The Wingman by A. Poland #giveaway

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Wingman

Author: A. Poland

Publisher: NineStar Press LLC

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Release Date:  July 26, 2021

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance, Romantic comedy, New Adult

Tropes: Friends to lovers, love triangle, childhood best friends, slow burn, sharing a bed (tent)

Themes: humor, friendship, family, communication

Heat Rating:  3 flames    

Length:  69 762  words

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

NineStar Press  |   Amazon US  |   Amazon UK 

Always the wingman, never the “one”. 

Blurb

Nathan, a college student with a thing for funky hats and a definite not-thing for the great outdoors, has been a wingman extraordinaire for his lifelong best friend Lorcan for as long as either can remember. With his innate ability to talk endlessly about how great Lorcan is to anyone who’ll listen, Nathan has always been the best man for the job—even if he’s secretly waiting for the day when Lorcan will realize that Nathan is the only guy for him.

But then, Lorcan sets his sights on Miles, the suave, leather-jacket-wearing musician with a love of mountaineering and a family of six overprotective sisters, and Nathan must once again put his wingman skills to work.

Trouble is, Nathan is getting tired of the old routine, and Miles is the only human being on the planet immune to Lorcan’s charm. Not to mention that Miles’s interest is immediately piqued by the outspoken and completely oblivious wingman.

Excerpt

Nathan blinked blankly at his best friend.

“My help?” he parroted, not quite getting what Lorcan was suggesting. It wasn’t as though he could go up to this Miles guy and talk his ear off about Lorcan to encourage him to make the first move. They’d already met; they’d spoken. If Miles was interested, he’d make a move.

Hope stirred in Nathan’s chest.

If Miles was interested, why hadn’t he already made a move?

“Yeah, I need you to do your thing.” Lorcan nodded, looking at Nathan expectantly, as though that would make Nathan whip out a ready-made action plan on how to get into Miles’s pants.

“Dude, I do that so you can talk to them without doing the awkward introductions yourself.” Nathan spoke slowly, as though explaining how to draw a straight line to a child. “You’ve already covered that.”

“Well, then think of this as a part two,” Lorcan allowed with a huff, probably because Nathan was making very valid points. “I don’t know if he’s even into guys.”

Nathan frowned thoughtfully. Normally, it was easy to tell if someone was into Lorcan. Or at least to Nathan. He liked to think his dad’s perceptiveness had been inherited—to a lesser extent, of course, because Nathan was good, but he wasn’t that good—enough that he made a great wingman to other people, not just Lorcan. Hell, a few of the people in their friend group had asked for his help before.

It wasn’t as easy, sure. But Nathan had a pretty high success rate. A few of them in happy, long-term relationships to boot.

Maybe he should have business cards made.

Nathan Reed—will get you laid.

Nathan shook off that thought as quickly as it had come because that made him sound like a matchmaker, and he was decidedly not experienced enough to consider that as a career path.

“So you…what? Want me to meet him and suss out if he’s interested?” Nathan tried talking slowly, one brow apprehensively raised.

“Yeah!” Lorcan grinned. “Exactly. Work your magic.”

Nathan huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes at Lorcan’s enthusiasm about Nathan’s apparent “magic.” It wasn’t magic; it was just knowing how to talk to people. Specifically, talking to people about Lorcan. Who, in Nathan’s opinion, was the easiest thing in the world to talk about.

Sometimes, on very good nights, Nathan didn’t have to do as much. Sometimes, the woman would know exactly why he was approaching and just cut to the chase. He always appreciated those; they made his life a lot easier.

“Okay, I’ll do you this one favor.” Nathan sighed, clearly teasing. There were no favors between them. No one kept tabs over who owed the other what. “Now drive me somewhere to get food. I’m starving.”

Lorcan laughed, his mood clearly elevated from earlier. Even that was enough to settle Nathan a bit more. Sure, his brain might still be working overtime on limited sleep, but Lorcan’s coming-out experience had been painless for him, and that was something at least.

“Your wish is my command,” he quipped back, starting up the car and taking them to their usual haunt.

There was nothing better than getting food with Lorcan.

Lorcan was a picky eater, while Nathan happily consumed anything deemed edible. Which meant Nathan tended to get extra of whatever Lorcan didn’t like, and no food was wasted.

Win-win all around.

But this time, the experience was different.

Nathan hadn’t been worried about any uncomfortable silences or lapses in conversation after being away for so long, and he’d been right not to.

But he never thought to be worried about Lorcan never shutting up.

Which, under normal circumstances, would have been fine. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

Lorcan wouldn’t stop talking about Miles.

In the last half an hour, Nathan learned more about the guy than he ever wished to. His gut twisted with each and every new fun fact presented to him, his shoulders drawn tighter and smile more strained.

So far, Nathan learned the following:

Miles was a musician.

A lot of people were musicians, especially in LA; it wasn’t a big deal. In fact, Nathan had taken piano lessons for an entire week and could still successfully play “Twinkle Twinkle.”

Miles was a graduate from Juilliard.

Nathan might have asked Lorcan to repeat himself because there was no way he’d said Juilliard.

But he had. And that was fine. Juilliard was a college just like any other. Saint Andrews was nothing to scoff at either.

Miles was adopted.

It made sense. Probably adopted into a wealthy family with plenty of connections, considering the Juilliard thing (fucking Juilliard).

Miles’s eyes were this unusual gray color.

Lorcan spent a great deal of time talking about the color of Miles’s eyes. (There were only so many ways to describe stormy gray with flecks of brown, Nathan groused, please move on.) Anyway, Nathan had been told that he had unique eyes. Granted, they’d been compared to a swamp before. But still. Swamps had a bad rap—they had frogs.

But no, Lorcan clearly had a thing for smoke-colored eyes now, not gunky-green.

Miles was hugely involved in environmental activism.

Nathan recycled.

About the Author 

Fuelled by a worrying tea addiction (with a tattoo to prove it), A. Poland is a rom-com writer from Ireland who delights in telling stories that make you fall in love with the characters and give you that squee feeling in your chest.

Three words A. would use to describe her writing are funky, silly, and spicy. Which, coincidentally, is also their dancing style.

When they’re not daydreaming of the next meet-cute, A. works as a video producer and a full-time dog mom to her pride and joy, Gizmo.

Social Media Links

Email (public address)  disasterbiwrites@gmail.com

Website   |  Twitter

Facebook  |  Goodreads 

Giveaway 

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Recent Release – How to Bed a Millionaire by Dieter Moitzi

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: How to Bed a Millionaire

Author: Dieter Moitzi

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Dieter Moitzi

Release Date: July 7, 2021

Genre: Light M/M Summer Romance

Tropes: Friends to lovers, millionaire and poor student, summer romance

Themes: romance, love, comedy, summer, French Riviera, ritzy

Heat Rating: 1-2 flames

Length: 70 309 words/ 247 pages

This is book #1 of the Light Hearts Trilogy 

 Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK  |  Kobo

A sunny-funny summer romance, first in the Light Hearts Trilogy

Blurb

Take a scrawny French student and a hunky housekeeper; put them in a swanky summer villa; add a pink car named Sean and a ruggedly handsome delivery man—and voilà a sunny-funny summer romance.

Twenty-year-old Trevor is overjoyed. An Australian millionaire offers him the summer job of his dreams: to catalog the library of his summer house in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat—one of the ritziest and most exclusive spots on the Côte d’Azur.

What unnerves him, however, is the presence of a young housekeeper who turns out to be as drop-dead gorgeous as he is stilted, obnoxious, and conspicuously straight. Of course, Trevor’s quirky sass and light-hearted banter soon create an atmosphere of crackling tension between the two men.

What if the housekeeper isn’t as straight as Trevor thinks? What if Trevor is just the kind of person that housekeeper has been looking for all his life? And what if things aren’t exactly what they seem?

Excerpt 

Here’s the thing: Dirk is a slut. 

No, scratch that. Dirk is the slut. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m saying this fondly. But it’s a fact, and he owns it. He thinks monogamy is the name of a board game.

We hooked up two years ago, you see. That’s when I learned about Dirk being a slut. The hard way. To call ours a brief affair would be an understatement. To say I was crushed when it was over before it had even begun, another. That’s because I’m a hopeless romantic. Meaning that after our first shag—which incidentally turned out to be our last one—I was ready to publish the banns.

Dirk, not so much.

To his defense, he never hides his sluttiness. He’s even very outspoken about it. Gives you the proper warning right from the start. I remember, when we had both climaxed and were mopping up the evidence glistening on our bodies, he told me casually, “Phew—that was great, Tyler!”

“Trevor.”

“Oh. Right. Trevor. By the way—don’t fall in love with me.”

My reaction consisted of… a great blank. I was speechless. Probably because falling in love was exactly what I’d had in mind.

Oblivious to my emotional turmoil, he went on to explain. “I don’t do long-term relationships. Why, I don’t even do short-term relationships. I normally just, you know, fuck. No strings attached, no follow-ups included.”

I nodded like a robot.

“But I think I like you. We should stay friends, shouldn’t we?”

We shook hands that had shaken other body parts some mere minutes ago, and I left with a poker face. Only back in my tiny, tiny flat did I burst into tears.

Eventually, I got over him. It took me a week, to be precise. Not because I have a heart of stone, but because Dirk made sure my suffering wouldn’t last longer. He did so by calling me several times over the next few days, initiating his habit of informing me in crudest detail about his latest conquests.

After a week, I stated, “You’re such a slut, Dirk.”

“Why, how sweet of you!” he replied, sincerely flattered.

He single-handedly cured me of my romantic streak, then and there. I’m still looking for Mr. Darcy, all right. You don’t change so radically overnight, or overfuck as it were. But I’ve stopped fancying myself in love each time I get laid. Although Dirk thinks otherwise, that happens occasionally. Even blind chickens pick up a grain from time to time, as they say.

Dirk is German, by the way. And he has this annoyingly attractive all-German boy thing going. You know, thick blond hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, mischievous smile. He’s tall and well built, with bulging muscles and no body fat to speak of. He doesn’t even work out, which, I mean, how unjust can life get? Oh, he’s also very well endowed, if memory serves me. 

In other words, he’s a hung hunk. The guy who has it all and enjoys it, as he should.

What about me, you ask? Good question. I’m just your average dude. No one would describe me as hunky. For starters, I’m rather on the slender side. No, make that thin. Zero muscles embellishing my frame, no broad shoulders, just scrawniness wherever you look. I repeat, I do get laid. Some guys out there have a skinny kink, and what can I say? Lucky me.

My best features? Let me think. My eyes, maybe. They’re emerald green and come as a surprise because my hair is dark and my complexion, too. Cappuccino-ish. Americans with their fondness for all things binary and clear-cut would call me black. My mom is American, and darker than I, so I should know. Namely because she calls me black, but hey, that’s Mom.

Here in Europe I’d pass as a Mediterranean guy if it weren’t for the thick lips—“Perfect suck-me-off-lips” according to Dirk—and the very distinctive frizzy hair. The lips are okay. Whether they’re particularly suited for blowjobs or Dirk just had one of his racist moments isn’t for me to say. Never had any complaints in the oral department if you want the truth.

And my hair, well, I just love it the way it is. Hardly ever cut it, going for the good, ole Afro style. You can do so many cool things with a nice Afro, especially now guys have discovered that a man-bun is a thing.

Oh, talking about features I like about myself—let’s not forget my bum. The best thing I inherited from my mom’s far-away African ancestors, it’s firm and bouncy. Wet dreams material for gays with a bum fixation. This may come as a surprise to you, but they’re not in short supply.

Back to Dirk if you will. He’s great fun to have around: bitchy, lively, not a care in the world. Plus, he’s fiercely loyal to his friends. In a way. His way. That’s why he suggested me as his replacement for the Kinner job as soon as he had decided he’d prefer to spend his summer months with his aunt in Greece. That freaky woman has just invested her latest inheritance to buy a house somewhere on the Peloponnese coast and invited him to join her. 

“I simply can’t say no,” he told me. “Think of the beautiful landscapes. And the sea. And the food.”

“Think of the beautiful Greek guys,” I muttered.

“Exactly,” he replied. “So, will you go and meet that lady for the interview? Please?”

“All right. I’ll do it.”

I don’t know what shaky lie he told Mademoiselle Destrelle, and I’m not sure I want to know. I’m just glad she didn’t bring it up because there’s a chance Dirk’s mother is supposed to be fatally ill again. So far, she has recovered at least a dozen times from ailments as far-fetched as jugular fever and acute fartinosis. I kid you not. Try to keep a straight face when something like that comes up in a job interview!

About the Author 

Born in the early 70s, I grew up in a little village in Austria. At the age of 18, I moved to Vienna to get my master’s degree in Political Sciences, French, and Spanish. Today, I’m living in Paris, France, with my boyfriend and work as a graphic designer. 

In my spare time, I write, read, cook fancy recipes, take photos, and as often as I can, I travel (Italy, Portugal, Morocco, Egypt, the UK, and many more places). My literary tastes are eclectic, ranging from fantasy, murder mysteries, gay romances to dystopian novels, but I won’t say no to poetry or a history book either. I’m more a hoodie/jeans/sneakers kind of guy than a suit-and-tie chap. 

So far, I’ve published two short-story collections as well as four poetry collections. My first murder mystery novel “The Stuffed Coffin” has been released on January 6, 2019 and is also available in German and French. The French version has won the prestigious French Gay Murder Mystery Award 2019 (Prix du roman policier – Prix du roman gay 2019). My second novel “Till Death Do Us Part” was released on June 24, 2020. You can also find me on Rainbow Book Reviews, where I write book reviews under the pseudonym of ParisDude (for French reviews, have a look at my review site livresgay.fr). 

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook

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New Audiobook – This is Not a Horror Movie by Sara Dobie Bauer

AUDIOBOOK REVIEW TOUR

Book Title: This is Not a Horror Movie

Author: Sara Dobie Bauer

Narrator: Blake Lockheart

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow Designs

Release Date: June 8, 2021

Length: 8 hours and 57 mins

Genres: M/M new adult, gay paranormal romance, LGBTQ, romantic comedy

Trope: Friends to lovers

Themes: non-explicit, humorous, teens, summer vacation, hauntings, evil spirits

Heat Rating:  2 flames

Warnings: Scenes of graphic violence, death of minor characters, mentions of bullying, alcohol use

It is a standalone story.

Add on Goodreads

Buy Links

Audible US   |  Audible UK

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

Emory Jones loves two things: horror movies and Connor Nichols. 

Blurb

Emory Jones loves two things: horror movies and Connor Nichols. 

For the past four years, Emory, Connor, and their families have vacationed side by side on Longboat Key, Florida. Eighteen-year-old Emory has pined for his neighbor from behind the covers of Stephen King books, but college boy Connor has never noticed him. Probably because Emory looks like Jack Skellington with good hair.

Emory anticipates another predictable summer of sunburn and disappointment. Instead, he ends up with a mystery on his hands when a beloved beach bum goes missing, and Connor volunteers to help with the search. Turns out it’s not just scary movie cops who are worthless, so the boys start an investigation of their own—leading them straight to an abandoned beach resort.

Despite the danger, Emory and Connor grow closer, but as Emory’s gay dreams start coming true, so do the horror movie tropes he so loves. Even though he knows that sex equals death in slasher flicks, Emory can’t keep his hands off the guy of his teenage dreams.

About the Author 

Sara Dobie Bauer is a bestselling romance author and mental health / LGBTQ advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. She lives with her hottie husband and precious pup in Northeast Ohio, although she’d really like to live in a Tim Burton film.

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook  |  Private Facebook Group

Twitter  |  Instagram  |  Newsletter Sign-up  |  Freebies  

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

New Release – This is Not a Horror Movie by Sara Dobie Bauer #KindleUnlimited

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: This is Not a Horror Movie

Author: Sara Dobie Bauer

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow Designs

Release Date: May 13, 2021

Genres: m/m new adult, gay paranormal romance, LGBTQ, romantic comedy

Trope: Friends to lovers

Themes: non-explicit, humorous, teens, Florida, summer vacation, hauntings, evil spirits

Heat Rating:  2 flames

Warnings: Scenes of graphic violence, death of minor characters, mentions of bullying, alcohol use

Length:  78 000 words

It is a standalone story.

Add on Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

Blurb

Emory Jones loves two things: horror movies and Connor Nichols. 

For the past four years, Emory, Connor, and their families have vacationed side by side on Longboat Key, Florida. Eighteen-year-old Emory has pined for his neighbor from behind the covers of Stephen King books, but college boy Connor has never noticed him. Probably because Emory looks like Jack Skellington with good hair.

Emory anticipates another predictable summer of sunburn and disappointment. Instead, he ends up with a mystery on his hands when a beloved beach bum goes missing, and Connor volunteers to help with the search. Turns out it’s not just scary movie cops who are worthless, so the boys start an investigation of their own—leading them straight to an abandoned beach resort.

Despite the danger, Emory and Connor grow closer, but as Emory’s gay dreams start coming true, so do the horror movie tropes he so loves. Even though he knows that sex equals death in slasher flicks, Emory can’t keep his hands off the guy of his teenage dreams.

 Excerpt 

I’m about to follow a mysterious rat into the darkness when a hand lands on my shoulder. I suck a panicked gasp in through my lips as Connor says, “Sorry! Sorry.”

I put my hands on my knees and relearn breathing.

He stands there, backlit like some kind of hot angel, and shrugs. “Maybe you should be thanking me.”

“What?”

“You like to be scared,” he says.

He’s right. Haunted house in the neighborhood? I’m first. Spooky cemetery? Coming through. Maybe that’s part of the reason I always let Liz drag me to parties at the Outpost. It feels like being in a scary movie. I’m waiting for Leatherface to show up and murder the morally reprehensible youth. Of course, if horror movie rules are true, I’m totally dead. I lost my virginity at sixteen and more often than not spend “happy hour” sharing malt liquor with Longboat’s famous homeless dude, Leland.

“What are you doing over here?” Connor asks.

“Befriending local wildlife.” I glance over my shoulder into the dark. I shove hair out of my face—a nervous tic I’ve acquired since growing it out. Because I needed another nervous tic. “What are you doing over here?”

“Talking to you.” He grins, but I can feel a disconnect. 

Connor and I have always had a mutually agreed upon rhythm. He’s the big, gorgeous straight dude who puts up with me, the skinny, little gay kid. 

Well. 

No one knows I’m gay down here. Florida is for family, not fu— Anyway.

In summers past, Connor wrestled me and tickled me, and I pretended not to like it. We talked about some things, mostly scary movies, but kept an emotional distance. He accepts me being a drama queen, and I never let him know I would climb Everest for his kiss. 

Staring at me with a dumb look on his face is not our rhythm.

I finally lose my shit. “Jesus, am I bleeding from my eyes?”

He coughs out a laugh. “What?”

“You’re looking at me funny.”

He looks away. “Oh.”

I cross my arms. I have, in fact, filled out a lot since last summer—and the lifeguarding helps—but I’m still self-conscious about my small frame and will probably never forget the jocks calling me “Tinker Bell” from seventh to tenth grade. I press my lips together and side-eye the kids dancing to some club beat on Liz’s phone. “Everyone’s looking at me funny, actually.”

Connor clears his throat and plucks at the front of his tight, white T-shirt. He looks like he wants to dive headfirst into the empty pool at his back.

“You don’t have to talk to me, you know.”

His blue eyes flit back my way. Even in the dark, I know they’re blue. He says, “But I like talking to you.”

I hug myself tighter and lift a shoulder. “Seen any good horror movies lately?”

His smile is back. “Tons. I saw this French one called Raw.”

I bounce up on my toes. “Cannibals! Oh my God, that movie was so good! The writing.” I tear at my hair in euphoric bliss.

He nods. “And the scene with the roommate.”

“And the ending!” I poke him in the chest. “Dude, I tried to get Liz to watch it. She’s all vegetarian now because she dated this hippie dude senior year. She said she gave up meat for her health, but I think it’s because he said he tasted death in her mouth.”

Connor does the silent open-mouth laugh thing that happens when my storytelling reaches peak levels of absurd. 

“She made it thirty minutes into the movie before she had to leave the room and vomit. Meanwhile, I was sitting there eating, like, spaghetti.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder as he keeps laughing. I smell his deodorant: sporty man stuff. “I can’t believe I almost didn’t come this year.”

That steals the air from my lungs. Sure, I should be avoiding the guy, looking forward to the future, but all of a sudden, I can’t imagine a summer without Connor Nichols making me blush.

About the Author 

Sara Dobie Bauer is a bestselling romance author and mental health / LGBTQ advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. She lives with her hottie husband and precious pup in Northeast Ohio, although she’d really like to live in a Tim Burton film.

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