Kyrie is an actor with a physical aversion to telling lies, a one-eyed cat, and horrible taste in men. His ex-brother-in-law and best friend, Greg, harbors a secret crush he can’t shake. After denying his feelings for Kyrie for too long, Greg finally gives in to desire one drunken night. Come the morning, the facts get twisted. Kyrie pretends he doesn’t remember a thing—a lie that eats him alive—and Greg can’t stop thinking about how he screwed up the best thing in his life.
Before they can clear the air, Kyrie follows his dreams to New York City, but could he also be running away?
A mistake from Kyrie’s past detonates their silence, and Greg is forced to confront the man he loves. Is their new truth strong enough to support a relationship, or are they doomed to crumble under old fears? Their friendship could evolve into something a million times stronger, but maybe Kyrie’s act is just too hard for Greg to follow.
The lovely Kyrie stops by today to talk with us a bit. He also shares a letter he wrote to a younger version of himself. I have to say I adore his letter! I hope you do as well. Read and enjoy!
Hey, all! Kyrie Li comin’ at ya live and rainbow-flavored!
I was asked to stop by and share this letter I wrote to the me of five years ago. Yeah, it was sorta weird writing this ’cause I was, like, nineteen and teenager-dumb. Greg and I were still brothers-in-law back then, crazy as that is. I probably wouldn’t listen to myself if I pulled a Back to the Future and tried to warn younger me not to be a numb nuts. Not that I’ve got it all figured out now, but I think I’m on a good path. Me and Greg are finally…there. And, no, it wasn’t easy. He didn’t make it easy, I should say. Oh, hell, I guess I did my fair share of poking the bear.
Hah. Poking the bear. Imagine that.
Anyway, here’s my letter. I thought about putting it in a mailbox after this and seeing if it travels back in time and has some sort of butterfly effect, but you know what they say—mistakes make you who you are. They made Greg and me who we are, and I’m good with us. Better than good. We’re fuckin’ Tony the Tiger grrrreat.
Nope, I wouldn’t change a thing.
So, without further ado, the envelope, please.
Dear Nineteen-Year-Old Kyrie,
It has come to my attention that you are a flighty, cartoon-watching, Fruity Pebble-loving, head-in-the-clouds, actor-wannabe.
Don’t change a thing. Somehow, that shit is going to work for you.
Okay, one thing: Don’t bother signing up for that yoga class your junior year in college. That cute instructor isn’t gay—or doesn’t want to admit he is—and you’ll be out three-hundred bucks you could have spent on those Fluevog suede ankle boots you’ll be drooling over a few weeks after you realize you fucked up.
Oh, and whatever you do, be careful around Mr. Spencer. Yes, you’re gonna have to hook up with him (I know what you’re thinking here—hells to the yeah, I’m gonna polish me some silver daddy). Yeah, yeah. Enjoy, but be careful, that’s all I’m saying. You gotta do what you gotta do, and it all works out in the end for you and Greg to get together, so keep to the plan.
Yes, I said Greg. Yes, your sister’s husband. No, I’m not fucking with you. They get divorced—sorry for the spoiler, and no, it’s not our fault.
Ahhh! You’re impossible to write imaginary letters to! Just do what comes naturally, and future Kyrie will be happy, okay? Got it? Good.
Oh! One more thing! When you take Cori to that Podunk fair next year, do not eat the fried dough. I know it’s soooo tempting—that deep-fried smell, that powdered sugar sprinkled like edible fairy dust, that sorta dirty-sexy redneck pouring the dough. Don’t. You’ll regret it. For days.
Okay, that’s it. I love you. Love yourself.
That’s it. Anyway, my esteemed colleague, Kimber Vale, is working on another book—Balancing Act—staring me and my lovin’ man, Greg. She’s ridiculously slow and takes procrastination to a new level, but I’m standing behind her with a bullwhip, now, so this story is getting done if it kills her.
Meanwhile, if you haven’t read Hard Act to Follow yet, get on that so you’ll be ready for my big comeback <wink, wink>.
“Greg, I need to tell you something, too.” Kyrie couldn’t look at him, only stare at the amber liquid in the half empty bottle and imagine he was sailing on a boat inside. He’d dive off the edge and drown in oblivion right now, given a chance. “That night we went out drinking… when you stayed over…” He glanced up and Greg opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“I seduced you.” Finally! The truth will set me free! Free of my best friend, anyway.
Greg scowled and shook his head, but Kyrie held up a hand to keep him from running for the door, or verbalizing just how fucked-up Kyrie was. He let the rest out in a rush of words before his courage evaporated. “I know you were only thinking of Jazz, and I took advantage when you were drunk, and we had sex with an expired rubber from your Jasmine jerk-off drawer.”
Kyrie placed his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He expected the couch to shift as Greg got up. He expected venomous, vile words before a door-slam goodbye. He never expected Greg’s strong arms around him, hugging him tight in a cloud of tangy sweat and crisp deodorant. Big hands palmed Kyrie’s cheeks and insisted Kyrie look into Greg’s eyes.
“If you seduced me, I loved it.” Greg chuckled, a subdued, shocked sound. “Your sister was the last thing on my mind that night, or any night. And stay out of my Kyrie jerk-off drawer. That’s private and kinda embarrassing.”
A lovely chill rippled through him. Kyrie sucked in a deep breath and tried to understand Greg’s words. “Wait… what?”
“You’re really gonna make me say it again?” A slow smile pulled up the corners of Greg’s mouth.
“You remember? I mean, I thought maybe you did…”
“And I was pretending not to, like you?”
“But you sounded upset in the bathroom. I thought you regretted it.”
“Kyr, for the first time in so long, I finally had what I wanted. It was you. Erasing the memory of…” He stroked a thumb across Kyrie’s bottom lip, his eyes dark and hot, tracing the movement. Kyrie’s cock bulged in his pajama pants and his breathing sped to quick puffs against Greg’s finger. “Of how perfect you felt. How perfect I felt with you. I couldn’t do it—not even for my own sanity.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Me? You pretended not to remember. The guy who makes himself sick when he tells a lie. I knew you hated it—wanted to take it back.”
Kyrie groaned and grabbed Greg’s hand to suck his fat thumb into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the digit, tasting salty skin that made him delirious for more. Kyrie pulled off to speak.
“But you’re not even gay.” It was a stupid thing to say, considering their history, but it didn’t completely make sense to Kyrie.
“Tell that to my dick. Don’t think it’s too worried about labels.”
K. Vale writes erotic romance of all stripes, from hot hetero to mouthwatering manlove. Find her M/F work published under Kimber Vale. Come for the sex. Stay for the story. Stalk Kimber on Facebook and Twitter @KimberVale, and check her site for updates, new releases, and freebies at http://www.authorkimbervale.com .
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