Installment dates and a second, **NSFW** peek at The 13th Month

I've got to work again and haven't had a day off since Thursday...and am not off again until this Thursday. However! I should be able to write a couple of installments because of the change in hours that I do work. I'm thinking Thursday and Friday *had to change, am still working on tThe 13th Month* for installments. If that changes, I'll let y'all know! 

<3 

Calendar Men 13
The 13th Month
Copyright 2018
Bailey Bradford

Ezra’s skin was warm, the heat from it slipping through his shirt. Marco turned his head enough to press his lips against Ezra’s chest, hoping Ezra wouldn’t notice what he was doing.

But Ezra’s breath hitched, and he pulled Marco closer. “Marco?” Ezra’s raspy voice caused a reaction Marco hadn’t experienced since before Evan had tried to kill him. Desire coursed through him, and though his dick didn’t get hard, there was the definite promise of an erection there if he kept touching Ezra. 

“I can’t remember,” he found himself muttering, “when the last time I had sex was. I didn’t like fucking Evan, and she didn’t enjoy it, either.”

Ezra tucked a finger under Marco’s chin and tugged. 

Marco, knowing he was blushing because his face and neck were too hot, forced himself to look at Ezra. 

“You didn’t go elsewhere for sex?”’ Ezra asked, a tension in his face Marco didn’t know how to read.

Marco would have shaken his head if he’d been able to, but there wasn’t room. “I’ve never been the cheater, no matter what anyone has said. I know how bad that hurts, thanks to Winnie. But I have pushed women away, made them cheat if they were looking for affection. I know that now, and it—damn it, Ezra, I’ve fucked up my whole life. I—”

His pulse doubled in speed as Ezra closed the distance between their lips, kissing Marco’s words away, sliding his tongue into Marco’s mouth with a tentative caress that melted Marco inside. 

The sob surprised him. Marco didn’t know where it came from, why the wave of pain rolled through him and spilled out in that sound. He tried to cling to Ezra, but lying on his left side, only his right hand was free, and it didn’t cooperate with his brain’s command to grab Ezra’s arm. 

Marco didn’t want the kiss to end because he’d almost cried like a baby. 

Ezra didn’t pull back. Either he knew Marco well enough to intuit what he needed, or he didn’t recognize the sound for what it was. 

Marco chose to believe it was the former. 

Ezra slipped one hand down to Marco’s hip, bringing their groins together. There was not frenzied groping, just the press of their bodies, Ezra’s moving his hand to Marco’s lower back, and Marco, needy, hungry for affection, opening for more of Ezra’s kisses. 

“This is why,” Ezra said in between those kisses, “this is why.”

Marco didn’t know what he meant, couldn’t think when all of his thoughts were a blend of chaotic joy.

Peek at The 13th Month

So, I'm still working on it, and it's not been edited, of course, but here's a peek at the first chapter of The 13th Month, which will be the last book in the Calendar Men series:

The 13th Month
Calendar Men 13
Copyright 2018
Bailey Bradford

The 13th Month

Calendar Men 13

Bailey Bradford

Chapter One

Quantum, Inc., was bustling, the employees excited about all the new contracts and projects in various stages of development. As the owner of the company, Ezra Harrington should have been just as excited, should have been celebrating along with his employees, enjoying the catered lunch he’d had brought in. 

Instead, he was sitting at his desk, wondering how long he needed to stay before he could leave without causing too much of a fuss. He was the boss, after all, and he used to stay at Quantum, Inc., more often than he did anywhere else. His company had been his home, but all that had changed when his friend, Marco Chacon, had almost died. 

“Ezra?” 

Ezra blinked, coming back to himself. He’d been staring out the wall of windows behind his desk, though he hadn’t seen anything. His mind had been elsewhere, and so had his sight. Turning around, he plastered on a smile he hoped looked sincere. When he saw Albert Washington standing in the doorway, Ezra didn’t have to fake happiness. Albert was one of his favorite employees. “Albert, come in and have a seat.”

Albert entered the office. His suspenders were a pale lavender, and he wore a matching bowtie. The baby blue color of his shirt went well with both. “Maggie said you wanted to see me?” 

Ezra waited until Albert sat in the chair closest to the desk before replying. “Yes. As you know, the motherboard you designed has put Quantum, Inc., at the top of the field. We have more contracts than we can handle, though HR is handling that issue, and financially, Quantum, Inc., is projected to be one of the most profitable companies in the United States next year. A lot of that is due to your contribution, so I wanted to offer you a promotion to development manager, and you’re getting a nice raise whether or not you want to accept the promotion. Merry Christmas.”

Albert’s eyes were wide behind the lenses of his glasses. “A p-promotion? Anda raise?”

“Yes,” Ezra said, feeling something that made him light up inside. It took him a moment to realize it was happiness. It had been a long time since he had experienced that particular emotion without some trepidation attached to it. “Yes, indeed. Thanks to you, this company is one of the most sought-after techs around. A ten percent raise is in order, and not unfair. You’ll also earn two percent of net sales on the motherboard you designed. If you accept the management position, there will be additional perks, including financial. I want you to take some time to think about the offer, though. You’ve got a week off with Gregg. If you can give me an answer after that?”

Albert bobbed his head. “Yes, yes I can do that. It’d be more hours?”

Ezra winced. “Well, yes, but you’d have more paid vacation days. I would do my best to balance that out for you.”

“Okay, I’ll talk it over with Gregg and get back with you the first week of January. Thank you, Ezra, for everything.” Albert cleared his throat then tugged at his bowtie. “Um, how is Marco? I heard he had pneumonia again—but that came from someone in the office, and I wanted to ask you myself. You know how gossip goes.”

“Often wrong.” Ezra leaned back in his chair. “Not this time, however. Marco was in the hospital for a week. He came home two days ago and is still weak. It wasn’t pneumonia this time, but some bacterial infection that the doctors feared would lead to sepsis. Luckily, he’s going to be fine.” I hope. Gods, please let him finally get to recover.It had been one health crisis after another for Marco for almost a year. 

“Good, good. You know, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I didn’t want to call Perry and ask about the rumor I’d heard, didn’t want to upset her, especially while she’s on that fashion shoot in Versailles.” Albert smiled. “She’s got contract offers coming in daily now that the charity calendar has been such a hit. Some of the guys have been contact by talent agencies, too. The calendar itself has raised so much money for the children’s cancer fund, there are already plans to do another one. Well. Anyway. Thank you, Ezra.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you decide to do whatever is best for you, and if that happens to be what’s best for Quantum, Inc., that’d be great, but if not, we’ll be all right.” Ezra stood and walked out from behind his desk as Albert got up. “Thanks for asking about Marco and not just running wild with a rumor. He’s had a traumatic year, what with Evan trying to murder him twice, then all the health complications from the burns. I hate that he’s the subject of gossip.”

“Any time I can be of help, let me know.” Albert shook his hand, then left the office. 

Ezra waited until Daria got up and stood at a makeshift podium to start announcing the winners of the raffle drawings. The company holiday party was always a fun one to attend, but Ezra just couldn’t hang around this year. He slipped away without anyone noticing and drove home a little faster than he should have. This wasn’t the first time he’d been away from Marco—it wasn’t like he could stay by the man’s side twenty-four-seven—but the latest health scare had terrified Ezra. He felt like he’d been living on the edge of a deadly precipice for almost a year, and he was worn down in a way he couldn’t describe. 

Except that there was no security or certainty anymore. He used to think he knew how his life would go—very successful businessman, good boss, good person, adventures few people got to take, and eventually, a love that would last through thick and thin—but now he knew nothing was set in stone. 

Ezra focused on driving. One car in the lane next to him swerved in his direction. Ezra hit the brakes and was almost rear-ended. The driver behind him honked a rapid staccato proclamation of ire. He waved a hand over his shoulder and moved over to the far-left lane as soon as he could manage to do so, all while keeping a wary eye on the car that had almost hit him. 

When he reached his home, the guard at the gate nodded but didn’t let him in. Ezra was grateful for that. He rolled down his window and greeted the guard. “James, how is it going tonight?”

“Just fine, Mr. Harrington. Danu is with Mr. Chacon, and the house staff are all in, as they should be. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

While Janes was speaking, he leaned closer and peered past Ezra. 

One of the reasons Ezra had chosen the security company he used was because of how thorough they were when it came to doing the job. Not one guard let him come onto his property without making sure someone else wasn’t in the car with him. 

“All by yourself, Mr. Harrington?” James asked, eyes sharp as he looked at Ezra. 

“That I am,” Ezra replied, the agreed-upon answer that let his guards know he was alone, and that there wasn’t someone hiding somewhere—like in the trunk, he supposed. 

“Have a good evening.” James pressed the small control in his hand, and the tall silver and copper gate began to open. 

“You too, James.” Ezra 

That gate was one of Ezra’s prized possessions. He’d had it made by an artist he’d met in the Pearl district. It was an impermeable gate, solid and very heavy, not made from thin metal bars. The design on the front and back were the same, a scenic display of the sun and its coppery rays caressing a mountainous landscape. Off to one side was the dark form of a cat stalking unseen prey. 

The gate was priceless, and maybe someone else would have put it on display as art, but Ezra had bought it to use. He enjoyed the combination of beauty and functionality.

The driveway wound a half-mile down to his home. Rather than live in the most well-known and wealthy community in the San Antonio area, Ezra had opted to buy several acres north of the city and have his dream house built. He hadn’t wanted to deal with homeowner’s associations or anything else. 

The two-story house had five bedrooms and seven bathrooms—he’d wanted two not attached to bedrooms. The basketball and tennis courts were to the left and right of the house, respectively, and the large pool behind it, as was the jacuzzi and sauna. A small golf course was set beyond those, and he had a stable, corral, and horses not far from there. 

There were no trees or shrubs lining the driveway—security had recommended the removal of those and Ezra had complied without hesitation. Marco’s safety was more important to him than landscaping. There were a few oak trees elsewhere on the property but nothing more than those and grass. 

The garage door began to roll up as he approached it. Ezra parked his car and shut it off, unfastening his seatbelt before he cut the engine. He got out and made sure the garage was secured, then he stopped by the side door. It only took a second for the security device to scan his iris, then Evan was finally inside and headed to find Marco. 

Ezra paid little notice to the inside of the house itself except to note it was clean. The white carpet and furniture were pristine and kept from being dull by the splashes of color added here and there. 

But Ezra was looking for Marco, and he wasn’t on the couch or recliner; the TV that took up half the viewing room wall was off, and Marco wasn’t in there, either. 

No wonder. He just got out of the hospital again. Ezra hurried toward Marco’s room, which was downstairs and beside Ezra’s temporary bedroom. Although he’d been sleeping there for almost a year now, so it didn’t seem temporary anymore. But, he’d wanted to be close to Marco, and a flight of stairs up to the bedrooms hadn’t been something Marco could handle.

Before Ezra rounded the corner leading to the hall and the bedrooms, Danu, the night nurse, came around it. 

“Mr. Harrington, you’re back early.” Danu stopped and frowned. “I thought you said you’d be gone for six hours or so?”

“I was wrong in my assessment of the time I’d need to get things done.” Ezra started to fold his arms over his chest, then stopped himself. He had no reason to be defensive. 

Danu sighed and leaned against the wall. “Mr. Harrington, I won’t let anything happen to Marco. It’s important that you take care of yourself, too, not just your friend. Time away from the situation—”

“No.” Ezra bit back a scathing reply that would have had him asking where Danu got his psych degree. Being snobby and bitchy were two things Ezra tried hard not to do. “If it stresses me more to be away than to be here, that should tell you something.”

Danu nodded. “Yes, sir, it does, but I don’t think you’ll listen to what I have to say.” He stood straight. “Mr. Chacon is sleeping. He’s had his breathing treatment and antibiotics. Managed to eat a decent amount of dinner. We were discussing his recovery, or rather, I was talking about the recovery plan his doctors have outlined for him, and he said that he won’t agree to any more surgery. I didn’t press the matter right now.”

“Of course. I’m going to check on him.” Ezra moved past Danu and strode to Marco’s door. The surgeries Marco had refused weren’t all cosmetic. If he wanted to regain more mobility in his right hand—which was his dominant one—and arm, he’d need to have more skin grafts done. 

But Danu was right. Now wasn’t the time to argue with Marco. 

Ezra opened the door, not bothering to knock. He didn’t want to wake Marco up. The room was dark, as Marco preferred it. He didn’t like any light creeping in when he slept. 

Ezra was glad he had his cat’s ability to see in the dark, even when he wasn’t shifted. 

Marco was propped up until he was almost sitting, a position which the doctor had suggested since Marco was coughing a lot as his lungs cleared out.  Ezra had slept very little the night before, listening to every round of hacking that tore through Marco, wondering if he should go check on him even though Danu had been there. Marco hated it when Ezra hovered, though, so he’d stayed in his own room. 

But now he looked at Marco, at his profile, which Ezra had always thought of as regal with Marco’s high forehead, his deep-set eyes, long, down-tipped nose, full lips and strong chin. Throughout the thirty years they’d been friends, Marco had always been such a bright, loud person, one who radiated energy and determination even when not speaking. 

Until Evan had tried to kill him. It was a higher level of betrayal than Marco had come to expect from his wives, and he’d been married close to a half-dozen times, from what Ezra could remember.

Evan had almost extinguished the spark that was Marco, almost ended his life and snuffed out the vital, talented man. 

Marco tried to claim that man was gone, but Ezra didn’t believe it. If Marco wouldn’t fight for himself, then Ezra would. 

Giving up on Marco was something he refused to do. Come hell or high water, he’d help Marco shine again. 

Wednesday Warbling Peek at Mr. October!

Because... alliteration.

Today, once I finish chores like hitting up the grocery store (bleh), I'll get back to writing on Mr. November. I've only just started it, but I'll get it done quickly. Also, I'm writing it in Scrivener because fuck Word eating my words. 

 Anyway, that peek at Mr. October!

Meet Kaito. He's a pediatric oncologist. 

Obvs Jerome, his love interest, isn't on the cover, but I imagine him to look something like this:

Blurb:

Book ten in the Calendar Men series

It’s not just the ghosties and the ghouls you’ve got to watch out for on Halloween!

Jerome is an artist—in his opinion, anyway. Not everyone would agree that what he does is art, but he’d beg to differ. He has a niche following and his business picks up around Halloween. When a handsome stranger walks into his gallery, the attraction that crackles to life between them is instantaneous, and scarier than anything Jerome has ever created. 

He’s quirky and possibly downright weird, but for some reason, the sexy doctor seems to be into him. Jerome isn’t sure he can trust the feelings developing between them and when someone decides Jerome’s studio needs to go, Jerome fears he’ll never have the chance to see what kind of life he could have had with Kaito.

Kaito Yoshida is a successful pediatric oncologist and a complicated man. As serious as any doctor in his position while working, he’s missed out on a lot of things in his personal life. An encounter that’s at first mortifying leads to Kaito daring to take a step he’s never bothered to take before. 

He doesn’t expect to fall for Jerome Johnson, or for Jerome to fall for him. 

And neither of them expected the obstacles they encounter on their way to love.

Excerpt:

Copyright 2018

Bailey Bradford

Chapter One

Jerome Johnson grunted as he put the finishing touches on the steer’s skull he had decorated. Since Halloween was approaching, he’d used shades of orange, yellow, and red, along with black, of course, to paint the scene of goblins and other scary monsters dancing along the flat of the skull. He’d debated adding some ghosts, but those were all over the place in October art work. He liked his monsters better. Some were from his imagination, and others from semi-popular lore. Jerome avoided doing what was popular or expected as often as he could, although there were times he had commissions for such things that he couldn’t turn down. Artistic integrity didn’t always buy groceries, and whether he liked the monsters he had to create or not, he always put his full effort into making them. As his dad always said, ‘don’t come half-stepping. If you are going to do something, do it right and full-steam ahead.’ His dad was a Marine—no retiredallowed to be added to preface that grand title—and a wise man.

“Hey, boss, that is awesome!” 

Jerome glanced up as his assistant and apprentice bounded into the room Jerome used as his studio. It was not quite in the back of the gallery, because the moonlight there wasn’t great thanks to the big building behind them that often blocked the silvery rays he found inspiring. 

“What’s that?” Edge pointed to a creature gnawing on its intestines. 

“No idea, but it seems sufficiently gross, so I had to paint it.” The figure was humanoid, with two expressive heads. One was eating and the other was screaming in agony. 

Edge bent closer. “That’d make an awesome tattoo. Oh, wow, you’ve got a whole bunch of almost-microscopic monsters on this bad boy!” 

They weren’t that small, but someone without a discerning eye might mistake the chupacabras smoking a bowl of weed to be nothing more than swirls of color denoting rocks or shrubbery. He’d kept their outlines vague to anyone who didn’t really pay attention. 

“This is—”

“Awesome?” Jerome interrupted, raising both eyebrows at his apprentice. 

Edge blushed. “Sorry. I’m trying, but it slips out all the time.”

“There are so many other words to choose from,” Jerome teased. “Live a little. Be—”

Edge groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. “Please, no.”

“Edgy,” Jerome finished. 

Edge lowered his hands and stuck his tongue out at Jerome. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Go read the thesaurus, or work on the window display.” Jerome made a shooing motion with his hands. “You could also start on that new sculpture you sketched out. Get.”

“I’m not ready to tackle the sculpting yet. I have to get over my fear of failure first.” Edge sighed as if he had the worstjob everas he left the studio. 

Jerome knew it was an act, except for the part about fear of failure. The first ‘real’ art piece, as Edge described it, was intimidating. Jerome remembered how he’d felt when he’d decided to give his art a chance and try to make a living with it. He’d been terrified. 

But he’d moved past the fear, used it to his advantage and made a horrifying painting of a man being ripped apart by bloody, not always human hands. His rendering of The Power of Fear had been spotted by a wealthy art collector and Jerome had been eking out a living ever since. 

He’d seen the same potential to create in Edge—which wasn’t his real name. Edge had begged to be taken on as his apprentice for months after the first time he’d entered Jerome’s s gallery. Edge had showed him sketches and Jerome had been impressed, but hesitant to take on an employee. The second time Edge had shown up with a split lip and a defeated countenance, Jerome had hired him. He didn’t know much about Edge’s home life, but he suspected bad things had happened to him before he’d moved out shortly after Jerome had signed his second paycheck. 

Jerome only knew that fact because Edge had asked him if he had any ideas where Edge could get cheap furniture for his ‘crappy’ apartment. 

Jerome shook off his lazy thoughts. He was content sitting there doing nothing for the moment. His cat was clawing for dominance today and he’d have liked to shift and curl up on the desk so he could take a long nap. 

Unfortunately for him, he had a deadline to meet. The steer skull he’d done had been for fun. And maybe because he’d procrastinated tackling the commissioned painting he needed to do. He’d been in the mood to work on anything but canvas the past few weeks. 

“Oh, well.” He could get over himself and start on the zombie bride and groom portrait. The couple who’d commissioned the piece had married on a Halloween night in the past, and this coming one would be their ten-year anniversary. He should be more excited, having been given creative license with their portrait. It was just that he was a teeny bit envious of their relationship. He kept finding Mr. Wrong every time he dated.

“Maybe if I picked better.” 

“Boss? Are you talking to yourself again?” Edge called out from the other room. 

Jerome snorted. “Only way I’ll have an intelligent convo.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Edge retorted. “More like you’re the only one who wants to talk to you.” 

Before Jerome could think of an answer, the doorbell chimed, and Edge greeted whatever customer had entered the place. Most people came in to look, not shop. More than once, Jerome’s gallery had been referred to as ‘macabre’, ‘depressing’ and more often, ‘weird’. He didn’t care. At least he wasn’t the one coming in to gawk at something while tossing about an air of superiority. 

Okay, maybe it irks me a little. Sighing, he got up from his favorite stool and stretched, arching his back, purring as it popped in a few places. He twisted to the left, then the right, working out some of the stiffness that came with sitting and hunching over a piece for too long. 

The finished skull caught his attention again. There was a little more blood and gore in the details than usual, particularly in the last images he’d added. He might have been angrier than he’d realized over the phone call from his ex a couple of nights ago. 

Jerome rubbed the back of his neck and rotated his head from side to side. If Trent, his oldest brother, found out about Luke calling him, there’d be all kinds of lectures and advice to listen to, even though Luke hadn’t been trying to get back together with him.

He’d just have to be careful not to let it slip, which would be difficult. Jerome tended to blurt out things he was trying to keep secret. He couldn’t lie worth shit, and no one in the family asked him to cover for them under any circumstances. He never told on purpose. He just got nervous and something in his brain would short-circuit, then boom! There went the secret. 

Shrugging off his musings, Jerome left his little studio and entered the main part of the building. The gallery wasn’t huge, and it wasn’t traditional. He couldn’t have handled working in a boring place that looked like every other gallery in the area. 

Edge was talking to a couple—or at least, Jerome assumed they were a couple. The men were standing very close to each other, with the taller guy having a proprietary hand on the shorter dude’s lower back. 

As he watched, the more petite of the two potential customers stomped one foot. Then he started cussing. “I don’t fucking careif you like it, that skull-thing is atrocious! This whole gallery is a joke!”

Oh, really?Jerome took a few more steps into the gallery. 

Edge narrowed his eyes and looked like he was ready to throw a punch. Jerome had never seen him get violent and didn’t want to start now. 

“Excuse me,” Jerome said, pitching his voice loud enough to make it clear he’d heard the comment and was irked. “If my art isn’t to your taste, you ought to—” His breath hissed out of him when the taller of the two men turned his way. The shorter guy might have pivoted, as well, but Jerome didn’t care. His attention was held by the sharp cheekbones and almost-black eyes of the taller of the duo. Thick black hair was brushed back in a perfectly coifed style, and his lips…Damn. His lips are a work of art in themselves. Not too full, not too wide, but so well-defined, and I want to taste them. 

“You call this art?” snapped the angry shorter guy. “This stuff is gross. Any horror geek could make this crap.”

That comment dragged Jerome’s attention to the obnoxious twerp. “Really? I’m pretty sure no one dragged your ass in here. Don’t let the door smack it on the way out.”

“What? You—” Another foot stomp. “Kaito, I’m not putting up with this shit. Are you just going to let that…that…that—” He gestured at Jerome. “Scumbag be rude to me?”

“Kaito.” Jerome couldn’t keep himself from saying that name. 

“Yes! His name is Kaito Yoshida and he’s a doctorand he’s mine! Tell him, Kaito!” The anger coming off the snarly dude was almost palpable. “And my name is Taylor Erickson Donahue the Third, not that I’d expect someone like youto know who I am.”

“Oh, my god,” Edge muttered before snickering. “Seriously.”

Kaito was blushing all the way from his forehead to the part of his chest Jerome could see courtesy of the white V-neck shirt Kaito had on. “Taylor, can you just not throw a fit?”

Whoa. Even I know that isn’t the thing to say to the little troll.

And sure enough, Taylor Erickson Donahue the Third went apoplectic, shrieking about Kaito not knowing how to be loyal, and flinging his arms and hands out in violent bursts as he did so. 

Jerome didn’t know if TED the Third was prone to actual physical violence, but it was clear the dude was a verbally abusive, entitled jerk. 

“Hey, hey,” Jerome said as he approached, holding his own hands up in out in a ‘stop’ gesture. “That’s enough.”

“That’s enough?” TED the Third can get loud!“Who are you—?”

“I’m the owner of this business,” Jerome cut in, fed up with the tantrum. “And you gotta be at least thirty—”

TED the Third made a choking sound and his face turned purple with, Jerome guessed, rage. 

“I mean, if you aren’t that old yet, well, all this screaming and anger wrinkles your face and ages you like nothing else.” Jerome squinted at him. “And if you’re over the age of six and throwing fits, you probably need a good therapist and a dose of reality. You can’t act like an asshole in someone else’s place of business. It’ll get you arrested, especially if the business owner doesn’t give two shits who you are.”

“The business owner would be him, in case you’re too dense to get it,” Edge added, pointing to Jerome. “And he will totally call the cops on you. Maybe even sue you.”

TED the Third stomped his foot for a third time. Jerome turned his attention to Kaito. What does he see in such an immature turd? 

Jerome gave himself a silent lecture about judging someone by their looks. Just because Kaito was handsome as sin didn’t mean he was a good person. 

Kaito pressed those perfect lips of his together and blushed darker. “Sorry. I—sorry.” He took hold of one of TED the Third’s elbows. “Come on. If you get in trouble again, your father will cut your allowance off.”

TED the Third went from purple to white in a heartbeat. “He didn’t mean that.” 

Kaito began leading him to the door. “I think he did. He was very unhappy about the settlement he had to—”

“Fine.” TED the Third glared at Jerome. “I still think your stuff is trash—and stop ogling my boyfriend! He’s mine.” He turned his nose up and clung to Kaito. 

Jerome shook his head. There was no accounting for taste. The only reason he could figure Kaito was with TED the Third was for money, and that said enough about the kind of person Kaito was for Jerome. Not a good one. Maybe he shouldn’t make such a judgment, but TED the Third was unpleasant. He threw fits, talked down to people and stomped his foot like a child. There was nothing compelling about him, other than his funds, as far as Jerome could tell. 

“What a jackass,” Edge said once the duo had left. “I’ve seen snotty rich people before, but he has to be the worst. Ain’t no amount of money that’d make me put up with someone like him. I’d rather be poor and have some damn manners and empathy. I thought he was cuter than the tall doctor when they first came in, but then he opened his mouth. Gross.” 

Jerome couldn’t disagree. He felt a strange sense of disappointment that Kaito hadn’t dumped TED the Third, which was ridiculous, and he should know better than to apply his own standards to other people. Never would he have dated, much less had a relationship, with someone who acted like a rich, entitled brat. 

Then again, he had been single for too long. It might be time to re-examine his own standards for potential boyfriends.

Sneak Peek at Mr. April!

Hey all! Just popping in to give a sneak peek at Mr. April! Tomorrow I'm meeting up with Judi for a writing session, and I'll come up with blurbs/storylines to post later on Tuesday. :D So y'all get ready to vote!

Anyway! Here's an unedited excerpt from Mr. April-- it's a little less humorous but there are, of course, goofy moments in it.

Calendar Men 4: Mr. April

Copyright 2018
Bailey Bradford

Baz Bennett spotted the tall, brooding man the moment he walked into Busca’s. While not what one would consider classically handsome, he was attractive in all the ways that flipped the fun switches for Baz. Broad-shouldered, gorgeous brown hair that was long enough to be pulled back into a short ponytail, a neatly trimmed beard, and features that were rugged and masculine—wideset eyes, thick eyebrows, a long nose that tipped down just the slightest, and a mouth Baz wanted to lick.

Well, he wanted to lick all the man’s parts, but that’d get him fired since he was working and drooling over a customer was frowned upon.

But Baz could work the odds in his favor for getting a date with the stud.

He leaned over to Nessa, who was the hostess. “Hey, Nessa. I’ll give you twenty bucks if you set that tall stud muffin at one of my tables.”

Nessa was old enough to be Baz’s mom, and she acted like that’s what she was. She flicked an annoyed glance at him even though her lips twitched as she fought back a smile. “You know we’re not supposed to do that.”

Baz gave her the best puppy-eyes he could manage. He’d worked on that expression for many a day in front of a mirror. “Please? He looks lonely, and I’m lonely. You wouldn’t want me to die all—”

“Oh geez, cut it out. You’ve got a customer at table seven staring at you and holding an empty glass.”

“Oops.” Baz darted one more glance at the handsome man before darting over to table seven. His smile was genuine as he took the proffered glass. “Sorry about that. Would you like the same thing, sweet tea? And maybe a slice of pie for dessert? On the house since I wasn’t as quick as I should have been.” He’d pay for the pie out of his tips and without regrets.

“Yes, and pie would be great. Pecan, please.”

Baz assured the customer he’d be right back, and when he returned with the tea and pie, his heart did a little happy dance when he saw that Nessa had done him a solid after all.

“You’re the best,” he mouthed to her as she winked at him.

Baz straightened his black apron and hoped his hair was still gelled to perfection. Five hours on his feet could, however odd it seemed, mess it up. He was glad Nessa had set Mr. Stud at the last table in Baz’s area, which meant there was an empty table on either side of the customer. Baz tried for a sultry smile as he sauntered over.

And damn, up close, Mr. Stud was even hotter.

“Welcome to Busca’s. My name is Baz, and you are?” Not his usual server line, but hey, a guy could flirt a little.

“Uh.” Mr. Stud blinked at him a couple of times then set down the menu Nessa had given him. “Um. Will. Is that—is exchanging names a thing now?”

Baz moved closer to the table. “Well, Will, it isn’t the norm, but I am exceptional, and I’d bet you are, too.” He said it with enough cheese to make sure Will knew he was joking, at least about himself.

Will didn’t disappoint. He chuckled and the warm, free sound of that little slice of happiness made Baz’s chest tingle. “You’re something, that’s for sure.”

Baz grinned and winked. “Is that something good, or something bad? Because I can be both. I’m very good at being bad.”

Will laughed and Baz felt like he’d won a grand prize.

“I bet you are.” Will leaned back in his chair and gazed at Baz with the prettiest green eyes he had ever seen. They were bright and rich in color, and Baz could have stared into them all day. “I’ve only been here once before. Tell me what you’d recommend for me tonight.”

Baz repressed a lewd comment that would have been out of line. Besides, it was too soon to be offering himself up on the table. “Well,” Baz drawled, reaching for the menu. He flipped it open. “A big, strong guy like you needs his protein.”

Will almost choked on his own saliva. “Oh yeah?”