Fire Balls
(Balls to the Wall Series, Bk #2)
By Tara Lain
Blurb:
Renowned artist Rodney Mansfield stands five foot six, has pink hair, six earrings, a black belt in karate—and a desperate yearning for firefighter Hunter Fallon. But Rod, the Runtback of Notre Dame, knows he’ll never land the beautiful “straight gay” guy, so Rod musters his altruism and helps his more masculine friend Jerry attract Hunter. As if a broken heart wasn’t enough, Rod saves Hunter from a firehouse homophobe—humiliating Hunter in front of his dad!
Hunter lives a dream life—his father’s dream. While he’d like to teach literature in college, read poetry in the sun, and find a strong guy to top him, he fights fires for his dad. Hunter hates flamboyant guys like Rodney. So why can’t he resist him? Maybe it’s time to admit this is one flame he has no desire to put out.
Release Date:
February 8, 2017
Available for pre-order at
Excerpts
Jerry jerked
his head frantically toward the back of the restaurant. He mouthed some words.
What? Oh, men’s room. Shit. He’d never give up. “Bill, I’ve got to go to
the little boys’. If the waiter comes, just order me the halibut, okay?”
Bill looked
up, nodded, and went back to his culinary study. Rod scooted through the crowd
to the men’s room in the back of the restaurant. He loved Jerry, but really.
He ripped
open the door and found Jerry huddled—yes, that was the word—huddled against the back wall.
Rod peeked
around. Nobody. He put both hands on his hips. “Darling, what the fuck?”
“I ran out of
shit to say.” Jerry’s voice was small and shaky.
Well, hell,
how could he be mad? “Did you talk about the poem?”
“Yeah, I did.
I read it and even memorized some of it. He got so excited, man. He started
asking about all these other dudes I never heard of and shit. Walt somebody. I
thought maybe he meant Disney or something so I started talking about Space
Mountain. Then I knew that was wrong, so I just went back to asking him
questions. So I asked, ‘What other poets do you like?’ And he says some name I
never heard of, like some Indian dude like Tager or something.”
“Tagore?”
“Yeah, that’s
it. But I had to say I had never read anything by the guy. So he recited a
little, and it was really nice, but I didn’t have any more to recite back to
him. So can we come and have dinner with you?”
“What?” Well, shit. He’d been focusing on how to
push a little more poetry into Jerry’s head, not expecting a damned double
date. A piece of his brain—well, actually another more southern part of the
anatomy—leaped at the idea of having dinner with Hunter. Get over it.
He’d just be tongue-tied and awkward. Not his fave condition. “I don’t think
so, Jerry. This is my first date with Bill. You’ll do fine with Hun… the
fireman.”
A man walked
in and used the urinal. Rod sauntered over and rinsed his hands, but Jerry kept
holding up the wall. The guy washed up and left.
Jerry pushed
off the ceramic tile and put his hands together, prayerful. “Puh-leez, Rod.
Help me, man. Your date has to love you. You’re, you know, you. But I’d feel so
much better if I had someone to help me talk to Hunter.”
And Rod would
feel so much worse. Hell. “Okay,
bring him over.”
“Thanks, man.
You’re rad. I can’t wait for you to get to know him.” Jerry ran out of the
bathroom.
Yeah, and Rod
wanted to run too. Away from here. Away from a beautiful friend who owned the
man he wanted. Who had earned him just by being gorgeous. Shoot. He better get to Bill before Jerry did.
Rod glanced over to see how his model was doing. Total
heart stop and brain malfunction. Perfect.
Every line and curve. Every angle. Hunter’s body was so lean that each
muscle stood out against his tan skin like a piece of sculpture. The pose
twisted his torso just enough to make his narrow waist seem even slimmer
against the breadth of his shoulders and his hard, curved pecs. His legs were
long and looked carved from marble. Even his feet arched perfectly. Oh God. Rod wanted to suck each toe in
homage.
In the middle of all this art, surrounded by light tan
skin and at the end of a happy trail of silken dark hair, rested a magnificent
cock, lying relaxed against Hunter’s right leg. He was a low hanger, a real
shower. Long and graceful, framed by loose balls and a soft pubic nest, this
was a penis of the gods. Rod wanted to paint it all alone in every possible
posture. Yeah, preferably erect.
Shit, he had to quit staring, or at least pretend the staring was professional
and not prurient. Sure, right.
Hunter’s cock might be relaxed, but the rest of his body
was vibrating with tension. Rod tried not to think how much he would like that
to be reversed. Had to put the guy at ease before he had a coronary.
Volley Balls
Bk #1
Available at
About the Author
Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 32. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Paranormal Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soul-mate husband and her soul-mate dog near the sea in California where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!
You can find Tara at Lain
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