Free angst!

Hot Ticket releases Tuesday, January 15, and I’m really excited. I loved writing these characters so much, I just want to carry them around in my pocket. They were funny and hot and perfect for each other. I have excerpts posted on the Samhain site and at my website, but I thought it would be fun to write a short little prequel that people could have for free. This happens six months before Hot Ticket starts.




My life is a fucking soap opera. That’s all Cade could think of as he stared at the two bodies moving on the bed. On their bed.

Because only in a soap opera would a guy come home unexpectedly early from work and find his lover—fuck, his civil union partner—fucking some twink’s brain out in the bed they’d shared for six years.

Cade pulled the ear buds out of his ears and plastered a smile on his face. “Hi, honey, I’m home!”

Mike froze, his back arched as he stopped mid-thrust. He didn’t turn around, but eased out.

The twink turned, his face flushed, strawberry blonde curls damp with sweat. “That the boyfriend? He’s kinda hot. Does he want to join in?”

Cade had been saving all his anger for Mike. Now he turned to glare at the kid. “Kinda? I don’t think so. Fuck, Mike, is he even legal?”

“I’m twenty-three, dude.” The kid answered.

Mike grabbed the shorts and shirt that were crumpled on one of the pillows. “Here.”

“Aren’t you even going to finish? Send the kid home with a nice little bedtime snack?”

The kid cocked his head at Mike who made a choking sound.

“Go home, Troy.” Mike said.

“How am I supposed to get there? You drove.”

“Call a cab.”

“Or better, here. Take my car.” Cade tossed the keys at him. They bounced off his chest and landed on the bed.

“I’ll call a cab.” Troy said, pulling on his clothes and easing from the bed. He kept a healthy distance from Cade.. “Uh, I don’t have—“

“For fuck’s sake.” Cade dug into his pocket for the tips he’d made before a flooded basement had forced the early closing of La Pomme D’Oree. “Here.” He walked over and shoved a couple of tens into Troy’s hand.

Troy didn’t look up, just stuffed the bills in his pocket, but he didn’t move.

“Something else?” Cade dragged up that smile again.

“No. I guess not.” Troy took the long way around to the door, staying as far away from Cade as he could.

Mike still hadn’t moved. He sat on his heels, his head hanging down. Cade wanted to jump on him and pound the shit out of him, find some way to let out this rage that was pounding under his skin. Anger at Mike, and anger at himself. How could he have been so stupid? And exactly how stupid had he been? For how long?.

Not that Cade had been able to read Mike’s face that well before now—since Mike lied for a living anyway, the bastard—but Cade needed to see his face. He walked around the bed until he faced him.

For a second, all Cade could see was Mike’s face, see the pain and remorse and for a second Cade forgot that he was the one who’d just walked in on the worst scene of his life.

He looked down and then he realized what he wasn’t seeing. A condom. And there wasn’t one on the sheets, in Mike’s hand or in the wastebasket. Cade’s legs got wobbly and he fell back against the window.

“No,” was all he could manage.

“What?”

“What!” Cade didn’t care if he was screaming. “You fucked him bareback?”

Mike didn’t say anything. He just shrugged. One infuriating shrug, when he’d risked both their lives.

“Get out.”

“Huh?”

“Get out.” Cade repeated.

Mike started to smile, even as his jaw tightened. “I think you forgot something. My house. My bed. And if I want to fuck around in it, I will.”

Cade picked up his keys, turned and walked out of the room. Maybe later he’d try to tell himself he was so upset he didn’t know what he was doing, but he did. He knew exactly what he was doing when he opened the hall closet and grabbed Mike’s second most prized possession with intent of introducing it to his most prized possession.

It was raining. The thunderstorm that had produced flashflooding in the valley had moved on, but the August night was still hot and wet. Cade’s shoes had traction for navigating spills in the kitchen so he had no trouble climbing onto the hood of Mike’s brand new BMW 7 series, even with the burden of a golf bag slung over his shoulder.

He’d pulled out a club and was aiming a few trial swings at the windshield when Mike came out of the house, barefoot in jeans.

“Caden.” It was Mike’s be-reasonable voice. Cade had kissed reasonable good-bye when he opened the bedroom door.

Cade looked up, smiled and swung. The club smacked into the window and the frame with enough force to jar his arm, a numbing shudder all the way into his shoulder. The windshield cracked, but didn’t shatter. The driveway light provided perfect clarity to the scene. He spared a second to wonder if Troy was watching through a window or hiding somewhere while he waited for his cab.

Cade smiled down at Mike. “Now that is some fine German craftsmanship.” He aimed another blow and swung harder.

The club snapped and cracks in the window creaked as they spread.

Cade pulled a second club out of the bag and asked, “How many?”

Mike looked down. “A few.”

The cracks grew wider. Mike groaned.

Cade could feel the grief clogging his own throat. Though his was for the last six years of his life rather than for a once-pristine luxury car. “Were you safe with any of them?”

Mike just shook his head.

Cade swung with all the strength in his arms and the windshield crackled and sprinkled in onto the leather seats. “Why?” he asked.

“Maybe I was just tired.” Mike’s voice was just as hoarse. “Tired of your I’m-too-cool-for-this games. Tired of waiting for you to grow the hell up.”

Cade finished off the window with a final blow. Dropping that club, he picked up the one with the snapped shank and eyed the hood.

“Cade, there’s no coming back from that.”

Cade raised the club and looked at Mike, at the face of the guy he’d loved, trusted, believed in. “You know what there’s no coming back from, Mike? You risking my life so you could fuck around raw. Jesus. We were just at George’s funeral.”

Mike met his stare, but his eyes were empty. And Cade couldn’t believe he’d never seen that before.

Cade threw the broken club on the ground. “You were right. Golf is really therapeutic.” He jumped off the car. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled, “Hey, Troy, want a ride?”