never escape, even when months and months passed between visits. Maybe it was the smell—the Turkish restaurants, and the grotty meat market. Sizzling chargrilled lamb mixed with raw chicken flesh that was well past its best.
Or perhaps it was the haze that descended on me every time I cruised the streets, searching out an address I’d tapped into my GPS, cut and pasted from Grindr. The brutal tunnel vision that wouldn’t lift until I’d paid someone to drain me dry.
Yeah, that’s right. ’Cause it wasn’t enough to chase down a stranger on a hook-up app, I was going to pay that motherfucker too—for his time, his silence…for the privilege of indulgence.
I rolled down my blacked-out window and another shiver passed through me. Indulgence. Something else I couldn’t seem to escape. In my world, it was a lifestyle, a given…even now, when every part of me, except my dick, was screaming at me to turn my souped-up wank-mobile round and go home.
But I didn’t go home. I squinted at the numbers and names on the blocks of flats and parked my car in the street next to the one I wanted, ’cause I was a fucking ninja at this shit, and knew by now to keep hook ups as far away from my car as humanly possible.
“Nice wheels. You some kind of billionaire?”
I shivered again at the memory. Not quite, but the attention was dangerous, so I avoided it…like I avoided everything else.
Dickhead.
I locked my car and took the long way back to the nondescript block of flats I needed. Crossed the road a few times. Lingered outside a dodgy chicken shop and pretended to talk native on the phone.
Fucking charade. But it calmed my nerves. Like putting on a show for the people around me who couldn’t give two shits what I was doing in their postcode could make everything right.
The block of flats was dodgier than I’d expected. My hook up—LCK£_98—buzzed me inside, and I jogged up the grimy stairs to the type of landing I hadn’t seen since my mum sold her Thetford council place for big bucks a decade ago. Back then places like this had been home. Now it felt like I’d been dropped on the moon.
I wandered the corridor until I came to a grubby front door. There were no numbers on it, but powers of deduction led me to believe it was the right one.
That and the fact that it was on the latch—left open for any old closeted queer to stroll in.
I shut the door behind me, hard enough to announce my arrival, and hopefully convince whoever was behind that profile picture that I wasn’t a fucking target. I’d survived a dozen Grindr encounters, but rocking up at some rando’s house didn’t get any easier.
Footsteps sounded from within the flat, and nerves started a new rave in my stomach. I glanced at the stained walls and broken floorboards. By now I’d had my dick sucked in worse places, but the vibe tickling my belly right now was ambiguous enough to kick-start my already-thumping heart.
“Wow. You’re not what I was expecting.”
I jumped and whirled around to face a doorway I hadn’t noticed to my left. Blinked. And did that shit all over again. Fucking hell. Are you kidding me? LCK£_98’s profile picture had been a pale, slim torso, and in our private message exchange he’d sent me a snap of his full lips pressed together in a teasing pout, but there’d been nothing else to giveaway the streak of fae-like beauty that stood before me now. Dark skinny jeans clung to his long legs, and a ripped vest hung from his slender frame, showing swathes of milky skin, all set off by piercing blue eyes, a ton of weathered leather bracelets, and sandy hair tied into a messy knot at the nape of his neck.
Long hair was my kryptonite. Damn. Did I dream him?
BUY OR BORROW LUCKY HERE
#BLM - Unsung Heroes of Romance
I’ve never read a book by a WOC author in our genre that didn’t make me weep with how damn good it is. Below is a list of some of my faves, but there are many many more to be found.
Scars and Secrets, by Avril Ashton
Something About You, by Riley Hart
Take Care of You, by Gianni Holmes
Work For It, by Talia Hibbert
Love’s Changes, by La Quette
Defined by Deceit, by A.E. Via
About the Author
Bonus Material available for all books on Garrett's Patreon account. Includes short stories from Misfits, Slide, Strays, What Remains, Dream, and much more. Sign up here: https://www.patreon.com/garrettleigh
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Garrett Leigh is an award-winning British writer, cover artist, and book designer. Her debut novel, Slide, won Best Bisexual Debut at the 2014 Rainbow Book Awards, and her polyamorous novel, Misfits was a finalist in the 2016 LAMBDA awards, and was again a finalist in 2017 with Rented Heart.
In 2017, she won the EPIC award in contemporary romance with her military novel, Between Ghosts, and the contemporary romance category in the Bisexual Book Awards with her novel What Remains.
When not writing, Garrett can generally be found procrastinating on Twitter, cooking up a storm, or sitting on her behind doing as little as possible, all the while shouting at her menagerie of children and animals and attempting to tame her unruly and wonderful FOX.
Garrett is also an award winning cover artist, taking the silver medal at the Benjamin Franklin Book Awards in 2016. She designs for various publishing houses and independent authors at blackjazzdesign.com, and co-owns the specialist stock site moonstockphotography.com
Connect with Garrett