Authors: K.A. Merikan
Tags: #M/M romance, Love’s Landscapes, gay romance, contemporary, enemies to lovers, cinderfella, reunited, geeks/nerds, blue collar, businessman, bullying, escort, first time, high school crush
One day you’ll be pumping my gas
Mike Miller’s life has gone to shit. The formerly popular high school quarterback now works at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. The last thing he needs is meeting the guy he used to bully at school and seeing him all sorts of polished up. James is now the proud owner of an amazing silver Jaguar and a self-made millionaire. It seems that the day couldn’t get any worse for Mike, but James ‘Lovelace’ Austin might just turn out to be his golden ticket out of the job he hates.
When James Austin meets Mike Miller, his high school crush and tormentor all in one, working at an old, dirty gas station, it feels as if the stars have finally aligned in his favor. He wants to finally get his revenge on the guy, but when Mike turns out to be gay, the whole afternoon takes a turn for the surreal. Instead of just humiliating Mike at his workplace, James decides to hire him for a weekend at a conference he’s attending. A hot guy by his side is the only accessory James needs to rub his success in the faces of his frenemies.
Only problem is, a gay Mike Miller might be too much of a blast from the past than James ever expected. If James wants his nerdy heart safe from the hunky jock, he needs to keep Mike at arm’s length. The task would be a lot easier if Mike wasn’t unashamedly hitting on James. Or is it just James’s money Mike is after?
An M/M Romance series
By K.A. Merikan
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invited members to choose a photo and pen a letter asking for a short M/M romance story inspired by the image; authors from the group were encouraged to select a letter and write an original tale. The result was an outpouring of creativity that shone a spotlight on the special bond between M/M romance writers and the people who love what these authors do.
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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Mr. Jaguar, Copyright © 2014 K.A. Merikan
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M/M Romance Group Publication
By K.A. Merikan
Two men lie on a bed locked in a passionate embrace. Completely naked, oblivious to the world around them, they share something special, a bond they couldn’t possibly have with anyone else.
I feel there is so much emotion on the bottom’s face in this photo. I want to know what the story is behind these two guys. The author can write anything they would like, as long as the story includes the following:
1) I love enemies-to-lovers and best friends-to-lovers stories. I don’t care which route you go, I’d just like it to be a story from one of those genres.
2) I love angst! Angst would be very much appreciated.
3) It has to have an HEA. I’ll leave the rest up to you. Tell me who they are, why they are so in love, how they got to this point, and where they are going from here.
4) No gratuitous sex or PWP, but like the picture shows, I’d like this one to have some seriously hot smexin’.
5) Would prefer this one not to have any BDSM.
enemies to lovers, cinderfella, reunited, geeks/nerds, blue collar, businessman, bullying, escort, first time, high school crush
By K.A. Merikan
The heat made Mike boil in his uniform, so even though his boss had told him not to, he pushed the top of his coveralls down to his hips. Mike was pretty sure the old pig was just jealous his employee looked so much hotter than him. Not to mention both Vega’s wife and their daughter, Vanessa, were making eyes at Mike, which couldn’t be going down all that well with the guy. Vega probably only kept Mike on because he couldn’t find anyone else who’d do the job for the slave wages he was willing to offer and live in the ancient motel by the gas station as well.
Mike carried a crate of beer into the small convenience store where Vega sat behind the counter, sweating, farting, watching TV and fanning himself with a newspaper. Without a word, Mike made his way toward the fridge to stack it full of beer. When he left home three years ago, he never thought he’d end up working at a shabby gas station in the desert, in a dead-end job, and with no one to fuck. No, when he came out and his family showed him the door, he was sure what awaited him would be a gay paradise, a never-ending parade of hot, tight asses and eager throats. Instead, he was stuck in this dump, barely scraping a living, not able to save up for anything, not able to afford a car, even though he kept fixing other people’s.
Life just wasn’t fair for Mike Miller. Wasn’t a hot mechanic every gay guy’s dream? Thanks to the free gym Vanessa let him use at the motel, he never got out of shape after high school, unlike some of his former teammates, but that wasn’t helping his chances when he didn’t have a quarter to his soul and never met anyone. Hell, if things kept up the pace they had slogged at for the last twenty-seven years of his life, maybe he should knock up Vanessa and become the proud heir to Vega Gas & Motel?
There wasn’t much traffic at the moment, but Vega wouldn’t let him have a moment’s peace, so he pulled out a rag and started pretending to clean the fridge door of the ever-present dust. He could kill for a cold beer right now. His throat was slowly turning into sandpaper while his skin couldn’t have been more wet without getting into a shower stall.
From outside, he heard the low hum of a car, but when it came to an abrupt stop, he knew they had a customer. Mike groaned but just kept stacking the beer in the fridge and enjoying the cool breeze coming from between its cold walls. It was like standing in the door to Narnia. He crossed his fingers for the customer pumping his own gas, paying Vega, and disappearing from sight. But no, the hoarse, cigarette-infused screech grabbed the back of Mike’s neck to haul him back to the door like a disobedient puppy.
“Hey, you! There’s Mr. Jaguar waiting for his lady friend. Chop, chop!”
Mike rolled his eyes and put a cold beer against his forehead for a sec before closing the fridge. “I’m going, I’m going. Can’t he pump his own gas? Rich asshole.” He walked along the shelves, but just as he was about to put his sunglasses on, he saw the Jaguar in all its glory. Sleek and designed for speed like the animal it was named after, the convertible almost blinded him with sunlight reflecting off its silver body. Mike’s eyes already strayed to a slim figure leaning against its side. Mr. Jaguar didn’t look like someone who belonged in a beat-up place such as this. Dressed in a pair of well-fitted, cream-colored slacks and a white shirt, he was the male version of the bombshell blonde customer even Vega would rush out to pump gas for. The presence of such a woman here was as elusive as the possibility of a meteorite striking Vega through the roof. Mike would take the meteorite, hands down. Or Mr. Jaguar, who combed his dark hair with his fingers and looked at Mike through a pair of pitch-black shades.
Mike was drawn out of the convenience store as if the guy were that cold beer he dreamt of. He’d rub him all over his body, not just the forehead. He put his sunglasses on as well, not really even dreaming the guy would be gay anyway. But stare he could, even at a straight guy.
“What can I do you for?” Mike asked, walking up to the car and shamelessly running his fingers along the side of the Jag’s door. He’d sell his soul for a machine like that. The customer’s mouth opened slightly, as if Mike’s invisible finger pressed on the middle of that plump lower lip. There was just a shadow of dark stubble on his cheeks, which only accentuated the customer’s angular cheekbones.
Sharp as razor blades
, thought Mike, but it did nothing to stifle his excitement. It wasn’t often that he met a man this hot in person. Slim, but the rolled-up sleeves revealed toned forearms covered by a dusting of black hair. The customer stared at him in silence, eyebrows gathered into a deep frown over the sunglasses.
“I ain’t got all day, you know?” Mike pouted and put his hands on his hips. He wasn’t going to take shit from Mr. Jaguar, no matter how hot he was. And he was
hot. Mike imagined himself grabbing the guy and fucking him on the hood of the car. He’d get to bury his dick in a piece of hot meat and caress the body of the car as well.
“You seem familiar.” Slowly, the customer raised his hands and took off the sunglasses, revealing a pair of narrow, expressive eyes. They were as blue as the sky above them.
Mike gave him another once-over, from the stylish leather shoes, to the catalog-trimmed hair. “I’ve never left the county, so I doubt it,” he said, but stood a bit closer, hoping Vega wouldn’t see it from his farting chair. What if the guy actually
gay? Maybe being ‘familiar’ was meant as a pickup line? Why was he so bad at this kind of stuff?
“I used to live around here,” said Mr. Jaguar, giving Mike a long look. “Didn’t you go to Alberta High School?”
Mike frowned and took a step back. “Yeah, why?” He pulled his sunglasses off and combed his fingers through his brown hair. Fuck. He should have combed it that morning. Was this the moment he should say something like,
I’d remember someone as hot as you from school
and they would both laugh before going round the back for a quick blowjob? Mr. Jaguar did have nice lips that now broadened in a smile.
“Mike Miller, am I right? The quarterback.”
Mike gave him a crooked smile.
Mike Miller, the quarterback.
That did sound nice. Too bad it wasn’t high school anymore, and you couldn’t live off being a mediocre football player. He’d been good in school, just not good enough for a scholarship.
But Mike had to focus on the problem at hand. He couldn’t link those blue eyes to a name at all. “Yeah, long time ago,” he said and held out his hand to the guy, hoping Mr. Jaguar would save him from his misery and introduce himself. He didn’t even take the hand Mike offered.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked with a small smile.
Mike crooked his head to the side and rubbed his hand against his sweaty stomach as if he’d never held it out. This was getting truly annoying. “Not really, no.” He shrugged, trying to keep his cool even though goosebumps of shame were crawling up his back. A motherfucker he was supposed to know from school pulled up in a Jag, and he had no choice but to pump his gas. Perfect. Another perfect day in the life of Mike Miller.