Brendan is adamant that there’s never been anything between him and his friend—no matter what the rest of the student body seems to think—but when Isaac insists he celebrates the end of their college years with a hedonistic night out, an unexpected encounter with a buff, bronzed stranger leaves Brendan wondering exactly what is bubbling up between them.
An Excerpt from FOAM ROLLER BOYS
Copyright © M. KING, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Lydian Press
Isaac shrugged, draining the last of his coffee. “I don’t know. Maybe. We’ve got, what? Week or so, then we’re all heading home. This is all over. It’s horrific! I plan on having as much last-minute fun as possible before it’s too late.”
Brendan nodded at the scrap of paper. “He sounds fun.”
He watched Isaac’s full lips fold into a tight line, mildly curious at the way his friend’s face suddenly seemed so shaded.
“Mm,” Isaac grunted, staring down into his empty mug. “Maybe.”
He looked up at Brendan suddenly, that momentary thoughtfulness gone from his face and replaced with something much more familiar: that bright-eyed, accusatory stare that made his dark eyes glimmer like wet stones.
“Hey… you thought you’d got out of it, didn’t you?”
“What?” Brendan eyed him guiltily. “Oh, hell. The foam party? Tonight? Look….”
“You have to come!” Isaac said grandly, setting his empty mug down with a sharp clink on the battered table. “I demand it. Come with me. It’ll be fun! There’ll be bubbles! And hot guys. Everyone loves bubbles!”
“And hot guys,” Brendan added helpfully, although he was already wrinkling his nose and searching desperately for a believable excuse. “I don’t know. I—”
Isaac narrowed his eyes, and Brendan held up his hands in a gesture of apologetic innocence. He honestly didn’t want to go. He’d been to a foam party before, admittedly years ago, but he hadn’t enjoyed it at all. The foam had smelled weird, like the synthetic strawberry flavoring you got in cheap ice cream, and it had itched everywhere it dried on his skin. He’d ended up going home early with a headache… not that he was about to say that to Isaac, because the bastard would just laugh.
“I don’t think they’re really my thing,” he said lamely. “Bubbles. And—”
“Hot guys?” Isaac suggested, arching his dark brows.
“Despite himself, or maybe mostly because of the Berocca and the bacon wearing away at his hangover, Brendan sniggered.
“Well, I know that’s your thing,” Isaac chided, reaching across the table to nudge his arm before he stood up, collecting the empty coffee mugs and waggling one in Brendan’s face. “Refill?”
“All right. But….”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport,” Isaac chided, moving to top the mugs off with more of his amazingly strong, amazingly awesome coffee. Brendan was fairly convinced that, whatever sorcery he used to make the stuff, it was the only thing that had got either of them through the last couple of years. “Please? Come with me. I do things for you! How many times have I carried your sorry ass home when you were drunk, hmm? Held your hair when you—all right, I’ve never held your hair back while you puked but, if you had long hair, I would totally do it….”
He chattered on in that endearing loudmouth way of his, even though his back was to Brendan, his long frame stretching out the disheveled pink T-shirt as he moved busily through the motions of refilling the coffee mugs.
ISBN: 978-1-60054-694-5 (ebook) | Cover art: Anna Reith | Length: 12,730 words / 68 .pdf pages