Benjamin, the Dragon, and I - Chapter 1

I met Mr. Carlson right in front of the door, my key already in hand.

“Oh—Miss Goodman.”

“Good morning, Mr. Carlson.”

He looked rushed, his hair less tidy than usual and his coat only half on. He clutched his black leather case and a scarf in one hand, about to close the door with the other—only to hold it open for me instead.

Third Wheel - Chapter 1

The first time he heard the noise coming from the other side of the wall, Ethan thought his roommate must have had a terrible accident. He lay frozen in bed for a split second, heart hammering as he listened in shock, before throwing the heavy comforter aside. The cold stung with the contrast to the warmth of the bed as Ethan‘s body was suddenly exposed to fresh air, but he pushed himself upright and hurried into the hallway. No doubt Jared needed his help.

Assisting David - Chapter 1

I blink against the sunbeam slicing through a gap in the blinds, landing square on my face. Black silk sheets. The wall papered in matte purple. A framed picture showing two bodies intertwined in shadow. Next to it, a pencil sketch of a nude woman. I pause—his ex? A full laundry basket in the corner. Beside a glossy black wardrobe, a stack of throw pillows.

I let my head sink back into the remaining pillow on my side of the bed and close my eyes. Late twenties, I'm thinking. Reasonably successful. Charming. Probably surprised I came home with him last night, but not overly so. Single for... a year?

Turbulence

I wouldn’t have sat down across from him if I had known.

Okay, that probably makes me sound like a douchebag. I’m not an asshole. Maybe a little, sometimes. When I’m hungry, or tired, or when the person in line in front of me orders the last piece of cake that I have set my eyes on and can practically taste in my mouth already, the one with glistening dark chocolate and raspberries, or the handmade earrings I scout out on a market that match perfectly to my favorite blouse, or that hamster in the cage, with the white spot on the snout, when I’ve just come up with a name and subconsciously added it to my family tree (true story). Then I might get cranky. But otherwise I’m totally zen. Really.

Not Gay - Table Of Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4 
Chapter 5 
Chapter 6 
Chapter 7 
Chapter 8 
Chapter 9 
Chapter 10 
Chapter 11 
Chapter 12 
Chapter 13 
Chapter 14 
Chapter 15 
Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32 

Bérénice: Table of Contents

Bérénice is a spunky Belgian who moves to bohemian Paris in the 1930s to pursue her career as an artists' model. There, she becomes intrigued by Jean-Claude, a shy artist with cerebral palsy who uses his feet to paint.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7 

 

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If you enjoy my stories, my devvy M/M romance novel, Shadowboxing, is available as both an ebook & paperback. Shadowboxing features a romance between Asher, a sweet nerd who has cerebral palsy, and Roy, a loner with a stammer. Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading it!

Amazon ebook | Amazon paperback | Barnes & Noble paperback

Lobster With a Straw - Chapter 1

Some people have the gift to make an entire hall fall silent.

I’m proud to say I can do the same. Only I’m none of those people you’re probably thinking of.

Of course, it would be kind of great if it were my stunning looks that make people stop talking mid-sentence, or the beauty of my smile causing them to stare wide-eyed. Sure, I try to keep my appearance as immaculate as possible. Which isn’t easy if you don’t dress yourself in the morning, shave your own face or brush your own hair. And yes, I’ve heard a few times that I have a sunny smile (mostly from women over fifty, though). But no, I don’t think any of that applies here. I’m pretty certain that those rows and rows of mostly middle-aged, gray-faced men in dark, pin-striped suits aren’t turned toward me now in almost perfect silence because of my style in clothing. Neither is it my voice, because I haven’t spoken yet and don’t really plan to.

The Boy in the Garden — I

 THE BOY IN THE GARDEN

CHAPTER I.

I was seven when I was taken to Misselthwaite. As the car neared the castle through the gravel path between the tall, dry from winter trees, I’d been impressed, overwhelmed by the sight that looked so much like the beautifully illustrated books mother would read me not so long before she died, in worlds of princesses and dragons, and I thought it was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. A first impression, because then, after being dropped off with a single bag and a doll tightly pressed against my side, I thought it looked somehow cold, bare, with vines growing on the stone walls outside, uncared and untamed, just like I would be in the years I spent there.