Heat Wave: Burlington

By Lynn Townsend

Brandon Russo can't stand the sight of blood and the current heat wave makes doing almost anything outdoors unpleasant. So when an SUV sideswipes a bicycle right at the gate of the storage facility in Burlington, Vermont, where Brandon works for his aunt, he considers just locking himself in the office and calling 911. But he's rewarded for letting his good nature overcome his squeamishness when the man he rescues from the ditch turns out to be absolutely gorgeous.

Scott Seay is a photographer on the trail of a legend. A strong lead has brought him to Vermont for the auction of a storage unit whose owner had been obsessed with Champy, the creature rumored to live in the depths of Lake Champlain. When Scott winds up in a ditch outside that very same storage facility, being rescued by a hot, chivalrous man who literally sweeps Scott into his arms ... well, Scott's always believed in fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Jul 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781611528107

Lynn Townsend

Described as a social tornado, Lynn Townsend is a geek, a dreamer and an inveterate punster. When not reading, writing, or editing, she can usually be found drinking coffee or killing video game villains. Lynn's interests include filk music, romance novels, octopuses, and movies with more FX than plot. For more information, please visit paidbytheweird.blogspot.com.

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Heat Wave: Burlington

By Lynn Townsend

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2015 Lynn Townsend

ISBN 9781611528107

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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Heat Wave: Burlington

By Lynn Townsend

Scott had exactly four seconds to prioritize when the SUV clipped his bike’s rear tire and sent him careening into the ditch: brain, backpack, body, bike. He’d fallen off his bike a few times before, although usually it was through his own dumbassery and not some careless driver on a cell phone—who probably hadn’t even felt the impact and even if they did, wouldn’t stop.

Brain. Priority one. Everything. If he busted up his head, he could kiss any chance of anything else goodbye. He was already wearing a helmet.

Priority two: backpack. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t have been a consideration. Stuff was, for the most part, just stuff and could be replaced. But this time, his backpack contained several other sub-bags, which in turn lovingly cradled his Nikon D810 and his extra lenses. He didn’t relish the idea of trying to replace that camera. Not to mention, priority three: body.

If Scott handed on the backpack, it was going to hurt—well, hurt more—than if he landed flat on the ground.

He’d already mentally written off the bike; if he was lucky, it would be repairable. But there was no saving it in the .3 seconds he had remaining.

Scott tucked his chin and rolled, hitting the ground with his shoulder. The backpack jostled against him once, but he skidded along on his side, avoiding the worst damage. He took most of what appeared to be a fluffy suburban shrubbery to the face; it wasn’t so soft up close, being all spiny branches and prickly leaves, all determined to flay the skin right off his cheek. He heard a car’s horn blare, rolled out of the way, just in case, and ended up on his belly in the bottom of a drainage ditch. An unpleasant crunch of metal clued him in that the bike was, by all accounts, probably lost.

The first moment after he struck the ground was, astonishingly, almost pain-free. His cheek, on fire with scrapes, didn’t agree. But his limbs all seemed to be still attached. His head was ringing a bit and it was hard to see. Gray and black clouds fuzzed over the colors and dim popbulbs of light were flashing in the corners. He closed his eyes and let his head down to rest it against one arm. His skin felt wet, sticky.

The camera bags were waterproof, he reminded himself. And he didn’t seem to be laying in very deep water, anyway. Dead leaves, apparently, filled this ditch. Dead, smelly leaves. Reminiscent of college dorm rooms and mildewed shower curtains. It was, Scott reflected, somewhat cooler here in the bottom of the ditch than it