|
Catch up with the bros from Alpha Tau with this anthology of the bonus short stories.
It contains Bro Jobs, Romancing Dalton Beauregard, Make Up Sex, Pinch Hitter, and the previously unpublished Reunion. The Amazing Alpha Tau Reunion Project is a collection of lighthearted contemporary m/m romances containing a group of former frat boys navigating adult life, a wedding, and at least a couple of surprises. Or something. |
An excerpt from Reunion:
Dalton
I slicked my fingers through my hair, smoothing the last strands into place, and checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tugging at the ends of my bowtie so it sat perfectly. Every hair was in place, my face was smooth and clean-shaven, and I looked good.
I smoothed down the front of my tux and adjusted my cuffs.
I was so ready for this.
There was a whine at the bathroom door and the scrabbling of claws. I waited for Marty to come barreling into the bedroom to fetch Squirrel like he usually did, but all I heard was another whine, more urgent this time.
“I’m coming buddy,” I said, swinging the door open. Squirrel eased himself to his feet and led the way slowly downstairs, and I let him out into the yard. While he was outside I filled his water bowl and checked my watch. We had to leave soon. I went back inside.
“Marty?” I called.
Silence.
While not knowing what Marty was doing wasn’t as much of a worry as it would have been during our college days, it was unusual—especially today of all days. At least a little bit of sound and motion still tended to follow Marty wherever he went. It was part of the Marty O’Brien experience, and I loved him for it.
“Babe?” I called again.
I knew he was dressed—the hanger for his tux was empty, and I’d had to listen to him grumble about wearing shoes on a Saturday—but now he’d vanished into thin air.
I checked my watch again. The sitter was due to arrive any minute, and if we didn’t hurry we’d be late. I let Squirrel back inside and said, “Where’s Marty, huh? Can you find him?”
Squirrel gazed at me with soulful eyes and then wandered over to his basket and sank down with a sigh.
So no help there, then.
It wasn’t like I was surprised; he was an old dog. His days of running wild with Marty were well and truly behind him. These days he preferred to be petted gently and fed snacks on the couch. And who could blame him?
Dalton
I slicked my fingers through my hair, smoothing the last strands into place, and checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tugging at the ends of my bowtie so it sat perfectly. Every hair was in place, my face was smooth and clean-shaven, and I looked good.
I smoothed down the front of my tux and adjusted my cuffs.
I was so ready for this.
There was a whine at the bathroom door and the scrabbling of claws. I waited for Marty to come barreling into the bedroom to fetch Squirrel like he usually did, but all I heard was another whine, more urgent this time.
“I’m coming buddy,” I said, swinging the door open. Squirrel eased himself to his feet and led the way slowly downstairs, and I let him out into the yard. While he was outside I filled his water bowl and checked my watch. We had to leave soon. I went back inside.
“Marty?” I called.
Silence.
While not knowing what Marty was doing wasn’t as much of a worry as it would have been during our college days, it was unusual—especially today of all days. At least a little bit of sound and motion still tended to follow Marty wherever he went. It was part of the Marty O’Brien experience, and I loved him for it.
“Babe?” I called again.
I knew he was dressed—the hanger for his tux was empty, and I’d had to listen to him grumble about wearing shoes on a Saturday—but now he’d vanished into thin air.
I checked my watch again. The sitter was due to arrive any minute, and if we didn’t hurry we’d be late. I let Squirrel back inside and said, “Where’s Marty, huh? Can you find him?”
Squirrel gazed at me with soulful eyes and then wandered over to his basket and sank down with a sigh.
So no help there, then.
It wasn’t like I was surprised; he was an old dog. His days of running wild with Marty were well and truly behind him. These days he preferred to be petted gently and fed snacks on the couch. And who could blame him?