It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt from Royal Lines, Boston Rebels #4, written with RJ Scott.
Do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
I sailed to the Keurig on the slate marble countertop, popped in a pod of dark roast, and went on a search for my phone. Which I eventually found back in my bedroom lying just in front of the cherry wood wardrobe my Aunt Celeste had found for me when I moved into Jackson Locust Condominiums four years ago. Auntie C had a keen eye for antiques and interior design. The woman knew how to turn out a home. Shame she didn’t know how to give birth to kids that weren’t wastes. Rough but true. I stooped down to get my cell muttering to myself about family.
If my cousins weren’t all fools I’d be able to enjoy my summers off. Yeah, we should be hunkering down into the playoffs now but the Rebels had been knocked out in the first round by an insanely good New York team. So now I had all kinds of time to spend at home attending galas, playing on yachts with rich, horny socialites of both sexes, and traveling to warm climes to shop, party, and buy clothes. But no. Because of Huey, Louie, and Dumbass – aka Jarell, Jamie, and Jordan my aunt and Uncle Mike’s half-baked sons – I had to fly over to the Kingdom of Norstoe and supervise a castle refitting.
I’d seen pictures of the old fortress overlooking a fjord. The bitch should be pushed into the cold dark Scandinavian waters asap then have a shiny new tower built in its place. I mean, I appreciated history and all. I lived in a building that was built in 1910. But this place had good bones and lots of amenities like electricity and plumbing. Did those janky ass castles even have toilets or would I be expected to use a chamber pot while I was there?
You’re the plumbing man.
No, I’m not. I’m a hockey player. Dad and Uncle Mike are the plumbers.
You’re the heir apparent, Marquis, so get used to it. You’re going there to make sure the old place gets all the toilets and piping it needs once Archduke Reginald the Seventy-Fifth or whatever signs on the dotted line.
If they have goats I am out of there.
Of course they have goats. They’re in the mountains. Like maybe the Alps I bet. They have goats out the ass, and beer steins, and ghosts.