We were taking a trip to Chicago, to see the sights and eat deep-dish pizza. We’d visit Jeremey’s sister Jan, and Dad said we could see some places from The Blues Brothers. I took Jeremey to the lounge car as soon as we were settled. David said he’d join us there when it was time for dinner. I was glad he wasn’t coming right away. I wanted to be with Jeremey by myself for a while.
We sat on a seat together, holding hands while we watched the world rush by. I was excited and rocked, and I didn’t care if people looked at me when I hummed. Jeremey was with me, and smiling. My boyfriend. And I had a job that let me take him on nice trips.
“I love you, Jeremey,” I said. I tried to look him in the eye, but it was too intense a moment.
He didn’t care. “I love you too.” He kissed me on the cheek.
I wanted a bigger moment, though. I picked up his hand and kissed it. “I want you to be my boyfriend forever.”
Jeremey got quiet. He touched my face, reading it with his superpowers. “Just your boyfriend?”
I smiled big. I felt like my whole face was a smile. “You have a better idea? Maybe something else you could be?”
He blushed, but he smiled too. “Yeah. I have some ideas. But when we’re ready. No need to rush. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”
I kissed him on the mouth. “‘It’s a hundred and six miles to Chicago, we’ve got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses.’”
Jeremey tweaked my nose. “Hit it.”
About the Author
Heidi Cullinan has always loved a good love story, provided it has a happy ending. She enjoys writing across many genres but loves above all to write happy, romantic endings for LGBT characters because there just aren’t enough of those stories out there. When Heidi isn’t writing, she enjoys cooking, reading, knitting, listening to music, and watching television with her husband and ten-year-old daughter. Heidi is a vocal advocate for LGBT rights and is proud to be from the first Midwestern state with full marriage equality. Find out more about Heidi, including her social networks, at www.heidicullinan.com.
Look for these titles by Heidi Cullinan
Now Available:
A Private Gentleman
Family Man (with Marie Sexton)
Minnesota Christmas
Let it Snow
Sleigh Ride
Love Lessons
Love Lessons
Fever Pitch
Special Delivery
Special Delivery
Double Blind
Tough Love
Coming Soon:
Love Lessons
Lonely Hearts
Clockwork Heart
Sometimes you have to play love by ear.
Fever Pitch
© 2014 Heidi Cullinan
Love Lessons, Book 2
Aaron Seavers is a pathetic mess, and he knows it. He lives in terror of incurring his father’s wrath and disappointing his mother, and he can’t stop dithering about where to go to college—with fall term only weeks away.
Ditched by a friend at a miserable summer farewell party, all he can do is get drunk in the laundry room and regret he was ever born. Until a geeky-cute classmate lifts his spirits, leaving him confident of two things: his sexual orientation, and where he’s headed to school.
Giles Mulder can’t wait to get the hell out of Oak Grove, Minnesota, and off to college, where he plans to play his violin and figure out what he wants to be when he grows up. But when Aaron appears on campus, memories of hometown hazing threaten what he’d hoped would be his haven.
As the semester wears on, their attraction crescendos from double-cautious to a rich, swelling chord. But if more than one set of controlling parents have their way, the music of their love could come to a shattering end.
Warning: Contains showmances, bad parenting, Walter Lucas, and a cappella.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Fever Pitch:
Giles tuned the instrument, then taught Aaron how to bow, when to use his wrist and when to lift his arm. While it wasn’t exactly necessary Giles touch Aaron’s arm to help him move it correctly, it certainly didn’t hurt his education.
He didn’t complain, either, when Giles lingered a little longer than the demonstration warranted.
Aaron was, of course, a natural. He winced when his first attempt at bowing elicited a screech, but it wasn’t long before he knew how to produce a crisp, clear sound.
“Good job,” Giles told him. “You’ll do well with fingering too. Kids use tapes when they learn, but with your ear you won’t take long to pick it up.”
“It’s so clear.” Aaron pulled a long, strong A, then an E. “This has to be more Henrietta than me.”
“She’s not a cheap date, no. She was my birthday, Christmas, and—” He stopped himself from saying get-out-of-the-hospital-for-the-second-time present. “She was expensive, so she has great sound. But the player still has to bring it, or she won’t sing.”
Aaron played a few more notes, riding the four strings up and down. “I love orchestras. Strings make me shiver.” He stole a shy glance at Giles. “When you play the double bass for Salvo, I get chills every time.”
Never, ever would Giles have guessed he could get so hard talking violin. “I’m a lot better on Henrietta.”
Aaron’s cheeks flushed with color. “I’d love to hear you play sometime.”
Sweet baby Jesus. Giles wanted to put Henrietta on the chair and push Aaron to the floor. “I’ll play for you right now. But let’s give you a chance to shine first. How about I teach you a song?”
From Aaron’s reaction, Giles would have thought he’d offered to give him a million dollars. “Can I learn ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’?”
“Too tricky for your first attempt. I was thinking more ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’. It only uses two strings, and it has the benefit of teaching you a lot of fingering at the same time.”
This lesson involved more touching as Giles helped Aaron apply his fingers to the board, showing him the right pressure and position. As he’d anticipated, Aaron had no trouble keeping his notes on pitch, and Giles only had to explain the very basics before Aaron taught himself the song. When he finished, he laughed and flourished his bow, flush with pride.
Giles clapped and grinned. “Well done, maestro.”
“Thanks. That was fun.” Aaron passed Henrietta and the bow over. “Let’s hear the real deal now, though.”
Giles tucked Henrietta to his shoulder, his fingers sliding easily into position on the bow. “What do you want to hear?”
“Anything.” Aaron settled into his chair. “Pop, classical—anything. Though—if you know anything with the plinky-plinky sound?” He mimed plunking strings on an imaginary violin.
“Pizzicato? Sure.” He plucked a few arpeggios, stomach flipping at the way it made Aaron smile. “Now the question is, do you want something classical and official, or do you want me to make you giggle when I play ‘TiK ToK’ pizzicato?”
Aaron burst out laughing. “Shut up. Seriously?”
Giles grinned. “I’ll consider that a request for Ke$ha.”
He launched into the song, and Aaron laughed so hard he fell sideways. But when Giles started to lower his violin, Aaron waved him on as he wiped his eyes and rose, heading to the piano. “Keep going. I have an idea.”
Giles started the song over, and goddamn if Aaron didn’t pound out harmony on the piano like the music was in front of him. Not wanting to appear a slouch, Giles stepped up his game, adding some flourishes whenever he could. Aaron kept playing, never missing so much as a note.
“Now switch,” Giles called out as they cleared the bridge. “You pizz on the piano, and I’ll bow the harmony.”
Aaron frowned, but it was a stare of concentration. “There’
s no such thing on the piano. How do I—?” Then he grinned. “Got it. Go.”
Giles tried to keep his brain three steps ahead of his fingers, working out the harmonics before he played them, wanting both accuracy and elegance, because of course Aaron brought both. Aaron’s “pizzicato” was staccato beats in the upper register, sometimes with harmony added, sometimes not. Sweating, Giles did his best to keep up, a task difficult partly because of the notes, partly because it took everything in him not to break out in giggles. Though as soon as they finished the song with a ridiculous flourish, they both bust out laughing.
“That was awesome.” Aaron wiped at his eyes. “Oh, shit—I want to do more.”
“What about ‘100 Years’? It gives good pizz. Do you know it?”
Aaron stared at him, his look unreadable.
Giles faltered. Was he pissed? Annoyed? “I— Sorry—”
He stopped as Aaron grinned and rolled his eyes before his fingers moved over the opening bars with the precision of someone who’d long ago memorized the song.
Oh. The look had been incredulity, Aaron insulted at the idea he didn’t know the song.
Grinning, Giles joined in, playing pizzicato through the first verse, but as Aaron filled out his harmony, Giles started bowing.
When they hit the chorus, Aaron began to sing.
Giles didn’t know why Aaron’s vocals hit him so hard—it wasn’t because he crushed on him, though that didn’t help anything. It wasn’t so much that Aaron’s voice was some kind of perfect harmonic, though it was. A million people had great voices, though.
Not many opened a vein quite like Aaron.
Giles stopped worrying about looking good and focused on the spaces the piano couldn’t cover, never overpowering Aaron’s voice but rather lifting him up, easing the spaces between the notes so when he sang, he soared even higher. Giles forgot about making mistakes, forgot about everything in the world that wasn’t playing with Aaron.
When the song ended, they held still, gazes locked, hands frozen on their instruments.
Aaron broke the silence, his voice soft and heavy. “‘With or Without You’?”
Giles lifted his bow and glided gently into the lead.
The magic of the moment let them play like gods. Giles rose through the song as Aaron put in a gentle baseline, just enough color to finish things off. Aaron took up the vocal melody, soft and sweet, his pretty tenor resting oh so tenderly on each note. He turned the song into a lullaby, ignoring all bait to belt, which only made the vocals more powerful. It was so beautiful Giles had to close his eyes.
I love him. His heart swelled and spilled over as they rounded into the final chorus. I’m so in love with him I can’t even ask him out. I want to lie at his feet, want to smooth out all the wrinkles in his life and make everything okay.
I can’t ever tell him, because if I’m wrong, if somehow he doesn’t want me, my life would be over. I’d rather have this than nothing.
Someone as wonderful as him can’t want someone as awkward as me. There’s just no way. There’s no fucking way that’s real, no matter how much I want it to be.
Aaron closed off the song with a chord—with a soft pull on Giles’s bow, it was done.
The music hung in the air between them.
Giles lowered his instrument. At the piano Aaron let his fingers fall from the keys.
They stared at each other, breathing hard but silent, neither wanting to break the spell.
He’s waiting for you to ask him out.
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
The door to the rehearsal hall opened. Giles and Aaron startled, turning away from each other as if they’d been caught kissing, not staring. It was one of the other quartets coming in to practice, and the members greeted them both warmly, apologizing if they were interrupting.
“No problem,” Aaron told them. But he cast one last longing glance at Giles.
I can’t. Except there was nothing, nothing in the world Giles would rather do.
Everyone’s got secrets. Some are just harder to hide.
Off Campus
© 2014 Amy Jo Cousins
Bend or Break, Book 1
With his father’s ponzi scheme assets frozen, Tom Worthington believes finishing college is impossible unless he can pay his own way. After months sleeping in his car and gypsy-cabbing for cash, he’s ready to do just that.
But his new, older-student housing comes with an unapologetically gay roommate. Tom doesn’t ask why Reese Anders has been separated from the rest of the student population. He’s just happy to be sleeping in a bed.
Reese isn’t about to share his brutal story with his gruff new roommate. You’ve seen one homophobic jock, you’ve seen ’em all. He plans to drag every twink on campus into his bed until Tom moves out. But soon it becomes clear Tom isn’t budging.
Tom isn’t going to let some late-night sex noise scare him off, especially when it’s turning him on. But he doesn’t want any drama either. He’ll keep his hands, if not his eyes, to himself. Boundaries have a way of blurring when you start sharing truths, though. And if Tom and Reese cross too many lines, they may need to find out just how far they can bend…before they break.
Warning: This book contains cranky roommates who vacillate between lashing out and licking, some male/male voyeurism, emotional baggage that neither guy wants to unpack, and the definitive proof that sound carries in college housing.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Off Campus:
“So what’s the deal? Why don’t they want you in the dorms?”
“Listen, kid.” He grimaced. “Sorry. Just drop it, okay?”
“Why?”
“Seriously? Because I don’t want to fucking talk about it, okay?” But he could already see where this was going. He only wondered if Reese would wait until he left the room to do it.
His roommate stared at him speculatively for a moment, tapping his bottom lip with one index finger before shrugging and grabbing his phone off the desk.
Nope. Guess not.
Reese looked up after a second.
“What’s your last name again?”
It figured. The kid didn’t even know his last name. Shit. Who knew how long he could have flown under the radar here, with this guy having no idea who his last-minute roommate was.
Tell the kid or not? If he didn’t, it wouldn’t get him more than ten hours of grace, since all Reese had to do was dial up Res Life in the a.m. and ask “Who the hell is this guy in my room again?”
For a minute, those ten hours seemed as if they might be worth it. The last little bit of peace he could hold on to. One more night. Who knew what would happen then. Worst case scenario had the kid taking naked pictures of him and selling them to some gossip mag. He could see the made-up headlines now. Price-Fixing Jailbird’s Son Does Porn. He remembered the days, and then weeks, months, of having flashes blow up in his face every time he tried to set foot out the door of their Beacon Hill home. Of trying to sneak out in the middle of the night, only to realize that the paparazzi never left. That there was always someone watching them, watching him. He started referring to the pack of them as the Evil Nemesis. He remembered the first time he’d tried to argue with a reporter who shouted out lies about his father as Tom pushed his way through the crowd blocking the gate to their front walk, wanting to get inside and hide.
“Did you know your father was embezzling money too, Tom?”
He’d been told later that it was a trick question, designed to draw him out. The PR company that had been working on his father’s press, until the corporate board decided that working to repair the image of a man who was absolutely, positively going to jail was a waste of money, sent an agent around to coach him after that disaster.
Losing his cool sure had made for good television. Tom had watched himself on television that night and ev
en he didn’t believe himself. All of his sputtering furious protests about his father’s innocence looked like a fucking cover-up. With their enormous red brick Georgian townhouse visible behind the eight-foot-high wrought iron fence that surrounded their property, he looked like a spoiled little rich kid who was throwing a temper tantrum because someone wanted to take his toys away.
A pretty accurate picture at the time.
The PR guy had shown him how anything he said could be twisted around to mean the opposite by the time reporters were done with it. The guy had advised him to keep his fucking mouth shut and tattoo the words No Comment across his forehead.
“Also, don’t fuck any under eighteens and please God, don’t let someone take a picture with their fucking cell phone of you with your lips wrapped around a bong. Or some guy’s dick, all right?”
He’d thought that was a funny one right there, hadn’t he? Had elbowed Tom and rolled his eyes. A little dick-sucking joke between two straight dudes, right, buddy? Ha, ha. Tom had never been sure if there’d been a kernel of true warning in the kidding around, though. Something about that guy screamed that he’d seen it all and wouldn’t be surprised to see it again.
Reese was waiting across the room, perched on the edge of the desk like a dark little bird with claws, thumbs ready to go on his phone. If he was tempted to smile because he knew he had Tom, in the end, even if not right this moment, he kept it to himself. But his eyes and the press of his lips together said he wasn’t going anywhere until Tom coughed up his name. If he’d said anything, one word, made one crack about cyberstalking or celebrity disguises, Tom would have told him to fuck off and gone to bed. But the kid just sat there and waited.
Like he wasn’t going anywhere, ever. Which should have felt stalkerish and creepy but instead felt…inevitable.
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