by RC Boldt
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About The Author
CLAM JAM
RC Boldt
CLAM JAM
Copyright © 2017 by RC Boldt
All rights reserved.
ISBN 13: 9781635760019
Editor: Editing4Indies
www.editing4indies.com
Proofreader: Proofing with Style
www.proofingstyle.com
Cover design: RBA Designs
www.designs.romanticbookaffairs.com
Formatting: Champagne Formats
www.champagneformats.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features in any media form are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if one of these terms are used in this work of fiction.
Visit my website at www.rcboldtbooks.com.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Dedication
Matty,
Without your support, love, and encouragement, none of this would be possible. Can you imagine that? What kind of sad, sad world would it be if no one had the opportunity to read a book about Clam Jamming? Depressing thought, I know.
I’d also like to channel my inner Mya and let you know that your “love is like whoa”.
P.S. I still love you more.
A,
Sure, you give me more gray hairs than in all my years of teaching but I wouldn’t change anything for the world. You bring me and your father more joy than we ever thought possible. I love your kind heart, your constant cheerfulness, and the way you love so freely. Never change. You’re my favorite girl in the whole, wide world. Always.
With that said, you’re still on lockdown until you’re forty. #ChastityBelt
To anyone who’s ever been clam jammed or cock blocked, this book is for you. May you be un-jammed and un-blocked from here on out.
Prologue
My name is Maggie Finegan, and I’m the continuous victim of a “clam jam.”
To answer your questions:
No, I’m not Irish—I was adopted.
And, yes, clam jamming is a thing.
I’ll wait until that one sinks in. Taps toe of shoe quietly.
Okay, ready? I’ll go on. It’s a pretty crazy story. It all started one dark, stormy night—wait, don’t roll your eyes at me, people. Fine. So it might have been more of a typical Upstate New York overcast kind of day. I had left work early since my boss, whom I fondly referred to as Sybil, left work at lunchtime for a meeting in the city. I took advantage of him skipping out early, knowing that I could hurry home and clean up the apartment I shared with my fiancé, Shane, and set the mood to get lucky. Things had been a little off lately, with both of our work schedules usually residing in the “heinously hectic” realm, and I wanted to remedy this.
Sliding my key in the lock of our apartment door, I stepped one heel over the threshold, and my favorite pair of Jimmy Choos slipped, sending me off balance. I barely caught myself as one hand flew out to brace against the entryway wall to steady myself. Prepared to take offense with whatever object had made me nearly land on my butt, the next moment ha
ppened in slow motion.
You know what I’m talking about. Slooooow moooooooootion. Where a moment in your life is too freaking weird, crazy, or just all-around effed up, and your brain does some weird thing with the synapses, immediately slowing everything down. Like an out-of-body experience. That’s what I had going on. Because the offensive object that had me nearly falling on my butt was a pair of woman’s panties.
Fact: Those panties weren’t mine.
You know. In case you were wondering.
My slow motion continued as I bent down to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me because, yeah, that was my initial thought. They might be my panties. Because no way would my fiancé be getting “jiggy”—thank you, Will Smith, for that term—with someone else, right?
Go ahead. Say it. Say exactly what you’re thinking. Maggie, what the hell is wrong with you? Stop being delusional!
I kicked those panties to the side, slid my briefcase’s straps off my shoulder, and set it in the corner of the entryway. Walking down the hallway, I could hear my heels clicking along the hardwood floors. And do you know what I thought the entire walk to the bedroom—to our bedroom? I thought, Wow, these floors are gorgeous. And those oversized windows looking out onto downtown Saratoga Springs have a gorgeous view. I’m so glad I chose this apartment.
Weird, right? I think I had an idea of what I’d find in that bedroom, and my mind had officially gone into full-blown protective mode.
The noises were the worst. Let’s be real here. I get that, in the heat of the moment, you’re probably going to have harsh breathing and some moans, but what I heard as I approached that bedroom was something you’d likely find on the Discovery Channel. Elephants mating, perhaps? Something large scale. Maybe if wooly mammoths still existed, that would be the closest thing to what I heard coming from that bedroom.
That’s right. I know you’re cringing right now. It was absolutely mammaliciously awful. Yes, I made up that word, but you have to understand that mammals everywhere were shaking their heads in disgust at that moment.
I’m going to fast-forward a bit now because I’m pretty sure you know how what I call “the discovery” went. They both shrieked, he pulled out of her—out of her mouth, by the way—and claimed it wasn’t what it looked like.
Because, you know, his penis inside of a woman’s mouth was one of those blind taste tests or something. Like back in the day when they were all like, “This is Coke? Wow! I can’t believe it. I’ve drunk Pepsi my whole life.”
First of all, you should not be that amazed and mystified by a freaking beverage. That’s just lame.
Let’s move on.
I kicked them both out. Luckily, his name was not on the lease since he’d moved in with me. Not so lucky was the fact that this place was on the pricey side of things, so I’d have to watch my spending on happy hours, takeout, and dinner nights out.
Here’s the quick rundown:
1. I left all of Shane’s belongings outside the door. ALL of them.
2. Okay, so I might have tossed some of his things in the trash. My bad.
3. Luckily, our lead building attendant, Mr. Charlie, has adored me from day one and once I informed him of what went down, he told me not to worry about anyone reporting the overabundance of crap piled up near the trash chute.
4. I Craigslisted the hell out of that mattress. Because God only knows what had gone down—pun intended—on that thing when I hadn’t been home.
5. I did the whole bawling my eyes out to my best friend, Sarah, between bouts of inherent desire to maim Shane. Because, let’s be honest, that’s what women do. After too much Pad Thai—wait, I’m kidding; no one can have too much Pad Thai—at my pity party, I made some new decisions about my life.
a) I was not going to date for a while. Now, I’m not saying I refused to ever date again because, really. It’s not like I have my sights set on being that woman with seventy-two cats or anything. Plus, I’m allergic, so that’s a no-go.
b) If I were going to be single, footloose, and fancy-free—thank you, Auntie Patsy, for that phrase that I hope never spills from my lips again—I’d need to get a roommate because I’d need the extra money. You see, I’m not a fan of women who expect guys to buy them drinks. We all know those drinks often come with expectations. The single’s world is flooded with douche bags, you know. Then again, so is the attached world, as my situation served as a prime example.
c) My roommate could in no way be a straight man. It couldn’t be a woman, either, because I’ve never been able to cohabitate with another female. I know it’s weird. But it is what it is.
d) I couldn’t exactly put out an ad for a “gay roommate” because, uh, discrimination? Who doesn’t want to get slapped with a lawsuit and has two thumbs up? This girl.
This is the point where the story really begins. Get comfy. Well, as comfy as you possibly can when preparing to read about a year of my life being clam jammed.
Shall we begin?
Chapter One
Maggie
One year ago-ish
October
Saratoga Springs, New York
Holy shadoobie. This guy is hot.
No, scratch that. He’s the kind of hot teenage girls spell out as H-A-W-T. He’s that kind of hot. And he’s applying to be my roommate, which means only one thing.
I have to send him packing.
There’s no way in h-e-double hockey sticks I’ll be able to maintain any self-control around a guy like this. I mean come on, people. It’s like the moment you decide to diet, and you catch a whiff of pizza or walk past a bakery when they’re putting new pastries in the display case.
Temtorture at its finest. I know, I know. I made that word up—a mix of the word temptation and torture. It’s accurate, though, isn’t it? You know you shouldn’t have it because it’s so bad for you, but you know once it touches your tongue, it will be so gooooood.
Wow. That sounded more sexual than I expected. Because I wasn’t exactly thinking of having this guy’s anything touching my tongue. But now, the seed has been planted, so …
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.”
Ryland’s voice brings me back from my not-so-G-rated thoughts. I am a terrible, horrible, no-good person, just like that Alexander kid in those children’s books they turned into a movie. I nod, trying my best not to let his lips mesmerize me because, whoa, they’re so nice and full and soft looking. And his hair makes me want to run my fingers through the short, light brownish-blond strands.
Sigh. Long, long sigh. There I go again.
“I admit”—he leans in, and I find the sparkle in his eyes captivating—“I was grateful you chose to meet in this spot since my company’s offices are right above here. I had a few things to take care of this morning. And the fact that your apartment building is within walking distance is another plus.”
Flattening my palms against the small table as we sit across from one another in Starbucks, I let out a slow exhale. Because it has to be said.
“I have to be honest with you, Ryland. You have great references.” I gesture to his résumé and list of references, both work and personal, he submitted to me when he’d contacted me about the room for rent a few days ago.
After printing off a sheet with some key information about the room for rent as well as photos of the spare bedroom, I’d posted it on the corkboard located in the lobbies of a few of the large, well-known office buildings—both mine and a few others I was familiar with nearby. I had hoped that would decrease my chances of ending up with some college kid who would end up being a slob and skip out on rent. I had a few decent applicants, but Ryland James had stuck out amidst the others.
He’s not only educated but also quite successful, as was clear from both his résumé and company’s website. He’d explained he had been renting a room, but the guy had recently gotten married, and he didn’t want to cramp the newlyweds’ style, so he’d been temporarily staying with another friend. Ryland wasn’
t interested in buying anything—house or condo—at this point as he wasn’t entirely sure his job would keep him local and didn’t want the hassle of trying to sell a property or rent it out if he relocated.
Everything had checked out with him. Everything. He seemed like he had his act together. And his photo from the Eastern Sports company website didn’t disappoint. Which was why I had been planning to nix him altogether. He was exactly what I didn’t need right now. So why am I here, meeting with him face to face?
Sarah. She’d coerced me to meet with him. She went over each applicant’s information with me, and she kept coming back to Ryland’s. She’d hassled me about giving him a shot.
Inhaling deeply, I continue, “But I have to be honest with you. I’ve recently broken up with my dirtbag fiancé”—I break off with what I hope is a lighthearted laugh, but I swear it comes out sounding strained and a touch maniacal—“and I’m not interested in having a roommate who’s a guy and—”
“I’m gay.”
I jerk, startled by his interrupting admission. And if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I detected a little hint of surprise in his eyes.
My eyebrows arch. “Really?” Shoot. That’s rude because even I hear the tinge of disbelieving doubt in my voice.
“Yes.” He nods, clasping his hands together and leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Jack and I have been together for years now.” One of his hands reaches up to tug on his earlobe. “We still have a bit of an”—he pauses, lips pressing thin as though he’s trying to word it correctly—“open relationship, and I feel it’s best … to have a separate place and not be continuously underfoot.”
Huhhhhh. I’m still processing this information when he continues.
“So”—he flashes a smile that makes my insides all gooey—“you wouldn’t have anything to worry about with me.”
