New Release Coming Soon!
So, I've been in hibernation for a few reasons... But, I've finished the first book of an 8 book (maybe more?) series... the Bucket List Romance Series. A contemporary, MM, Road trip romance... OPEN ROADS, OPEN HEARTS. Open Roads, Open Hearts ... Releasing May 19, 2025. Go ahead and mark your TBR. 📚
And, if you'd like a sampling of this book (while still in the throes of editing, mind you - which I'm doing right now)...
Also, in the actual book, there won't be the * or $ or @ things... those are just to keep things PG-13 here...
~~~~
OPEN ROADS, OPEN HEARTS
by Isabelle Peterson
© 2025
There was a split second when fire hit Gabe’s eyes as I was asking who hurt him, but his answer wasn’t anything I could have been prepared for.
Gabe’s answer was to, in a flash, thrust his hand through my hair, his fingers grabbing a fistful as his mouth crashed onto mine.
Someone moaned, maybe me, and our tongues danced.
I felt so alive. I’d never felt a kiss like that. Ever. Bar none. It was fierce and rakish and ravishing and hungry as f*ck. It was like the man was trying to own me. And there wasn’t any question that I wasn’t the first boy he’s kissed.
Then, as quick as it started, it was over. He ripped his mouth from mine, his eyes staring at my lips, which were no doubt red and swollen from that unexpected “exchange.”
And what an “exchange” it was. His strong lip, his big hand behind my head. My whole body was energized and revved for more, but when his eyes met mine, we weren’t on the same page. And I had no idea how to read what was in his head. Rage? Regret? Self-loathing? Desire? Why was this guy so hard to read? What was he hiding and so afraid of?
Sure, says the guy who is on a year long break from dating.
Gabe said something then turned and left. Standing there, shell-shocked, my brain attempted to process what Gabe said before he stalked to his car. But my mind was summarily dismissed as my eyes took in his a$$.
His totally g@y a$$.
Sh*t! F*ck! Now what?
The growl of his Mustang’s engine reached my ears and I realized he’d already made it back to his car. I kicked myself into gear and headed to the parking lot to find him glowering behind his steering wheel.
Gabe did not look to be in a good mood, even if he looked amazing behind the wheel of his 1965 Mustang. Maybe I should just hire an Uber or plane to get back to Chicago.
But the idea of parting ways with Gabe didn’t sit right on many levels.
I slid into the passenger seat and barely had my seatbelt on, which was just a lap belt, nothing for the shoulder, before Gabe was backing out of the parking spot and heading back to the interstate. He’d changed the playlist that was coming through the sound system, the only element of the car he’d said wasn’t accurate with his restoration, but music was important to him, so he made the concession.
Indecipherable energy was still trapped in the car despite the top being down.
We were maybe five minutes back on the interstate when I couldn’t keep quiet. “So, are we going to talk about… about what happened back there?”
“No.” And with that, he turned the volume up, and some random song from the 80s I vaguely recognized spilled from the speakers.
And, if you'd like a sampling of this book (while still in the throes of editing, mind you - which I'm doing right now)...
Also, in the actual book, there won't be the * or $ or @ things... those are just to keep things PG-13 here...
~~~~
OPEN ROADS, OPEN HEARTS
by Isabelle Peterson
© 2025
There was a split second when fire hit Gabe’s eyes as I was asking who hurt him, but his answer wasn’t anything I could have been prepared for.
Gabe’s answer was to, in a flash, thrust his hand through my hair, his fingers grabbing a fistful as his mouth crashed onto mine.
Someone moaned, maybe me, and our tongues danced.
I felt so alive. I’d never felt a kiss like that. Ever. Bar none. It was fierce and rakish and ravishing and hungry as f*ck. It was like the man was trying to own me. And there wasn’t any question that I wasn’t the first boy he’s kissed.
Then, as quick as it started, it was over. He ripped his mouth from mine, his eyes staring at my lips, which were no doubt red and swollen from that unexpected “exchange.”
And what an “exchange” it was. His strong lip, his big hand behind my head. My whole body was energized and revved for more, but when his eyes met mine, we weren’t on the same page. And I had no idea how to read what was in his head. Rage? Regret? Self-loathing? Desire? Why was this guy so hard to read? What was he hiding and so afraid of?
Sure, says the guy who is on a year long break from dating.
Gabe said something then turned and left. Standing there, shell-shocked, my brain attempted to process what Gabe said before he stalked to his car. But my mind was summarily dismissed as my eyes took in his a$$.
His totally g@y a$$.
Sh*t! F*ck! Now what?
The growl of his Mustang’s engine reached my ears and I realized he’d already made it back to his car. I kicked myself into gear and headed to the parking lot to find him glowering behind his steering wheel.
Gabe did not look to be in a good mood, even if he looked amazing behind the wheel of his 1965 Mustang. Maybe I should just hire an Uber or plane to get back to Chicago.
But the idea of parting ways with Gabe didn’t sit right on many levels.
I slid into the passenger seat and barely had my seatbelt on, which was just a lap belt, nothing for the shoulder, before Gabe was backing out of the parking spot and heading back to the interstate. He’d changed the playlist that was coming through the sound system, the only element of the car he’d said wasn’t accurate with his restoration, but music was important to him, so he made the concession.
Indecipherable energy was still trapped in the car despite the top being down.
We were maybe five minutes back on the interstate when I couldn’t keep quiet. “So, are we going to talk about… about what happened back there?”
“No.” And with that, he turned the volume up, and some random song from the 80s I vaguely recognized spilled from the speakers.
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