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The Story of Jack & James (MM)

Jack The Lad Series

Wild & Lawless Writers

Heat Rating: SCORCHING
Word Count: 26,292
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The complete Jack The Lad series includes five stories plus a bonus tale. The story of a punk rocker and a young man lost who found himself through love. This book concludes with the wedding of Jack and James. The day of their nuptials includes a quickie before the ceremony and a showdown with a drunken, dejected father. Please join the partners later in their honeymoon suite for chocolate eaten off of heated skin and tasty body paint.

This collection includes:
Jack The Lad
Jack & James
In Jack's Bed
Jack's Betrayal
Jack's Bachelor Party
Bonus Story: The Wedding Of Jack & James

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I'd kicked cigarettes three years ago, but I needed an excuse to get away from Dad. It always escalated into an argument with him, and I refused to spoil my sister's wedding reception. So when I spotted the short, portly bastard headed my way, I faked a nic fit then slipped out the back door of the restaurant.

I sighed as my ass hit the cool sidewalk. A spring breeze drifted by, and I inhaled deeply of the city scents it carried. Hot dogs from street vendors, fuel exhaust, and a potpourri of freshly served food coming from the restaurant. Soaking this in relaxed me.

Until I looked to my left and saw a gorgeous blond man walking toward me. His hair was a mess of spikes. He was about six foot. Dressed in gaudy plaid pants and a t-shirt far too tight. But I wasn't complaining. Though he wore a leather jacket over top, I could still make out well defined pecs, a toned stomach. I looked up from where his tight pants bunched in an impressive bulge and our gazes met.

He had doe eyes and a crooked grin. My mouth went dry, and I tried to look away, but failed on the first try. Normally, the attention of a handsome male lifted a crappy mood, but not today. Today, I just wanted solitude. Dealing with my overbearing father was stress enough.

I was never much of a punk fan, but something about my unexpected guest intrigued me. Still, he seemed to spell trouble, so I forced myself to stare at my shoes instead.

He sat close beside me. I kept focusing on my shoes, hoping if I ignored him long enough he'd go away. Instead, he stretched his legs out, propped one black, three-inch platform on top of the other, and slid a cigarette from a pack tucked in his jacket pocket.

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