Tempest: Love's Labours, #3

By Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese

A return to the summer stock theater where they first met means new challenges for John and Michael as both a celebrity guest star and a public marriage proposal wreck havoc with their equilibrium.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Avian30
• Release date: Dec 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393178255

Erin McRae

Racheline Maltese can fly a plane, sail a boat, and ride a horse, but has no idea how to drive a car; she's based in Brooklyn. Erin McRae has a graduate degree in international affairs for which she focused on the role of social media in the Arab Spring; she's based in Washington DC. Together, they write romance about fame and public life. Like everyone in the 21st century, they met on the Internet. Sign up for Erin and Racheline's newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/65dMz Learn more at their website: http://Avian30.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

JOHN KNOWS THAT MICHAEL knows they were supposed to be on the road fifteen minutes ago.  He also knows that Michael doesn’t really care. Considering that Michael is currently fucking him, John doesn’t really care either.

There’s just one problem. 

If he turns his head, his face is about three inches from their alarm clock and even when he closes his eyes, John can still see the red illuminated numbers blinking at him as if saying traffic over and over and over again.

He’s not even entirely sure how this happened.  One moment, they were going over their packing lists for the summer one last time and confirming the details of dropping off their keys for their subletter. The next minute they were falling into bed, Michael insistent on this particular one-for-the-road as if they weren’t going to be spending the entire summer together at Theater in the Woods.

The only thing they do there, other than their jobs, is fuck.  A lot. In all sorts of ways that usually involve other people hearing them.  And judging them. Loudly.

John throws his arm over his face in an attempt to block out the knowledge of the time and the mounting traffic.

Oh, come on, Michael says above him. Don’t you want to look?

Show-off, John says, but he does lower his arm and open his eyes to smile up at Michael. Michael is flushed from his cheeks all the way down to his hips; his hair, which he’s been growing out for his part this summer, is a tangled halo that brushes the top of his shoulders. His eyes glint at John, delighted.

A whole summer in the woods with Michael. And then the rest of their lives back together here in the city. John can’t wait.

ONCE THEY ROLL APART, sticky from sex and the heat that’s already suffused the city, all John wants to do is sleep. But they both need to clean up. He has to drop the laundry off and throw their stuff in the car while Michael runs down the street to the Morbid Anatomy Museum to get coffee and leave the keys for their subletter. John hasn’t always been comfortable with Michael’s job as a barista at a death museum café, but they do make a mean cup of coffee. Besides, it’s nice to have him so close to hand.

Michael returns from his errands as John tosses the last of their bags in the trunk and slams it closed. He hands John a paper cup emblazoned with a tastefully rendered skull. John shakes his head.

Oh no no. That’s all for you. You’re driving first. And I am taking a nap.

They’re not even over the Verrazano Bridge when John begins regretting his decisions. The traffic is already bad and getting worse. They’re going to be on the road at least an hour longer than if they’d left on time. And not only is Michael energetic and bouncy the way he always is after sex, he’s steadily drinking his way through two cups of heavily-sugared coffee and won’t stop talking.  On top of that, John hurts all over.  Every time the car bounces over another pothole, John winces as his head bangs against the window.

After the third or fourth time, he catches Michael giving him a far too amused side-eye.

Do you want to lie down in the back? he asks.

John huffs, though he’s not really offended.  No.  He wishes he weren’t so endeared by the incredibly smug look Michael has in response to his suffering.  You’re enjoying this.

Only a little.

Only a lot.

Not as much as I enjoyed fucking you. Michael says casually.

John bites back a smile and starts counting to twenty in his head.  He only gets as far as eight before Michael starts giggling.  By thirteen, John’s unable to resist joining in too.

JOHN FINALLY GIVES up on sleep when they hit Wilmington. They pull into a Trader Joe’s parking lot to switch drivers. He figures taking the wheel himself has got to be better than the hellish state of half-dozing punctuated by Michael’s continual monologue about the route, the shows they’re doing this summer, random gossip about his large and vaguely terrifying group of friends, and the clouds.

Except that by the time he pulls back onto I-95, Michael is already passed out in the passenger seat. Now that it’s summer he sleeps far less than he did during the cold gray of New York’s winter and reluctant spring.  But because he is as preternaturally annoying as he is wonderful, apparently he can sleep now, in the car, after two cups of coffee, despite the fact that John is the one who is actually exhausted.

John just smiles and shakes his head, grateful for the silence and to be—finally—halfway done with the journey.

TRAFFIC DOESN’T THIN, exactly, as they make their way south, passing signs for Washington, DC and then Richmond, but it does flow a little better. Except around Quantico. Traffic is always terrible around Quantico, and John drums his fingers on the steering wheel while they crawl past that particular exit. Michael sleeps soundly through it all, his head leaning back against the headrest, the amber afternoon sun washing his features in a warm glow. John resists the urge to reach over and brush a stray lock of hair out of his face. He doesn’t want to wake him; he also needs to keep his focus on the road.

With thirty minutes of the drive to go, they’ve left the highway and are driving along county roads, neatly cultivated fields giving way to increasingly wild woodlands. Michael wakes up with a languid stretch, his t-shirt riding up to expose a sliver of stomach that isn’t less tantalizing for its familiarity. John isn’t surprised he doesn’t stay asleep until they get to the theater. Trees pull Michael the way the moon pulls the tides.

When John finally turns down the theater drive and into the main parking lot, Michael’s out of the car and whooping as he runs towards the woods before he even puts the car in park. None of it really surprises him, except for the part where Michael’s summer friends are enough to stop his headlong trajectory toward the woods. Suddenly, the entire