Plenty of fish in the sea.
But what if there is no “plenty”? What if Leon Finn is a lone fish? A lone fish in a glass bowl swimming in hopeful but ultimately lonely circles forever?
Dumped and forced to retreat to his tiny-town seaside bach, it’s time for Leon to cast some lines, and quick! Prove to everyone—(*cough*) ex, mother, other ex who he’s now accidentally living with—that he’s a catch.
Only no one is biting.
It sucks, but it’s solvable.
With his trusty sewing machine and endless stash of fabric he’ll make himself into the ultimate suitor. Stitch this right up.
But as a certain someone keeps whispering in his ear, is this the right way?
Pier Pressure is a light-hearted, cheeky M/M romance with silly seaside shenanigans culminating in happily ever after. It can be read as a standalone.
I crouch and stare at it. “Hello.”
It wriggles its tail and swims away. A fish here means someone’s been coming regularly, to change the water and feed it. “Who’s looking after you, hmm?” My cousin Troy lives nearby, he’d be the type to buy a goldfish for his kid without asking his wife first. I can imagine him schlepping it here and regretting his stupidity every time he came by to keep it alive.
It’s stupid, but I’m ridiculously glad I’m not completely alone. Karl and I might not have had sex in six months, but he’d always shared my bed. I was used to someone being in the same room, in the same space, closest to the door. There was something comforting in it. Like, if we got murdered, they’d have to go through him first.
Wind howls around the bach, rattling the windows and whistling down the chimney. There’s the creak of a door on its hinges, and bloody hell. The bach never seemed this freaky in summer . . .
I raid my suitcase and yank on the kiddiest pyjamas I own, my fluffy ducky ones. Maybe if I look innocent enough, a murderer might think twice before offing me, giving me crucial time to—yep, that hearth shovel was coming to bed with me. And . . . and the fish. I couldn’t leave it all alone out here. The killer might . . .
Carefully, I lift the bowl, tuck it to my chest and take refuge in my room.”
I wake up to a shadow looming over me.
I scream and throw blankets into the darkened face. The shovel! Where is it? I plunge an arm down the side of my bed, between the mattress and the wall, and grope for the weapon. Nothing. And meanwhile I’m left in a frighteningly exposed, arse-up position. I forget the shovel and throw myself onto my back, hands balled at the ready.
Before me the figure is muttering something that gets lost under a thick layer of feather-down. A large hand with a vein running down the middle reaches around the duvet and with a whoosh, my cover is yanked off.
Instead of hauling arse out the window with Fishy, I’m asking the intruder to please at once remove himself from my bed chamber. Apparently, I turn into Darcy in panic—“Damon?”
Laughter. As heavy as the ocean, as warm as the dawn spilling into my room. “Well hello, Leon.”
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About the Author:
A bit about me: I’m a big, BIG fan of slow-burn romances. I love to read and write stories with characters who slowly fall in love.
Some of my favourite tropes to read and write are: Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Clueless Guys, Bisexual, Pansexual, Demisexual, Oblivious MCs, Everyone (Else) Can See It, Slow Burn, and Love Has No Boundaries.
I write a variety of stories, Contemporary MM Romances with a good dollop of angst, Contemporary lighthearted MM Romances, and even a splash of fantasy.
My books have been translated into German, Italian, French, Spanish, and Thai.
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