April 21st from Evernight publishing
Steven
is tall, dark and damaged. He doesn't let anyone close, comfortable on the
outside of normal life where he can hide his scars behind a wall so high that
nothing gets through…except them.
Despite a childhood marred with black and blue, he's survived and moved in with
his two best friends, Sam and Charlie.
Life
should get better, but it was Sam who held him when the dark threatened to
swallow him whole, Sam who gave him a place that felt like home, and Sam who
knew every scar and every broken place.
And
it's all been taken away with Charlie sharing Sam's bed.
Without
his former confront, Steven realizes what's been hiding in the deep corners of
his heart, and the truth sinks him like a weight. He’s in love with one or maybe both of
his roommates. Navigating unrequited love tears Steven apart and brings him to
the precipice, and he has to choose: his feelings or Sam’s…and
Charlie’s?
Here is a sneak
peek from Veil of Scars:
Soon the music
was going and party-goers were milling about in the low lights. There were
drinks and bodies on every surface. I stood behind the bar, not minding making
drinks for the guests since there was little else at the party that I wanted to
do. The atmosphere mellowed as the liquor took effect, and Sam had long stopped
trying to drag me out to dance. Instead, he’d taken up a spot on the couch with Char. Their mouths met, skin and
lips, while their hands wandered, stroking and skimming over each other’s clothes as the party moved around them. I sat back, finding I was
no longer needed as everyone was sated. The few remaining people had paired off
in couples for the night, strewn over the furniture and floor. The base
thumped, and bodies moved with it as if the alcohol had turned them into living
recreations of the music. The door to Char and Sam's room slammed shut, closing
off a guy and two adventurous women.
Sam’s head snapped back
at the sound, and he cursed under his breath. He glanced around then whispered
to Char. She giggled and grabbed a throw off the back of the couch.
An
outsider where I sat, I seemed to have escaped notice as the only fairly sober
party in the room.
She
pulled the blanket over herself and then moved the thin fabric over his lap.
Soon Sam’s
head flopped back into the cushion, and his mouth fell open in a soundless
moan. Charlie's eyes blazed with mischief, and she grew more eager with every
reaction from her boyfriend. His hand slid up her shoulder, curling around the
back of her neck. My skin burned in the same place, a physical memory of the
times he’d
touched me the same way.
He
dragged his head off the back of the sofa and looked at her, his blue gaze
pleading louder than any words could. The air buzzed with electricity from the
pair of them. He licked over his lips, and the muscles in his arm tightened as
he guided her head towards his lap. Charlie ducked under the blanket, and a
flash of heat ran through me.
Was
she really going to go down on him in the middle of the party?
I
held my breath, transfixed as Sam lifted up his ass below where the blanket
covered him to slide his pants down around his ankles, I guessed. He groaned,
this time audibly, and the sound went right to my gut. I chewed on my lip ring
unable to stop myself from staring. Charlie's head bobbed under the cover, and
Sam's eyes rolled back in his head.
Suddenly
I was flushed and embarrassed. I was the voyeur, spying on my friends who were
caught up in drunken passion. I tore my eyes away from his lap only to find his
blue gaze locked on me.
About J.R. Gray
When not
staying up all night writing, J.R Gray can be found basking in the warm glow of
the Miami sun, or at the gym where it's half assumed Gray is a permanent
resident. A dominant, pilot, and sword fighting enthusiast, Gray finds it hard
to be in the passenger seat of any car. Gray frequently interrupts real life,
including normal sleep patterns, to jot down nonsense. The bane of Gray's
existence are commas, and even though it's been fully acknowledged they are
necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder.
If Gray wasn't
writing...well, that's not possible. The build up of untold stories would haunt
Gray into an early grave or possibly a mental institution where the tales would
end up on the walls in crayon and finger paint.
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