JMS Books brought you hot tales of summer love in their popular Heat Wave series in the form of first crushes, fleeting affairs, and longtime romances that bubbled over into hot flashes with the soaring heat. In the Hottest Heat Wave anthology, which combines the six best-selling titles in the series, gay men are driven to distraction by the heat and each other, seeking solace anyway they can.
With stories by Drew Hunt, J.D. Walker, J.M. Snyder, Jeff Adams, Terry O'Reilly, and Michael P. Thomas, this sizzling anthology of M/M romance and erotic romance will have your temperature through the roof all summer long!
Contains the stories:
* Heat Wave: Newark by Drew Hunt * Heat Wave: Stone Mountain by J.D. Walker * Heat Wave: Richmond by J.M. Snyder * Heat Wave: Tuscaloosa by Jeff Adams * Heat Wave: Traverse City by Terry O'Reilly * Heat Wave: Colorado Springs by Michael P. Thomas
EXCERPT FROM "Heat Wave: Stone Mountain"
I heard voices in the living room. It sounded like Jenson was trying to calm our early morning visitor, but the unknown man’s voice kept getting louder and louder, and then something broke.
Concerned, I got up and fumbled around to find a pair of Jenson’s shorts to wear before I ran into the front room. Once there, I saw Jenson dodging picture frames and other objects as they were thrown at him haphazardly. No one noticed me standing there, gaping at the appalling scene.
“Bransworth, stop it! You’re going to hurt me, the man you say you love. How will you feel if I end up in the hospital, huh, baby? You’ll never forgive yourself, though I don’t give a rat’s ass about you.” The sneer in Jenson’s voice was...unexpected. I’d never heard him sound so callous. What the hell was going on here?
“You played me for a fool, you little slut. You never meant a word you said to me about love. It was just a line you’ve used thousands of times before to land a piece of ass. You reel the guy in, then screw him over.” Another picture frame went sailing past Jenson’s head and almost hit me, this time.
“You heard what you wanted to hear. I never once said I loved you. I was in it for a good time, that’s all. I’ve moved on to another nice ‘piece of ass,’ as you call it. A guy so desperate and hot for me that he was easy pickings. And when I’m done with him, I’ll move on to another. Get over yourself and find somebody else to bother. True love and marriage and all that other hogwash is total bullshit. What are you, a twelve-year-old girl?” His laughter was cruel.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I looked at Bransworth. His face was crestfallen, and I saw the hurt, desperation and longing that was so plain on his features. In that moment, I knew we’d both been played for fools.
“Wait just a goddamned minute,” I said, interrupting the heated exchange. “Did you just say I was ‘easy pickings,’ you overgrown piece of shit?”
The look of dismay and consternation on Jenson’s face was almost as gratifying as the mortification that flushed my skin was debilitating. At least Bransworth had stopped throwing things. The look he gave me, though was somewhere between disgust and sympathy.
Jenson immediately rallied, attempting contrition. “Come on, baby. You know I’m only saying that so he’ll leave. You’re all I think about. I want you. Only you.”
Except, all the things I’d thought were true and wonderful about Jenson Sommers had been a lie. And I’d fallen for it, completely. I’d been so caught up in the idea of Jenson, that I’d been unable to see what he really was: a selfish, low-life prick.
“Fuck. You.” I left the two men to their argument, gathered my tattered dignity, and went to find my own clothing.
Everything was wrinkled, sweaty, and not at all ready for public viewing, but I had to leave this place. Right now.
I quickly dressed, made sure I had my wallet, keys, and cell phone, and stalked to the front door. Jenson paused in his argument with Bransworth to block my escape.
“You can’t leave like this,” he began, but I moved him out of the way, shoving him so hard he stumbled.
“You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do! You make me sick.” I yanked the door open and ran down the steps to the street, walking briskly toward the bus stop I’d seen last night on our way here, when things were still...wonderful.
I barely noticed the heat or the sweat that stained my rumpled clothes, yet again. It had all been a game to Jenson, and I almost choked on the bile rising in my throat at how things had gone so horribly wrong. God, had I really been that desperate to fall into bed with any guy who gave me attention?
Damn it, I was thirty years old. I should know better by now.