Prep School Rivals - Prologue Preview

Prep School Scandal has been out for almost two months now and I am so thankful for all the people who have downloaded this new book for their summer reading! I encourage everyone who reads and enjoys to share their thoughts in amazon reviews. Every positive review helps spread the word about the series. I am so lucky to have had great people encouraging me to keep writing on facebook and twitter as well! 

Hard at work right now on the third book Prep School Rivals. I am excited to share the next installment of Jack and Larsen's story with everyone and hoping to put it out before the end of 2013. Until then, here's a special preview from what I've written so far to whet your appetite...

Prep School Rivals

Prologue

Jack Winters wished he could commit to memory every sensual detail of Michael Larsen, and never felt this desire more strongly than in those moments when they were entirely alone in the rocky alcove under the old railroad bridge. Since that first time Larsen had taken him to that spot to get him high, more than a year earlier, the place held a special, sentimental connection for Jack. There was no other place they could have ended up on this night. Jack watched Larsen light up the end of a thick joint. He fixed his eyes on Larsen’s face, burning every feature into his memory. He knew he could never forget that face, the smooth white forehead partly covered by softly curling dark hair, that strong jaw, those warm brown eyes, that mouth which even now clutched the joint between lips and teeth. Larsen took a long drag from the joint, held his breath for more than half a minute and exhaled a vast cloud of smoke with the ease of experience. He then offered the some to Jack.

     “No thanks.” Jack made a brief pretense of refusal, a game they sometimes played. He gave in quicker than usual. “Well, just this once.” Larsen raised the joint to Jack’s mouth, the edge of the rolled paper was still moist from Larsen’s own. Jack puckered his lips around it and sucked deeply. The hot smoke seared all the way down his throat into his lungs, where he held it, just as Larsen had, as long as he could. He exhaled without Larsen’s practiced form, but only coughed once or twice, spitting the refuse out into the grass below their feet.

Jack was high now and as always, when under the influence, he was at the mercy of his senses. He smiled and looked at Larsen again. Larsen did not have his school uniform on like he had that first time, but the effect was similar. This suit, like most of Larsen’s formal clothes, had been inherited from his older brother Steven and so was half a size too large.

Larsen was not as bulky as Steven, but he still cut an impressive figure. The baggy sports coat covered shoulders and arms sculpted from a long summer lifting weights in his parents’ basement. His tie was loosened and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a light smattering of soft chest hair. Jack knew that the rest of Larsen’s body was lean and strong beneath that white oxford shirt and black dress pants, but he did not allow his glance to go lower even for a few seconds, afraid what thoughts might come next. 

Jack closed his eyes, the image of Larsen fixed in his mind. He held only Larsen in his thoughts. Their friends, his family, that awful wedding they had just come from, none of it mattered to him anymore. The painful events of the last few months blurred together. He could not think about what had led them to this moment. He could not even remember how they had gotten to their spot on this most perfect night.

He took in a deep breath of cool fresh air, mingled with the fragrant smoke coming off of Larsen’s lit joint. Jack breathed in the scent of Larsen himself as well. They were seated so close together on the weathered rock. He could smell a gentle hint of cheap drugstore cologne, the residue from a handful of dried hair gel, the underarm spray marketed as an enhancement to the user’s masculinity. These products, applied early in the morning, had faded from potency throughout the day, revealing the richer, more intimate smell of Larsen’s body. Jack could find no comparison for this indescribable smell, which was unique to Larsen himself. When they sat as close as this, it saturated the air, permeating his every breath, more intoxicating than the dizzying of tendrils marijuana smoke wafting around them.

Jack thought about how Larsen’s scent lingered on the leather driver’s seat of his old used Cadillac and more strongly on his discarded clothing. He remembered with a tinge of shame that brought a faint blush to his own cheeks how, coming upon a jacket which Larsen had left at his home after one visit, he had pressed the well worn fabric to his face and let the much loved familiar scent wash over him again.

Larsen as a rule practiced good hygiene, but like all boys he could be casual about it, especially during those long soccer practices on autumn afternoons. Unlike some of his teammates, whose sweaty exertions exposed their worst odors, perspiration only improved Larsen, at least to the senses of Jack. Some pheromone, some chemical, must be to blame, he thought. Only the impartial dictates of science could justify the animalistic pleasure Jack took in Larsen just off that grassy field, the thin fabric of his soccer uniform soaked through under his arms and at the small of his back, darkened from navy blue to midnight by fresh sweat.

“Want some more?” Larsen asked, his deep, baritonal voice pulling Jack away from his vivid recollections. Jack shook his head.

Jack could hear rain start to fall beyond the overhead shelter of the bridge. He kept his eyes closed, listening to the rain and to Larsen’s breath as he smoked. Larsen finished the joint before he spoke again. These words, spoken over a breaking storm, reverberated deeply into Jack’s mind, filling him up as the rain filled up the creek set below their stone perch.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Larsen said, “but I think it’s been going on for a long time. You probably noticed it before I did. I walked away that night because I was scared. I’m still scared. I thought I knew who I was, but I don’t know the first thing. I just know that…” 

Larsen’s voice trailed off. He clasped Jack’s fingers with his own, the simple touch pulsing through Jack’s entire body. Larsen had touched his hand before, clapped him on the back, put his arm around his shoulders, and they had hugged each other in the past, of course. This felt different. He had spent the last year memorizing the details that defined Larsen till they were forever a part of him. He had looked at Larsen’s face and body, heard his voice, smelled his scent, even felt his touch in some little ways. Larsen completely overwhelmed his senses, but he wanted more. There was one sense that remained unsatisfied. Jack had never known the taste of Larsen’s mouth on his own. He wanted that taste, which had so long eluded him, more than he had ever wanted it before. He wanted it, but only if Larsen wanted it too.

He chose his own words carefully.

“You don’t have to say this.” Jack offered him one last way out. Whatever he said next would change everything.

“Jack…”

TO BE CONTINUED...

Keep checking back for more updates on Prep School Rivals and, if you haven't gotten caught up on the second book yet, you can buy Prep School Scandal for paperback or kindle today!