It’s funny how love nails
you when you least expect it.
Dilly Jones has pretty
much given up on romance ever finding him. Boz Jenkins, his neighbor, is
recently out of a bad relationship but has definitely noticed the cutie across
the street. When Dilly drops a bag of donuts on the sidewalk, it sets a chain
of events into motion. And suddenly both men’s hearts are lost.
But Boz’s ex is still
hanging around, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get Boz back.With a brand-new
romance gearing up to knock their socks off, the last thing Dilly and Boz
expect is to get tangled up in a stranger’s murder. Or to find themselves
fighting for their lives.
Just as they finally find
happiness, their love for each other becomes the thing that threatens them the
most.
Buy links: Dreamspinner Amazon
Cat gives this one 4 Meows with a 3 Purr heat index...
Dilly and Boz are both a
cute and yet dark at times story. The romance part between Dilly and Boz is
sugary sweet. The part with Bobby Boz’s ex is dark. Where Dilly and Boz are
meeting and falling in love, both are cute and clutzy and pet lovers, Bobby is
a dope addict and getting meaner and more violent by the second which leads to
Angel, the man Bobby is using to take out his frustrations on. Angel loves
Bobby and takes what is given especially since he is an illegal. So we have one sweet romance going on and one
dark one.
If you don’t like violence
this story is not for you.
Puffer, Dilly’s boss is an
old man that runs a 50’s record shop and smokes lots of weed. He is absolutely
hilarious.
There are lots of fun
characters here. The story has cute animals, sweet romance and angst. My only issue and the reason it didn’t get 5
stars are that Dilly and Boz were a bit too sweet and immature for there ages. To
me, they came across as teenagers and not adults in their mid-twenties. Having said that I loved them.
Excerpt…
Chapter One
DILLY LOCKED his front door
behind him, tossed his two rumpled shopping bags onto a table, scooped his gray
tabby cat, Grace, off the floor, and collapsed on the couch. He rubbed the
aching spot on his forehead while Grace tucked her head under his chin and
purred, happy to see him as always. He sat there stunned for a minute, shaking
his head. He still couldn’t believe he had tripped over that ridge in the
sidewalk again. Hell, it was right outside his apartment building; you’d think
he’d remember it was there.
He pulled his fingers from
his forehead to check for blood, but didn’t see any. Still, there would be a
mark tomorrow. Maybe even a black eye. That was all he needed.
Of course, the real mark
was the one left inside. It came from the memory of the two gay guys who had been
walking toward him on the sidewalk when he tripped. He had seen them trying not
to laugh when he landed—splat—on the concrete practically at their feet, bag of
Jack in the Box flying in one direction, parcel of books from the thrift store
flying off in another. The gay guys were gentlemanly enough to help him to his
feet, tut sympathetically, and dust him off. They even gathered up his
belongings for him. But after all the Good Samaritan stuff, Dilly heard them
snorting back a few giggles as they walked away.
Not that Dilly was
surprised. It had to have been pretty funny. A grown man sprawling flat, arms
and legs flopping all over the place, then trying to act like nothing happened.
Pooh-poohing their ministrations, assuring them, “No, no, don’t worry about me.
I’m just fine, thanks. See, look, even my dinner is still intact. Ha-ha.”
He sat there on the couch
cuddling his cat, as a wash of heat flowed into his cheeks. Delayed
humiliation. Well, at least nobody could see him blush but Grace.
He realized suddenly that
the cat was blurrier than usual. Balancing Grace on his chest, he dug through
his jacket pockets and pulled out his black-rimmed glasses. It required digging
through two pockets because the glasses were now in two pieces. One lens and
earpiece in one pocket, the other lens and earpiece in the other pocket.
Snapped in two above the nose guard when his head smacked the sidewalk. The two
gay guys had gathered those up for him too. One-piece had been in the gutter,
the other ten feet away next to a parking meter.
He eyed the glasses sadly.
He couldn’t really afford new ones. He’d have to tape them together. Well, at
least he had some black Gorilla Tape in the kitchen drawer. He wouldn’t have to
stoop to sporting a blob of white medical tape over the bridge of his nose like
every other clumsy putz in the world with broken glasses.
Only when Grace started
licking at it did he notice the blood dribbling from his nose. He dropped his
head to the back of the couch and sighed. Between sighs, he dabbed the blood
away with the heel of his hand. Jesus. Could he be any more pathetic?
After a while, the smell
of Jack in the Box dragged him out of his stupor. He kicked off his shoes, then
stripped every stitch of clothing from his five-foot-six-inch frame. The blinds
were open, but it was still daylight so no one could see in. For a minute he
just stood there naked in the middle of his crummy studio apartment with the
cracks in the ceiling and the threadbare carpet on the floor, letting the
shadows of evening deepen around him. Finally he shook himself to action and
pulled a pair of beat-up lounging pants from the closet. He stepped into them
and tightened the cord so they wouldn’t slide down over the rise of his ass and
puddle at his feet.
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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great excerpt
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