clad Yankees—this one in a black knee-length coat, black earmuffs, and chunky black boots—came trotting down the steps right past him. Like every other guy on the busy street, he was on the phone.
“That spread is mine, Michael. I want it. You make it happen. I’ve got the best ass of the bunch, and you know it.”
The man stopped two steps below Tucker. “I’m easier to work with too. You tell them, okay? I need to get out of the weather. Who ordered this shit? Later.”
Huh. Earmuffs were a thing. Go figure. Tucker had to admit, the whole pseudo-duster thing was pretty hot.
“’Scuse me, sir, but is there a decent place to get a cup of joe around here?” Tucker asked.
The guy turned his head, but Tucker couldn’t get a good look at him behind the collar he’d pulled up against the weather. He was squinting against the snow, and his hair was mostly hidden under a knit hat, but it looked like it might be blond.
“There’s no such thing as a bad cup of coffee in New York. You look like you’re freezing your ass off, man. Come on, I’ll show you.” The guy just took off down the steps, and Tucker didn’t have much choice but to follow.
Good Lord and butter, these folks walked like huge flocks of birds. Great big old flocks of ravens. Oh. Oh, he could—he could paint that, right now.
“Calvin.” He was offered a gloved hand. Black leather, of course.
“Williams. Tucker Williams. Pleased.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and shook.
“Not from around here, I take it?” Calvin gave him wink and a grin.
Cool. This one smiled. “No, sir. I’m a bit from home, but that’s obvious, I reckon.”
“I’ll say. In here.” Calvin opened a door, and Tucker was hit with the smell of baking bread and a beautiful blast of warm air. “We’re expecting a pretty good hit. How long are you in town?”
The logical part of his brain, the part not frozen solid, reminded him that he had a gallery opening tomorrow. A major opening. Right.
So he was up here touristing all by himself and freezing his nuts and his toes off and waiting to show up in his best jeans and jacket tomorrow night.
Go him.
Christ on a sparkly pink crutch, everyone here wore black, and no one smiled a bit. Surely there had to be somewhere here with friendly folks and heat.
Right on cue, one of those black-clad Yankees—this one in a black knee-length coat, black earmuffs, and chunky black boots—came trotting down the steps right past him. Like every other guy on the busy street, he was on the phone.
“That spread is mine, Michael. I want it. You make it happen. I’ve got the best ass of the bunch, and you know it.”
The man stopped two steps below Tucker. “I’m easier to work with too. You tell them, okay? I need to get out of the weather. Who ordered this shit? Later.”
Huh. Earmuffs were a thing. Go figure. Tucker had to admit, the whole pseudo-duster thing was pretty hot.
“’Scuse me, sir, but is there a decent place to get a cup of joe around here?” Tucker asked.
The guy turned his head, but Tucker couldn’t get a good look at him behind the collar he’d pulled up against the weather. He was squinting against the snow, and his hair was mostly hidden under a knit hat, but it looked like it might be blond.
“There’s no such thing as a bad cup of coffee in New York. You look like you’re freezing your ass off, man. Come on, I’ll show you.” The guy just took off down the steps, and Tucker didn’t have much choice but to follow.
Good Lord and butter, these folks walked like huge flocks of birds. Great big old flocks of ravens. Oh. Oh, he could—he could paint that, right now.
“Calvin.” He was offered a gloved hand. Black leather, of course.
“Williams. Tucker Williams. Pleased.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and shook.
“Not from around here, I take it?” Calvin gave him wink and a grin.
Cool. This one smiled. “No, sir. I’m a bit from home, but that’s obvious, I reckon.”
“I’ll say. In here.” Calvin opened a door, and Tucker was hit with the smell of baking bread and a beautiful blast of warm air. “We’re expecting a pretty good hit. How long are you in town?”
Jodi Payne spent too many years in New York and San Francisco stage-managing classical plays, edgy fringe work, and the occasional musical. She therefore is overdramatic, takes herself way too seriously, and has been known to randomly break out in song. Her men are imperfect but genuine, stubborn but likeable, often kinky, and frequently their own worst enemies. They are characters you can’t help but fall in love with while they stumble along the path to their happily ever after.
For those looking to get on her good side, Jodi’s addictions include nonfat lattes, Malbec, and tequila however you pour it. She’s also obsessed with Shakespeare and Broadway musicals. She can be found wearing sock monkey gloves while typing when it’s cold, and on the beach enjoying the sun and the ocean when it’s hot. When she’s not writing and/or vacuuming sand out of her laptop, Jodi mentors queer youth and will drop everything for live music.
Jodi lives near New York City with her beautiful wife, and together they are mothers of dragons (cleverly disguised as children) and slaves to an enormous polydactyl cat.
Thank you for the review and excerpt!
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