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Salute to the Stud

by Beth Laycock

Salute to the Stud - Beth Laycock

Jasper is licking his wounds in paradise after being dumped, according to his ex, for someone more adventurous. The romantic Hawaiian getaway for two he booked hadn’t featured his sister as his plus one, but sometimes real life sucks.

For the two weeks he’s there his plans include hot dates with a sun lounger and working his way through the local craft beers. Nothing more.

Until he receives a sext from a wrong number. A mystery yoga instructor offering a private session to teach him the plow, and maybe even get plowed. Jasper’s never had a hookup with anyone before, but perhaps it’s time to prove his ex wrong. 

One night with Tamal, no matter how hot it is, isn’t enough, yet that doesn’t change the fact this thing between them can’t last. Because time is running out. Jasper has to leave, has to return to London and real life. 

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Part I - Hawaii

Chapter One

Would definitely be up for a private yoga session with you 😉

What the fuck? The text flashed across my screen, but I must have read it wrong before it vanished. I unlocked my phone. A text from an unknown number. A text I had read correctly. A text I had no idea how to respond to. Except my dick did and twitched at the images of a supple, toned man. Telling me what to do. His hands wandering over me, tugging and pushing me into whatever position he wanted me in. Clearly, this was purely my imagination as I'd never been to a yoga lesson. My sister had dragged me to a Pilates class years ago, but that had been nothing like the images flashing through my mind. 


  The little dots started jumping on my screen, and I held my breath as I waited. It could be just a joke. It could be from a woman. Without a doubt from a wrong number because I had never inquired about a yoga class—private or otherwise—in my life.

I'll teach you the plow pose, and then you can plow me 😉

Holy shit. Definitely a wrong number. I dropped my phone on the cushion beside me like I'd been burned, and the heat in my cheeks rivalled the midday sun. And January in Hawaii was still hotter than a summer's day in London. I eyed my mobile like it might explode at any moment, then sighed. I wouldn't respond. Had no idea how to respond to a text like that. 

Huh, maybe Sam had been right when he'd hurled words like ‘boring’ and ‘unadventurous’ at me as he ever so succinctly pointed out it was me and not him. An unusual twist on the 'it's me not you' speech. Apparently no longer exciting enough to hold my then boyfriend's attention, he'd waltzed out of my life without a backwards glance. Not that I cared. I was better off without him, but that didn't stop the ache in my chest when I was alone at night. Although I'd come to realise that it wasn't so much Sam I missed but having someone special in my life. I wanted a guy to share my life with. I wanted a man to settle down with. If that made me boring, then I didn't care. I was twenty-eight and no longer wanted to be out partying every night. 

At the chime of another text alert, I jumped. I unlocked the screen, anticipation of another text from my mystery yoga teacher sending a thrill through me and making me fumble the keys. It took two attempts, but I finally pulled up the messages app, only to be disappointed at no new texts from the mysterious instructor. Instead, just a reminder from my sister, Lia. We were having drinks in the hotel bar in half an hour. I fired off a quick reply to let her know I hadn't forgotten and then hauled my arse off the couch and into the bathroom. Had to make at least a little effort, even if I'd rather spend the night in sweatpants lounging in my room and thinking of ways to respond with a sext of my own.


About the Author

Beth Laycock’s books are influenced by her time living overseas as well as the gritty, urban landscape of the north of England where she grew up. She has been reading romance since she was old enough to tell herself that line every book lover does—just one more chapter.

As a teenager, she attempted to write her first novel, and many more since then are still gathering dust on her bookshelf. It wasn’t until she discovered the M/M genre that her muse showed up and refused to quit telling her stories about beautiful men finding love together. She hasn’t stopped scribbling them down since. Beth’s muse usually shows up when she is in the shower, is allergic to cleaning, rarely lets her watch TV, and insists she drinks copious amounts of coffee so she can turn caffeine into words.

When not writing or reading, Beth can be found procrastinating on social media or being dragged around the English countryside by her dog.

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