Covert Art by Booksmith Designs
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Marco Chase is the lead singer for Static, one of the world’s most famous and successful rock bands. Marco’s bad boy rock star image isn’t just one he’s cultivated for his fans—it’s Marco all over. Marco’s past is full of one night stands, bad decisions, and blackouts. Marco never saw a cage he didn’t want to rattle—and from the moment he lays eyes on him, he really wants to rattle sweet, innocent Ben Selden’s cage.
Ben Selden comes from a fundamentalist Baptist family. Ben is struggling under the weight of knowing that he’s gay, and a lifetime’s teachings that tell him that his God will condemn him, and his family reject him, if they ever find out. With a future he doesn't want already mapped out for him, Ben’s at a breaking point when he meets Marco. Marco’s teasing, flirting, and obvious interest awakens a hunger in Ben, and he knows this might be his only chance to act on his attraction to a man—if he’s brave enough to risk his future, and his family, to take it. He doesn’t expect Marco to be his savior, but maybe a savior isn’t what Ben needs—maybe he just needs someone to believe in him enough that he’s willing to save himself. Because of Ben is the second book in the Star Crossed series, where regular guys meet famous ones, and sparks fly. |
"Both of these characters wormed their way into my heart... Because of Ben is entertaining and page-turning reading, humour, pathos and sexy-times included."
- On Top Down Under Reviews
An excerpt from Because of Ben:
Marco wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans and wondered where the closest place to buy cigarettes was. He’d ask at the desk when he extended his booking. Then he’d buy a pack and sit his ass down on one of the planters out front and smoke the day away. Because what else was there to do in Dayton?
He googled local tattoo shops. Was it cheating to see another tattoo artist on the side? Probably. When a guy pierced both your nipples, you bonded. Yeah, he’d wait until he was back in LA and see Jimmy again.
Ha! And his parents worried he couldn’t commit.
A bunch of young people in matching blue polo shirts and red lanyards came through the door. His first thought was multi-level marketing. They all looked like they’d drunk the Kool-Aid, or the protein shake that cured cancer or whatever shit they were selling. As they lined up for the buffet, he saw that the shiny laminated cards hanging off their lanyards had crosses on them.
Marco almost recoiled like a vampire out of instinct.
There had to be thirty of them, all young and earnest. His gaze caught on a leggy redhead who looked like she might want to let down that high-pinned ponytail of hers with the right incentive, but then he got a look of the guy standing behind her in the line.
Pretty boys had always been his weakness, and this one was hella pretty. He couldn’t be more than twenty or twenty-one. He had bone structure as fine as a girl’s, and light brown hair cut in a choppy style. He had pale skin, with a smattering of imperfect freckles across the bridge of his nose. Marco was too far away to see his eye color, but he imagined gray or blue. The guy had a full mouth that looked made for lazy kisses if Marco was feeling sweet, or messy blowjobs if he wasn’t. And something about that neatly tucked polo shirt and perfectly straight lanyard made him want to put the guy on his knees and get him good and dirty.
He grabbed his plate and headed for the buffet again. Squeezed right into line beside the guy, because he’d guessed they’d all be too damned polite to call him out on it. He glanced at the guy’s lanyard.
Ben Selden.
Lancaster Bible College.
Tri-State Inter-College Faith Conference.
“Hey,” he said.
Pretty boy Ben lifted his wide-eyed gaze from the tattoos curling out from underneath Marco’s sleeves. “Good morning.”
“You don’t mind me cutting in, do you?”
Ben flushed “Uh, no, you go ahead.”
Marco rolled his shoulders, tightening his shirt across his torso. He didn’t miss the way Ben’s gaze darted to his nipples, and to the barbells pressing against the thin fabric of his shirt. He also didn’t miss the flush climbing Ben’s throat as he figured out what they were.
He reached out for some more bacon and used the tongs to wrestle a few more pieces onto his plate. Then he winked at Ben and stepped out of line again. “Thanks.”
Ben nodded and swallowed as Marco sauntered away.
Marco grinned as someone else in the line whispered, “Do you know who that is?”
Satan himself probably, according to this crowd, but it was nice to know that the Jesus kids had heard of him, even if they probably only bought his albums to burn them. Like Marco gave a fuck. As long as he got his cut of royalties, he didn’t give a shit if people shoved his merchandise up their asses. He’d had always been a pragmatist.
He sat down at his table again and picked at the bacon.
His phone buzzed with his daily reminder to take his Adderall. He couldn’t remember seeing the pills when he’d been digging through his bag earlier, and he hoped he hadn’t left them sitting in the hotel in Chicago along with most of his underwear. He’d only been diagnosed with ADD within the last twelve months, and he was still struggling to remember to take his meds. Just like he was still struggling with how life was supposed to work if you weren’t veering between hyperfixation and total disinterest. The hyperfixation was good while it lasted—he’d written four albums in those almost-manic stages of his life, to the exclusion of everything, and everyone else—but the problem with hyperfixating was that he couldn’t direct it. He’d recently spent months living at his friend Carter’s place while Carter had been in Australia filming, and instead of writing an album he’d spent about sixteen hours a day playing video games. These days, with the Adderall, it was slightly smoother sailing. Marco missed the peaks of his hyperfixations but sure as hell not the troughs.
He deleted the reminder and then scrolled through his phone for something to do. He finally replied to the text Zane had sent him late last night.
Drive safe, man.
He sent back Staying in Dayton a few days. Tell Ellie I said hi.
He liked to tease Zane about how Ellie had domesticated him, but it wasn’t as though Zane had ever been that wild in the first place, and if Marco had a sweet thing like Ellie waiting for him—a sweet thing with a spine of steel, who didn’t tolerate any bullshit—maybe he’d be a happily changed man too. In theory, anyway.
In practice, he knew that what Zane and Ellie had, however much he envied it at times, wouldn’t work for him. Marco was a fuckup who got cold feet at the thought of having his own place. He’d got into the habit of living out of a suitcase when he was sixteen, and hadn’t quite figured out how to stop yet. His framed gold and platinum records were in storage in his manager’s garage because he didn’t have anywhere to hang them. Sometimes he liked to imagine having a house with his own recording studio where he could put that shit, but he worried that if he stopped moving, he’d start sinking.
Meanwhile, Zane and Ellie were happily married with a baby on the way, and Carter had dived headfirst into domestic bliss with his kid’s former nanny. A small, bitter part of Marco wanted to joke that his single friends were dropping like flies, but he knew he was the one with the problem. His friends were growing up and settling down like it was the next step in the natural order of things, and he still didn’t know how to function like an adult. He could barely figure out his own head, let alone anyone else’s. No fucking way was he ready for a relationship.
He set his phone down and watched the Jesus kids. Ben was sitting down now, with a few of the others. The redheaded girl was with him. So was an awkward blond kid in glasses who kept turning his head to look at Marco, then jolting like someone had put a few hundred volts through him every time he discovered him looking back. Marco wondered if he’d summon the courage to approach him. If he did, he hoped he’d make Ben tag along.
In the end, none of the Jesus kids approached. Instead, it was the woman in the business suit who anxiously shuffled up to his table.
“Hi,” she said, a little breathless. “Are you Marco Chase from Static?”
“The one and only. What can I do for you, darlin’?”
He took a selfie with her, and she produced a Sharpie from her briefcase and he signed her phone case as well. Then, giggling like she was at least fifteen years younger, she tugged down her jacket and shirt so that he could sign the curve of her breast.
He couldn’t help smirking at the wide-eyed looks that got him from the Jesus kids. Some of them had even turned around in their seats to gawp at the spectacle. Ben was frozen in place, a glass of orange juice held halfway to his mouth, and wobbling enough to be in danger of spilling.
Marco loved the smell of moral outrage in the morning.
He leaned back in his seat and, very slowly, licked bacon grease off his bottom lip.
He almost laughed out loud when Ben slopped his orange juice all over the table, and really hoped he could see him wink at him through his sunglasses.
Grinning, he stood up, tossed his napkin on the table, and sauntered outside to face the day. Well, to at least buy some damn cigarettes, because what the hell else was there to do in Dayton, Ohio, except maybe chain-smoke and dream up some new songs about pretty boys with Jesus in their hearts and cum on their faces?
Marco wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans and wondered where the closest place to buy cigarettes was. He’d ask at the desk when he extended his booking. Then he’d buy a pack and sit his ass down on one of the planters out front and smoke the day away. Because what else was there to do in Dayton?
He googled local tattoo shops. Was it cheating to see another tattoo artist on the side? Probably. When a guy pierced both your nipples, you bonded. Yeah, he’d wait until he was back in LA and see Jimmy again.
Ha! And his parents worried he couldn’t commit.
A bunch of young people in matching blue polo shirts and red lanyards came through the door. His first thought was multi-level marketing. They all looked like they’d drunk the Kool-Aid, or the protein shake that cured cancer or whatever shit they were selling. As they lined up for the buffet, he saw that the shiny laminated cards hanging off their lanyards had crosses on them.
Marco almost recoiled like a vampire out of instinct.
There had to be thirty of them, all young and earnest. His gaze caught on a leggy redhead who looked like she might want to let down that high-pinned ponytail of hers with the right incentive, but then he got a look of the guy standing behind her in the line.
Pretty boys had always been his weakness, and this one was hella pretty. He couldn’t be more than twenty or twenty-one. He had bone structure as fine as a girl’s, and light brown hair cut in a choppy style. He had pale skin, with a smattering of imperfect freckles across the bridge of his nose. Marco was too far away to see his eye color, but he imagined gray or blue. The guy had a full mouth that looked made for lazy kisses if Marco was feeling sweet, or messy blowjobs if he wasn’t. And something about that neatly tucked polo shirt and perfectly straight lanyard made him want to put the guy on his knees and get him good and dirty.
He grabbed his plate and headed for the buffet again. Squeezed right into line beside the guy, because he’d guessed they’d all be too damned polite to call him out on it. He glanced at the guy’s lanyard.
Ben Selden.
Lancaster Bible College.
Tri-State Inter-College Faith Conference.
“Hey,” he said.
Pretty boy Ben lifted his wide-eyed gaze from the tattoos curling out from underneath Marco’s sleeves. “Good morning.”
“You don’t mind me cutting in, do you?”
Ben flushed “Uh, no, you go ahead.”
Marco rolled his shoulders, tightening his shirt across his torso. He didn’t miss the way Ben’s gaze darted to his nipples, and to the barbells pressing against the thin fabric of his shirt. He also didn’t miss the flush climbing Ben’s throat as he figured out what they were.
He reached out for some more bacon and used the tongs to wrestle a few more pieces onto his plate. Then he winked at Ben and stepped out of line again. “Thanks.”
Ben nodded and swallowed as Marco sauntered away.
Marco grinned as someone else in the line whispered, “Do you know who that is?”
Satan himself probably, according to this crowd, but it was nice to know that the Jesus kids had heard of him, even if they probably only bought his albums to burn them. Like Marco gave a fuck. As long as he got his cut of royalties, he didn’t give a shit if people shoved his merchandise up their asses. He’d had always been a pragmatist.
He sat down at his table again and picked at the bacon.
His phone buzzed with his daily reminder to take his Adderall. He couldn’t remember seeing the pills when he’d been digging through his bag earlier, and he hoped he hadn’t left them sitting in the hotel in Chicago along with most of his underwear. He’d only been diagnosed with ADD within the last twelve months, and he was still struggling to remember to take his meds. Just like he was still struggling with how life was supposed to work if you weren’t veering between hyperfixation and total disinterest. The hyperfixation was good while it lasted—he’d written four albums in those almost-manic stages of his life, to the exclusion of everything, and everyone else—but the problem with hyperfixating was that he couldn’t direct it. He’d recently spent months living at his friend Carter’s place while Carter had been in Australia filming, and instead of writing an album he’d spent about sixteen hours a day playing video games. These days, with the Adderall, it was slightly smoother sailing. Marco missed the peaks of his hyperfixations but sure as hell not the troughs.
He deleted the reminder and then scrolled through his phone for something to do. He finally replied to the text Zane had sent him late last night.
Drive safe, man.
He sent back Staying in Dayton a few days. Tell Ellie I said hi.
He liked to tease Zane about how Ellie had domesticated him, but it wasn’t as though Zane had ever been that wild in the first place, and if Marco had a sweet thing like Ellie waiting for him—a sweet thing with a spine of steel, who didn’t tolerate any bullshit—maybe he’d be a happily changed man too. In theory, anyway.
In practice, he knew that what Zane and Ellie had, however much he envied it at times, wouldn’t work for him. Marco was a fuckup who got cold feet at the thought of having his own place. He’d got into the habit of living out of a suitcase when he was sixteen, and hadn’t quite figured out how to stop yet. His framed gold and platinum records were in storage in his manager’s garage because he didn’t have anywhere to hang them. Sometimes he liked to imagine having a house with his own recording studio where he could put that shit, but he worried that if he stopped moving, he’d start sinking.
Meanwhile, Zane and Ellie were happily married with a baby on the way, and Carter had dived headfirst into domestic bliss with his kid’s former nanny. A small, bitter part of Marco wanted to joke that his single friends were dropping like flies, but he knew he was the one with the problem. His friends were growing up and settling down like it was the next step in the natural order of things, and he still didn’t know how to function like an adult. He could barely figure out his own head, let alone anyone else’s. No fucking way was he ready for a relationship.
He set his phone down and watched the Jesus kids. Ben was sitting down now, with a few of the others. The redheaded girl was with him. So was an awkward blond kid in glasses who kept turning his head to look at Marco, then jolting like someone had put a few hundred volts through him every time he discovered him looking back. Marco wondered if he’d summon the courage to approach him. If he did, he hoped he’d make Ben tag along.
In the end, none of the Jesus kids approached. Instead, it was the woman in the business suit who anxiously shuffled up to his table.
“Hi,” she said, a little breathless. “Are you Marco Chase from Static?”
“The one and only. What can I do for you, darlin’?”
He took a selfie with her, and she produced a Sharpie from her briefcase and he signed her phone case as well. Then, giggling like she was at least fifteen years younger, she tugged down her jacket and shirt so that he could sign the curve of her breast.
He couldn’t help smirking at the wide-eyed looks that got him from the Jesus kids. Some of them had even turned around in their seats to gawp at the spectacle. Ben was frozen in place, a glass of orange juice held halfway to his mouth, and wobbling enough to be in danger of spilling.
Marco loved the smell of moral outrage in the morning.
He leaned back in his seat and, very slowly, licked bacon grease off his bottom lip.
He almost laughed out loud when Ben slopped his orange juice all over the table, and really hoped he could see him wink at him through his sunglasses.
Grinning, he stood up, tossed his napkin on the table, and sauntered outside to face the day. Well, to at least buy some damn cigarettes, because what the hell else was there to do in Dayton, Ohio, except maybe chain-smoke and dream up some new songs about pretty boys with Jesus in their hearts and cum on their faces?