What's in a Name? Hopefully a whole lot of fun!

I  have a new book out today! The Name Game is the fourth book in my Games We Play series. It's actually the first book in the second trilogy, if that makes sense to anyone but me. lol!  It's a fun story about sandwiches, family, and miscommunication!

The Name Game
A Games We Play Story
PG Forte

BUY LINK

He knows what to do to save her business. She knows what he needs to fix his life! 

Atlas Beach is experiencing a retail-renaissance—and Carly Meyer is determined to be part of it. But her sandwich shop-slash-food-truck, The Lunch Box, is struggling to stay afloat. Luckily, help is on the way thanks to the Chamber of Commerce’s innovative mentoring program—partnering successful Atlas Beach business owners with some of the newer start-ups. Too bad the mentor assigned to her is the delectable—and highly annoying—Tino DiLuca. 

Tino knows exactly what’s hurting Carly’s business and—exactly how to fix it. But his number one solution, changing the name of her signature sandwich, is the one thing she’s not prepared to do.

EXCERPT:

It was the morning after the first night they’d spent at his house rather than hers—which felt like a milestone of sorts. He’d gotten up while she was still asleep, slipped into a pair of jeans and went upstairs. His plan was to make her breakfast in bed. It was a good plan, but she derailed it a few minutes later, by tiptoeing up the stairs just as he was assembling their sandwiches.

“Hey,” she whispered from the doorway, tugging uselessly at the hem of her T-shirt, as she glanced around. “Is your brother gone?”

He smiled at the sight of her. She looked adorable with her cheeks still flushed with sleep and her hair scraped back from her face in a ponytail. But no matter how hard she tried, she was never going to get that shirt to stretch far enough to cover her lacy, red thong—which was very obviously the only other item of clothing she had on. “C’mon up. The coast is clear.”

“Something smells good,” she said inhaling deeply as she came to stand behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and peered over his arm at the food he was plating, distracting him with her closeness and her softness and her warmth. “Are those what I think they are?”

“If you think you’re looking at two of the greatest breakfast sandwiches ever invented, then yes, they absolutely are.”

Ooh, big talk,” she teased. “But can they live up to all that hype? That’s what I’m wondering.”

“True facts,” he responded. “And, yes, they can and will. Now, why don’t you pour us both some coffee from that pot over there while I finish up?” He’d fried some potatoes to accompany the sandwiches. Now he piled those on the plates as well, topping them with a dollop of sour cream and dusting of fresh-cut chives. A salad of fresh grapefruit and mint and a little bit of honey rounded out the meal and provided a balance for all the salt. 

“That looks amazing,” she said as he slid the plates on the table and took the seat around the corner from hers.

“Thank you. But it’ll taste even better.” He gestured at the condiments and said, “So help yourself to a little SPK, and eat up!”

“A little…?”

“Or a lot, if that’s what you prefer. No judgment here.”

“No. I mean, what did you say?  SP…what?”

“Salt. Pepper. Ketchup,” he replied, pointing at each of them in turn. “The traditional condiments. Some people like hot sauce, but it’s not for me.”

Carly nodded. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she said, “Yeah, I’ve heard that it’s a good idea to keep hot sauce away from your uh…meat.”

“Exactly.” He wasn’t entirely sure why that put such a big smile on her face, but since the sight of it had short-circuited his brain, he didn’t bother to try. He just dug into his own sandwich.

It was one of the better meals of his life, and one of his happiest moments ever, sitting at his mother’s kitchen table watching the woman he’d fallen in love with fall in love with some of his favorite foods. 

She wolfed down several bites of sandwich, before licking her lips and saying, “Wow. This is…”

“Good?” he suggested.

“Amazing,” she corrected, in between additional bites. “But…pork roll. I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“It’s a question for the ages, all right.”

“It’s salty and tangy, a little smoky. But all of that seems so…inadequate. It’s not like anything I’ve ever had.”

“Nope.” He grinned at her attempts to describe the indescribable. “It’s entirely its own thing. Which is why I have some sympathy for #TeamTaylorHam. I mean, they’re still wrong of course, because it’s not ham, but then again, American Cheese isn’t cheese either, so…”

She frowned at him. “That’s a horrible analogy.”

“Very true,” he agreed, then watched as she cleared her plate in record time. “So I take it you liked it?”

“I really did.”

She sounded surprised, which did not surprise him at all. “I know they’re not in the same league as your sandwiches,” he told her, “But this is Jersey, you know what I mean?  It’s home.”

“It’s you,” she said—which wasn’t wrong. “And I really appreciate your wanting to share that with me.”

“You’re welcome.” Always. “Are you ready for another?”

“Not right now.”

“Well then, can I get you something else?”

She flashed him another of those thought-derailing smiles and said, “Yes, actually. Now that you mention it. Because, as far as taste goes, I think I’d only rank it as my second favorite New Jersey product. And I think it’s time I  had another taste of first place.”

“Tomatoes?” he guessed, not really surprised, because there really was no beating those—although bagels, pizza, blue crabs, and fresh corn all came pretty close—but definitely disappointed because it was only March, which was months too early for tomatoes!

“No, not tomatoes. We were talking about breakfast meat,” she said, shooting him an expectant look that left him mystified. 

Were they? “But there isn’t any—” he said, breaking off again when she started to laugh. “What?”

“Omigod, I meant you,” she said with a nod at his lap.

“Oh.” The grin on his face was probably making him look goofy as fuck, but he couldn’t care less. “Good to know?”

She shook her head. “Here I am doing my best to flirt with you and it’s all just going over your head. Obviously, one of us is really bad at this. Or maybe both of us are?”

“I don’t think either of us are bad at any of this.” He crooked a finger at her. “But forget flirting for now. Maybe you should just come over here and let me give you another little taste test.”

“Good idea,” she said getting up from her chair and rounding the table to straddle his lap. “It is an important designation, after all. I wouldn’t want to be hasty in my decision making.”

 

New Year, New Excerpt?

 

Okay I lied. The excerpt isn't really new. It's from Never Have I Ever (Games We Play, Book Two) which I'm hoping to re-release next month. It's currently available on Radish, however, along with the other books in the series, in case you'd like to get a head start on reading the books that way. But the excerpt I'm about to share has been kicking around the internet (and my brain) for a lot longer than the series it's become a part of. It started out (exactly ten years ago!) as a piece of NYE flash fiction, Luke started out as Tony, and the nameless customer at the end of the bar became a bearded ginger who'll figure prominently in the series...life is full of surprises like that. 

Here's the link to the original, in case you'd like to compare--and also because it includes the "photo prompt" that inspired the whole thing. That's Kristy all the way in the back: 

https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/22658466/5845527617175808773

NEVER HAVE I EVER

Kristy loves Luke. But if anything was clear to her back when they were kids it was that gawky, awkward, tomboys didn't stand a chance with the king of the schoolyard. She watched her older brothers set their caps for Luke's glamorous cousins and get shot down. So she did what she had to in order to salvage her friendship with Luke. She hid her true feelings and her need for him to take control.  

Luke wants Kristy in the worst way – actually, in all the worst ways: tied up, held down, beaten, bitten, whipped. But he knows he has no chance of ever having her. They'd been childhood friends and sweethearts, until she friend-zoned him in the fifth grade. He knows he can either keep her as a friend or take her to bed and lose her forever. His biggest mistake—so far—was in hiring her to work alongside him in the bar he and his cousins inherited from their grandmother. He knows Kristy needs the money and the job, but Luke's self-control can't take the constant contact with the girl he wants to dominate—both in and out of the bedroom. Something has to give—and soon! 

 Now available as a serial read on Radish Fiction at: https://radishfiction.com/stories/6761

EXCERPT:

That strip of bare skin across Kristy’s back—the one that appeared in the gap that stretched between the hem of her shirt and her pants’ waistband whenever she bent to get something from beneath the bar, as she was doing right now—had been driving Luke crazy all evening. Working this New Year’s Eve party together—why had he ever thought that was a good idea? 

Oh, yeah. The money—she needed the tips as much as the hotel needed the income they were hoping to generate with parties like this. Coupled with that was his sad and pathetic crush on the girl, and his even sadder and more pathetic hope that he might get a chance to sneak a kiss at midnight. 

The kiss hadn’t happened. When the balloons had dropped, just a couple of minutes earlier, they’d both been far too busy pouring drinks and making sure everyone’s glasses were topped off for the thought to even enter his head. 

The guests were kissing though, especially that one couple on the other side of the bar. They’d locked lips even before the final ten-second countdown had begun, and if they’d come up for air any time since, Luke must have missed it. All around them, people continued to celebrate the new year with toasts and smiles and kisses. 

“Hey, bartender, can I get another over here?” 

All except for that one guy, the big, bearded ginger sitting alone at the end of the bar, nursing his Guinness. He wasn’t a regular. Luke had no idea who he was or what the guy had thought he was doing coming here tonight. Who went to a New Year’s Eve party alone? Who sat by themselves and drank by themselves—all night—without even trying to connect with anyone else? 

“Bartender?” the man repeated. 

“Yes, sir,” Luke replied. “Right away.” 

But getting the man his beer meant passing behind Kristy, who was still bent over the bar. And that was a problem because all Luke could think about was how it would feel to press close behind her, slide his hand up her back beneath her shirt, and pin her against the polished teak surface of the bar. He could imagine the look of surprise on her face as she’d turn to look at him.

 Luke. What are you doing? she’d ask. Maybe she’d sound annoyed with him, as she often did. Or maybe there’d be a hitch in her breathing, a flare of heat in her cheeks. Maybe her eyes would grow dark with desire in that way he’d rarely seen but often fantasized about… 

 “Don’t move,” he said, using his other hand to tug at her pants, so curious to discover what type of underwear she had on. A thong would be hot, but he doubted that was the case. Wouldn’t the strap be visible with her bent over the way she was, her tempting derriere on display? Maybe a pair of bikini panties, then…but on second thought, surely there would be lines, if that were the case? He glanced again at Kristy’s upturned butt. Could it be…? 

“Going commando?” He raised an eyebrow, put on an expression of shocked disapproval. “Have you been a naughty girl this year?” 

So, okay, the year was, technically, only a couple of minutes old, and besides, he was a week late for the whole naughty or nice thing, but who could resist the temptation she represented? He pushed his hand deeper into her pants, seeking the wetness that would let him know she was enjoying this game as much as he was. 

She wiggled her ass, almost as though she were trying to get away, but her fingers were clenched on the edge of the bar. She rocked her hips, pushing herself more firmly into his hand with every motion until his fingers were sliding back and forth over slick, wet flesh. He leaned in even closer then and whispered, “Do you need a spanking?” 

She gave a gasp. “Luke, no. There are people watching!” 

Well, that was a given. Of course there’d be people watching. What good was a show without an audience? “Let ’em watch,” he murmured, stroking harder… 

“Hey! Buddy,” the man at the end of the bar barked suddenly. “Think there might be a chance of me getting that beer sometime this year?” 

Luke started, coloring as he was jerked back to reality. “Yes, sir,” he replied, shaking his head in an effort to clear away the fantasy. 

He headed for the cooler where the beer was stored. “Behind you,” he said as he passed Kristy, his voice so thick with lust, he barely recognized it. 

She straightened abruptly and collided against him as she took a startled step backward. Her hair and the scent of her fragrance tickled his nose, and he reached for her without thinking. 

“Careful,” he cautioned, instinctively taking hold of her hips to help her regain her balance. 

“Luke.” She craned her neck to glance up at him, arching her back a little as she did, so that her butt brushed against his groin. He groaned softly. A faint flush colored her cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” 

“No problem,” he said with a weak smile. Impulsively, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Happy New Year.” 

Kristy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Thanks.” She turned and pressed an all-too-quick kiss on his lips. “You too.” 

Oh yeah, baby. Luke slid his arms around her, but Kristy was already pushing out of his grasp. 

“What did you need?” 

You. Always. Luke was surprised she was asking, surprised it needed to be said—but only for an instant. Then he realized what she was actually asking. He motioned at the tap. “Oh, uh, get me a Guinness. Please.” 

Kristy flashed him a tight smile. Then she spun around again, grabbed a pint glass from the rack, and began pouring. He watched her in silent frustration. He should be used to it by now. Kristy DiLuca had been driving him crazy for as long as he’d known her—which was basically all his life. 

“Here you go,” she said as she passed him the beer he’d come to get. 

“Thanks.” Luke resisted the impulse to brush another kiss against her lips. 

Another couple of hours and this party would be over. He could go home and jerk off to yet another fantasy about her. He sighed and shook his head and then went off to deliver the drink. Oh yeah, the New Year was off to a great start. Not.

The Beach...in winter?

I know, I know. Sounds like I'm rushing through the seasons a little, doesn't it? I mean, September only just started, and I'm posting about winter already? Let me explain.

I just posted the first episode of Truth Or Dare (Games We Play, Season One) on Radish. So, of course, that's on my mind. And, what you might not know, is that one of the "seed ideas" for the series was a piece of flash fiction I wrote--quite a few years ago, now--titled The Beach in Winter. And that story had, as its starting point, two rather memorable events from my own teen years that, yes, occurred at the beach. In winter. 'Cause sometimes, as Freud might have said a cigar is, in fact, just a cigar. 

So, even though it's barely fall here--and, on the California coast that means basically it's still summer, my thoughts are somewhere else. Or somewhen else, I guess I should say.

Having grown up in New Jersey, I naturally spent a lot of time going down the shore, as we say. I even lived there, for awhile (in Brick, if you want to be specific). And I still have friends and family who live there now. So, even though the Wild Geese Inn, where most of the action in the series takes place, had its genesis in a very real hotel, on a very different shore, when it came time to create my quaint, little beach town...well, I already had one of those in California, didn't I? So, I thought, why not go back and revisit my roots?

If I had to break it down, I'd say that Atlas Beach is about equal parts Lavallette and Cape May, with hints of Seaside, Point Pleasant and Asbury Park tossed in for good measure. I was actually shocked, when I went looking for a name, to discover that there wasn't already a Jersey Shore town called Atlas Beach. What. The. Fuck. So, yeah, I had to rectify that, for sure!

So far, we haven't seen very much of the town itself. Most of the action in the first three books (which are in the process of being re-released, and will be available exclusively on Radish, at this point) centers around my haunted hotel, The Wild Geese Inn.  But I do have plans for more stories in the future. Kristy's brothers definitely need stories. They also need to be taken down a notch, IMO. I figure they each deserve a Jersey Girl (or maybe a Jersey Boy, I haven't quite decided yet) of their own to put them in their places. The DiLuca boys also have a family business that they're running, DiLuca's Bakery. I expect that will feature at least a little bit in their stories. 

Anyway, I'm sure there are plenty of other characters--and locations--waiting for me to discover them in Atlas Beach, along with more ghosts, and perhaps a Jersey Devil...or even a mermaid.

Really, who knows, at this point? Anything is possible.

You can find the first couple of episodes HERE,  and episode three releases tomorrow. Meanwhile, here's a sneak peek...

-->

Out of the corner of her eye, Gwyn caught a flicker of motion on the stairs. She ignored it, as she usually did, and went on with her work. A moment later, a current of air seemed to rise from nowhere. Outside the wind howled. A shadow passed across the wall. Cold air swirled around her for an instant and then was gone. That was a little more worrisome. In general, the ghosts only produced drafts when they were on the verge of manifesting something unusual.

Gwyn sighed and shook her head. Perfect. Because “unusual” was just what they didn’t need this weekend. Grams had always insisted the ghosts only hung around because they wanted to help the family. Gwyn had yet to be convinced.

Brenda could argue all she liked, but everyone knew the Wild Geese Inn was haunted. It was a big reason they found it hard to keep people on staff. There were doors that opened or closed by themselves, lights that flickered or burned out too fast, voices whispering in the hallways when no one was in sight. The staff had already presented her with a list of the rooms they refused to clean—a fact she’d been careful to keep hidden from her cousin. It wasn’t like those rooms needed to be dealt with very often anyway, unfortunately. When they did, Gwyn took care of them herself. As a teenager, she’d worked as a maid here every summer. It was like riding a bike.

A couple of minutes later, the hotel’s big double outer doors slammed open, banging against the walls of the enclosed entryway. Gwyn glanced up, annoyed. What in the hell were the haunts up to now?

She was surprised—and to be honest, more than a little relieved—to see actual, corporeal people in the glassed-in entryway. Two men, one wearing a long black overcoat and dress pants, the other in a navy peacoat and jeans, were struggling against the wind to re-close the front doors. She perked up at the thought of customers. Ghosts were fine, in their place, but they didn’t pay the bills.

Having finally triumphed over the doors, the two men paused to stomp the snow from their boots. Gwyn watched them appreciatively. She couldn’t see their faces clearly through the fogged glass of the entryway windows, but they were both tall—one more so than the other—and athletic-looking, well worth ogling. Then they turned toward each other, tenderly brushing stray snowflakes from each other’s shoulders and out of their hair, and her heart melted. Her hand strayed to her throat, and she absently fingered the gold and garnet triquetra pendant she always wore. The camaraderie between the two men, their ease with one other, was obvious from clear across the room. It touched her in ways she didn’t quite understand.

It had been years since she’d seen two men this comfortable with each other, so at home. She didn’t even remember when the last time was. Then the taller and fairer of the two men said something his dark-haired companion found funny. He threw back his head in a laugh, and suddenly Gwyn recalled exactly when she’d last witnessed something like this.

“Yeah, Weidman, stop complaining. At least you have your hot girlfriend to keep you warm. Speaking of which, I’mma think I have to borrow her. You up for sharing?”

“No way,” she whispered, horrified, as the blood drained from her face so quickly she nearly passed out on the spot. “No fucking way. It can’t be.”

Gwyn had never been one to hesitate in the face of disaster. She jumped from her seat and grabbed the handle of the reception room door without waiting to learn whether her suspicions about the men’s identities were correct. Someone else could deal with this shit. Brenda, for example. Gwyn was almost positive her cousin was here somewhere tonight. She’d track her down and let her check them in. Or send them away? Oh yes. That would be even better. Although that option might take some explaining.

The door had other ideas about her leaving. It refused to open. No matter which way Gwyn turned the handle, the door didn’t budge. This is not happening, she thought as she started to panic. Behind her, two sets of footsteps crossed the lobby and stopped. She pushed at the door. Still nothing. Damn it!

“Miss?” A familiar voice spoke up behind her. “Miss, can you help us? Excuse me, miss?”

“Someone will be with you in a moment,” Gwyn said, attempting to make her voice as impersonal as possible as she continued to pull uselessly at the door.

A moment’s dead silence met her response. And then, “Gwyn? Is that you?”

Well, fuck.

Gwyn took a deep breath. You can do this, she told herself firmly. Her “useless” Theatre Arts degree and the years she’d spent in amateur productions had to be good for something.

“What can I help you gentlemen with?” she asked as she turned around. Two familiar faces stared at her—as though she were the ghost.

Berke looked stricken. Cam’s mouth had dropped open. Gwyn smiled blandly back at them. Please say nothing. Please say you just got lost and need directions out of town. Please, please, do the decent thing and leave.

“Gwyn, it’s us,” Berke said.

No shit? Her gaze tracked blankly across their faces. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Gwyn…” Berke said again in a heartrending tone that made her want to break character and kick him. Preferably down a flight of stairs.

“We, uh, have a reservation,” said Cam, who’d finally succeeded in getting his jaw back under control. Ooh. Give the boy a star.

“Oh yes? Well, let’s see now…” Gwyn glided back to the desk and slid gracefully onto the stool. She’d never in her life been more grateful to her Aunt Norah for having insisted all three of the cousins attend deportment classes as children. She opened the reservation calendar and stared sightlessly at her screen. “What name am I looking for?”

“It’s, uh, under Steiner?” Cam said.

Yes, of course it was. Gwyn blinked furiously in an attempt not to frown. They’d been booked into the Captain’s Room for three nights. Whoever took this reservation was so fired. And yes, that was unfair and ridiculous and probably not even legal. She didn’t care. What the fuck was she supposed to do for the next few days—hide? No. Screw that. This was her home. They didn’t get to come here and act surprised to see her. Stupid bastards.

“I’ll need to see identification and a valid credit card.”