By
Jay Hogan (Guest Blogger)
I
am so delighted to be here today and talk to you a bit about me and
the background of my new release, Crossing the Touchline. It
can be hard living in a small country on the other side of the world
and writing regional mm romance for an audience that largely doesn’t
know your country very well. You are kind of cut off from the day to
day life of the larger US and UK readership and there is the
differing world views and life experiences that make writing mm
romance from a distinctly kiwi point of view very different in lots
of ways.
In
Crossing the Touchline this was even more obvious because of
the sport of rugby. Most US readers would have little idea about the
sport, whereas most UK, Australian, South African and even Canadian
have much more familiarity. So in writing this book, I needed to give
enough information to make the story credible, and yet not too much
to lose the attention of those unfamiliar with it. A little like a
kiwi reading an mm romance about ice-hockey!
Crossing
the Touchline is a book that has been in my head for a long time.
It was the book I wanted to write first, but I had the feeling that
it wasn’t a ‘first book’ kind of story as it is a sub-genre of
a sub-genrea sports mm romance within in the genre of mm romance.
Not everyone likes sports themes. And so I wrote First Impressions
instead, the first of the Auckland Med Stories, and which was
released January 2018 through Blackout Books. I was really surprised
and delighted by how well that book did, especially as it was my
first published work. It is due to be re-released this year through
Dreamspinner, for those of you who might have wondered where it
disappeared to.
Rugby
is my country’s passion. My Dad and my three brothers all played
and coached. Before televised games, our family would get up in the
wee hours of the morning to listen to the radio playing the game live
from England or South Africa. When my dad was coaching rugby and the
games had by then moved to television, his whole team slept in our
lounge so everyone could get up and watch an overseas test.
So
the idea of an out gay All Black is a big thing for NZ, and as the
pre-eminent international rugby nation, it will also be a huge thing
internationally, regardless of whether any others come out in other
teams first. The media response will be massive, and I think that is
the most significant reason why it hasn’t yet happened. No one
wants to be that guy and deal with all that attention. The All
Blacks are ready for it, in fact they are very vocally inclusive and
walk the talk. Their management is ready and also vocal about being
so, and Rugby NZ is ready, or so they say… but are the fans ready?
I
hope you enjoy Crossing the Touchline. Let me know!
In
fact, to encourage you to share your thoughts, I’m giving away a
$10 bookstore gift certificate to one lucky reader. All you have to
do is leave a comment – but be sure to include your email so I can
find you if you win!
Blurb
What
if you’ve worked your whole life for a dream, to play rugby for the
most successful sports team on the planet, the New Zealand All
Blacks?
What
if that dream is so close you can smell it?
What
if you meet someone?
What
if you fall in love?
What
if your dream will cost the man who’s stolen your heart?
And
what if the dream changes?
Reuben
Taylor has a choice to make.
Cameron
Wano is that choice.
-Part
of the Auckland Med. series that includes First Impressions, but can be read as a standalone.
Excerpt
The
beach wasn’t too busy for a Sunday. The heavy cloud layer and a
cool early-winter breeze had swept families away from the sand and
into the shopping malls. I tugged a ball cap onto my head in an
attempt to avoid any rugby-fan attention and spied an empty piece of
wind-protected real estate under a large pÅhutukawa. Setting Cory
down on the rug, I placed his toy bag close. He might enjoy the
beach, but he hated the sand. Noise and bright lights hit that
sensitive spot too. On the plus side, he wouldn’t move from the rug
if his life depended on it. No chasing him around.
A
soft whine hummed in his throat as he sat stiff and unmoving. My gut
tensed reactively, but I began to unpack his bag and did my best to
ignore him. It was Cory’s default, I’m-not-really-happy-with-this
warning signal, dammit. It would be just my luck for today to be one
of the times he spat the dummy.
Keeping
a sideways eye on his activity, I fiddled with his snacks while
softly picking up the chorus to “Dancing Queen.” It was his
alltime favourite song—quirky for a kid who didn’t like noise, I
know, but I guess it was the rhythmic beat. All I knew was it worked.
He’d even been
known to crack a dance to it, though dance was perhaps too strong a
word. Move jerkily but enthusiastically was perhaps more accurate. He
was never gonna give Usher a run for his money, but I freaking loved
watching him in those moments. Craig, however, found the spectacle of
his son dancing hugely embarrassing and discouraged it. Eventually
Cory learned to keep it just for us.
The
whining calmed, and I stole a glance, reassured to find him watching
me whilst nodding his head vigorously to the lyrics. I smiledand
reached a hand out to stroke his hair, then stretched out on the rug
beside him, gazing out to sea, tracing the lilac-and-green hills of
Waiheke Island in the distance. And when I saw Cory’s hand reach
into his pocket for his truck, I toned my volume down and relaxed. We
were golden.
“I
wouldn’t give up your day job,” a familiar voice interrupted, and
Cam sank cross-legged beside me.
I
accepted the coffee he held out and my pulse lifted as our knees and
fingers brushed and his eyes grazed my body with appreciation. I
reeled in the kiss I instinctively wanted to plant on those damn
glossed lips and settled for a smile instead. Gloss?
“Thanks.”
I raised my coffee to his.
He
gave me a long look that damn near scorched my eyeballs, before
tapping our paper cups together. “You’re welcome.”
Under
the guise of sipping my coffee, I took a few seconds to drink him in
instead and…. Lord help me, he looked good enough to eat.
Appetiser, main, dessert, cheese plate, and after-dinner mint all
rolled into one—a smorgasbord of sensual flesh, apparently cooked
just how I liked. He shouldn’t have looked as sexy as he did,
wearing a pair of relaxed, faded Levi’s, black sneakers, a plain
baby-blue tee under a loose black jacket and not a scrap of makeup or
hair gel.
Huh.
That deserved a second look but, nope, no makeup bar the gloss. It
was the first time I’d seen his face au naturel. Straight from the
shower, hair freshly washed, smelling clean and vaguely apple-like,
face scrubbed and shiny, he looked relaxed and casual, and I decided…
I liked it. Liked it and wanted to lick every square inch of it,
preferably naked. Oh dear God.
I
cleared my throat and gave him some room, but not too much. “It was
a good idea,” I said thickly. “The beach, I mean. Cory should be
good for a half hour or so at least, but no promises.”
Cam
shrugged. “No matter. We’ll take what we can get, right?”
I
eyed him sideways. “Right. Though I think that was my line last
time we talked.”
He
held my gaze for a bit before dropping his eyes to the three paper
bags he held in his free hand. “Muffin?” He held them out.
“Wasn’t sure what you guys liked so I got chocolate chip, berry
and white chocolate, and apricot. I’m easy.” He added the last
with a wink.
I
arched my brows at the double entendre. Evil bastard. And yeah, my
crush crushed a little more. He was playing his advantage and clearly
amused by it. I wasn’t. My dick had no room to grow and needed a
timeout. And he needed to put up or shut up. He couldn’t have it
both ways.
“Like
hell you are,” I countered. “If you’re easy, I’ll take
difficult any day of the week and still come out on top. And you can
take that any way you want.” Two could play that game.
His
eyes went wide for a second, then he laughed. “A bit presumptuous
without knowing the rules, I’d say. You’re telling me you’re
a—”
“Nothing,”
I interrupted. “I’m telling you nothing. That information is on a
need-to-know basis. Friends, remember? Your choice, I recall. And
fucking with my head isn’t cool, just so you know.” I winced and
glanced to Cory playing with his truck, but he apparently hadn’t
caught the swearing.
Focusing
back on Cam, I saw he looked somewhat startled. Good. Fuck him. I was
sick of feeling half a page behind the damn story all the time. I
might be less experienced, but hell if I was going to snivel around
anyone, making puppy eyes, and it was about time he knew it. If this
was going to be a friendship, it was going to be an equal one. I
hadn’t got where I was in rugby by playing soft. I wanted him, but
I didn’t need him, and I could match him in a bluff any day of the
week. I did it for a fucking living, after all. Make them think
you’re running one way and hedge the other—rugby fullback
playbook 101.
He
stared at me, saying nothing, and I tried to gauge what was going on
in his head, but there was a guardedness to his expression I hadn’t
seen since the wedding. Then just before the tension tipped over into
awkward, he nodded.
“Fair
enough. It was my choice. And I apologise.” He held the bag out.
“So, name your poison…?”
Huh.
I slowly let out the breath I hadn’t realised I was holding as Cam
rattled the bags again. “Oh, right. Um, I’ll take chocolate chip,
and Cory will have the berry—minus the paper bag,” I cautioned.
Cam
cocked his head, and I shrugged.
“It’s
a noise thing,” I explained. “Just tear the muffin in half and
put it on the rug. He’ll take it from there.”
He
did precisely as I’d said, and Cory stared at the torn muffin for a
few seconds before reaching for a half.
“Should
I introduce myself?” Cam asked.
I
shook my head, grateful for him not leaping all over the little guy.
“Let me. We’ll give him a minute to get used to you first. He’ll
let you know.”
We
took a few sips of our coffee while Cory ran his truck up and down
the rug until I saw he’d settled.
“Cory.”
I waited for a sign my nephew was listening. He rarely made eye
contact, so I took what I could get and… there it was: he held his
truck in his palm and went still. “This is Cam. He’s my friend.
You can say hello.”
His
gaze flicked to Cam, then back to his toy. “Hi, Cam.”
“Hello,
Cory. Nice to meet you.”
Cory
put his truck back on the rug and continued playing. Beside me Cam
took a bite of his muffin while I focused on trying to ignore how
close we were sitting and the ridiculous furnace of heat radiating
off the man’s body. His proximity did all sorts of peculiar things
to my stomach, not to mention other geographically related appendages
a little farther south.
“You
played really well yesterday,” Cam said.
I
tried not to stare as he bit off a large chunk of muffin and
swallowed it down with a contented sigh. I nibbled at my own, not
really hungry. “Um, thanks. But you know—team effort.”
He
grinned. “Modesty is admirable as long as you know how good you
really are. Mathew says you’re the bomb, and friendship demands
honesty and full disclosure. So, try again.”
Heat
rose in my cheeks and my gaze slid sideways, only to find Cory
focussed on the two of us, his truck forgotten in his lap. Something
about Cam had caught his interest. Get in line, kid.
“Really?”
I sighed. “We’re gonna do this now?”
Cam
raised his brows but said nothing.
“Okay.
Well, I played pretty good, then. Satisfied?” I shoved my remaining
muffin in my mouth so I couldn’t be asked to add anything, and near
choked in the process.
He
snorted. “You’re damn cute, you know.”
“Not…
cute,” I spat muffin crumbs down my jacket. “Cute will get me
fucking crucified on the field, arsehole.”
Cory’s
head shot up. Shit.
“Sorry, kid, bad word.” I rolled my eyes at Cam. “Your fault.”
His
grin grew wider. “Not.” He grabbed the empty bag from my lap,
brushing my thigh with his fingers in the process and raising the
heat level in my jeans to a tick off incendiary. The blush hit my
cheeks before I even had a chance to look away. I sent him a
withering glance, but all he did was smirk and head for the recycling
bins.
“Pretty
damn cute,” he threw over his shoulder.
About
the Author
Jay
Hogan is a New Zealand author writing in m/m romance, romantic
suspense and fantasy. She has travelled extensively, living in a
number of countries. She’s a cat aficionado especially Maine Coons,
and an avid dog lover (but don’t tell the cat). She loves to cook-
pretty damn good, loves to sing - pretty damn average, and as for
loving full-time writing -absolutely… depending on the word count,
the deadline, her characters’ moods, the ambient temperature in the
Western Sahara, whether Jupiter is rising, the size of the ozone hole
over New Zealand and how much coffee she’s had.
You
can find Jay at:
jayhoganauthor
[at] gmail [dot] com
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