A Tucker Springs Novel
Welcome to Tucker Springs, Colorado, where you’ll enjoy beautiful mountain views and the opportunity to study at one of two prestigious universities—if you can afford to live there.
Jason Davis is in pain. Still smarting from a bad breakup, he struggles to pay both halves of an overwhelming mortgage and balance the books at his floundering business. As if the emotional and financial pain weren’t enough, the agony of a years-old shoulder injury keeps him up at night. When he faces a choice between medication and insomnia, he takes a friend’s advice and gives acupuncture a try.
Acupuncturist Michael Whitman is a single dad striving to make ends meet, and his landlord just hiked the rent. When new patient Jason, a referral from a mutual friend, suggests a roommate arrangement could benefit them both, Michael seizes the opportunity.
Getting a roommate might be the best idea Jason’s ever had—if it weren’t for his attraction to Michael, who seems to be allergic to wearing shirts in the house. Still, a little unresolved sexual tension is a small price to pay for pain and financial relief. He’ll keep his hands and feelings to himself since Michael is straight… isn’t he?
Third Edition
First Edition published by Amber Quill Press, LLC, June 2012.
Second Edition published by Riptide Publishing, June 2014.
Buy links: Dreamspinner | Amazon
Cat gives this one 5 Meows...
Where the Nerves End was a breathtakingly Beautiful story, full of angst, passion and coming out Jason’s boyfriend left him with a big mortgage, his business partner left him with a big mortgage and failing business, and with the chronic pain in his shoulder he has no control over his life. Finally with no other option in sight, he goes to see an acupuncturist that his best friend recommends. He finds himself attracted but the man is straight, divorced with a seven-year-old child.
Finding out Michael was also suffering from stress of business and mortgage he suggested he move in with him to help them both and so he can continue his treatments. But will the sexual tension be too much?
I loved this story. I loved both Jason and Michael. I could feel their anguish and pain. Whether it was emotional (Michael) or physical (Jason). The story is a slow burn but the chemistry between these two men is smokin. As with all of LA Witt’s books I loved everything about this story. I love Tucker Springs.
Excerpt...
I MADE the call on Monday afternoon, and on Tuesday morning I followed the receptionist’s directions across town to a shopping center a couple of blocks from the freeway. Nothing screamed credibility for a medical professional like setting up shop in a strip mall. On the other hand, I knew all too well how difficult it was to find a place with a reasonably affordable lease and some actual visibility. That was why my nightclub lived in an old converted warehouse on the not-so-nice side of the Light District. Glass houses, throwing stones, etc.
Sitting in my car, I took a deep breath and stared at the clinic.
The sign over the windowed storefront read Tucker Springs Acupuncture between a black-and-white yin-yang and another symbol I didn’t recognize. Seth had been after me for two years to do this, and middle-of-the-night desperation had finally made me give in, but now I wasn’t so sure.
I was here, though. I’d made the appointment and had the cash in my wallet; cash I could ill afford to spend. Aside from money, though, what did I have to lose? It wasn’t like that shit was dangerous or anything. I couldn’t imagine there were too many side effects to tiny, superficial needles, and I didn’t see myself getting addicted.
I stared at the letters and the yin-yang and the tinted windows below them, silently demanding they justify themselves. Offer proof. Offer some reason for me to walk through that shining glass door. When it came to alternative medicine, I was as skeptical as Seth was about life in general. I regarded every treatment as not only snake oil, but the snake itself. At best, quackery. At worst, dangerous. And no matter what, fucking expensive.
But after the last couple of nights, I was desperate.
On the way inside, I stopped to read the sign in the window. It echoed the name and yin-yang overhead and, in a smaller font, listed the various ailments that the acupuncturist claimed to treat.
Infertility.
Drug addiction.
Vision problems.
Asthma.
On and on and on. God, this smacked of a snake oil salesman. One tincture to treat every ailment under the sun! A miracle cure! Hallelujah! That’ll be $79.99, please—cash, check, charge, or firstborn.
My shoulder throbbed relentlessly, and my head was light from lack of sleep and the second dose of painkillers I’d taken at six fifteen.
Maybe I was just desperate, maybe I was as gullible as the next person, but two words on that lengthy list drew me through the door:
Chronic pain.
The clinic smelled oddly… herbal. Something pungent, vaguely familiar, and slightly burned. Strong enough I couldn’t ignore it, but not powerful enough to be nauseating. I could have been mistaken, but I swore I smelled one particular herb that hadn’t been legal until fairly recently, at least not without a government-issued license and a compelling reason.
The waiting area wasn’t all that different from a doctor’s office, though it lacked the sparse, sterile appearance. Framed prints of tranquil landscapes lined the dark green wall between two mahogany bookcases. A plastic milk crate tucked beneath the table held brightly colored plastic toys, and a few well-worn magazines leaned on each other inside a metal magazine rack. Between a Buddha statue and several books on Chinese medicine was a trickling fountain in a clay bowl. Water ran over pebbles and fake jade, and on top stood a tree that resembled a bonsai tree.
“You must be Mr. Davis.”
I immediately recognized the singsong voice of the receptionist and turned my head. He was a cute kid, probably a college student. Square-rimmed hipster glasses, stylishly messed-up hair with highlighted tips, and just a little flamboyant. I wondered if he was part of the reason Seth came here on a regular basis. This kid was 100 percent his type, right down to the tan that did not happen naturally in Colorado this time of year.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Jason Davis.”
He smiled. “Right on time. Dr. Whitman needs you to fill this out as best you can.” He gave me a pen and clipboard. “And be totally honest, because….” He waved a hand and sighed dramatically. “He’ll get the answer out of you one way or another, so don’t try to hide anything.”
I laughed. “Is that right?”
“Trust me.” The kid had a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “He’s one of those people; you might as well tell him what he wants to know. He’s kind of like the CIA, minus the car batteries and waterboarding.”
“Good to know.”
L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn’t lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut…
enjoyed the excerpt
ReplyDeleteSounds like a good book.
ReplyDeleteThis sounds like a great read and I enjoyed your review! Definitely adding to my TBR list!
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