Ring My Bell
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by B. A. Tortuga
Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
Description: Collin doesn't have a lot of Christmas spirit this year. He's ringing a bell for charity as part of his community service, and it makes his head hurt in the worst way. When he finds an injured man on the road on his way home one night, he figures it's just another big headache. Gaz isn't just any guy, though. He's got a very angry boss, a few terrible scars where his wings have been ripped off, and a thriving phone sex business he needs to get back to in California. It's a long way from North Texas to Napa Valley, though. The chemistry between them is strong, but will they find enough common ground to have a Merry Christmas?
eBook Publisher: Torquere Press/Single Shot, 2007 http://torquerepress.com/
eBookwise Release Date: December 2007
52 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [49 KB]
Reading time: 28-40 min.
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
The bell ringing gig was getting old. It really was. 'Course it was his own fault. That drunken brawl at the Oasis had cost Collin about five hundred dollars in fines and three weeks of volunteer work. As a Christmas bell ringer. It sure as hell lowered his Christmas spirit. So much for peace on earth, Collin was ready to have a mental breakdown. And the turkey leftovers were only just gone.
"You know, every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings," some old blue haired lady said while she dropped fifty cents into Collin's donation can.
He bared his teeth. "That's what they say. Happy Holidays."
"You too, honey."
Shoot him. Now.
With a rusty motherfucking bazooka.
When his three hour shift was finally over, Collin had frozen fingers, a permanent ringing in his ears, and a bad case of the growls. He wanted a pizza, a beer and someone to rub his aching feet. Good thing he was easy to please, and would settle for best two out of three.
He headed down to the end of the Wal-Mart parking lot, where he'd parked his truck, and he groaned the minute his feet left the blacktop. Cowboy boots were not made for standing on concrete all day. They were made for shit kicking, which Collin still had to go home and do; his dogs and horses had been out all day. With his fucking luck, the barn had burned down.
Halfway home, Collin spied something in the middle of the road. Looked too big to be a coyote, too small to be someone's cow, but it still had him slamming on the brakes when he got close. Goddamn. There was a crater in the damned road, and it was surrounded by bunches of white feathers, just like someone had hit a chicken truck. A big assed chicken truck.
Problem was, the only thing in the crater in the road was a naked dude.
The guy didn't look ... damaged, really. No guts on the road. No smooshed parts. Just naked.