Blurb:
Rory Graeble returns to college
determined to reinvent himself. Too many years have been wasted with masks, but
becoming a student leader is a step Rory isn’t sure he’s ready for. A new
identity takes more than just a new nickname, and Rory knows he has to take the
chances that his old self would never risk. When that chance is a party that
ends with an anonymous hot skater’s tongue down his throat and a phone number
in his pocket, Rory knows what he has to do.
Danny Smits never expected to see
stuffy lit geek Rory Graeble trying to be out, trying to be proud, trying to
be… Rory. It’s damned sexy, and too much for the entrepreneurial skater to
resist. When Rory calls him back the day after the party, Danny knows Rory has
changed. But will Danny’s haunted past deter Rory? Or will Rory embrace the
chance to experience everything the closet had stolen away? Danny believes in
keeping things real, in a brutal honesty he knows means Rory will run
screaming.
But this time Rory isn’t running.
Excerpt:
It was quiet. Rory knew that
wasn’t normal. He gazed out the windows. The angle of the building meant that
one side was faced toward the campus, a miniature city full of towering
buildings scattered in clumps, the other faced the mountains and woods. Two
contrary images. It appealed to his poetic soul. That was a part of Lawrence he
had no intention of letting go. It spoke to his core, that love of words.
Rory opened a window against the
heat. Wentworth was an older building, and Rory half expected in winter that
he’d have to keep the window open just to breathe. For now though, with no
air-conditioning and a fan that did nothing except when pointed at bare skin,
an open window was a welcome reprieve from the late August heat. There wasn’t
enough of what he wanted Rory to be, not yet, for him to be comfortable with
naked skin—at least not his naked skin.
His dorm room was taking shape.
The books were on the bookshelf, two deep. An index card on the end of each
shelf cataloged the books on the back row. They were books he wouldn’t want
often, but when he wanted them, they’d be easy enough to find. Each shelf had a
theme. On each shelf his favorites were in alpha order in front, and those he’d
brought only out of fear his dad wouldn’t… Rory closed his eyes and took a long
breath. There were reasons for his rebirth as Rory, and not all of them were
here at school.
The boxes for the books were
broken down and in the back of the closet. His clothes were hung up or
carefully folded and in drawers. They spoke of Lawrence, not Rory, but they
were what he had. It would be easy to fall back into wearing these. He’d have
to for a little while. Clothes cost money, and for the first time in his life,
Rory was not confident a call home would yield any more, not even for clothes.
Especially not for clothes. What’s wrong with the clothes you’ve got? It’s what
his dad would say. Probably his mom too.
With three beanbag chairs, the
chair for his desk and the bed, that meant seating for five, at least. Anything
over ten was considered a party. Not that he had any real hope of filling even
the five spaces he had. Rory chuckled at himself. He could hope, but it
wouldn’t happen. Still, he might get Stacy and Barry to join him. He walked up
against the window, pinned between the steady whir of the fan and the tiny
breeze from the window. It was comfortable. Well, not yet. Not really. But it
would get more so over the course of the semester. He had to believe that.
On the desk next to his laptop,
too hard to ignore from where he stood at the window, was his student
leadership packet. The college had found some money somewhere. The portfolio
wasn’t the cheap paper folder he’d expected. The mock-leather portfolio marked
with the school seal—embossed on the cover, not just ink—had come with a lapel
pin and a school pen. Okay, so the pads of paper inside were cheap, but that
the school had done that for all the student leaders who arrived early? The
communications major in him couldn’t help but analyze it for the message, and
it wasn’t hard for him to guess. Take this seriously; they want us to take it
seriously.
Rory wondered if they knew that
the fledgling leaders were coming back in an hour as the sun finished its
descent with the makings of a party. He wondered if Barry knew. Bronzed. Fit.
Popular. Of course Barry knew. Rory glanced at the door he’d left open. He
tried to pretend it was for something as mundane as airflow, but in his heart
where the dull ache of the afternoon’s discussion still sat like a leaden
brick, he knew better.
“This is where you do something
stupid, Lawrence,” he whispered to himself. He knew what he wanted to do. Want
is a strong term. Maybe it’s just the only way you know how to deal with it.
And your name is Rory, dipshit. Lawrence is dead.
He looked again at the pile of
leadership materials. How had Aidan talked him into this again? Oh, right.
There was no one else. Aidan and Michael, they were gone. John Simmons was
gone. All they had was a scattered and broken community.
Rory looked out at the slowly
illuminating lights in the buildings across campus. It wasn’t like it would be
when classes started. Right now it was just dots of light here and there.
Athletes. Student government. Student organization leaders. It was getting
dark. The party would start soon. As a leader, he’d been invited, quietly, with
everyone else. Would the athletes be there to make him feel inadequate? Rory
let out a breath, slow. Lawrence would never have gone. Maybe that meant Rory
needed to.
He sat down at the desk and
quickly flipped through the packet. Even on a cursory glance it was clear that
the real requirement was to be present for the workshops throughout the week.
The administration had scrupulously left the evenings to the students. It was a
kindness, he noted, they had not extended to the residence life staff. He’d
seen Becky and Barry earlier, making door tags for each of the residents. It
would take them hours to do, and he’d wondered at the time why they’d started
so early. But if Barry knew about the party… Rory sighed. Why did it matter if
Barry was there? He wasn’t interested.
He’s comfortable. I’ll know
someone. It’ll be bearable.
Rory closed the portfolio and
pushed it away. His thoughts turned to how he could almost see skin under that
too thin shirt of Barry’s. Also pretty uncomfortable.
He stood up and walked over to
his closet. They were nice clothes, but they all fit into a particular mode. He
pushed the hangers aside one by one. White shirt. Blue shirt. Pastel shirt. All
of them button fronts. Then cardigans. One after another. Trousers and
corduroys. Tweed jackets. Two business suits his parents had bought him for
interviews. At least one of them was sleeker and more modern.
“They’re all Lawrence. All of
them,” he muttered. He rested his forehead in one hand, massaging his scalp
with his fingers to try to stall the oncoming headache. His eyes opened wide.
“Maybe…”
He went back to the desk, trying
to stay calm, and pulled out his laptop. Two quick searches and he’d found it:
what good-looking fashion models could do with a cardigan. It wasn’t Lawrence
at all. That was good. But could Rory pull it off? He was no top model.
He looked back at his closet.
“Better than locking myself into being Lawrence again all year.” He combed his
fingers back through his hair and closed his eyes again. “I can do this. I can
choose to be Rory.”
Meet the Author:
Ashavan Doyon spends his days
working with students as part of the student affairs staff at a liberal arts
college. During lunch, evenings, and when he can escape the grasp of his
husband on weekends, he writes, pounding out words day after day in hopes that
his ancient typewriter-trained fingers won’t break the glass on his tablet
computer. Ashavan is an avid science fiction and fantasy fan and prefers to
write while listening to music that fits the mood of his current story. He has
no children, having opted instead for the companionship of two beautiful and
thoroughly spoiled pugs. A Texan by birth, he currently lives in New England,
and frequently complains of the weather.
Ashavan went to school at the
University of Massachusetts at Amherst, getting his degree in Russian and East
European Studies, with a focus in language and literature. He has two
incomplete manuscripts from college that he goes back compulsively to fiddle
with every so often, but is still not happy with either of them. He still loves
fantasy and science fiction and reads constantly in the moments between writing
stories.
Ashavan loves to hear from
readers and can be reached at ashavandoyon@gmail.com.
Congratulations on your new book!! It looks fantastic and sounds amazing. I've added it to my wishlist =D
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