Jake's mouth found mine, his lips molding hot and soft to my own. His tongue tentatively tested the seal of my lips; I parted them and he pushed inside. It was startlingly sweet and achingly familiar, like finding harbor.

I'm a thirty-something gay man with a dodgy heart. I sell books for a living. Who wants to read about that?

Vintage books, old china, antiques; maybe I love old things so much because I feel impermanent myself.

One thing I’ve noticed about getting older, it takes twice as much work to get half the results one formerly achieved by falling out of bed.

...Jake, a homosexual cop buried so deep in the closet he didn't know where to look for himself.

He scooped up Victoria practically before she hit the ground, well within the five-second rule. If she'd been a potato chip, he could have still eaten her. Not something I particularly wanted to contemplate.

I want people to react to my work, to think, to question, to challenge, to cry and laugh and feel.