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Bonkers About Books
Undercover Boyfriend
(One Fine Day Series #1)
by Jacob Z. Flores
Blurb:
Two men, one lie, and a whole bunch of trouble.
Marty Valdez is in serious trouble. His sister’s wedding is around the corner, and everyone expects to meet Marty’s super-successful underwear model boyfriend—whom Marty invented. Now Marty has to produce a half-naked hottie or suffer the worst humiliation of his life.
FBI agent Luke Myers is in serious trouble. He’s been working undercover to take down a dangerous drug cartel, but his cover’s blown and he needs to disappear. Luckily, a geeky yet intriguing comic book artist gives him the perfect opportunity. Luke just has to pretend to be his boyfriend, and pretending is what he does best. But between Marty’s mother and his ex, Luke might’ve bitten off more than he can chew, and Marty’s knack for finding trouble might ruin more than just his sister’s wedding.
Release Date
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Available for pre-order at
Available in paperback
Excerpts
“Who is this?” his mother asked. Her tone was as friendly as a
snarling pit bull. She opened the door and placed her hands on her ample hips,
awaiting her answer.
“This is Tim, Mom,” Marty answered. “You said you wanted to meet him.”
“No,” she said, waving her finger at him as she did whenever she
corrected him. “I said I wanted to see a picture.”
He sighed. “Well, I thought this would be better.”
From the grimace on her face, he could tell she wasn’t quite sure.
“Well, he is handsome,” she admitted. “But I doubt he’s better than a lawyer.”
“Mom! He’s standing
right here.”
“I know,” she said gesturing to Tim. “I have eyes. What I don’t
understand is why you didn’t tell me he was coming when we spoke on the phone
earlier?”
“Surprise!” Marty said with a hand flourish.
His mother’s only reply was a blank stare.
“Hola, Señora Valdez,” Tim said. He held out his palm in a show of
respect, and she eyed it with a surprised smile. She was impressed yet remained
guarded. “Muchísimo gusto.”
When he told her that he was thrilled to meet her, her stony
façade faltered and a tiny smile crept across her red lips. She briefly placed
her hand in Tim’s before she stepped back to let them in.
“You didn’t tell me he could speak Spanish,” his mother said after
she closed the door.
Marty hadn’t expected that either. Based on Tim’s fair skin, blue
eyes, and blond hair, he figured Tim was your average white boy who only spoke
English. He’d clearly been wrong.
“I guess it just never came up,” he finally answered.
She eyed him before turning her gaze back to Tim. “¿Por qué tú
hablas tan buen español?”
“Mom!” Marty exclaimed. Although he wasn’t entirely surprised, he
was mortified that his mother was questioning why Tim spoke such good Spanish.
“Para el trabajo,” Tim replied.
“For work?” she asked. “I wasn’t aware that bilingualism was a
requirement to have pictures taken in your underwear.”
Marty buried his face in his hands. If he died right now, he’d be
okay with that. His mother was doing her best to be difficult. He wouldn’t
blame Tim if he bolted for the front door and ran away screaming. Hell, if he
did, Marty might go with him.
Instead of stumbling or acting offended, Tim laughed. “It’s not.
But we have photo shoots all over the world and clients in many other
countries. I find it’s a good idea to be able to converse with customers in
their native language. It helps them remember who you are.”
His mother clearly wasn’t expecting that answer. She’d been trying
to make Tim stumble, but she was the one caught off guard. She’d always been a
proponent of bilingual education, and she often spoke in Spanish to the
fifth-graders she taught. It aggravated her that most Americans could only
speak English, and it was best not to get her started on Latinos who couldn’t
speak Spanish.
“Come,” she said as she started for the kitchen. “You must be
hungry. I’ll make you something to eat.”
Marty stood in shock as his mother disappeared into the kitchen.
She only cooked for family or people she liked. How the hell had Tim managed to
slay the dragon after a two-minute conversation?
Tim leaned in and whispered in Marty’s ear. “I told you I had it
covered.”
Marty glanced up and nodded into Tim’s smiling face. He’d already
forgotten what Tim had said. All he’d been able to focus on was the
intoxicating aroma of sweat and Old Spice that hovered around Tim and the feel
of Tim’s warm breath fanning across his neck.
Tim grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. “Come on,” he said.
“I smell homemade tortillas.”
“My God. Were you always
this much of a fucking asshole?”
“Whoa!” Christian threw up his hands as if he had no clue he was
being a fuckwad. “Why the name-calling? I just called you cute.”
“He is cute. Isn’t he?”
Tim suddenly appeared at Marty’s side. He slid his hand around
Marty’s waist and pulled him close. “I know I thought so from the first moment
I laid eyes on him over the punch bowl.”
Marty opened his mouth to speak, but surprise had stolen his
voice. Did Tim really think he was cute? No, that couldn’t be true. It was part
of the act. It had to be.
Christian’s nostrils flared. “So, Jim. How long are you in San
Antonio for?”
“It’s Tim,” Tim replied with one arched eyebrow. He pulled Marty
closer and locked gazes with Christian. Why did Marty suddenly feel as if this
was going to turn into a pissing match? “And I’ll be here until after the
wedding.”
Christian nodded as if he expected that answer. “Well, I’m glad
you could finally make it. I was starting to wonder if you even existed.” He
dragged his gaze from Tim to Marty, and a knowing grin suddenly materialized.
Did Christian suspect this was a ruse?
“Oh, I’m real,” Tim replied. “Just busy.”
“Ah yes.” Christian nodded. “I’m sure prancing around in your
underwear is a tough gig. I know it wears me out whenever I come home from the
courthouse and walk around half-naked in my Calvin Kleins.”
“Calvin Klein makes a good pair of underwear,” Tim said. “But
they’re not for me.”
“Too stylish?” Christian asked, brushing a stray piece of lint
from his sleeve.
Tim shook his head. “Too small for my junk.”
Marty snorted while Christian bared his teeth.
“Come on, babe,” Tim said, looking down at Marty with wide,
adoring eyes. “Let’s find a place to sit. It’s almost time to eat.”
Marty nodded. He didn’t dare try to speak. If he did, he’d bust
out in laughter.
About The Author
Jacob Z. Flores lives a double life. During the day, he is a respected college English professor and mid-level administrator. At night and during his summer vacation, he loosens the tie and tosses aside the trendy sports coat to write man on man fiction, where the hard ass assessor of freshmen level composition turns his attention to the firm posteriors and other rigid appendages of the characters in his fictional world.
Summers in Provincetown, Massachusetts, provide Jacob with inspiration for his fiction. The abundance of barely clothed man flesh and daily debauchery stimulates his personal muse.
When he isn’t stroking the keyboard, Jacob spends time with his daughter. They both represent a bright blue blip in an otherwise predominantly red swath in south Texas.
You can find Jacob at
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