The Good Boy is starting to feel a lot like a real book. It's got a blurb and everything:
Introverted college student Lane Moredock is in a bad place. His mother has been arrested for securities fraud, his father is on the run, and everyone, including the SEC, suspects Lane knows where the missing millions are. Lane, with no money and nowhere to live, makes a desperate deal that lands him in trouble and leaves him unwilling to trust a so-called Dom again.
Photographer Derek Fields lost money to the Moredocks, and is as sure as anyone that Lane is guilty despite his claims. A chance meeting with Lane shows him there might be something more to the young man than arrogance and privilege, and Derek wonders if Lane might be just what he’s been looking for: a sub with the potential to be a life partner.
As Lane slowly begins to open up to Derek and explore his needs as a submissive, the investigation closes tighter around him. Lane might be everything that Derek wants, but first Derek needs to trust that Lane is innocent—and Lane needs to trust Derek with the truth.
I was going to write a post about Valentine's Day -- that's just around the corner, right? -- but then I realised I don't actually like Valentine's Day. That might sound like a strange confession from someone who writes romances, but it's true. I've blogged before about my inability to produce happy, glittery kissy love, and you know what? I'm okay with it.
I don't really do hearts and flowers and stuffed animals. Buy me books instead.
I'd much rather get a takeaway and watch a movie than go to a fancy restaurant and be intimidated by waiters who, just by looking at me, know that I'm more used to wine in a box than whatever's on their list. And I'm okay with that as well. Wine in a box is highly underrated, for the record.
Candles and rose petals in the bedroom? That's a massive fire hazard for starters. And while rose petals are pretty and smell nice, I don't imagine they're anywhere near as beautiful the next morning when you're trying to pick them out of the carpet.
Love, to me, isn't a romantic gesture. It's not something you can buy from Hallmark. Love is the ability to look at another person, warts and all, and say to yourself, "You know what? I want to keep doing this with you."
Love is the thing that makes you stick together when you've told him a hundred times to put his fucking socks in the laundry basket, not the floor, and you pick them up anyway. And when he's told you a hundred times how to refill that thing in your car where the water goes for the windscreen wipers, and then does it for you anyway. It's sleeping in when his alarm goes off and copping a goodbye kiss to whatever part of your head that isn't shoved under the pillow. It's leaving sticky notes on the fridge to maintain some sort of human contact when you don't cross paths for days.
It's not gifts and flowers and love songs, and one gesture made on one arbitrary day. And I'm okay with that as well.
So, today I got this email from a delightful new friend called Olga. Here it is:
how are you today? What is your name?
my name is Olga, You frequently are on this site http://www.rusbeauty-g*rls.ru/ ?I today wanted to talk to you in a chatYou have yahoo or hotmail ID? if you write to me, ok?I shall wait from you the letter with impatience
If I'd responded, it would have gone something like this:
I am very well today, thank you for asking. My name is Lisa, which my email address should have given away, but apparently didn't.
Actually, I have never been to that site that promises to be full of Russian beauties. In fact, I'm so suspicious of it that I've removed the link function here on my blog, and thrown in an asterisk. I'm sure your site is full of lovely Russian ladies, but if you knew as much about my web browsing habits as you pretend, you'd know I spend most of my time on gaytube. For research purposes only, I promise...
I would also love to talk to you in a chat, but, judging by your email, I fear the language barrier might be insurmountable.
I do have a hotmail or a yahoo ID as it happens, but, after having my heart broken last year by a Nigerian prince (or possibly the son of a deposed general, I can't remember which) I am reluctant about supplying it without knowing you a little better first.
However, I would like to thank you for accidentally steering me toward a new plot bunny. No, it's not the one where an ignorant fool sends a stranger her bank account details, it's the one with the Russian brides. Except in my universe it would be a Russian groom. Because, you know, I'm an equal opportunist (emphasis on "opportunist") and I wonder, given that same sex marriage is legal is some places now, if you guys aren't overlooking the gay demographic? I suppose what I'm really asking is do you have a brother?
I hope that you do, and I hope he is called Arkady. Because I've always loved that name.
However, I doubt very much that I shall write to you, ok? I hope you will not wait for me the letter with too much impatience.
Счастливого Нового Года! *
*That phrase apparently means "Happy new year". I took Olga's lead and used Google translate, so it might mean anything really.