Jasper Warren is a
happy-go-lucky young man in spite of the tragedy that’s marred his life. He’s
on a road to nowhere with his roommate, Lacy, whom he adores, and a dead-end
retail job in Chicago.
And then everything
changes in a single night. Though Jasper doesn’t know it, his road is going
somewhere after all. This time when tragedy strikes, it brings with it Lacy’s
older, wealthy, sexy uncle Rob. Despite the heart-wrenching circumstances, an
immediate connection forms between the two men.
But the secrets between
them test their attraction. Will their revelations destroy the bloom of new
love... or encourage it to grow?
Cat gives this one 5
Meows...
As always Rick R Reed has given us a beautifully written story with tons of feels. It is heart-wrenching in places and heartwarming in others. I loved Jasper. How could you not? He was a sweet young man. Average. Happy with his meager life, simple apartment and best friend and roommate. Until he finds her dead in her room. He meets her rich uncle at her funeral and finds out he didn’t know her at all.
As always Rick R Reed has given us a beautifully written story with tons of feels. It is heart-wrenching in places and heartwarming in others. I loved Jasper. How could you not? He was a sweet young man. Average. Happy with his meager life, simple apartment and best friend and roommate. Until he finds her dead in her room. He meets her rich uncle at her funeral and finds out he didn’t know her at all.
Rob feels an attraction to
Jasper but he is half his age, sweet and sexy. What would he want with an old
man like him? And he is not his usual type at all. Men his age or older and in
his class. Is this the real thing or
just a fleeting attraction?
Grab this book and find
out. It is well worth the read. If you like May/December,
hurt/comfort, Millionaire/poor and an allover great sweet romance with tons of
feels this is for you.
Excerpt…
Prologue
“HEY! I don’t think you
should go through that,” Rob said, barely audible because he didn’t want his
fear to show. He sucked in a breath and clutched his suitcase close to him, as
though it were a child—or a flotation device. Or a boy he loved and didn’t want
to lose….
The water spread out on
the road under the overpass like a black mirror. It could have been a few
inches deep or a few feet. From just a visual, there was no way to gauge how
deep it was. No person with any sense would drive into it.
His Uber driver, a
sallow-complexioned man in his forties wearing a black baseball cap, gave out a
low whistle. “We’ll be okay,” he said cheerfully, with a confidence Rob simply
didn’t have. “Just sit back and let me worry. We’ll be fine.”
Rob wished he had the
nerve to speak up, to command, “No! Don’t! Just turn around.” After all, this
driver was putting them both in danger. But he felt like protesting would make
him seem insane or, at the very least, silly. So what’s worse, he wondered,
seeming crazy or drowning? He cursed himself for the ridiculous lengths he went
to so as to avoid confrontation.
A thunderclap as loud as
an explosion sounded then, and Rob swore the black Lincoln Continental
shuddered under its vibration. Lightning turned the dark, cloud-choked dawn
skies bright white for an instant, as though day had peeked in, seen the
weather, and then ducked back out.
“This baby can get through
it,” the driver said, giving the car a little more gas.
Rob tightened his lips to
a single line and furrowed his brows as his driver set off into the small lake
stretching out before them. As the driver moved completely under the overpass,
the drumming sound of the rain on the roof suddenly ceased, and the silence was
like the intake of a breath.
“C’mon, c’mon,” the driver
urged almost under his breath as he sallied farther into the water, giving the
car more gas.
Even before the engine
started to whine in protest, Rob knew they were in trouble by the way the water
parted to admit the Lincoln. Waves sloshed by on either side.
Rob thought again he
should speak up—like maybe to suggest that the driver could attempt to back up—but
held his tongue. The guy was a professional, right? He knew what he was doing.
They’d be okay.
And the driver continued,
deeper and deeper into the water standing so treacherously beneath the
overpass.
The engine made a lowing
sound, like a cow’s moo, as the flood rose up the sides of the vehicle.
Rob gasped as brackish,
foul-smelling water covered his loafered feet, pouring in through the small
spaces around the doors.
The driver eyed him in the
rearview mirror. There was a defeat in his voice as he said, “You better open
your door and get out while you can.”
Rob wondered, for only a
moment, why he would want to. Then it struck him with the adrenaline-fueled
clarity born of panic that if he didn’t open his door now, he might never get
another chance. The rising water and its pressure would make it impossible to
open the door.
If it wasn’t already too
late….
Rob leaned over and
pressed against the door. The engine stalled at that moment, and his driver
reached for his own door handle up front.
For a brief moment that
caused his heart to drum fast, Rob feared his door wouldn’t open. He slid over
and leaned against it with his shoulder pressed against the black leather,
grunting.
The door held and then
suddenly gave way.
Granted access, water
rushed into the vehicle. The icy current rose up, covering his ankles and his
calves. It was almost over his knees when he managed to slide from the Lincoln.
Outside the car, he stood.
The water rose up almost to his neck. He felt nothing, only a kind of numbness
and wonder. His driver was already sloshing forward toward the pearly light at
the other side of the overpass. He didn’t give Rob so much as a backward
glance.
Rob started moving against
the water, wondering what might be swimming in it.
Thunder grumbled and then
cracked again. The lightning flared, brilliant white, once more. And the rain
poured down even harder.
He looked back for a
moment at the Lincoln Continental, thinking about his Tumi bag on the seat.
There was no hope for that now!
He slogged through the
water and progressed steadily forward, feeling like a refugee in some
third-world country, bound for freedom. In his head he heard the swell of
inspirational music.
After what seemed like an
hour, but was really only about five minutes, Rob reached dry land at the end
of the overpass, where the entrance ramp veered upward toward the highway. Cars
whizzed by, sending up sprays of water, the motorists oblivious.
His driver eyed him but
said nothing. He was out of breath.
Rob stood in the rain and
remembered his iPhone in the front pocket of his khakis. He pulled it out,
thinking to call for help. But when he pressed the Home button, the screen
briefly illuminated and then blinked out, the picture of an ocean wave crashing
toward the shore first skewing weirdly, then vanishing.
“Shit,” he whispered and
then replaced the phone in his soaking-wet pants pocket.
He needn’t have worried
about calling for help, however, because it seemed the universe had done it for
him. On the other side of the overpass, a fire truck, lights on but no siren,
pulled up to the water’s edge. Then two police cruisers. And finally,
surprisingly, a news van with a satellite antenna on top brought up the rear.
The rest was kind of a
blur. Through a bullhorn, one of the firemen advised them to come back toward
them but to use the median instead of slogging through the flood. The concrete
divider was only a few inches above the sloshing water.
Somehow, Rob and his
driver managed a tightrope walk across the lake the underpass had become, balancing
on the concrete divider.
When they reached the
other side, one of the newscasters, a guy in a red rain slicker, stuck a
microphone in his face and asked him to tell him what happened. Was he afraid?
Stunned, Rob shook his head and moved toward the cop cars. Behind him, he could
hear the driver talking to the reporter.
At the first police car, a
uniformed officer got out from behind the steering wheel. She shut the door
behind her and held a hand above the bill of her cap to further shield her from
the rain. She was young, maybe midtwenties, with short black hair and a stout
and sturdy build.
“You okay, sir?”
Rob nodded. “Yeah, I
guess.” He smiled. “Didn’t expect a swim this early in the morning.”
The officer didn’t laugh.
“Where were you headed? We might be able to take you, or at the very least, we
can summon a taxi for you.”
And Rob opened his mouth
to say, “To the airport” and then shut it again.
One thought stood out in
his head. I could have drowned. He looked toward the Lincoln, which
was filled now with water up to the middle of the windshield.
“Sir? You need us to get
you somewhere?”
Rob debated, thinking of a
young man, perhaps out in this same rain, getting almost as drenched as he was.
He opened his mouth again to speak, unsure of how he could or should answer her
question.
What he said now could
very well determine the course of the rest of his life.
The R is for romance...
Rick R. Reed is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of gay men in contemporary,
realistic settings. While his stories often contain elements of suspense,
mystery and the paranormal, his focus ultimately returns to the power of love.
He is the author of dozens
of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a three-time EPIC eBook
Award winner (for Caregiver, Orientation and The Blue Moon Cafe). He is also a
Rainbow Award Winner for both Caregiver and Raining Men. Lambda Literary Review
has called him, "a writer that doesn't disappoint."
Rick lives in Palm Springs,
CA with his beloved husband. He is forever "at work on another
novel." Take a look at his blog to get the latest on his work and his
life!
Rick R. Reed Reality
(Blog)
Rick R. Reed Official
Website
Rick R. Reed BookBub Page
Rick R. Reed Twitter
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