GENRE: Gay Historical Spicy Romance
LENGTH: 32,702 words
RATING:

After a couple of weeks at the Fire Island cabin, developing their second play together, writer Sam Herman thinks his star’s flirting means he can finally risk a kiss. But maybe not: Tommy Hayes doesn’t make a scene about it, but he leaves fast.

Back in the city, Tommy spills the story to a friend who makes an unexpected suggestion: marriage. Much to Tommy’s surprise, the solution works. His wife Roberta is underwriting their play. She and Sam’s wife become friends. And Tommy has their blessing to find out why Sam’s kiss didn’t send him running to confession.

Tommy and Sam find ways to fit their love affair into their marriages, careers, and military service. But they live on opposite coasts for decades, and Tommy finally has to ask: can they ever have a real life together?

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Tommy was in no hurry to leave their love nest under the arbor. Leonard had been asleep for hours. Roberta knew why Tommy wasn’t in his own room. Miriam knew why Sam stayed outside after the women, gin, tonic, and glasses returned to the house.

As usual, the first round went fast. Tommy used his shirt as a towel, leaving it crumpled under the daybed. They took a moment to tidily arrange the rest of their clothes, to make getting dressed again easier if they accidentally fell asleep and needed to hurry, then stretched out together under one of the blankets. He could’ve dozed off right now, head on Sam’s shoulder, body relieved, heart soothed. Except he needed to do that again, tonight, because he knew Sam wouldn’t stay all summer. Tommy’d return to the reasonably attractive, respectfully discreet alternative he’d met a few months back. Not someone on the lot, thank God; his substitute lover was a lawyer. They’d met when Tommy signed the lease on the house. Sam, of course, hadn’t asked. He never did. So Tommy didn’t ask who Sam was seeing, even though he knew there must be somebody. He hated the thought. Hated needing someone else himself. Those feelings weren’t fair; they were doing the best they could. Being as faithful as they could.

So it was a good thing he could still make do with infrequent encounters, burning off most of his physical energy at the gymnasium, in the pool, or rehearsing his dancers on the lot. And it was a very good thing that Sam was here, breath growing rough again as Tommy’s hand wandered. “You’ve got those New Yorker legs,” Tommy murmured, smiling at the soft answering laugh. “Walking everywhere, miles a day. Nobody walks in Hollywood.”

“Everything’s too far apart,” Sam said. “How are you doing, really?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Yeah. Well.” After a moment of silence, Sam went on. “Miriam’s coping. It was tough losing both her parents so young. My folks are doing their best to fill the gap. Roberta’s been great, honestly, the two of them are like sisters.”

“Roberta said that, too.”

“I spend time with the kids every day. Talk about their schoolwork. My writing focus isn’t so good. I hop from one project to another like those sparrows on the terrace.”

“I’m lucky, I guess,” Tommy said, knowing he was in fact very, very lucky. “All I have to do is show up on the lot when they tell me to, do what they want, talk to whichever reporter, pose for whatever pictures. Let my agent deal with the business side, keep an eye on my lawyer and my accountant, write to Roberta and Leonard.”

“You don’t have a phone yet.”

Tommy huffed out a laugh, tucking his face between Sam’s arm and ribs to mute it. “Yeah, Roberta mentioned that too. It’s on the list. Right now, it’s easier to just say, call my agent, or call the movie studio.”

“Does Roberta keep your letters?”

Tommy blinked, raised his head, made eye contact. Sam’s expression was affectionate. Tommy kissed a nipple and put his head back down. “I think so. I kind of hope so. Heard about the gossip rags sending people to break in and steal papers, so I don’t keep copies of anything personal around here.” After a moment, he added, “Do you?”

“No.” Sam’s tone was soft, regretful, almost bitter. “I keep it all in my head.”