Romancing Austin

by Riley Bancroft, Evelyn Berry, Cara Carnes, Jax Garren, Irene Preston, Rebecca Royce, Chandra Ryan

  “You’re tired, baby. Go to bed. I’ll clean up.”

  Aston watched him moving around the room, picking up paper plates and glasses and dumping them into a garbage bag.

  Three a.m. Dylan had been up at the crack of dawn but, somehow, his hair was still styled. His clothes looked freshly washed and pressed, not like he had spent the last eighteen hours in them single-handedly catering the block party of the year. He didn’t even have the decency to look tired or out of sorts. He looked terrifyingly like the cocky chef he had been when Aston first met him.

  “Do it in the morning.” The energy coalesced into something more tangible. “It’s my birthday, Dylan. Come to bed.”

  Dylan dropped the bag and came.

  For once Aston didn’t hesitate. He didn’t wait for Dylan to ask him what he wanted. He wouldn’t be able to answer, anyway.

  He pushed Dylan onto the bed, pulling at his clothes and not caring if a few buttons came off along the way. He needed them together, flesh against flesh.

  “Win?”

  He covered Dylan’s mouth with his own, silencing him. No words. Not now. Not this time.

  He was a stranger in his own skin—frantic, out of control, driven. He hissed in frustration at the pause for lube and condom, the necessity of the second only fueling whatever emotion was riding him.

  Dylan lay on the bed, waiting for him, open and pliant, still silent. What do you want, baby? The question was in his eyes, if not on his lips.

  “Roll over.” Tonight he didn’t want questions.

  It was fast and rough and almost angry.

  When it was over Dylan moved, ready to go back to the guestroom.

  Aston used his larger body to anchor him to the bed.

  “No.”

  —

  For once, he woke up before Dylan, who was still pinned half under him. He hadn’t made any further attempt to leave. Aston wondered if it had been that easy all along. If he could have just ordered Dylan to stay, and they would have woken up in each other’s arms every morning instead of meeting over breakfast and behaving like roommates.

  He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His morning erection strained against Dylan’s hip, eager for a repeat of the night before. He ignored it and traced a finger gently along the arch of one black eyebrow, admiring the perfection of his lover’s face. He let his fingers continue their exploration, soft, so as not to wake the sleeping man next to him. His touch drifted over a straight, no-nonsense nose and firm lips he knew would become puffy and swollen after a few minutes wrapped around his dick. Lower, the indent in Dylan’s neck at the collarbone, a warm, soft place smelling of concentrated Dylan. He frowned as his fingers moved further and found the scars on Dylan’s hands and arms. Knife cuts, burns—the dues of a chef.

  Aston disentangled himself and rolled out of bed.

  He went into the kitchen, stared at the coffee pot for a minute and then began loading the dishwasher, the one thing he could do in the kitchen.

  “Win?”

  Aston didn’t answer.

  “Winbaby, leave it. I’ll clean later.”

  Another glass. Rinse. Set it on the top rack. Was he going to load a whole wash before breakfast?

  “I liked your cousin.”

  Aston froze.

  “We got a chance to have a little talk.”

  He was holding a wine glass, which suddenly seemed like a bad idea. He set it on the counter and turned around.

  “Did you take the job?”

  He hadn’t meant to ask. He didn’t need to ask. He knew the answer. Of course Dylan had taken the job.

  Dylan nodded.

  And Aston hadn’t known anything at all because the answer pushed him off a cliff, sent black spots dancing in front of his eyes and air rushing past his ears.

  He stared at the wall over Dylan’s head, trying not to break apart on the rocks rushing up to meet him.

  He had set the offer up, he reminded himself. The job had been what last night was all about. His plan had worked. But he had lied, lied, lied to himself when he thought he was okay with the plan.

  “I won’t come with you.” There. His voice sounded perfectly normal, not like it was coming out of one of his pieces of clockwork. Turn the key and watch it move.

  He wanted to take the words back. He would go with Dylan. He would follow him anywhere. But he had looked up all the places his cousin had restaurants, and he knew it wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t work for him any more than serving up bacon and eggs at a corporate chain worked for Dylan now.

  “What makes you think I was going to ask you?”

  Dylan’s voice sounded as careful as his own must have. Careful didn’t make the words less cruel.

  “I asked when I went to New York,” Dylan continued. “Don’t worry, baby, I learned my lesson.”

  “It’s not.” Aston swallowed past the lump in his throat. “It’s not like I don’t want to. But it would be worse than out at the lake. I don’t fit in most places, and it’s really hard to not fit when you stand out as much as I do. My mom and I spent a couple weeks with Carlo’s family after the divorce. Everyone was really nice, but when I went out of the house there was so much concrete and so many people. I had a panic attack on the subway. I hated it.”

  “I know, baby. You belong here, with Izzie and your crazy art and your crazier tastes in music. I don’t want to put you in a penthouse, anymore. I finally get it. I want you to stay here where you fit.”

  “Which restaurant did he offer you?”

  Aston ran through the list in his head, hoping he had missed one which might work. Barcelona, maybe. He and Dylan could learn Spanish together.

  “New York.”

  Game over. Dylan wouldn’t be back this time. Aston turned around, reaching blindly in the sink for more dishes. Everything was blurry through the tears he refused to let fall.

  “But New York’s not the offer I took.”

  Aston concentrated on breathing slowly, not letting the sobs out. What did it matter which restaurant Dylan wound up at? Why didn’t he just leave and get it over with?

  He heard Dylan behind him, felt a tentative touch on his back. He clinched the edge of the sink with both hands, staying as still as possible.

  “Baby?”

  A little hiccup escaped despite his efforts.

  “Baby, come here. Winbaby, don’t cry, don’t ever cry over me.”

  Dylan’s hands on him, forcing him around. Aston was tall. He didn’t look down. He stared forward over Dylan’s head, pretending. If he couldn’t see Dylan, Dylan wouldn’t notice the tears streaming down his face.

  “God, I’m an asshole. Baby, please look at me. I’m not leaving.” Dylan’s thumbs moved across his face, stroking away the tears.

  You have to go. You’re not happy here. Aston couldn’t force the words out; they were only in his head. He said something else instead.

  “You said you were going to work for Carlo.”

  Aston gave up and looked down at Dylan. He wanted to see his face. He didn’t want to misunderstand something out of wishful thinking.

  “I said I took the job, but not the first one Carlo offered me, not the restaurant in New York. When I turned New York down, he offered me something else. He’s an investor with a lady who owns some food trucks here in Austin. She’s not a chef; she just fronts the money. I’ll have my own truck, and I can choose the menu.”

  Aston stared at Dylan.

  “A food truck?” He was a little pissed at Carlo. Dylan was a chef. Aston didn’t know much about fine dining, but he knew Dylan had raked in glowing reviews for every restaurant where he had worked. “You won’t be happy in a food truck.”

  “Maybe not forever, but, baby, I can have complete creative control. Funnel cake or fois gras, she doesn’t care as long as I can attract customers. And she’s looking at a spot right down the road. I could walk to work. No more late nights out by the airport.”

  Dylan sounded excited about it. A food truck.<
br />
  “Are you sure you don’t want a place in a restaurant?” He hesitated, not wanting to say the next words. “I can call Carlo back if you change your mind.”

  Dylan gave him a gentle shake. “It’s a beautiful offer, Win, my dream job. But it can’t be my dream job if it means I can’t have you.”

  Dylan leaned forward and kissed Aston softly on the chest, where he could reach, before he continued.

  “Baby, I know I’ve been a mess these past few months, but you saved me. Do you hear me, Aston? You woke me up with your damn party-planning and your conniving cousin. I don’t care where I work. I care about you. If staying here means flipping pancakes out by the airport for a living, I’ll flip pancakes. I’ll do anything as long as I can be with you for the rest of my life.”

  “No,” Aston said, firmly. “No more airport. Take the food truck.”

  Dylan looked up at him in exasperation. “Okay, food truck it is. But maybe we can discuss the other thing I just said. I’m not leaving, Win, do you hear me?”

  Aston did, and his heart beat faster in hope, but he still had to be sure.

  “You don’t have to stay to take care of me or because you feel obligated. I can take care of myself.” He took a deep breath and continued. “When you left, I thought my life was over, but it made me learn to be self-sufficient, to take risks so I could be who I wanted to be. I want you back, Dylan, but I don’t need you to pay rent or stand up for me or feed me. I only need one thing from you. I don’t want you here anymore unless you love me.”

  He thought that last might be a lie. He would take Dylan however he could get him. As long as Dylan was happy and not lying on the couch all day, too depressed to get up.

  But Dylan was shaking his head. “You got it all backwards, baby. You never needed me, not really. I made paying your bills easier for a while, that’s all. If I hadn’t done it, you would have figured out a way to do it on your own. All those people here last night? They weren’t here for my cooking, baby, they were here for you. You’re a treasure, Win, you just never see it.”

  “It wasn’t just the bills,” Aston said. “You made me believe in myself, in my art. When I met you, I thought you were so out of my league. The fact that you wanted me, even for a little while, made me feel like I could reach for anything. After you left, when I was at my blackest and doubted everything, that seed of belief stayed with me and gave me the courage to keep trying.

  “So here I am, Dylan. I love you. I don’t want someone to take care of me. I want a partner to share my life with, good and bad.”

  “I’ve given you enough of the bad lately. I’m sorry, Winbaby.”

  “Never,” Aston said. “Having you in my life is never a bad thing. The worst days with you here are better than living without you.”

  Dylan looked up at him. “I’m never going to stop wanting to give you the world, Win. I’m sorry. I can try to get a better handle on what you want instead of what I want for you, but I’m always going to want to take care of you. It doesn’t mean I don’t see you as an equal or think you can’t take care of yourself. For me, it’s a natural part of loving you, the same way you used Carlo to try and give me what you thought I wanted.”

  Through all the words, Aston’s heart got lighter and lighter until he thought it might fly out of his chest. He hadn’t hit the rocks. He was soaring through the clouds.

  He didn’t want any more words.

  He bent down and touched his lips to Dylan’s.

  He thought the moment should be sweet, something tender to seal their reunion. Instead, his body took over. He dragged Dylan to him and locked their lips together, one hand behind Dylan’s head to keep him from moving. He had been going to let Dylan go, send him away to a job in another city. What had he been thinking? He almost sobbed. Never. Never again.

  He pulled Dylan around and lifted him onto the counter so Dylan’s legs could clamp around his waist. Neither of them had really dressed, Aston had pulled on a pair of sweats and Dylan his jogging shorts. That left a lot of bare skin and Aston needed to touch all of it to reassure himself that Dylan was still here.

  He ran his fingers through Dylan’s hair, down the smooth muscles of his back, dipping lower beneath the shorts until Dylan moaned against him.

  Mine. It was all Aston could think. Mine. Never leave again.

  It was the final thought that helped him finally get control of himself. He pulled back, just a little, to rain kisses over Dylan’s face.

  “Dylan?”

  “Yeah, baby?” Dylan’s voice was slurred with passion.

  “There is one thing I want from you.”

  And of course Dylan said it. “What do you want, Winbaby? Just tell me.”

  “No more sleeping in the guest room and pretending we’re just roommates,” Aston said. “Go get your things.”

  “Later,” Dylan said. “I plan to be busy with my boyfriend for the next few hours.”

  His lips met Aston’s again, and no more words were needed while they reminded each other exactly where they both belonged.

  From Irene

  Hello!

  I hope you enjoyed meeting Dylan and Win and spending some time in the “Live Music Capital of the World.” South Austin is an area close to my heart. When Jax Garren interrupted our monthly Happy Hour by pitching the idea for an anthology set during SXSW, I knew exactly where my boys would live. After that, it was steampunk, micro-cars, and ‘keeping it weird,’ baby. I’m a proud Austinite. Participating in this project with my drinking buddies, a group of local writers, has been an absolute blast.

  If you are interested, The Mighty Craic (pronounced “crack”) is a real Austin band. Win’s cousin, Carlo Rotolo, lives only in my imagination, but he does have his own book. A Taste of You features Carlo, his partner Garrett, and lots of food.

  If you’re more in the mood for a male-female romance, Infamous is about a Hollywood wild child who falls for a conservative soccer dad and moves to the ‘burbs.

  You can always read first chapters free on IrenePreston.com.

  If you’d like to be notified of new releases and sales, please sign up for my newsletter. You can also stay in touch on Facebook, and Twitter. I spend way too much time there, so don’t be shy.

  If you enjoyed “Tall Order,” please take a moment to leave a brief review where you purchased this book. It means so much for us to hear from you.

  All the best,

  Irene

  Enchanted

  Evelyn Berry

  1

  Aurora stifled the paralyzing fear sweeping through her. Would her impulsiveness finally get her killed?

  “Stay on course, Manuel,” she yelled as close to the bat’s pointy ear as she could get.

  Another cold gust from the north slammed into Manuel’s small frame and his leathery wings flapped piteously while he struggled against the continuous force of frigid air. She clenched her hands on his makeshift halter to stay seated. It wouldn’t help her mission if she were swept away with the next cyclone.

  Who knew where she would end up? And she needed to do everything in her power to find the human male her aunt wanted above all things…including the freedom of her own sister, Aurora’s mother. The thought of her mother behind the bars of her iron cage renewed Aurora’s strength and purpose: find Dexter Bryce Reed.

  Tears filled her eyes at the icy air lashing her face. Manuel’s wings fluttered as he tried to maintain his direction toward Austin. Through her watery vision and the roar of the wind, she could barely make out the lights and muted sounds of street fair music in the distance.

  The next blast threw them into a spin. Manuel flipped over. The city skyline swirled, leaving her dizzy. She squeezed her eyelids shut, but it only made her stomach bottom out. “Save us, Manuel! Please, help us!” He turned his head and gaped at her, his open mouth revealing tiny, pointy teeth, and emitted a soundless cry. She hoped he agreed with her. The wind snatched his squeaks away, but wide-eyed panic reflected in his small black
eyes.

  She held on with all her might, barely noticing the ground spin below them. She wished herself back to the forest, but nothing happened.

  Her powers were gone. She had no magic once she passed the great boundary into the human world.

  She had to succeed on her own.

  Another blast of frigid air slammed into them with the force of a fist, shoving them toward the ground. Manuel spread his wings to slow their descent, but his body was as tired of fighting as she was of the battle to stay on his back. His wings shook with strain, then they folded in close to his body.

  They plummeted. She screamed.

  How was she going to save her mother now?

  A moment before they smashed onto the earth, she jumped, tucking her arms and head close, rolling free. She hit the grass, knocking the air from her lungs, rolling over and over before a tree trunk stopped her from going any further.

  She waited until everything stopped spinning. She flicked her eyelids open, but the stars and tree branches danced above her head. She patted her arms, torso, and head. Everything was still there and connected. She bent one leg and then the other.

  She’d made it. She’d survived the trip to the human world.

  With the help of a twig and a snail shell, Aurora dragged herself up to a standing position and searched for Manuel. Where did the little bat go?

  “Please, let him be all right,” she chanted under her breath.

  He was the nicest bat she knew, always willing to do favors in exchange for the juiciest bugs. He’d volunteered to help her journey to the human city, but he hadn’t signed up to get maimed or killed.

  “Manuel,” she yelled his name a few times and stumbled in the direction of his crash landing. She followed her path of broken leaves and grass until she could make out angry squeaks chirping in the darkness. “Manuel, thank the goddess you’re alive.”