Seventy degrees and the sun is shining

April 12, 2018

Things have been a little slow in my world. It's been like molasses in a cold January. Honest. I think I have a bad case of "It Needs to Actually Be Spring!" Today is the first truly spring-like day we've had and suddenly I feel like communicating with words and not grunts and glares. It's a miracle! 

I've got a list about a mile long. My yard is its usual after-winter mess. Ditto for the patio. I'd had grand plans to get the pool filled early this year. What I didn't have plans for was to put down new flooring, but that seems to be on the spousal unit's list so guess what? We're doing the bathroom floor. That means I'll want a new countertop, sink, and backsplash. Why wouldn't I want that? And, of course, a fresh coat of paint in there. Not. On. My. List. 

What is on my list is finishing up the ghostie story. Our hero buys a house and finds it's already occupied. Then there's the boss who's a friend and becoming more than a friend. And maybe the boss had a little something to do with our hero's ex-boyfriend leaving him. And maybe the ghost had a hand in running people out of "his" house throughout the years. But maybe the three of them work it out to cohabit in peace and harmony. The story is coming along. Now if I can just discipline myself enough to finish it. The cover is ready. 

The cover that's not ready is for Bored, Stroked and Blueprinted. With Loose Id closing, I need to get the cover created. It will FINALLY BE THE COVER I WANTED FOR THIS BOOK!!!!  Seriously, with all the bitching and whining about covers, why doesn't everyone learn to do this task? It's fun, not a chore! 

Before anything else happens, I'm going to leave the day job, go home, and take Deuce for a decent walk. The poor guy has cabin fever. What's a young, energetic Lab to do when the weather is bad and his parents don't want to go outside? Get depressed, that's what. This afternoon I'll see if I can lift his spirits with a jaunt through the woods. I know it will elevate mine. 

KC Kendricks
www.kckendricks.com
kckendricks.blogspot.com
www.facebook.com/kckendricks
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So Blogger taught me a lesson

April 7, 2018

Every now and again I think it might be nice to change the appearance of the background here at Between the Keys.  Next time I get those thoughts, I'm turning the computer off and going for a walk to clear my head.

Earlier this morning I thought I might look at the Blogger themes. Just look. (Just fucking LOOK, Blogger!) I toddled over to look at current themes and got caught in a Blogger loop. Scared me silly. I didn't like what was on the screen and I couldn't get back to the regular look. I hadn't changed anything. I hadn't clicked 'save' on anything. 

After frantically trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to do, I bowed to the inevitable and clicked on save. This was a bad start to the day.

But by some miracle of a power greater than Blogger, my beloved ethereal fuzzy hexes returned. All my backdoor pages, my hidden little world, returned. 

Is my background dated? Probably. But it's better than the option I almost got stuck with this morning. 

Dated, smated. I'm going to leave it the hell alone.

KC

Heralds of spring

March 31, 2018

I'm hesitant to actually suggest this for fear of the repercussions, but I think spring may have arrived in my neighborhood. From my desk, I can look across the backyard and into the woods. I've spent years planting daffodils in my woods. Many of those clumps are blooming. Most of them need to be dug up and thinned, an easier job now that we have the John Deere. 

What pleases me most this year are the little blue snow glories along my lower driveway. I first planted them on the bank in 1981, or maybe it was 1982. Regardless, they've had decades to multiply and finally, this year, put on a grand show. That's the thing about country living. Everything moves at its own pace and we rarely have a say in it. I think it's worth the wait.  

Even more telling that spring may finally be here are the little peeper frogs. This past Wednesday night brought a drizzly rain and a deep fog. I stepped outside with Deuce and heard one or two tiny voices in the distance. When I arrived home from bowling last night there were many loud voices. I loved hearing them, being grateful they're still around to sing. I think they have some sort of magic that tells them it's safe to emerge from their winter sleep.

Spring brings a lot of work. We have a lot of yard clean-up to do this season. There are branches down all around the perimeter of the lawn, a lawn which is getting a bit of over-seeding this year. It's time to take the snowblower off the John Deere and get the loader back on it. Yesterday, I put the bistro patio set on the porch outside my office and I can't decide if I like it there. I'll have my mind made up on that by next weekend and can swap things around if I chose. 

While we wait for the ground to dry out, we have a few inside projects to complete. There's new flooring for in the bathroom and a fresh coat of paint. That may well lead to new kitchen flooring. Laminate is cheap and easy to change out. 

I rescued my late grandmother's set of East Lake platform rockers from my mother's basement and they're getting a fresh coat of paint and new fabric on the seats and backs. Those rockers set in my grandmother's kitchen, one at each window, for decades. When I visited my grandparents, I often found them in the kitchen watching the birds from their respective spots. My grandmother's rocker is replacing the chair in my office and my grandfather's is replacing the rocking chair the spousal unit hangs his "wear again" clothes on. (We need to discuss that habit.)

Yes, there is much to do. It's spring, you know.

KC Kendricks
www.kckendricks.com
http://kckendricks.com
www.facebook.com/kckendricks
www.twitter.com/kckendricks
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44444 - You know it will never win

March 30, 2018

Frequent readers here at Between the Keys have probably figured out I quite admire the American Muscle Car. Yes, the caps are intentional. I believe American muscle is in a class of its own regardless of manufacturer. (Although I admit the only Ford in the bunch is the Mustang.) 

I drive a 2011 Dodge Charger and I pay attention to what's going on with my expensive piece of machinery. Yesterday, on the way home from the day job, the odometer rolled up to 44444. Of course, I pulled over and took a quick snapshot. 

44444 got me to thinking about playing the lottery. Why wouldn't it? I had two-bucks in my pocket to help make someone's dreams come true. What numbers to play? Certainly the number 4.

As you may surmise, I didn't win. Winning numbers last night in the Maryland Lottery Multi-Match were 03-07-14-18-22-27. Okay, so I did play 14 but one match gets a girl zippo. It was worth a shot. 

The next interesting number that will roll up on the odometer is 45678. I've got about six weeks to figure out how to play that one. Wish me luck!

KC Kendricks
www.kckendricks.com
http://kckendricks.blogspot.com
www.twitter.com/kckendricks
www.facebook.com/kckendricks
www.pinterest.com/kckendricks

Striking "one day" off my list - The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles

March 25, 2018


Many, many, many moons ago I began my writing career using the pseudonym Rayne Forrest. I had some good successes but I wanted to branch out. KC was "born" and that took off like a rocket. Here I am fifteen years later with a lot more knowledge under my hat and just as many questions as to where I go from here as I had in 2003. Changes in the publishing industry come hard and fast these days, but as with all things, a door closing means a door opening. Nature isn't the only thing that abhors a vacuum - so does publishing. 

One of my early successes was The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles. I set out in 2004 to write an intentional trilogy. I love science fiction and world building so off I went, embarking on the spaceship Rea Cheveyo. I'm still proud of myself that I finished the project and of how well it turned out. 

And the world turned...

When the publisher who had the Rea Cheveyo Chronicles closed, I mothballed the trilogy. It had a great run. The middle book was even an EPPIE finalist. It just didn't feel like the right time to shop the series around and find a new publisher. 

At the beginning of this year, 2018, I took stock of how many stories I had mothballed. It's a bit sobering. There were a few I'd actually forgotten about. The time was right to begin the work of getting those old Rayne Forrest books back out, starting with the chronicles. I decided to put both pseudonyms on the cover - they're both me so why not? 

The books are in the process of populating to the various online booksellers. By next week this time, all three will be available. I'm working on updating my website, which now includes all the available Rayne Forrest books. 

What does the future hold? Will we travel through space? One day perhaps we will. Until then, I'll just do what writers do and imagine for myself how that may be. 

Rea Cheveyo. Flowing spirit. 

I think there's beauty in that. 


KC Kendricks
Rayne Forrest

www.kckendricks.com
http://kckendricks.blogspot.com
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Eye of the Beholder for the MidWeek Tease

March 21, 2018

So they say it's spring...hmmmm. Must be spring in the city because halfway up the mountain it's still rather chilly outside.

Welcome to this week's MidWeek Tease blog hop!  Many thanks to Angelica Dawson for continuing to host the blog hop. If you're an author, zip her off an email about joining in. Be sure to check out all the participating blogs by visiting http://midweektease.blogspot.com

Just because it's cold outside doesn't mean it's not hot in here! This week I'm highlighting a longer excerpt from Eye of the Beholder. Perhaps with that title, it shouldn't surprise you our hero finds himself a voyeur. They do say the Big Apple has everything. 

Be warned - this little tease is more explicit than the usual tease. 
It IS spring, you know. Enjoy!

_*_*_*_*_

I was just about to tuck my toes under the sheet when, for no real reason, a movement on the other side of the narrow alley drew my attention. I yawned as the lights in the apartment across the way and down a story went out. The lower half of the window rose about six to eight inches and a pair of male hands set a block to keep it from falling closed. The hands, now unseen, pushed the sheer curtains apart to allow what little breeze stirred this night entrance to his room. Still visible in the glow of the ever-present city light, I watched as naked, he flopped down on his bed, his back arched as he stretched his arms over his head.

Why I didn’t crawl between the sheets and go to sleep will forever remain a mystery. I never aspired to be a peeping Tommy. I might watch a little gay porn now and again, but what poor deprived country boy hadn’t resorted to the joys of the Internet to get by until he could find a real man? That didn’t make me a pervert. Unlike a few of the tricks I’d had since arriving in lower Manhattan, I didn’t even like to have sex in public places. But in the blink of an eye, I became a voyeur.

I suppose I was surprised to be able to see him so clearly, but I didn’t give it much thought. Hell, who could think? Not me. I could only watch and ache as my cock swelled.

He was beautiful. His face was shrouded in shadow, but the city lights revealed his lean, toned body in all its well-formed splendor, cast in liquid silver. He stretched a second time, and I longed to trail my fingertips over the long lines of his torso. I cupped my balls and settled them in a more comfortable position, then stroked my shaft. Arousal teased my nerve endings before it shrieked through me as the man on the bed ran his hands over his thighs.

The inside of my thighs prickled. I soothed the skin, rubbing gently. The hair on my legs was rough under my palms. Were his thighs dusted with hair, or did he have a darker pelt like mine? I followed his path as he caressed the softer skin where leg blended to hip, sliding my fingertips down the valley and in alongside my sac. My dick throbbed, but until he stroked the dark rod that rested on his pale abdomen, I couldn’t give in to the temptation to reach for relief.

I groaned as the man flipped over onto his belly and wiggled his hips, the perfect muscular mounds of his buttocks alabaster in the starlight. He spread his legs, knees well apart. How could he do that to me?

Was that a movement in the shadows behind him? Heart pounding, I froze, fearing my presence would be detected by this second man, who eased between the man’s open thighs, his sizable boner pointing straight out at my phantom lover’s ass.

I forgot how to breathe as the new man poured something from a container into the palm of his hand, then caressed those lovely white globes, dipping low into private spaces. He gripped the first man’s hips and pulled him up to his knees. His tool rode against the man’s ass, then ever so slowly vanished from view. I fisted my cock and pumped, rapidly approaching the edge. I sucked in a lungful of air and stopped, transfixed as they changed position.

They were on their knees now with the man of silver’s back pressed tightly to his impaler’s chest. The top thrust into him with an easy steady rhythm. I strained to catch a glimpse of the bottom’s dick, but his arm, moving in rhythm with each thrust, blocked my sight. Silver’s head dropped back. They kissed, a long, passionate melding of mouths. I stretched out my legs and rolled the velvety skin that covered my shaft over the hard inner core.

I was beyond them now. They filled my vision, but the heat coiling inside my belly burned too hotly. My arm met their pace and matched it. I panted, struggling to breathe and keep from surging ahead of them. They faltered, the man in front falling forward onto all fours.

My balls tingled. The scent of my own musk rose from between my sticky fingertips. The top shoved his hips forward and hung there, spine arched and head back. I blinked the sweat out of my eyes and focused my blurry vision on the two men across the narrow alley.

They sprawled on the bed in a jumble of arms and legs. A lighter flared, momentarily casting the face of the top into stark golden light. The tip of a cigarette glowed orange and hot, then the smoker perched on the edge of the mattress, his hands busy in the shadows between his legs. I recognized the posture as the one assumed for condom removal.

I’d intruded, and that simple gesture that showed they cared enough to protect each other said how much. I grabbed a tissue, wiped off, and lay down. I tugged the sheet up and rolled over to face away from the window. I hoped the next time they got down and dirty they’d keep the curtains closed and not tempt me again.

Liar.

_*_*_*_*_

ABOUT EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

Andy Madison is city born and bred. Filling in for a friend at a coffee shop, Andy meets Ben Hardin and sparks fly. They spend a long, lazy Sunday afternoon together to get to know each other, and when they decide to let nature take its course, they go to Ben’s cozy apartment.

Ben’s taking his time becoming acclimated to his new life in the big city. He’s got a great job he loves, he’s making new friends, and his starter apartment has the most incredible views a young man could dream of. Ben’s discovered there’s more to admire than the arts, music and architecture. All he has to do is look out his window and across the narrow alley.

Andy thinks he’s seen it all living in the Big Apple, but what he spies through Ben’s window is something that can only be enjoyed by the eye of the beholder... 


Available now at:

Amazon:
www.amazon.com/Eye-Beholder-KC-Kendricks-ebook/dp/B01HSX31XO

iTunes
itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1127643707

Barnes & Noble/Nook
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/eye-of-the-beholder-kc-kendricks/1112495641?ean=2940153385655

Kobo
www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/eye-of-the-beholder-41


KC Kendricks
website at: http://www.kckendricks.com
blog: http://www.kckendricks.blogspot.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/kckendricks

The dance of my people

March 19, 2018

Every time I see this, I laugh. I even added it to my desktop backgrounds folder to be part of the rotation. It's usually up on Mondays. 

I think we can learn a lot from the horse. 

KC

The Kendricks 900

March 12, 2018

A lot has happened since the Kendricks 800 and I'm not talking about the obvious one hundred posts here at Between the Keys. Post number 800 happened on December 31, 2016, and so was the retrospective for that year. Number 900 is a bit different.  I'm a wee bit annoyed today and willing to go where I don't normally go. You might want to skate on this one because I'm going political.

I've been thinking a lot about the changes in my life and the world at large. Getting older isn't a picnic. It's a subversive process and the perpetrator is your own body. Mind over matter becomes more important because what matters is your mind. Keep your mind and thoughts in order and your physical health benefits. Sometimes my mind listens to my body and allows me to be lazy and that is not a good thing.

Another trap is to allow yourself to slip into the mindset of others. I see that a lot today. The only way to escape the political posturing going on right now is to go totally off the grid. (That's quite tempting, by the way.) Everyone is repeating what everyone else is saying without knowing what the hell they're actually saying which means the pigeons are winning. Personally, I think way too many of the pigeons are pretty fucking stupid. 

Writing advice is everywhere one looks. Pinterest contains a plethora of such "wisdom" that in turn gets spewed out onto Twitter. It's the same advice that was passed around in the old Yahoo chat rooms twenty years ago. We've not learned much, have we? The sage wisdom of the ebook publisher has always been "give the reader what they want because it sells." Then publishers want everything to be the same, allowing editors to change everything to the "house style" which is code for everything WE publish is the same and it's the way WE like it. Really? No wonder ebook publishers have lost the market to Amazon.

Maybe THIS reader wants something different. Maybe this reader will write it, too.

Everywhere I look I see various groups of people vying for the control of others - and they'll boldly lie to obtain that control. The founding fathers of the United States lived in times such as these and they boldly wrote a Constitution to prevent the usurping of personal freedoms. Oh, Mr. Madison. Too few are listening. 

There are too many people telling us what to think and how to live, and too many pigeons telling us those people seeking to control us are correct. The rhetoric spouted in the news media, in our books, in our music - even from our pulpits - is damaging our individual rights because too many blindly believe. 

It truly doesn't matter what side of a political issue you come down on. It doesn't. Both sides lie. It's time to take a good look at the people seeking to control you.  It's time to take a good look at where ceding that control to them will take us. It's time to closely examine and understand their agendas because, in the end, it's all about the power and control you allow them to have over you.

It's time to be an eagle.  

KC Kendricks

Blogger's Vanity

March 11, 2018

Blog2Print

It's a fear that's haunted me for years and with good reason. I've been around awhile. I remember first hearing about weblogs way back in about 1995 when I got my first desktop computer and went online. My first blog was over at Live Journal. I made all my mistakes there and [hopefully] that blog is long gone. Then came Blogger and it was a much better fit. Or was it?

Back in the day, it was a good idea to have a newsletter mailing list. I thought it might be nice to put my newsletter out on a blog so everyone could read it. I put a lot of work into that project only to have Blogger shut it down. Why you ask? Because I ended each blog with the same signature line and, back then, the system tagged it as spam (and not the kind that comes in the can). Now everyone has a signature line and it's cool with Blogger. 

Not one to give up, I tried again but eventually I was targeted by someone who obviously didn't like the romance genre. After a particularly nasty, and personal, attack, I deleted that blog. To this day I believe this was another writer who was angry I had a book final in the 2007 EPPIES and she did not.

It's all water under the bridge now, but oh how I wish I had saved ALL those blog entries! I have a few but I tend to compose straight into Blogger instead of a document. The next blog post after this one will be The Kendricks 900. That's right. NINE HUNDRED BLOGS here at Between the Keys. A lot of what is here is like the old weblogs. It's not all about promoting the books. It's about sharing my life with readers and other authors. I would hate like hell to lose this record of the last ten years of my life. 

Last week I was fact searching and blundered upon a reference to a service that turns blogs into books. The service is called Blog2Print and I jumped right on it. It works. I now have three neat and tidy .pdf volumes of Between the Keys from the first post in 2008 to the end of 2017.  I'm amazed at how relieved I am to have those items! 

Who knew I had so much vanity that I needed my silly little blog posts to be preserved - and at a price. Not a high price. I do have limits. But under $10 apiece for each .pdf. If I wanted to spend the big bucks I could have had them printed on paper, but I just said no. A digital copy is adequate. 

It did get me thinking, though. There's no reason in the world I can't create a single document for my blog entries in Word and save it as a .pdf at the end of the year. Seriously. You'd think a reasonably intelligent person would have thought of that years ago, but again, noooo. Anyway, that's underway now and it's a habit I'll continue. I can approximate a matching cover with Photoshop. Live and improve is one of my mottos. 

So is spending about $30 to preserve my blog entries nothing more than writer's vanity? Maybe, but I don't really care if it is. 

KC Kendricks
www.kckendricks.com

Time's relentless march

March 9, 2018

This week marked another year since my grandfather's passing. I remember him well. I knew him longer, and probably better, than I knew my father who died twenty-two years earlier than Pop. I remember Pop standing beside my father's casket, weeping, asking God why he took such a young man and let "this old man" live. Pop was seventy-three at the time.

I had a wonderful relationship with my grandfather. He taught me so much of the old ways, ways I see dying. I have no one interested in learning about the earth, the flowers, the bees, the woodland creatures but that doesn't negate the fact of how very blessed I am that someone cared enough to impart that knowledge to me.   

Time's relentless march has me thinking about Pop and how much he enjoyed his retirement years. It's just one more life thing he gave me subtle guidance about. He had a plan, every day. As each day brings me closer to my "retirement" years, I'm making plans, too, plans that will honor what Pop taught me. 

So for now, take a step into the Way Back Machine with me, to what I posted on a different blog the day Pop passed from this life, thirteen years ago. Will the next generation remember me and blog about my life? I doubt it. Some things one must do for one's self. 

KC Kendricks

_*_*_

March 7, 2005

Minutes to Memories

A little girl watches as a man glues square wooden frames together. The man shows a young girl how to plant a flower. A young woman gets her first car and the man smiles, pride warring with concern. Thanksgiving Day and they leave the warmth of home and family to walk along the mountain ridge in silence. Words are not needed between them.

The man, suddenly old, holds the woman’s hand as they mourn together. An old man’s face lights up with joy when the now not-so-young woman hands him a little black puppy and tells him to meet his new “grandson.”

My grandfather has left this life. He was ninety-five. I love him. Death will not change that.

His passing was not sudden, nor was it unexpected. It was blessedly peaceful. I’m saddened by it and yet I will not give in to grief. He wouldn’t want that. He told me in a thousand ways across seventeen thousand days that life was to be lived. And to live, you keep moving forward, every day.

It’s the way he lived his life. He enjoyed a retirement that spanned thirty years. He had a plan for every day of those years. Until these last few months, he had a plan for the next several years.

Did he travel the world? No. Did he have fancy cars, a big house, and a big bankroll? No. He was a “plain” man. A gentle man, and a gentleman. He lived simply. He loved deeply. He was deeply loved.  He was the best grandfather in the world.

I think I will pause these next few days. Moving forward can wait just a little while. I’ll spend some time looking back at days that turned into minutes, and minutes to memories.

Rest well, Pop.  

A Perfect Hire for the MidWeek Tease today

March 7, 2018

Welcome to the MidWeek Tease blog hop! Thanks to our host, Angelica Dawson, for making sure the MWT happens every week. She must be one organized lady!

This week, I'm highlighting a book with a storied past - A Perfect Hire. It's a little piece that I hope breaks a few of the PC meters. Consenting adults should be able to... have coffee together. Or do whatever. Whenever. Wherever. However. You get the drift.

Here's a bit from A Perfect Hire. Be sure to check out all this week's teases using the list at the end of this post. Enjoy!

_*_*_*_*_

“You’re full of tricks aren’t you?”

“The name of the game is get them in here. They can’t purchase if they don’t come in.”

We enjoyed our java in comfortable silence for a few minutes but I sensed something was on his mind. 

“You’ve bought me coffee—several cups. Can I treat you to breakfast at my place?”

I didn’t want to him to think I was too eager nor did I want to blow the chance to get laid. The crowd I hung out with was fun, but they were friends and we didn’t fuck. I wanted the man across the table from me.

Hell, I wanted him bent over it or sprawled on it, or even under it if we happened to slide off. I met his smoky gaze and shivered.

“I’ve a better idea since my knee isn’t up to much walking. Why don’t we go to my place for breakfast? You can still cook, though.”

He nodded. “Where do you live?”

I pointed at the ceiling. “It’s a short commute.”

I’d purchased the building a few years ago not caring that the elevator went only as far as the second floor. With the street storefront, the second floor stockroom and a third level apartment, it had been perfect for my needs. After living in the small space for a year, I discovered adding a fourth story for a bedroom suite was not only financially feasible, but would keep me sane. I liked the old industrial elevator so I didn’t replace it with one that went all the way to the top.  

Having to gimp my way up the stairs on a bum knee in front of a guy I planned to repeatedly fuck senseless was embarrassing.  It also brought home the fact we would need to be a bit creative since I couldn’t put a lot of pressure on the joint. Of course, figuring it out could be interesting. 

Eric did the heavy lifting in the elevator, pulling the grate down with a grin.

“Going down?”

I snorted and answered truthfully. “Nope. It’s going up.”

His gaze dropped to my zipper and that shit-eating grin on his face widened. “I’m not sure it’s acceptable to take advantage of you when you can’t run from me.”

“What makes you think I’d run even if I could?”

He closed the distance between us and my dick finished its rise to attention. The smile faded from his face, replaced by a searching seriousness as I grasped his hips and pulled him closer. His hands went to my shoulders, his intense hazel gaze locked with mine. I stared into those gleaming orbs and memorized every golden and green fleck. The elevator jolted to a stop but I barely felt the bump in my knee.

“Time to get off.”

Eric shook his head, his husky voice barely above a whisper. “It won’t be that fast.”

*_*_*_*_*

ABOUT A Perfect Hire

Shopkeeper Chris Douglas traveled the world as a tour guide. He settled in New York City and turned his love of coffees and wines from around the world into a thriving specialty business. He enjoys meeting new people and his small emporium just off Bleecker Street brings all sorts through his door. After he falls off a ladder, Chris tapes a “help wanted” sign on the door and hopes it will attract the right person.

Eric Todd is at loose ends after the company he worked for changed hands and he was let go. He can get by financially, but with too many hours to fill in a day, he’d like a part-time job to keep busy. When he spies the hand-drawn sign on the door of The Corked Bean, he goes inside to check out the store - and the sexy proprietor.

The two men hit it off and Chris hires Eric on the spot. Now the pay and benefits aren’t as enticing, or satisfying, as the after-hours perks available for the perfect hire.


AVAILABE at:  Amazon       Itunes       Barnes and Noble       Kobo

KC Kendricks

www.kckendricks.com

http://kckendricks.blogspot.com

www.twitter.com/kckendricks

Twice Removed From Yesterday - last MidWeek Tease of February

February 28, 2018

Have you ever noticed how the end of February sneaks up on you? It happens to me every year.

Welcome to the last MidWeek Tease blog hop of February! This week I'm revisiting the Men of Marionville collection with Twice Removed From Yesterday with an excerpt you won't find (legally) anywhere else. 

Be sure to check out all the MWT blogs by using the list at the end of this post. Enjoy!

_*_*_*_*_

Asking a few nosey questions seemed to be in order. The worst that could happen was he would tell me to mind my own business. I took the chance.

“So what’s your hesitation on the house? Smart money says Dylan pays you pretty good. Heck, I’m a temporary employee and he’s paying me like I’m a regular hire.”

He turned onto a side road and in a few moments, we were parked beside a stream. Just ahead I could see an old wooden covered bridge. It was a picture worthy of a frame.

August leaned toward me and slipped his arm around my shoulders. My gaze collided with his and held it. His lips parted. I slid toward him and let him kiss me. I knew a second of complete stillness and peace in which I marveled at the soft texture of his lips as they moved over mine, and then a heat bomb fired off inside me.

My skin flashed hot as I reached for him. Goosebumps spread over my thighs and ass. My balls tingled and drew up close to my body. My cock hardened in a deliciously throbbing rush as the need to sink into him ripped the air from my lungs.

He surged forward to push me down beneath him on the narrow car seat. His hand was cool as he slipped it down the front of my jeans to fist my shaft and I realized he was incredibly tense for a man making his move. I flicked my tongue to his and lifted my hips to move my dick in his hand.

He smiled against my mouth and pulled away. He looked a bit sheepish. “I didn’t plan to jump you like this, Chandler.”

“Thank goodness you did. It clears up a few things for me.” I pulled his mouth back to mine.

This kiss was no less tame as we nibbled and tested each other, searching for boundaries and finding none. His silky tongue slid over mine. He withdrew and I followed. Back and forth we parried until I was breathless. He pulled away again, releasing my erection and sitting up to put both hands on the steering wheel. I missed his warmth as caught my breath. A quick glance showed me he was equally out of breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

I pondered the wisdom of giving him a blowjob. It would be so easy to unzip his jeans and bend over him. In this secluded, idyllic spot, who would see?

But he’d moved away from me, a sure sign he wasn’t ready for more and any move I made might be overstepping a boundary. I took my cue from him and sat up straight to pull my shirt into place.

I grinned. “You can bring me out here every day for that.”

He hung his head. “You shouldn’t tempt me. And you have to quit The Wharf at the end of your week.”

I blinked at him. He was serious. “Oh? Just why do I need to do that?”

“How can I ask you out on a real date if you technically work for me? There are sexual harassment laws about employers taking advantage of employees, you know.”

So that was his hang up. It was actually a relief to learn where his head was at with me. I understood his caution but I also knew he and I had to get the sex out of the way and in a hurry. I sensed we were wired the same in that regard. If the sex didn’t work, we’d settle our asses down and be friends, and not friends with benefits.

And if the sex did work for both of us? The answer to that question, that possibility, was best left in the future.

I snorted. “Who said anything about sex?”

He echoed the noise I’d made. “My hard dick and your hard dick.”

“Well, there is that.” I held my hand out to him and he wrapped his fingers around mine. “Relax, Gus. Let’s just go with the flow for a few days, okay?”

“I’m serious, Chandler. I can’t bring that sort of risk into The Wharf. Dylan’s been too good to me. I…I want to take this to the next level, but I can’t until you’re done.”

A wave of carnal frustration hit me. I understood where he was coming from, but I thought he was being overly cautious. He wanted me as much as I wanted him and he wanted to wait? Yeah, it would make me crazy to be near him and know his balls tingled the way mine did.

“Okay. Just for you, I’ll force myself to behave until then.”

It was his turn to blink at me. “You’re going to make me regret this, aren’t you?”

I flashed him my best smile. “Take me home, Mr. Howard. I need to get ready for work and so do you. And yes. Gird your loins, so to speak. I plan to torture you.”

_*_*_*_

About TWICE REMOVED FROM YESTERDAY

Chandler Beck is at a crossroads. To move forward, he has to take a trip back to the biggest regret in his life. He discovers a man happily settled down with a partner, both of whom are ready to call him a friend. When they offer him a place to rest, Chandler ends up in their guest room and with a job at the best restaurant in town.

Once a rising star on the pro golf circuit, a back injury forced August Howard to give up the game. Swallowing his pride, he accepted a job waiting tables and worked his way up to the manager of The Wharf, the area’s premier restaurant. He’s not happy when the owner does a favor for a friend and hires the seemingly inexperienced Chandler Beck as a bartender.

It doesn’t take Chandler long to win over the prickly August, but August is a man with secrets. Their friendship heats up and when August’s past comes calling, Chandler pays the price. The only option open is for August to confess all and hope those around him, especially Chandler, will accept he’s a different man from who he was in his yesterdays.  

Now available at:

iTunes/Apple: itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1338493712

Amazon: www.amazon.com/dp/B079BDBRZY

Barnes and Noble: www.barnesandnoble.com/w/twice-removed-from-yesterday-kc-kendricks/1127870493

KOBO:  www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/twice-removed-from-yesterday-1

KC Kendricks

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Today in History, February 18 - It's in the nickname

sunrise on the mountain

February 18, 2018

Today is one of the few days a year I know I won't open a manuscript-in-progress and work on it. Today is Daytona Sunday. 

My enjoyment of NASCAR began way back in the day when my Uncle Bob would take my cousin Linda and me with him to the local dirt track. I'm sure I thought the dirt track was great fun but you won't find me at one now. Dirt in my hair is NOT my thing. Linda and I could also pick any Sunday to sit in our Aunt Libby's backyard and watch the cars at the local dragstrip, too. Our county has a long and storied history of a vibrant car culture.  

NASCAR has gone through a lot of changes since the 1970's, some good, some bad. NASCAR is a single-family owned franchise - an oddity in the realm of sport. Sometimes they make crazy stupid rules but my sense of it is they don't want another death during a race. NASCAR is a lot tamer than it used to be. 

On this date in history, February 18, 2001, NASCAR legend Dale Earnhardt, Sr. died in a crash on the last lap of the Daytona 500. I think Darrell Waltrip summed it up best: "Live by the push, die by the push." I think he was talking in a more metaphysical sense when he said that, nevertheless, Earnhardt earned his nickname of The Intimidator by perfecting "the push." He did a lot of "blocking," too, and we all saw how badly that ended. 

I wasn't a Senior fan, although I did like Junior. "My" driver was always Terry LaBonte (#5). I just liked the way he drove. They called him The Iceman for his seemingly unflappable style and coolness under pressure. Terry didn't go out and deliberately wreck other drivers. Later, they called him "Iron Man" for the number of consecutive starts he had over his career. After Terry retired, I started to pay attention to Tony Stewart. You know. The guy they called "Smoke" for his temper. I loved his outspoken attitude and fearlessness in telling the France family (NASCAR owners) the truth. Alas, he too retired. 

You know folks in the South love their nicknames. If you earn one, wear it like the badge of honor it is.

But there was hope. Stewart partnered with Gene Haas to create Stewart Haas Racing, which has four drivers. And one of those drivers is Kevin Harvick. I kinda slid into paying attention to him and now he's my driver. Happy Harvick is what Darrell Waltrip calls him. I think they should call Harvick "The Instigator" but that's for another blog. 

It wasn't until this morning that it struck me that Kevin Harvick is the driver they tapped to take over the #3 ride when Dale Earnhardt, Sr. was killed on this date back in 2001. 

So here we are with this year's Daytona 500 falling on the date in history, February 18, of Senior's demise. I can just hear those chatterbox announcers now. 

Maybe, just maybe, I'd be better off writing today. 

KC Kendricks
www.kckendricks.com

PS. The spousal unit will be cheering for Kyle Busch. They call him, "Rowdy." 

Cover reveal - A Perfect Hire by KC Kendricks

February 10, 2018

Greetings from wet western Maryland! Snow, ice, rain. Gotta love living in the Mid-Atlantic region. 

I suppose the winter weather inspired me to get to work on A Perfect Hire. You've heard the phrase, "when hell freezes over." Well, hell froze over. That's the only explanation I can give for my decision to re-release this book. 

That and fact that since I've undone all the "editing" done at a publisher-who-will-not-be-named, the book is back to its original vision and story. 

The cover turned out okay. I've made better. I've made worse. This one is okay. I wanted to keep it simple with a store/shop background and a guy. And since the guy is hired to work in a specialty shop that sells coffee and wine, it was appropriate to have a cup of coffee and a glass of wine by his side. It works for me. 

The big question? When is the story going live? Probably February 24 or 25. I know it won't be on February 18. That's the day of the Daytona 500. Priorities, you know. 

ABOUT A PERFECT HIRE

Shopkeeper Chris Douglas traveled the world as a tour guide. He settled in New York City, and turned his love of coffees and wines from around the world into a thriving specialty business. He enjoys meeting new people and his small emporium just off Bleecker Street brings all sorts through his door. After he falls off a ladder, Chris tapes a “help wanted” sign on the door and hopes it will attract the right person.

Eric Todd is at loose ends after the company he worked for changed hands and he was let go. He can get by financially, but with too many hours to fill in a day, he’d like a part-time job to keep busy. When he spies the hand-drawn sign on the door of The Corked Bean, he goes inside to check out the store, and the sexy proprietor.

The two men hit it off and Chris hires Eric on the spot. Now the pay and benefits aren’t as enticing, or satisfying, as the after-hours perks available for the perfect hire.

KC Kendricks

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Beneath Dark Stars by KC Kendricks for the MidWeek Tease

February 7, 2018

Welcome to the MidWeek Tease blog hop! This week I've got an excerpt from Beneath Dark Stars. Our heroes are a detective and his shapeshifter lover. And he's not your garden variety shapeshifter, either. He's a true shapeshifter, able to take on many forms. 

Be sure to check out all the MidWeek Tease blogs using the list at the end of the post. I hope you enjoy the excerpt! 

_*_*_*_*_

Beneath Dark Stars

Book 2 of the Sundown Saga

Gay romance with a paranormal shift

Have you met a shapeshifter? How would you know?

Fallon Roxbury, seasoned detective and special police consultant, knows that appearances can be deceiving. Trained to gather the clues and arrive at logical conclusions, he fits the puzzle pieces of a situation together to find the truth. But there’s nothing reasonable in Fallon’s attraction to the sexy, secretive shapeshifter called Sundown.

Sundown has studied people all his life. Having his very own human male is all he ever wanted. In Fallon, he’s found a man he can trust with his secrets and reveal his true nature. Keeping Fallon happy is a joyful exercise into which Sundown puts his heart and soul—when he’s not teasing Fallon’s police partner by leaving strange footprints at crime scenes, that is.

Fallon’s new case ties into an old one. At a dead end, he knows it’s time to ask Sundown for a little help. With his special abilities, Sundown can get into places Fallon can’t. All Fallon has to do is figure out a way to prove what he already knows. But what’s a cop to do when the truth takes a shift that’s stranger than fiction?

EXCERPT

With a groan, I collapsed onto him. He let out a loud umpf and, with his surprising strength, flipped me over onto my back. I was too limp to protest even had I wanted to. A satisfied purr vibrated out of him as he snuggled tight against my side. I found his hand, laced my fingers through his, and asked him a question he’d so far avoided answering.

“When are you going to tell me what it’s like for you, Sundown?”

He sighed. “It’s what I wish it to be, Fallon.”

I’d heard that before. He was uncomfortable with my curiosity about what was normal for his kind. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust me, but more I needed to be patient with him for a little longer. I turned my head and kissed his temple.

“I’ll do a little better by you this afternoon, babe. I promise.”

“Now you’re trying to bribe me, are you not? Very well, Fallon. The more pleasure receptors I align for sexual enjoyment, the more intense the experience.”

I had asked, so I confirmed one of my suspicions. “So sometimes you ‘align’ a lot of them, like this morning?”

“Yes. And sometimes, I wish for something different. This afternoon may be one of those times.” His green eyes gleamed warmly above his smile. “You’ll need to spend a lot of time touching me to find them all.”

“Not a problem, babe. Is coffee a problem? I mean, since I’m awake now and all that. And I did stimulate your pleasure receptors for you.”

Without a word, Sundown rolled from the bed and padded off to the bathroom, his footsteps silent on the carpet. The skin he wore for me was quite attractive. Tall and slender, he moved with a controlled grace, each step measured, no effort wasted. His shiny dark hair, green eyes, and full, berry-colored lips were perfect—too perfect if someone looked closely at my shapeshifter lover. I closed my eyes and listened to him move around the apartment, finally reopening them to admire his form as he returned carrying two cups of coffee.

I accepted both mugs until he rejoined me under the sheet, then handed one back to him. I loved these lazy mornings when we the most strenuous thing we had to do was nothing at all. Sundown rubbed his thigh against mine.

“Tell me more about this girl whose killer you seek.”

If I didn’t tell him, he’d chatter at me until I did. It was better to give him the short version and get it over with, even though I knew it would upset his tender heart.

“Maria DeLong’s parents reported her missing ten years ago. She turned up dead four years ago. Someone beat her to death and tossed her body out along Route 17. They carved the letter W into her cheek.”

Sundown grew still and silent. Not for the first time I wondered if his kind had racial memory and could remember those things done to their brethren in the Chal ancient past he refused to discuss with me. His people had been enslaved when they arrived on this world, and that’s all the Chal history I’d gotten out of him.

He drew in a quick, short breath and then blew it out.

“The Chal can help. We are able to go into places where you can not.”

For once, his people would be on my side. “The Elders will sanction that? Right. Tell me another story.”

“I was with the Elders yesterday, apologizing for my actions regarding Sergeant Mack. I have promised them—again—that I will cease to play Sasquatch tricks on him.”

“But did you promise not to play any tricks on him, period, or just the Bigfoot ones?”

He blinked at me, dismay written all over his face. Uh-huh. I had him now. “Chupacabra, perhaps?”

His mouth dropped open. His eyes widened. “That is not me! I’ve never been to Texas!”

Beneath Dark Stars

Gay romance with a paranormal shift available at:

Amazon

www.amazon.com/Beneath-Dark-Stars-Sundown-Saga-ebook/dp/B01F5NGX02

iTunes

itunes.apple.com/us/book/beneath-dark-stars/id1098576315?mt=11

Barnes and Noble/Nook

www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beneath-dark-stars-kc-kendricks/1109557461?ean=2940153237589

Kobo

www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/beneath-dark-stars-1

KC Kendricks

website at: http://www.kckendricks.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/kckendricks

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