Hi all! We made it to Friday and that means another sneak peek at my upcoming release. Third Son is a contemporary m/m novel set in Hong Kong.
Before you get started on the excerpt, I'd like to remind you about the 30% discount available at NineStar Press if you pre-order the novel. Once the book releases it goes back to full price. Type in PREORDER at checkout to get the discount. Here's the link: https://ninestarpress.com/product/third-son/
I know some of you prefer Amazon's convenient one-click method and I totally get that. Here's the direct link to Third Son: https://www.amazon.com/Third-Son-Mickie-B-Ashling-ebook/dp/B075GX12SJ/ref=la_B004QSCN3E_1_30?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1504964136&sr=1-30&refinements=p_82%3AB004QSCN3E
And we're off....
The gallery
was crowded when I walked through the doors at six that evening. Gerard must
have been on the lookout, because he was by my side in seconds. I almost didn’t
recognize him in a suit. It was the first time since we met that he wasn’t in
casual clothes. The who’s who of Hong Kong must have been in attendance if he
wanted to make a good impression. He looked gorgeous, but I didn’t voice that
out loud.
“Thanks for coming, Niall,” he said,
grabbing me in a bro hug. “I know you’d rather be somewhere else tonight.”
“Actually, you’re wrong. Celebrating with
you is exactly where I want to be right now.”
Gerard smiled. “I’m glad.”
He took my arm and we made a slow circuit
of the gallery, stopping occasionally so he could respond to the many
well-wishers. More than half of the artwork had a Sold sticker beside the
title, and I imagined they’d be completely gone by the end of the night. This
exhibit’s theme was Tanka boat people, the gypsies of the sea, according to the
printed handout describing Gerard’s current pieces. The origins of these people
could be traced back to the Tang Dynasty when local fishermen chose to escape
war by settling on their vessels. The images showed typical family scenes in an
atypical home. Toothless men sharing a meal with their younger, more virile
counterparts, women washing their hair, breastfeeding, stir-frying vegetables
in woks over hot coals, children playing with strings and buttons they’d turned
into toys, piles of fish, some still leaping in the air, while others were
gutted and ready for delivery.
They were starkly realistic but tempered
by the ink wash painting, his chosen medium for this particular exhibit. The
goal was to capture the spirit of the subject beyond the actual image. Gerard
had succeeded magnificently, and I would have gladly handed over a check to own
a piece for myself if the timing had been better. With my future in doubt, I
couldn’t afford to be impulsive. Although my job was secure, and the company
had assured me that staying in Hong Kong was my choice, Minister Xiang Guo
might refuse to work with anyone else. In truth, I was perfectly suited for
this branch, and my transfer back to the States might not be forthcoming if the
PRC held sway over the decision. I’d have to wait and see how this all played
out before investing in expensive artwork.
Gerard had promised dinner after the show,
so I picked at the finger food and nursed my drink. At the gallery owner’s
urging, he wandered away to schmooze potential buyers while I made another
round of the room, going from painting to painting. Gerard was an extremely
gifted and versatile artist. The murals we’d purchased for the Thailand project
were oils and eerily futuristic, nothing at all like these meticulous inks that
had an old-fashioned vibe. Minister Guo would be a fool to reject him because
of finances.
“I’ve been given permission to escape,”
Gerard said quietly. He’d snuck up behind me and I spun around, startled by the
mischievous smile on his face.
“Don’t you enjoy meeting your buyers in
person?” I asked. “Basking in the spotlight seems like the perfect reward for
all your hard work.”
“Not really,” Gerard replied. “I’d rather
paint and have someone else do the promo.”
“That’s refreshing,” I commented. “Most
artists enjoy this part more.”
“Do you know a lot of artists?”
“I meant artistic types in general,” I
said.
He shook his head. “Not my thing, Are you
ready to get out of here?”
“Where are we going?” I asked. “I’m
starving.”
“You want fancy or down-to-earth good
food.”
“The latter,” I said. “I’m ready to dig
into a mountain of crab and shrimp with my fingers.” “Good deal,” Gerard said. “I know the
perfect place.”
His idea of perfect was the local version of a greasy spoon.
We walked into the heart of Kowloon, getting farther away from the tourist
traps and weaving through narrow alleys and backstreets. Gerard reached for my
hand to help me circumnavigate puddles, and other undesirable droppings, and
didn’t let go until we got to our destination. I probably should have untangled
our meshed fingers, knowing the culture, but being with a man who cared about
my well-being and wasn’t afraid to show it was a welcome change.
After I came out to my parents in my sophomore year of high
school, kisses and hugs just stopped. Maybe they figured if I was old enough to
have sex with another guy, I wouldn’t need their affection. It was odd and
painful, but at least they hadn’t disowned me, which was what I’d been
expecting. Even now, after all these years, they continued to be reserved,
preferring to shower me with cards and gifts instead of a pat on the back or a
much-needed hug. I was so starved for open displays of affection, I soaked up
Gerard’s attention.
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