Mechanics and kitties and professors… oh my!
Since vowing celibacy over a decade ago, history professor and classic car aficionado Edwin Blais’s only comfort has been his dead partner’s cat, Francesca. When she gets lost, Edwin’s beside himself…until he meets the man who found her.
Cat-lover and mechanic Forrest James is a Roman sculpture brought to life, old enough to run a successful garage but not old enough to forget the secrets of a painful childhood.
Edwin’s lonely, and a straight man poses no threat to his vow. Soon he’s going to the garage every night after class. Forrest’s quiet friendship is healing Edwin’s broken heart until a night of mind-blowing sex changes everything. Edwin can’t deny his growing feelings, but a relationship between them seems impossible.
After Edwin uncovers the mysteries behind Forrest’s tough exterior, he’s forced to choose between a lost love and an unexpectedly tender new love who needs Edwin more than he ever could have guessed. Only by dealing with their tragic pasts can either forge a future. Will they find a way to do together what neither could do alone? Read an excerpt
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Art by P.L. Nunn
After an accident takes his lover, Dr. Edwin Blais—a University of Texas history professor—vows celibacy. With only his dead lover’s cat for company, he spends the next eleven years alone before the Maine Coon, Francesca, escapes from her cat sitter while Edwin is at work. The loss shatters Edwin. Desperate, he plasters the neighborhood with Lost Cat signs offering five thousand dollars for her return.
A few blocks away at a body shop, Nasty, an old black Tom cat, adopts Francesca. Forrest James, owner of the shop and Nasty, refuses the reward and strikes up a friendship with Edwin. While Forrest seems like a safe crush for a celibate man because he certainly appears straight, after a couple of drinks he gets a little handsy. After Edwin meets Forrest’s ex-boyfriend, he realizes that his crush may be a relationship and he’s not sure he’s ready for it. Will Edwin get over himself and his lost love before the dreamboat mechanic moves on?
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On my Twitter, I saw someone retweet this:
Being a writer, I had to go look so that I could see how I’d been doing it all wrong according to Joyce Carol Oates. But, of course, it’s The Onion. It’s the comedies, not an advice column.
But as I was reading, I started to have the sads because just the other night I read a post from a comic book writer lady who had been accused of that very thing to have her awesome career. People actually believe it.
The brilliance of making a joke of it is, of course, anyone with any sense laughs. Because Joyce Carole Oates is a very talented writer and obviously you’d have to sleep with a lot of readers too to get so famous. She’s very prolific with the writing, so I doubt she’d have the time.
Plus, she’s never so much as flirted with me. So it’s not happening.
Anyway. That’s for me. One of the people on the inside, hip to that sarcasm. But it’s sad-making because people really believe that. Usually bitter people who aren’t very good writers. But those usually count as people, too.
It’s sad being someone with lady parts who works as hard as others do only to have her accomplishments undermined by such shitty speculation, but even I find myself engaged in it. That gives me the sads, too.
Anyway. Good parody. It got me thinking. Mostly about how being a lady isn’t worth the cost, but also about my perceptions of things.