検索キーワード： 著者 "K.M. Neuhold" すべてのカテゴリー

It started with an anonymous post by someone who didn't want to live anymore. I read it over and over again, unable to get it out of my mind. What if my brother Johnny had posted something like this before he'd taken his own life? Would someone have been able to save him? I've been living a lie for 16 long years, and I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to keep it up. And when a beautiful, broken man walks into my tattoo shop asking for a second chance at life, I know I'll never be able to turn him away.

Between running a garage full of beefed-up gear-head mechanics and bailing my idiot brother out of trouble every other week, the last thing I have time for is a relationship. I’ve tried it too many times, and the ridiculous reasons I always find to end it have become a running joke around the garage. But I’ve learned my lesson. No. More. Boyfriends. I don’t care how many times Porter falls asleep drunk in my bed or how cute he looks covered in oil smears while I teach him how to fix up the vintage car he has rusting away in his garage; I’m not going to fall for him.

The last thing I want is another relationship or another broken heart. All I need are my bees and the occasional hookup to scratch the itch. Okay, maybe meeting up with my hot contractor weekly is a little more than occasional. And maybe the way I’m starting to feel about the guy I’ve been anonymously chatting with online should concern me. But CaulkyAF doesn’t want to meet, and Cole doesn’t want anything serious, so what’s the worst that could happen?

Of course, I've noticed Angel and Devil noticing me. I've felt their eyes and the deep pulse of their heated wanting. I've also seen plenty of men coming and going from their house all summer long, year after year, and I don't want to be one in a long line. The energy of Palm Island is so strong, it's hard not to get swept up in it sometimes. Temporary lust, the hedonistic thrill of excess I'm only human after all. But something stops me every time I want to give in and let go.

Most of the guys on Palm Island call me the token straight guy. The truth is, I'm not so much straight as I'm just… nothing. Asexual, demi, the label doesn't make much of a difference to me. And living on an island that's nothing but parties and nudity half the year… well, let's put it this way… I'm the guy who sells clothes.

Is there such thing as love at first bar fight? I may be small and pretty, but what I lack in intimidation factor, I make up for in violence. I made a vow five years ago that the motorcycle club responsible for my brother’s death would pay the price, and I’m finally ready to collect. May God have mercy on the men who hurt my brother, because I don’t plan to.

Was pretending to sleep with tons of men to keep my crush from hooking up with them a Dirty Trick? Sure. Do I regret it? Not one bit. Telling Boston I have a thing for him would’ve been the logical thing to do. Unfortunately, logic hasn’t always been my strong suit. I decided to go the—“get under his skin until hostility turns into affection”—route instead, and I think it’s finally working.

When Gates shows up needing a place to crash , I offer him my spare room. Whatever happened between us nearly a decade ago is water under the bridge. I don’t lie awake at night wondering what could have been. Nope, definitely not.

Pete doesn’t think he’s fit for island life, but he doesn’t know Palm Island like I do. He might think it’s all drinking on the beach and bed-hopping, but maybe if I can show him the beauty and freedom underneath it all, he might decide to stay.

We haven't spoken in 15 years, and Marlon is the last person I expected to run into in a bar on Bourbon Street. He's not my gangly internet pen pal anymore; he's all muscles, body hair, and temptation. Our friendship feels like it never faded, but the heat between us is brand-new. We're both in different cities every few weeks, hustling to build our careers and soaking up all the perks of being young, hot, and untethered. But our paths seem to be crossing more and more often.

I made peace with my hopeless crush on my straight best friend, Journey, years ago. It helps that he’s never in the country long and our relationship consists of sporadic texts and video chats at odd hours. Now Journey is back. Back in the country, in my space, sharing my bed, and something is changing between us.

Casual fun with my emotionally stunted, overgrown frat boy roommate slash co-worker should be perfect, right? Shep seems to be just as allergic to commitment as I am to emotions, but that doesn't mean we don't need our stroker rods serviced, if you catch my drift. Now if he'll just stop looking at me with those dopey puppy dog eyes while I'm elbow deep in a diesel engine, and making my stomach flip with that smile of his, that would be great…

I’ve spent my entire adult life working eighty hours a week, chasing money, security…success. When my recent start-up went under, leaving me with nothing to show for years of grinding myself down to the bone, I’m not sure who I am anymore. I never thought I’d be 48 with no money, living with my brother, trying to figure everything out from scratch. But, here we are….

I'm a list person. Lists make sense, they give a chaotic, unpredictable world order. Realizing I was gay at 30 definitely wasn't on my list. I guess I need a new list….

I thought I had one chance to kiss him, and I blew it. We were 16, and I was an idiot. But now, here he is, standing right in front of me, looking at me with that same expression of awe and adoration that I never lost my addiction to.

In my defense, Saxon is a gorgeous, successful, big-d**k Daddy with a million SUBscribers drooling over his Daddy Cam. He probably has 10 boys a week on their knees...or over his. And I’m nothing but his nerdy roommate and oldest friend. Except, the way he looks at me never makes me feel that way. The way he looks at me makes me think that maybe he sees me too.