BOOK BLAST
Book Title: Happy Holidays! The Charlie Barnes Experience, Volume 1
Author: C.R. Barnes
Publisher: Beach Book Press
Release Date: July 11, 2024
Genre: Humor/Satire with M/M romance
Tropes: Fake relationship, Lovers to enemies
Themes: Irreverent Humor, Friendship, Loyalty, Moral Ambiguity, Writer’s Block
Heat Rating: 2 flames (the main characters do have sex a few times but there are no graphic descriptions)
Length: 54 000 words/167 pages
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Buy Links
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Universal Link
Available anywhere books are sold, as well as digital library services.
How I Went from Failed Writer to Drug Mule, and Back, Without Really Trying
Blurb
After a shocking event on Halloween night, Charlie Barnes is back in the news for all the wrong reasons. On the bright side, he meets handsome cop Luke. Luke of the blue eyes, perfect nose, beautiful butt cheeks, and, unbeknownst to Charlie, ulterior motives.
Even bad publicity can be good for book sales, according to Charlie's publisher, who promptly moves up the deadline for his next book. A book he hasn't started due to a crushing case of writer's block. Or perhaps he's just lazy, it’s hard to tell with Charlie.
He's got a month to write his next book, decide if Luke is for real, and figure out what to do about the suitcase full of drugs he abandoned at the airport. The pressure is on and the ride is about to get bumpy.
Excerpt
Lying on a beach, soaking in warm summer sun and cool ocean breezes. It’s heaven, until a wave rolls in and crashes on top of me. Next thing you know, I’m gasping for air and choking on my own bath water. Not dreaming anymore.
Or am I? Is Detective-Too-Good-To-Be-True in my kitchen? Did he draw this bath, light these candles, and leave me in peace long enough for me to drown in my tub? A gentle knock on the door. He must have heard me doing the breaststroke. Before I say come in, he comes in. Not dreaming, not this part.
“You doin’ okay in here?” He asks with such sweetness I feel guilty for thinking it’s too much. But it is. We’ll work on this later.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Seeing how much water I can get on the floor before the tub falls through it.”
“Might not sit well with the neighbor.”
“He’s a bitch. Always complaining about how loud I walk. Fuck him.”
I toss my hands in the air and give him my best ‘who gives damn’ face and end this part of the conversation with “If he wanted quiet, he should have bought the penthouse.”
“Since when is the fifth floor of anything the penthouse?”
Not sweet. This is better.
“If it’s on the top, it’s the penthouse. Prove me wrong.”
“I’d rather feed you.” He hands me a towel. He doesn’t leave. A dare.
I take the dare. I stand up, hang the towel over a hook, and grab my shower handle thing, what is it called? Shower handle, maybe? Whatever it is, I spray myself down, sending water everywhere. He gets wet and starts laughing. As God is my witness, his buttons will be pushed. He can’t take everything in stride.
When I step out of the tub the room spins. He grabs me by the shoulders and guides my butt onto the toilet, which, thankfully is closed and does not have a candle on it.
“Sit still,” he commands.
What? He takes the towel and starts drying me off. I know where this is going, at least for me. I have to stop this. I don’t want to stop this. But I have to. We can’t have sex, there’s lasagna to be eaten. Lasagna is better than sex. But if you’re going to have sex, having it before eating lasagna is better than after.
We are not having sex. Not tonight. And when we do, I won’t talk about and I certainly won’t write about it. I might mention it, I might even brag, but there won’t be any details. This is neither porn nor erotica. Some things have to be private.
“I can handle it from here.”
Disappointment flashes across his face. It didn’t last long, but it was there. Good. He puts a hand on my cheek. His hand is warm, and soft, and big. He kisses me on my damp forehead and says “Then hurry up, I’m hungry.”
Laughing hurts my ribs and makes me stop. Then he laughs at me, which makes me laugh again. It’s a hot mess of pain and happiness and arousal, and all sorts of other things running around inside my body and banging around my brain. Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes. This is the man for me.
“Get out before you kill me.”
He pulls the towel over my head and walks out, still laughing. Quick as I can, I get dry, get dressed, and meet him at the table. There’s a salad, the aforementioned lasagna, a bottle of wine, flowers, and candles. He must have gone shopping because none of this stuff came from my pantry. I’m not even sure I have a pantry. He pours the wine, lifts his glass, waits for me to lift mine and says, “Welcome home Charlie.”
I pull my glass back “You said that already. Come up with something new.”
“Geez, Charlie,” he pretends to be annoyed. He’s not annoyed. He’s challenged and he likes it.
“Here’s to not dying in a Dorothy costume in the parking lot of a seasonally gay nightclub.”
That’s more like it.
About the Author
C.R. "Charlie" Barnes studied literature and journalism in college and went to work for a global news organization immediately after graduation. During his time there, the team won a pile of awards and Charlie was on his way to a low-paying, high-stress career in a business he didn’t love. He now spends his time writing fiction because the news was never good, and one thing Charlie likes is a good time. Or at least not a bad time.
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