Fridays (m/m)

 The First Friday

The clock strikes 5 pm, and the sleek lobby of VegaTech begins to fill with people. Most of them stare a bit, as they walk by me on their way to a well-deserved weekend. I’m an easy target to stare at, from the huge electric wheelchair to my habit of decorating it with pride flags. One of the men walking by gives me that furtive, out-of-the-corner-of-his-eye-once-over-look that I can clock as a certain kind of interest from a mile away. He’s cute enough, and usually, I’m always up to a flirt with a devotee, but today I ignore him. My sister Vanessa is now officially an hour late. That might not be a big deal for some people, but for me it’s a deal the size of the Louisiana Purchase.

Next to me, Steve is pacing. He’s a good guy and a great caregiver, but after a 12 hour shift stretching into a 13th hour, he’s just as annoyed as I am. His wife and kids are waiting back home, but I absolutely must not be left alone ever, for fear something could go wrong with my vent, and Steve will stick by my side until Vanessa is here to take his place. Among many other duties she has, it’s her job to take me to my weekly therapy appointment. I already missed it last week, and I’m still pissed off about it.

Steve points towards the elevators.

“Isn’t that dude over there on Nessy’s team?”

He’s right. A guy in cargo shorts and a dark blue VegaTech polo shirt, one of Vanessa’s fellow engineers, fresh out of the elevator, spots me hanging out by the reception desk and jogs over.

“Sorry, Toby! Nessy is still upstairs, the new manager just gave us a new deadline.”

Oh, yes, same as last week. Three months ago, the kind older gentleman who understood my sister’s time constraints as one of my carers was replaced by a jerk straight from company headquarters. Ever since my usually dependable sister has become flaky. I understand her worries, and of course, her cushy position at VegaTech is what keeps us afloat, but I also need to be at my appointment, or I’ll risk losing the very little function I have left as a c1/c2 quad.

That’s it. VegaTech likes to brag about their track record with inclusivity. It’s time to see what that’s worth. Using the sip-and-puff control, I turn my power chair around and make my way over to the reception desk.

“Hi, Kristy. Can you tell Mr. Gerber that Toby Burnett is here to see him?”

Eroshenko preview Chapter 2

 Continuing with the preview of, Eroshenko, here is Chapter Two. Thanks everyone who ordered already. 

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And here's another photo of Eroshenko in 1915, with Akita Ujaku, a playwright who was one of his closest friends. Akita's father was also blind from childhood, but worked as an obstetrician. Amazing!

Chapter 2

January, 1915

Ichiko spotted Eroshenko on the platform of Shinbashi station, standing by himself, towering above the rest of the crowd. He wore a heavy, fur-collared wool overcoat that reached to his knees, thick-soled black boots, and on his head a flat wool cap, his wild mass of blond curls escaping on either side. In his right hand, he loosely gripped a bamboo cane with a curved handle. 

She skipped across the platform, dodging other passengers, her wooden sandals clattering loudly on the wood. 

“Vasily-san! Sorry to keep you waiting.” She could not bring herself to use the nickname Ero-san. It was too ridiculous. She would not mangle his name to fit Japanese sensibilities, but refer to him properly. She prided herself on mixing easily with foreigners, not shunning them from embarrassment or prejudice, as she saw so many others do. 

He bowed to her in the proper Japanese manner. “Is it Kamichika-san?”

“Yes, thank you for agreeing to an interview. I think the readers of the Daily News will be eager to read your story.”

“My pleasure. Where shall we do the interview? At a milk hall? Or the Matsushita café? I go there often.”

“No, those places are so noisy. I was thinking…” She screwed up her courage, twisting the trailing hem of her kimono sleeve around one finger. “I know the weather’s still a bit chilly, but it’s such a lovely day. I thought we might go outside the city, to Enoshima. We can do the interview on the train ride there, then enjoy some touring around as a reward after.”

He put his head to the right slightly, his brows twitching into a frown. What was he thinking? Everything about him was so foreign, it was hard to tell. And she couldn’t even make eye contact. Had he understood her words?

Hooked On A Feeling

I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles are white against the black leather. Is that little clacking sound the car makes normal? Maybe it’s just me, hyper-aware of everything right now. 

Because of Brandon. 

He sits beside me in the passenger seat, calm as ever, his right leg stretched out comfortably. The left one is a prosthetic, not that anybody could tell underneath his jeans. His hooks, much more obvious than his missing leg, glint in the corner of my eye, one idly tapping against the other in a steady rhythm to the radio. 

“It’s accessible,” I say again, glancing at him quickly before returning my eyes to the road. “I checked, like, three times. I called them, went through their website, even cross-referenced reviews. They’ve got ramps, an elevator, even grab bars in the shower.”

Brandon leans his head back against the seat, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He’s so handsome. My stomach churns. 

“You know, Jen, you don’t have to go through all this trouble. I’ve stayed in places that weren’t exactly...perfectly accessible, and I managed just fine.”

“That’s not the point,” I say, trying to keep my tone light but feeling the heat rise in my chest. “It’s supposed to be perfect. This is your first trip with me. Our first trip. I don’t want you worrying about managing.  I want you to participate in everything the spa has to offer.”

He chuckles softly. It’s so easy for him. That’s part of what I love about Brandon—he’s grounded in a way I don’t quite know how to be. He shifts slightly, his myoelectric left leg whirring faintly as the sensors adjust. He doesn’t seem to notice the sound anymore, but I always do. It reminds me of all the things I have to remember—things I don’t want to mess up.

“Relax,” he says, his voice warm but firm. “This trip isn’t about proving anything. I’m already with you, remember?”

I swallow hard, my fingers easing their death grip on the wheel. “I know. I just want it to be special.”

“It already is,” he says, his voice softer now. “You’re driving. I’m relaxing. And you’ve put way more thought into this than anyone else ever has.”

My cheeks flush, and I let myself glance at him again. He’s looking at me now, his hazel eyes full of unshakable calm. The hooks resting on his thighs gleam faintly in the sunlight. I know he’s not self-conscious about them, and he’s told me I don’t need to tiptoe around them either. Still, I can’t help myself. The sight of them makes my stomach tighten, a flash of heat that I force down with every ounce of willpower I have.

I can’t let it show. Not now. Not ever.

Eroshenko preview

My latest novel, Eroshenko, is now published! I'm so excited to share this amazing true story with all of you. 

As promised, you have lots of choices if you don't want to give money to Amazon. Purchase the ebook or paperback from: 

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Bookshop.org is now also offering ebooks, not just paperbacks. It's a great way to support local bookstores.

Or bypass all these corporations and order a paperback directly from me HERE, for a $3 discount.

If you don't want to buy a copy, you can request your local library to order a paperback or ebook. Or if you have a Librarything or Netgalley account, you can request a review copy, but only until the end of this month.

No matter where you read, please leave a review, especially on Goodreads. It helps a lot! Thanks so much for your support. I really appreciate it!

And now a preview for your enjoyment...

This is a photo of Eroshenko performing in a concert with other students from the Tokyo School for the Blind, probably in 1915. 

Click through to read Chapter One

Let You In Again

The clerk’s fake smile doesn’t falter, but it’s still fake. I lean a little closer to the desk, gripping the edge. “You don’t understand. I can’t just sleep in my car. It’s freezing out there.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” His voice is syrupy, the kind that doesn’t actually mean sorry. “We’re fully booked. This storm caught a lot of people off guard.”

“Right, including me.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, and I feel bad for it instantly, but I’m exhausted, soaked, and the thought of sitting in my car all night makes my stomach twist. “There has to be something. A closet. A cot in the basement. I’ll take anything.”

The guy glances over my shoulder, probably hoping someone else will step up and distract me. No luck for him. The lobby is practically empty except for a guy passed out on one of the couches. The clerk’s fingers drum on the desk. “I’ve already told you—”

“Ellie?”

I freeze, grip tightening on the desk. That’s not possible. Not here. Slowly, I turn.

And there he is. Jack Baker. Ten years, and he’s still unmistakably Jack—sharp jawline, the same easy grin, even under the shadow of a soaked baseball cap. But what stops me, what shifts everything, is the sleek black wheelchair he’s sitting in. His hands rest on the push rims, his posture casual like he’s been here all along.

“Jack?” My voice wavers for half a second before I clamp it down. My brain is working overtime, trying to connect the dots. Last I knew, he was climbing mountains out west. Now he’s here, wheels glinting in the fluorescent light, grinning at me like we bumped into each other at the grocery store.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says, rolling a little closer. The grin doesn’t falter. “Ellie Thompson, of all people. Small world, huh?”

Penultimate Update to Not Gay

Hi everyone,

please enjoy Chapter 31 of Not Gay! Thanks for your comments, you guys are all incredible!

Have a great week!

Lovis

TOC

The One Who Got Away

Chapter 1:   Déjà Vu 

Twenty minutes too early. Of course. Not that Kay did it intentionally. It was simply that she always ended up early wherever she went. Others took it for a commendable quality; they assumed she was this reliable, highly disciplined person who would never make anyone wait.

In truth, it was just poor time management. For some people, that meant being notoriously late. With her, it was the opposite – being notoriously early. If you combined a poor sense of time with an ever looming panic to be late, that's what you got. 

Kay steered the car into Mulberry Lane. She knew this neighborhood, because she sometimes drove through here on the way to the firm when traffic was bad. Slowing down, she scanned the houses and soon spotted the property in question. The driveway was already blocked by two cars, one of them a huge black van, and she ended up parking a few paces further down against the sidewalk. 

She looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes. Kay sank deeper into her car seat and took out her iPad to check her email. She pulled up the one with the assignment details. Though one couldn't actually call that two-sentence message ‘detailed’.

"Assessment for remodeling after botched previous remodeling job", her boss had written. The clunky wording was typical for him; he was good at designing things, not at describing them.

This type of assignment was abundantly familiar to Kay. During the few months she had been working for Stettler & Ilk, half of her clients had been people who were unhappy with previous works done by other firms. It wasn’t exactly the kind of work that most architects associated with the highest prestige, but Kay liked it. She was fascinated with problem solving – the more complex the problem and the more intricate the solution, the better. It was one of the aspects that had initially drawn her to architecture and later to specializing in Design-build. As a general species, architects tended to be very theoretical in the way they approached projects. That wasn't Kay. She liked the practical, tangible side of her craft. 

Ten minutes. She adjusted the rearview mirror to check her hair and make-up, tucking a couple of dark blond strands back into her ponytail and re-applying some sheer pink lipstick. 

Five minutes. Kay looked at the two-story house in front of her again. Whatever kind of remodeling had been done here before had to be on the inside. There didn't seem to be any kind of annex, and the facade didn't look like it had been renovated recently. The only thing that looked newer than the rest of the house was the long teak ramp bypassing the three front steps. Maybe the remodeling had to do with accommodations for a physically disabled person.

The energetic woman greeting her at the door sure didn't appear to be disabled. She was maybe in her early sixties and looked perfectly healthy. Her handshake was firm.

"I'm Kay Martens from Stettler & Ilk.", Kay said, and the woman gave her a warm smile. "Cora Bell. Come on in."

"That's a beautiful home you have here", Kay remarked, stepping inside. "1920s?"

"That's exactly right", the other woman beamed approvingly, and Kay's gaze lingered on her face for a second, finding something oddly familiar about it. Even though she was positive she had never met the woman in her life. There was something about those features… Déjà vu, maybe? She cleared her throat. "Mr. Stettler mentioned you've had some work done to the house and now are not happy with the outcome?"

Cora Bell weighed her head. "Well, not exactly. The remodeling downstairs has turned out fine. The problem is the second floor.” She gestured towards the staircase. "Why don't I just show you."

Kay followed her up the stairs, while Mrs. Bell kept talking: "We had to move our study – or library, whatever you want to call it, up here, plus the contents of a whole hallway closet. And the space is just not… adequate."

She led Kay through one of the doors, and they stepped into, well, whatever it was supposed to be. Kay nodded. "I can see what you mean", she murmured, looking at the relatively small space filled up with bookshelves, an antique writing desk, an armchair and a huge cupboard – among other things.

"This used to be our elder son's room", Mrs. Bell explained, clasping her hands. "After he moved out, we kept it as a guest room for him." Her voice was sort of melancholy now. Had the son died? Or cut ties with his parents? In any case, this was apparently no longer a guest room.

The One Who Got Away

Chapter 2 

Part One: Six years earlier

The club was steadily filling up. Tapping her fingers to the rhythm of some Goldfrapp remix, Kay watched Seth walk across the room towards her, smoothly navigating their drinks through the crowd. 

"You have an audience", she grinned, taking the Amaretto Sour he handed her. She pointed her head towards the group of girls in the other corner. They looked like college freshmen and had been ogling him the whole time. "Now they're bummed, because they think I'm your girlfriend."

Seth chuckled with a shrug, probably because he didn't care. He never seemed to care about the fact that he was turning heads. Not because he was arrogant, but because he just wasn't vain enough to care. 

He sat down and they clinked glasses. "Next round is on me", she promised, then took a sip of the sweet goodness in her hand. "Even though it's kind of unfair that all you ever order for yourself is beer. I can't return the favor of buying you an expensive drink."

"That's ok, you're still poor", he responded teasingly, a cheeky smirk on his face. "I can forgive you the imbalance."

"Hey, I'm not poor! The money just hasn't reached me yet."

Seth laughed. "You think it got lost somewhere on the way?"

"How's the view up there? On that high horse of yours, I mean." She stuck out her tongue.
It was the joke of the year, because if there was one person not on any high horse whatsoever, it was Seth.

He took a sip from his beer. "How are you? It's been a while."

"Tell me about it." She pursed her lips, silently counting back through the calendar in her head. "Yeah, almost three months. Way too long, again."

"We somehow keep doing that."

"I guess this is what happens when people near their thirties."

"Or are already there", Seth grimaced, because he had turned thirty months ago.

Kay comfortably leaned back on the lounge. "So what have you been up to?"

He shrugged. "Drowning in work, basically. We have a deadline by the end of next week."

"That contest for the community center?"

He nodded. "And one of our senior architects has taken a sabbatical, now of all times."

She grimaced in sympathy. "Meanwhile, my boss let me know the other day that I'm not doing enough overtime."

"What?" Seth scowled, setting his glass onto the lounge table. "That's ridiculous. Considering how little she lets you do in the first place."

"I know, right?" She shrugged. "Honestly, I don't care anymore. Now that I know London is happening and I'm leaving by the end of the year."

"How did she react to those news?"

Kay laughed dryly, then imitated the high-pitched and condescending voice of her boss: "'Well, good luck I guess.'"

Seth rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "They don't deserve you. It's high time you work for someone who appreciates your talent."

Kay beamed at him. "You think way too highly of my talent."

Seth gave her a wink. "I'm pretty sure I know what I'm talking about."

"Understood, Boss." She grinned.

Enough about work though. There were other things she was dying to know. 

"How is it going with TA-mara?" She couldn’t help the slight quip when saying his girlfriend's name – the woman annoyed her. Not that she had ever met her or anything. But Seth’s girlfriend always annoyed her – whoever it was.