It’s Throwback Thursday!

Today I am throwing it back to my personal favorite of all my novels: #JUNKIE.

#Junkie is book 1 in The GearShark Series. It’s also a spin-off series from The #Hashtag Series.

#Junkie is an M/M sports romance novel (male/male romance) and it was a huge leap of faith for me and very out of the box, but my goodness, it truly is my favorite (right behind it is #Rev). Trent and Drew are just special.

read the first chapter of #Junkie below!

 

ABOUT #JUNKIE

Drew Forrester is a total adrenaline junkie.

His high of choice?

Cars.

The faster, the better.

He’s been making waves in Maryland’s underground racing circuit since he crossed the state line, and after speaking with him, we know he’s not hitting the brakes anytime soon.

So what exactly does it take to burn rubber and make a name for yourself in a world where the only rule is there are no rules?

You gotta be hungry…

You gotta have balls…

And you can never back down.

What’ve we learned here at GearShark?

Drew is all of the above.

We also know he’s got some secrets buried under his hood.

Secrets we think are loaded with octane and just might set the world of cars on fire.

Check out the full feature article inside…

 

 

 

Trent

I was on my way out.

They liked to remind me of that almost daily. As if I needed a reminder. The constant ticking of the clock in the back of my head was all the reminder I needed.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

I was drunk.

I needed something to dull the sound of my life passing me by.

I needed something to shut up the whispering voice in the back of my head.

Problem was beer wasn’t working. Not tonight.

So I kept drinking. I switched the beer out for vodka. Vodka was a little more skilled in shutting up the deepest of my thoughts.

At least I fooled myself into thinking it was.

“Omega rules!” I yelled, and everyone within earshot followed suit. I was the president after all. When I did something, they did it, too.

I slammed the empty shot glass on the nearby table and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The room spun a little, and I blinked it back into focus.

“You know whatcha need?” Jack slurred, slinging his arm around my neck and trying to pull me down so he could yell in my ear.

I laughed and leaned down, making it easier for him. He was two years younger than me, green as a new dollar bill, and far less jaded than I would ever be again.

He was also like half my size, so if I didn’t bend down, he wouldn’t be able to holler in my ear like he clearly planned to do.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A piece of grade-A ass,” he announced.

I threw back my head and laughed. The action made his arm fall free of my neck. “What makes you say that?”

Jack chugged some beer out of a dark-colored longneck and made a scoffing sound. “Because, brother,” he drawled good-naturedly.

It made my back teeth grind together because I hated when he called me brother.

I had a family, and it wasn’t him. I glanced around the packed frat house. My house.

None of these people were my family.

My house was full of people I didn’t know.

Shouldn’t a man’s house be full of his family?

“The way you’re pounding down the drinks tells me it ain’t alcohol you need. It’s ass.” Jack finished.

I grunted. He was right about the alcohol. Clearly, it wasn’t what I needed. It wasn’t doing shit for me.

“Way I see it,” Jack said, shifting his body around so we were standing side by side and staring out over the crowd. “As frat president, you have the pick of the litter.”

He spread his arm out and gestured toward everyone as if the world were my oyster.

“Pick a pair of thighs to get between,” he invited.

Yeah. Yeah, maybe a quick, no-strings-attached fuck was exactly what I needed tonight. Maybe it would chase away whatever the hell was wrong with me.

Or maybe it would make it worse.

I didn’t like that thought, so I ignored it.

I perused the women like I did AutoZone for car parts. Not every single model and style was for me. I was particular.

Wonder why…

I shook off the thought and slapped Jack on the back. “I like the way you think.”

“Just doing what I can for our superior,” he replied.

I grunted and stepped away from him. He was just kissing my ass because he had his eye on presidency and wanted me to give him the nod.

The entire frat had been after me for weeks to throw my support behind someone new for Omega prez. My time was just about up. The sooner we got a replacement, the better.

You’d think I’d be eager to toss out a name. I was eager enough to close the door to this frat.

But something held me back.

I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was something.

A group of girls across the room looked pretty promising. There was one dressed in a pair of distressed, tight jeans. They looked like a second skin and they molded to her fine, round ass with perfection.

She had enough to fill my hands.

Despite the cold temps outside, she was wearing a tank top. It was simple, black, and left little to the imagination.

There was a red SOLO cup in her hand, and her dark hair was piled on top of her head.

I usually went for blondes.

I didn’t want what I usually went for tonight.

She saw me looking and gave me the go ahead. You know that sort of half smile, sidelong stare that locked on a guy just long enough to say, I’m interested.

I started through the crowd of people dancing and stepped around the group playing some loud drinking game. She glanced back at me once as I advanced, saw I was coming, and shifted so her body was open to mine.

I moved forward like a predator, a lion tracking prey.

And then someone familiar appeared beside her.

The hunting instinct was shoved aside for instant recognition.

A dark-blond head bent low, and a lithe, graceful form slid between my target and her friend. I couldn’t see his face, just the top of his head as he bent in and spoke to the women he so casually wrapped his arms around.

Whatever he said was something dripping with charm, because both girls swayed toward him, and his familiar chuckle drifted across the remaining space between us.

He had a deep laugh, like it came from the farthest place inside him. Maybe that’s why whenever he laughed like that, women swooned, because they felt like they were getting a piece of him he didn’t give out very often.

The girl I’d picked out looked back up and gave me another smile.

I was partially surprised. With Drew standing right next to her, I should have been forgotten. ‘Course, he was a regular around this house. She probably knew who he was. She probably knew she’d be vying for his attention against twenty other girls in this room. Maybe she wanted the same thing I did tonight.

A sure thing.

As I walked, I plucked a newly poured shot out of one of my “brother’s” hand and tossed it down my throat. He gave me the finger, and I gave him back the empty glass.

I don’t know how many shots that made tonight. I stopped counting a long time ago.

“Dude.” Drew looked up. He pulled back one arm and offered me his fist. I bumped mine against it.

“I thought you weren’t coming tonight,” I said by way of greeting. He was supposed to be out driving.

“Not much going on at the track tonight.” He shrugged.

Even drunk, I still gave enough of a shit to be relieved. Usually, I went with Drew when he was out driving the racing circuit around here. But some nights, frat shit came first. Tonight was one of those nights.

Can’t say I liked the idea of Drew out driving alone. I’d learned a lot about the drivers around here the past few months, and not much of it was good.

If I thought fraternity rivalry or even football rivalry was bad…

It was nothing compared to the racing competition around here.

Racing wasn’t quite the institution football was. It wasn’t governed by rules and regulations. Sure, maybe on the higher level. On the NASCAR level.

But getting up to that place?

There were no rules.

It was a dog-eat-dog world, and I wasn’t talking Chihuahuas.

“I hear you’re really fast,” the blonde under his arm said, peering up at him.

He grinned lazily. He had a dimple in his cheek. You’d think the light scruff on his face from not shaving that morning would hide it. It didn’t. It only served to make it more attractive. “Only when I need to be. Sometimes I’m nice and slow.”

You’d have to be dead not to hear the suggestion in his tone, and this girl was not dead. Drunk? Yes. She giggled like she was shy.

Yeah, right. I suppressed an eye roll.

“Beer’s over there,” I told him and hitched a thumb behind me toward the kitchen.

“Where’s yours?” he asked, tearing his eyes off the girl.

“I’m drinking vodka tonight.”

“Me, too!” the dark-haired girl on my right said, showing me her red cup. I gave her a slow smile and tilted the cup toward me so I could see.

“Good taste,” I said and slid the cup into my hand and wrapped my lips around the rim. The vodka was mixed with cranberry juice, watering it down at bit, but it was still good and strong. I meant to only take a sip, but I ended up chugging the rest and tossing the empty cup over my shoulder.

Before she could say anything about her lost drink, I wrapped my hand in hers and pulled her away from her friends. “Let’s dance.”

I hardly ever danced, unless we were all at Screamerz.

But like I said, tonight I didn’t want to do what I normally did.

The brunette came along willingly, and soon, we were grinding together in the center of a crush of bodies. The music was loud, so loud I couldn’t hear myself think, so there was no way we could talk.

Even if she told me her name, I wouldn’t hear it. I didn’t care what it was anyway.

The room tilted a little, but I ignored it and pulled her closer, sliding my thigh between hers and bringing her up against my chest. Her fingers went through my belt loops and held on as we moved.

The song vibrating the walls was loud with a heavy, erratic beat. Even still, we didn’t dance like that. Instead, I held her right against me, and we grinded against each other suggestively. Her chin tipped back and she looked up at me, her eyes heavy lidded as her teeth sank into her lower lip.

I swiped my thumb along her bottom lip, then lowered my face. Her fingers tightened around my belt loops as my lips collided with hers. She tasted slightly tart, like the cranberry juice she’d had in her cup. I liked it. It mixed well with my well-liquored tongue, so I licked deeper into her mouth so the two flavors could mesh.

As we kissed, we continued to grind into each other, and small little sounds vibrated the back of her throat. I slid my hand down around her backside and grabbed a handful of her ass.

Someone knocked into us from behind, causing me to lurch forward. My arms tightened around her so she wouldn’t fall, and I knocked into someone else as I tried to right us.

“My bad,” I called to whoever I’d shoved and pulled her through the dancers and toward the back door of the house.

“I need some air,” I called, and she nodded.

Outside, the air was cold. I probably should have noticed it more considering I was only wearing a T-shirt with my jeans. But I felt hot and I was totally wasted, so the elements were the last thing on my mind.

There weren’t many people out here. Actually, there wasn’t anyone except for some guy around the side of the house puking in the bushes. I pushed the girl up against the stone on the side of the house and bent to kiss her again.

She giggled, and my stomach rolled.

I ignored the feeling and fused our mouths together and grinded my lips over hers. When I didn’t get the reaction I wanted, I ripped my mouth free and changed directions, covering her once more. She kissed and sucked at my lips, at the same time running her fingers up the front of my chest, but still…

No reaction.

I felt nothing. No need. No excitement. My cock wasn’t even stirring in my jeans.

I pushed off her abruptly, and she blinked.

“Let’s go to your room,” she purred and brushed the back of her hand along my fly.

Suddenly, the entire world turned on its side, and I rushed away, over to the grass, where I immediately fell onto my knees and started puking.

Aaannnd that would explain the lack of excitement a few minutes ago.

Beer before liquor, never been sicker.

I retched a few more times, bringing up way more alcohol than I remembered drinking, and then sank back onto my haunches and wiped my face with the hem of my T-shirt.

My head was fuzzy, my insides shaken. Then I remembered the girl. I turned around to tell her I’d be fine in a few, but she was gone.

Guess my puking hadn’t been much of a turn-on.

Not that she had been either. Hell. First time I’d ever gone from making out to vomiting in two seconds flat.

Clearly, she wasn’t my type.

I laughed out loud. That was fucking hilarious.

I was still laughing when two jean-clad legs appeared before me. “What the fuck are you doing?” Drew asked, glaring down at me like I’d lost my mind.

“I was trying to get laid. She wasn’t my type.” I started laughing again.

“What was your first clue? The barf? Or maybe the fact that she left you out here to pass out in your own mess?”

“I’m not passed out,” I protested.

He made a sound. “Not yet.” Drew’s hands slid under my arms and he pulled me to my feet. I swayed like a hammock on a breezy beach, and his grip tightened. “How much did you fucking drink?”

“Don’t know,” I slurred.

“C’mon. Party’s over. We’re going home.”

“This ain’t my home,” I said, disgruntled.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he slid an arm around my waist and started leading me around the house, not back inside. I went along without a word because honestly, I didn’t care where he was taking me.

He smelled good.

“Wait,” I groaned and practically fell over and started puking again.

Drew muttered a few curse words as I retched but stayed right there standing over me, like he was keeping watch.

When I was done and my ribs ached from the heaving, he hauled me back up and led me toward the street where his vintage ‘69 Mustang was parked.

“This ain’t my room,” I said.

“I’m not leaving you here this drunk, asshole,” Drew said and yanked open the passenger door. “Who the fuck knows what the dickheads inside would do to you while you’re out?”

I sank into the seat and leaned my head back with a groan.

The next thing I knew, we were sitting outside Drew’s place and he was pocketing the keys. I fumbled with the handle, trying to get it open.

“Hang on,” Drew said, but I didn’t listen. I managed to fling open the door and fall out onto the driveway.

“Ow,” I grumped.

“Moron,” Drew said above me, and for the third time that night, he helped me up off the ground.

“Do me a favor and don’t wake up the entire house on the way in,” he bitched.

“You sound like a damn woman,” I mocked.

My feet didn’t work too good going up the stairs, but somehow, I made it. We stumbled into Drew’s room, and he shut the door behind us. I fell onto the bed backward, flinging out both my arms and staring up at the darkened ceiling.

Drew was moving around, and I turned my head to watch him bend forward to pull off his shoes. Next, he slid the black leather jacket he’d been wearing down his arms and flung it onto his dresser.

I became mesmerized by his movements. Everything else was blurry and unfocused, but he wasn’t. I could see him clearly.

He had a long torso, lean and firm. The way the waffle knit tee he wore clung to his frame seemed like the most interesting thing I’d seen in a long time. I watched him straighten and turn, shove his hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

His long fingers pulled back out, a wallet clutched between them, and he tossed that onto the dresser, too.

His hips were narrow and his legs were long and lean. He looked good in the jeans. They weren’t too tight, but they weren’t baggy either.

His feet were bare. I didn’t know where his socks went, but I didn’t care. That patch of bare skin—even on his feet—made my mouth go dry.

Or maybe I was just dehydrated.

“I need water,” I said abruptly and pushed up off the mattress. My sudden movement caused a wave of nausea, and I lurched forward.

Drew was ready, and just as I started barfing, a trashcan appeared under me.

How the hell was there anything left inside me to puke up? I felt like I’d been puking for hours, and I was so spent I couldn’t even hold the trashcan.

Drew held it for me.

He stood there silently, holding the can in front of my hunched-over form while I heaved and made sounds I hoped to never hear again.

Even after I stopped, he stood there, holding it, making sure I was completely done before he moved back.

“I’m good,” I said weakly after a few long moments and turned my face away.

His large palm fell against my back and patted twice before settling against my shirt. That single touch left me feeling a little more grounded, a little less shaky and in danger of literally passing out right there.

Leaving his palm where it was, he leaned away and set down the can. I dropped my head in my hands and shuddered.

God, I felt like fucking rotten ass. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so drunk?” Drew demanded.

“Vodka,” I muttered darkly.

He made a sound like that wasn’t an answer. “What the hell possessed you to drink so much tonight?”

“I just wanted a break,” I muttered.

“A break from what?”

“Huh?”

Drew’s hand clenched into a fist against my back. “Trent. What the fuck?”

“Don’t be mad,” I heard myself say and fell back on the bed.

“I’m not mad.”

“You sound mad.”

“Good fucking thing I showed up tonight.” He half growled and moved away from the bed.

I heard the rustling of clothes, but I didn’t look. My head hurt. “I don’t like when you drive without me.”

Drew appeared over me, staring down from the side of the mattress. Something about his presence caused me to open my eyes.

Our stares locked.

I felt some things I didn’t know how to back away from. Alcohol made it hard to lie.

“Is that what this is about? You’re pissed ‘cause I went driving without you?” he asked, low.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt anymore, and in place of the jeans was a pair of loose basketball shorts. His dark-blond hair was messy, and his mouth was drawn into a grim line.

The way his eyes looked just then… it was like he could see.

I rolled onto my side away from him. “Sometimes a guy just wants to get drunk.”

And sometimes a guy wants to forget.

My stomach rolled and my back jerked with the force of my heave. Drew muttered a curse and dove across the bed, just barely getting the can in front of me as I starting puking again.

He was partially lying across me, and even half out of my mind and sick as a dog, I still noticed the way his weight felt on me. The way I was pressed so fully into the mattress by his size. It helped make me feel less shaky in the moment.

When I finally stopped throwing up long enough to breathe, Drew sank onto the floor near my head.

“Fuck, man,” I said between more heaving. “I’m sorry. You should have left me at home.”

“You are home.”

It was spoken so quietly I thought maybe it had been a thought in my own mind and not a sentence off his lips.

I glanced up, my bloodshot, watery eyes trying so hard to focus on his.

He stared back without a word. Just stared.

Had he spoken, or was it a thought?

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Think you’re done?”

“I hope so,” I rasped. My throat was raw and burned. The inside of my mouth tasted like road kill, and my body ached.

He nodded and quickly tied the bag closed in the can and quickly replaced it with a fresh one.

“Here,” he said and shoved the can into my arms before disappearing for a few minutes.

When he reappeared, he had a bottle of water and a bottle of aspirin. I groaned, and he set the stuff aside. “It’s for later.”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to keep anything down again, but I kept that thought to myself.

“You can’t sleep like that. Roll onto your side.” He motioned with his hand for me to move.

I started to roll, but he caught the hem of my shirt, stopping me. “Sit up.”

I started to oblige but then fell back. He made a sound and slid an arm beneath me and lifted. “You’re too heavy for this shit,” he grumped.

Cool air brushed over my heated skin when he pulled the shirt over my head.

“You taking advantage of me?” I cracked.

“You smell like puke,” he rebutted. Then in a more sarcastic tone, he said, “Besides, you couldn’t get it up right now even if you wanted to.”

“For you I could.”

Instant sobriety.

That’s exactly what those four words were. At least for long, still minutes.

The second I said them, everything in the room stopped. Everything stood still. I’m pretty sure my heart didn’t beat. Drew didn’t breathe… There was nothing.

Nothing but the words.

The meaning.

The implication.

The truth behind them.

Oh fuck.

I was about to make it worse, use my drunk brain to try and backpedal, try and make up some excuse.

He saved me.

Just as abruptly as everything stopped, it started up again. He started up again.

His fingers felt cool compared to my flushed skin as they wrapped around my chin. My face was tilted up, and I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to see if he saw the truth behind my confession.

“You have it on your face,” he spoke. I felt the softness of my shirt brush over my chin as he used it to clean off the mess I’d made of myself.

I intensely regretted getting drunk tonight. For so, so many reasons.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said, embarrassed.

“I know.”

I opened my eyes.

For just a millisecond, we connected.

For just a millisecond, I thought I felt something I hadn’t before.

Then he pulled away.

My shirt was tossed aside, and my total drunkenness came over me again. I groaned.

He laughed. “If you feel like shit now, you’re gonna be half dead tomorrow.”

“If I even make it to morning.” I fell back on the bed.

“You’ll make it.” He hit me on the leg. “On your side.”

“Who cares?” I grumbled, but as I did, I rolled from my back onto my side. The movement made me sick.

Again.

I retched violently for long moments, in between vowing to never drink again.

Drew didn’t say anything. He just held the trashcan because I was too fucking spent to do it for myself.

When I was done, I collapsed onto the mattress, my body shaking erratically.

He set the can on the table by the bed and disappeared. I felt the mattress dip when he sat on the other side.

“I can go down to the couch,” I stuttered between the clashing of my teeth.

“You’re staying, and so am I. Someone has to watch your drunk ass.”

I didn’t say anything. I just lay there and shuddered. He flipped the blanket up over me, and I curled in on myself a little farther in an attempt to stop shaking.

The room was dark and quiet. I don’t know how long I lay there trembling. I was in and out and completely miserable.

Eventually, I passed out.

But the temporary bliss of nothing was interrupted when I started puking up my guts again. I lunged for the bucket and winced against the sounds ripping from my throat.

Drew was there. He slid across the mattress right up against my back and tossed an arm over me to steady the bucket as I attempted to hold it.

I groaned and collapsed back onto the pillow. “There’s nothing left,” I groaned.

I’d literally thrown up everything inside me.

Drew didn’t seem as sure, and he held the bucket a few more minutes. His arm was draped over my middle, and his chest was pressed against my back. I closed my eyes and relaxed against the blankets. The trembling in my limbs subsided, and I let out a sigh of relief.

His body pressed farther against me when he leaned down to put the can aside. His bare skin brushed against mine, and I shivered.

He pulled back. “You cold?”

“No.”

Drew settled back on his side of the bed.

The trembling in my limbs started again. I wanted it to stop.

Without thought, I scooted backward, toward the center. I scooted until my back came up against his.

I felt him turn and glance back at me, but I didn’t look. I kept my face turned in the opposite direction.

“I just want to stop shaking,” I murmured and scooted a little closer, close enough I was pressed along him. Our backs were to each other, our shoulder blades touching, and so were our asses.

Within seconds, my entire body calmed again, the shaking waned, and I grew drowsy. As I was drifting off, I pushed one of my feet between his calves, tangling my leg with his.

Maybe if I wasn’t drunk out of my mind, I would have noticed him going still. Maybe I would have thought about what I was doing.

But I was drunk. I didn’t notice. I didn’t think.

But I did talk.

My dumb liquored-up tongue wasn’t done saying shit I would later pretend to forget.

“I won’t tell,” I whispered into the dark.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t pull away.

I fell asleep with the feel of him against me. I fell asleep hard and heavy.

When I woke up the next morning, he wasn’t there. The room was empty, but the pillow beside me still bore the indent of his head.

And I remembered.

Even drunk out of my mind and sick enough to puke up everything inside me, I hadn’t been able to wipe it from my memory.

Turns out I hadn’t barfed up everything.

There was still something left inside me.

Feelings.

Moments that were still so fresh and new they couldn’t yet be considered memories.

Instead, they’d become secrets. A night I was “too drunk” to remember.

We could go back to being super bros.

Best friends.

It was better that way.

 

Read the rest of #JUNKIE now!

Junkie (GearShark Book 1)