Showing results by author "K. M. Neuhold" in All Categories

Blurb I’m just a nerd, standing in front of a bench press, asking it not to humiliate me in front of my gym crush I’ve never walked into a gym on purpose in my life, and I’m not sure which part is more shocking, the massive beefcake who immediately challenges me to arm wrestle or the fact that I kind of want to come back. I spent years of my life refusing to lift anything heavier than a textbook, and it shows. I never expected that coming to the gym and bulking up would give me more gender euphoria than all the T shots in the world.

Is there such thing as love at first bar fight? I may be small and pretty, but what I lack in intimidation factor, I make up for in violence. I made a vow five years ago that the motorcycle club responsible for my brother’s death would pay the price, and I’m finally ready to collect. May God have mercy on the men who hurt my brother, because I don’t plan to.

The thing about guys is that we communicate on a physical, primal level. A hearty slap on the backside just means “good game, bro”. Some good old fashioned roughhousing just means we’re comfortable with each other. Some late night stress relief? Just dudes being dudes… Right? We’re just friends. Just roommates. Just a couple of guys doing what guys do. So what if I can’t stop thinking about kissing him? Is there a way I can “no homo” my way out of this? If I'm really honest with myself, I don't think I even want to. So… maybe YES, homo?

The last thing I want is another relationship or another broken heart. All I need are my bees and the occasional hookup to scratch the itch. Okay, maybe meeting up with my hot contractor weekly is a little more than occasional. And maybe the way I’m starting to feel about the guy I’ve been anonymously chatting with online should concern me. But CaulkyAF doesn’t want to meet, and Cole doesn’t want anything serious, so what’s the worst that could happen?

Between running a garage full of beefed-up gear-head mechanics and bailing my idiot brother out of trouble every other week, the last thing I have time for is a relationship. I’ve tried it too many times, and the ridiculous reasons I always find to end it have become a running joke around the garage. But I’ve learned my lesson. No. More. Boyfriends. I don’t care how many times Porter falls asleep drunk in my bed or how cute he looks covered in oil smears while I teach him how to fix up the vintage car he has rusting away in his garage; I’m not going to fall for him.

It took me over 35 years to admit to myself that I’m gay, another seven to find the courage to say it out loud to anyone else, and exactly 30 seconds to develop a massive crush on my daughter’s music teacher. It’s really not my fault. Have you even seen those cute bowties he wears? After everything it’s taken to get here, am I going to work up the nerve to come out to my ex-wife and my best friends?

I’ve been living under storm clouds since my honorable discharge, but Julian’s the sun. I’ve tried everything to deal with my PTSD, but nothing seemed to help. So when my brother suggests a service dog, I figure I don’t have anything to lose. The last thing I expect is for the dog to come with a cheerful, quirky trainer I can’t get out of my head. I’m too screwed up for love, but a chance to explore a side of myself I didn’t realize existed until recently is too good to pass up.

I feel like I've been fighting my whole life, and tapping out has never been an option. I can live with owing money to the Morettis. I can even live with the constant guilt that my brother is the one paralyzed in a hospital bed while I live his dream. What I can't live with is Elio Moretti, second in command to the infamous crime family, showing up to all my fights, sitting in the front row, watching me like he can't look away, and barging into the locker room to patch up my wounds and invade my space.

I never thought a night out could change everything. All I wanted was to dance, drink, maybe take a cute guy home for a night of fun. I met the guy, but the night ended as a nightmare. Screams and blood and tragedy haunt my dreams. I'm alive and I owe it all to the gorgeous marine who refused to leave me for dead. But how can I start a new relationship when I'm not even sure who I am anymore?

Most people on the island avoid the hot-tempered chef, but he doesn't scare me. Sure, he's prickly, but I've also caught him feeding a stray cat, so I know there's more to him than the sky-high barbed-wire fence he's built around himself. When Storm's ex-husband shows up unexpectedly during the off-season and refuses to go home, pretending to be Storm’s boyfriend is apparently my new job. Faking it with my grumpy boss should not be this much fun, especially since the last thing I need is to make a fool of myself by falling for anyone else on the island.

A drunken wedding to a man who already rejected me once? Check. A hefty bet about how long it will last? Check. My feisty new husband, determined to make our friends pay up? Double check. I've never managed to make a real relationship last nearly a year, and there's no way Daniel will stick around long enough to win this bet.

When I was 16, I was afflicted with a terrible curse...I fell in love with my straight best friend. I never thought I'd move past my feelings for Nash and find someone who could love me in return - until the day a gorgeous marine plopped himself down in my chair and asked me to ink him. I'm falling fast for Zade, but my feelings for Nash are still very real. When life starts getting complicated and Nash speaks the words I never thought I'd hear, the only thing I want is for us to find a way to make this work...together.

When half your face is covered in a big, blotchy birthmark, you get used to the staring and the whispers. You get used to feeling unwanted. Until he walks into my bar.... Tall, gorgeous, and all kinds of out of place. And the way he looks at me ain’t like no way I've ever seen before.

I’m everyone’s friend, but no one’s everything...I love working for Ballsy Boys, but when you make the kind of videos I do, relationships are pretty damn impossible. Guys find me sexy and want to either be with me or be me, but no one has ever cared enough to see the real me. Until I meet Troy...who shows up in a banana suit at my door. Long story.

I'm a list person. Lists make sense, they give a chaotic, unpredictable world order. Realizing I was gay at 30 definitely wasn't on my list. I guess I need a new list….

He hated me from the second he laid eyes on me, and I don't have the first clue why.... But, if he wants to hate me, I'm happy to give him a few reasons: mowing the lawn at dawn on the weekend, leaving garbage cans in front of his driveway, renting a petting zoo for my backyard...making a list of ways to drive him crazy is half the fun.

That Feeling when the man you just robbed and left tied up and blindfolded turns out to be in the mafia… I'm not proud of the things I've had to do for money to pay off my dad's debts and put my younger brother through college. But I'll never regret it. What I do regret is accidentally robbing a Moretti. Having to look over my shoulder and ducking every time a car backfires is bad enough, but when the man in question starts costing me business? Yeah, I think we’re going to have a problem.

It's not a relationship, it's just a patchwork of tattoo sessions and sweaty secrets with a rock star. No big deal. I've been keeping this secret for four years, counting down the months in between visits from Onyx. To everyone else I'm “Hero” but he mostly just calls me “yes” and “more” while we trade heated kisses and wandering hands. I know it won't ever be anything more than a wild secret and eventually he'll get bored hooking up with a tattoo artist fifteen years too old for him from Nowhere, Wisconsin. But I'm more than happy to enjoy this while it lasts.

We haven't spoken in 15 years, and Marlon is the last person I expected to run into in a bar on Bourbon Street. He's not my gangly internet pen pal anymore; he's all muscles, body hair, and temptation. Our friendship feels like it never faded, but the heat between us is brand-new. We're both in different cities every few weeks, hustling to build our careers and soaking up all the perks of being young, hot, and untethered. But our paths seem to be crossing more and more often.

The last place I expected to run into my childhood camp crush was at the local university, looking all kinds of cute in a tweed jacket with a nervous blush. I’ve always had a bit of a thing for the nerdy professor type. Demetri says he doesn’t date. I want to believe that it’s true and not that he’s not interested in a transgender man like me.