Author: Layla Dorine
Release Date: December 4, 2017
Format: ePub, Mobi
Cover Artist: Natasha Snow
Word Count: 11600
Sex Content: N/A
A Season of New Beginnings
Layla Dorine © 2017
All Rights Reserved
“Hey, babe, how’s your man?”
Joshua Thyer glanced up and rolled his eyes, groaning at the glittering red-and-green vest of the man who’d sat on the barstool next to him. Desi DeMartan was all flash and bounce as he ordered a Pink Squirrel, bobbing his head to the swinging Christmas song being pumped through the club.
God, if there was one thing Josh hated more than Christmas music that had been fiddled with to the point that you could dance to it, it was Desi DeMartan. Oh fuck, were those Christmas lights on his jacket? As if the sparkles weren’t enough. Add in the reindeer antler headband perched atop the man’s stringy blond wig and Desi looked like the holiday spirit had beaten him with every bad gimmicky novelty in existence. It was really quite pathetic that a man Desi’s age would even consider coming out of his home dressed so atrociously, let alone inflict himself on the rest of the world, but there he was and it sure seemed like Josh was the one he planned to inflict himself upon tonight. This was the third time he’d taken a seat, only to have Desi crash his solitude.
Josh picked up his drink, drained it, set it back on the bar, and then tapped the wood beside it, indicating he’d like a refill.
“He’s not my man,” he grumbled, while the bartender poured him another shot of whiskey, neat; the last thing he needed at the moment was ice to water it down, especially if Desi was going to insist on bringing up Clay.
The look on Desi’s face might have been comical, if it hadn’t come off as scripted—and poorly at that—the way he’d clasped his hands to his mouth, eyes going all wide like he hadn’t known that Clay and Josh had broken up. Everyone knew by now; it had been the biggest bit of gossip fodder all week, at least until Theresa’s wife, Elain, had gotten caught having sex in the laundry room of their building with Janet Huffleman, the prim, snottily stuck-up head of the historical society. Guess maybe the old broad wasn’t as prim as everyone thought.
Josh chuckled as he caught sight of her on Elain’s arm, cutting up a rug on the dance floor, an empty champagne flute in one hand and her hair all a mess. It was no wonder Theresa hadn’t shown up. She’d been the smart one. Next time, Josh was taking a page out of her book and staying home too. Hell, maybe they could ring in the new year together: two sad, tired old queers burned one too many times to keep on believing in love.