This is the release day for my first m/m romance, Giving Thanks. It’s available today in a stand-alone ebook from Aspen Mountain Press and will appear soon in a print anthology, Hot Comfort, from Manlove Romance Press , along with other great stories from some authors I’m really thrilled to appear with.
I hope you enjoy it!
- Maura
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Giving Thanks by Maura Anderson
m/m Erotic Romance
Aspen Mountain Press: Buy it here
Blurb:
It’s another Thanksgiving for lovers Derek and Troy. Another holiday to pretend they are merely platonic roommates in the chaos of Derek’s family celebration. When Derek snaps after one too many confrontations and admits he’s gay, his father disowns him on the spot. It’s going to be a quiet Thanksgiving…or is it?
Excerpt:
Troy turned down the street, bone-deep exhaustion warring with anticipation. Tired as he was, doing a double-shift before Thanksgiving was worth it so he and Derek could have two days free together. Thanksgiving was for Derek’s family, and the day after for just the two of them. Even after two years as a couple, he still couldn’t believe how happy he was. How eager to come home to Derek. How thankful he was they’d found each other.
He saw Derek’s Toyota in the driveway as he caught sight of the house. Derek shouldn’t be home. He’d been scheduled to work at his family’s restaurant until early evening, and that was still hours away. Derek’s schedule had never run unexpectedly early.
His stomach clenched. He had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.
As soon as he’d parked, he grabbed his duffle bag and hopped out, barely tugging his coat from the car before the door shut. He trotted up the walkway to the front porch. Gut still roiling, he paused for a long deep breath then slowly opened the door, unsure of just what he would find. He was sure it wouldn’t be good.
He heard a loud clatter from the direction of the kitchen, followed by a snarled curse. Oh yeah, not good at all. Nothing in the kitchen ever fazed Derek, not even the time they’d gotten too distracted by the recreational uses of clarified butter and their dinner had caught on fire. Troy had been the one who’d almost fallen over when he rushed to get the fire extinguisher from the pantry, forgetting his pants were around his ankles. Derek laughed hysterically at Troy ’s shuffling hop, but still managed to put out the fire with a pan lid and even retained the presence of mind to silence the smoke detectors before a neighbor called the fire department.
It had taken him three tries to get the oily spots out of his favorite jeans, and to this day Derek persisted in cracking jokes about the perils of buttering him up. At least he hadn’t hurt himself and had to explain that to his co-workers.
He quietly set down his duffle bag near the stairs, took off his coat and hung it and his keys on their respective hooks. It only took a moment to sit on the wrought iron bench to take off his work boots and set them next to Derek’s chef’s clogs before padding toward the kitchen.
“Derek?”
The kitchen island had several grocery store bags on it. Why had Derek gone shopping when they were eating at Derek’s parents’ house tomorrow and would have leftovers enough for a week?
Turning the corner, he spotted Derek standing in front of the large stainless steel double sinks. He was still dressed for work in his white chef’s coat and a pair of his tacky baggy pants—this pair with brightly printed chili peppers on them. A big clear plastic tub sat on the floor near his feet, half-full of some liquid, and he seemed to be vigorously washing a rather large turkey with the spray nozzle.
“Derek?”
Still no response and the sick feeling in the pit of Troy’s stomach only got worse. He walked over to Derek and ran his hands up his lover’s back, slowly and firmly. Then back down Derek’s sides and around his waist.
Tense. So tense. Derek felt almost brittle to the touch. Not something he was used to feeling in his lover.
“What’s wrong, Derek? Why are you home already?”
No answer. He just continued to scrub at the poor abused turkey. Then Troy heard a telltale catch in his breath. A sob. Derek never cried; he just got angry and yelled a bit. What the hell had happened?
Troy reached over and shut off the water, then coaxed Derek to release the very clean turkey and the sprayer. His lover grasped the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles were white through the thin latex gloves he was wearing. Tiny, not quite stifled sobs shook his body. “I’m here for you, love. What’s wrong? What happened?”
Troy rested his cheek briefly on Derek’s back, then pulled Derek’s wet hands off the sink and overcame his token resistance to turn him around. Troy caught sight of his face. “What the fuck! Who did this?”
Rage burned through Troy at the sight of the bandage below Derek’s right eye and the bruise that was blooming around it, the skin swollen and a dusky purple. “What happened, Derek? Tell me what happened.”
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