But wait. Cue the music. Suddenly, beyond all hope, it happens. In the small desert town of Spangle, California, where Eddie lives, comes a sad young stranger with piercing gray eyes. They are the palest, most stunningly beautiful eyes Eddie has ever seen. Poor Eddie Hightower is swallowed up in their silver depths and disappears without a gurgle. The stranger’s name is Gray Grissom. Gray, like his eyes. Without hesitation Eddie opens his doors—and his heart—to the lost young man. After all, that’s what Eddie does. He finds homes for strays. But this is one stray Eddie intends to keep for himself.
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Cat gives this one 4 Meows with a 3 Purr heat index...
Eddie is in his late forties. He is surrounded by his pets and refuge animals. He stays busy, but is getting lonely for human company.
Gray has a lot of secrets and is very standoffish. He too is lonely but has trust issues. Meeting Eddie and his animals makes him want more but breaking out of his shell is hard.
I loved both Eddie and Gray. I especially loved Eddie. I relate to older characters and pet lovers are a plus.
The storyline is good, and the animals are like characters in their own right.
Strays and Lovers is a cute book, unique job, and makes an enjoyable read. If you like large age gaps, animals, sweet romance, and some hot man-sex with a very sweet end this is for you.
Excerpt...
Chapter One
EDDIE HIGHTOWER stared into the bathroom mirror. He placed his fingertips at his temples, just below two arrowheads of receding hairline, and pulled everything backward and up. Gratifyingly, his crow’s-feet disappeared, and his cheekbones popped into view.
“Cool,” he said.
Of course now he looked Chinese, which was no bad thing in and of itself. But with a name like Hightower, it would seem genetically improbable.
While keeping the crow’s-feet ironed out, he applied pressure to both sides of his neck below the ears with his thumbs, dragging the flesh on his neck back toward his spinal column, smoothing out the wrinkles on his throat and tightening his jowls.
“Ooh,” he said admiringly. “Twenty years younger.” He blithely ignored the lump of extraneous flesh now pooched up on the nape of his neck like a tumor and the fact that his eyeballs were flattened out to a point of being all but useless.
He studied his image from three different angles before emitting a less than ecstatic snarl.
Releasing the grip on his face and neck, he watched with disdain as everything dribbled back to its normal state of laxity. And there he was. Forty-six-year old Eddie Hightower again. Not bad looking, he supposed, but certainly not in his prime.
“Hmm,” he said, continuing to eye himself with resigned acceptance. His brown hair was definitely thinning. Nothing to do about that. Damned if he was going to sport a comb-over. His eyes were still blue, and he didn’t need glasses yet, so that was a plus. His back was still straight and his teeth were still good. He still had a hairy chest and his belly was reasonably flat. No complaints there. His sex drive was still in high gear, although it ran mostly on idle these days—something he was none too happy about. And last but not least, he had kept the same thirty-two-inch waistline he had in his twenties, thanks to all the running around he did at the refuge, tending his flock of lost souls, which is how he sometimes thought of the unfortunate animals in his care.
Lately he had begun to think of himself that way too. Another lost soul. One more unwanted pussycat.
That thought caused Eddie to cough up a reluctant laugh as he studied his reflection one last time. Yep, old Eddie Hightower was a little like a pound of bologna, creeping up on its expiration date as it sat unspoken for on the deli shelf, all semblance of freshness dwindling, the edges beginning to curl, the reek of corruption starting to leak through the dusty packaging.
Eddie sniffed his furry armpit to test his theory. Yep. Corruption indeed.
He stared down at the gray-and-white tabby sitting in the sink in front of him, watching every move he made. The cat’s name was Leonardo DeCatrio, or Leo for short. Was it Eddie’s imagination, or did Leo look vaguely appalled?
“What do you think, Leo? Do I stink? Be honest.”
“Meow,” said Leo.
“Don’t hold back. Tell me how you feel.”
“Meow,” Leo said again, with a little more fervency this time, as in “I said it once. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”
That sounded like an emphatic yes to Eddie, so he dropped the towel from around his waist, stepped naked into the shower stall, and drew the curtain. After dancing around and bellowing at the top of his voice for a minute while the shower spray went from arctic to subtropical, Eddie began energetically sudsing himself down from top to bottom with a washcloth and a bar of Ivory soap. He dutifully tended to all the jiggly parts in the middle with extra care.
The jiggly unused parts in the middle, he sadly mused.
John Inman is a Lambda Literary Award finalist and the author of over thirty novels, everything from outrageous comedies to tales of ghosts and monsters and heart stopping romances. John Inman has been writing fiction since he was old enough to hold a pencil. He and his partner live in beautiful San Diego, California. Together, they share a passion for theater, books, hiking and biking along the trails and canyons of San Diego or, if the mood strikes, simply kicking back with a beer and a movie.
John's advice for anyone who wishes to be a writer? "Set time aside to write every day and do it. Don't be afraid to share what you've written. Feedback is important. When a rejection slip comes in, just tear it up and try again. Keep mailing stuff out. Keep writing and rewriting and then rewrite one more time. Every minute of the struggle is worth it in the end, so don't give up. Ever. Remember that publishers are a lot like lovers. Sometimes you have to look a long time to find the one that's right for you."
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