This Ain't No Gay Romance

This Ain't No Gay Romance Sasha Avice Copyright Copyright © 2023 by Sasha Avice All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Cover by: cateashwooddesigns.com Edited by: copybykath.com ISBN ebook: 978-0-6452714-5-4 Newsletter Subscribe to my newsletter via sashaavice.com for fortnightly updates on WIPs, new releases, and life stuff. You’ll also receive a free copy of Book 2 in the Perimeter series: You Were My Ride Or Die. Just want the book? No dramas: hit unsubscribe after you’ve downloaded your copy. Contents Blurb Dedication 1. 1 2. 2 3. 3 4. 4 5. 5 6. 6 7. 7 8. 8 9. 9 10. 10 11. 11 12. 12 13. 13 14. 14 15. 15 16. 16 17. 17 18. 18 19. 19 20. 20 21. 21 22. 22 23. 23 24. 24 25. 25 26. 26 27. 27 28. 28 29. 29 30. 30 31. 31 32. 32 33. 33 34. 34 35. 35 36. 36 37. 37 38. 38 39. 39 40. 40 41. 41 42. 42 43. 43 44. 44 45. 45 46. 46 47. 47 48. 48 49. 49 50. 50 51. 51 52. 52 53. 53 54. 54 55. 55 56. 56 57. 57 Epilogue Acknowledgments About Author Also By Blurb This Ain’t No Gay Romance A Perimeter Novel I’m not gay. I’m getting married. So why can’t I stop sleeping with my chubby workmate? When Rollins is sent to work on the edge of the Australian desert in the early 2000s, the last thing he needs is for Jay, the gang leader’s geeky son, to get sent with him. Charged with cleaning drug money through a job on the mines, Rollins expects his task to straighten Jay out to backfire spectacularly. And it does—because Rollins is obsessed with sleeping with him. Even though Jay is a white gangsta wannabe with terrible fashion sense and awful opinions on everything, Rollins has to have him. But according to Jay, Rollins—ex-SAS soldier with the body of a God—is a decent lay, but not boyfriend material. Rollins is outraged. And yet he still can’t get enough—impending nuptials, disappearing money, and threats of gang violence be damned. But when Jay confronts him with an impossible offer, Rollins can’t possibly accept... can he? Dedication This one’s for my Mippy 1 Rollins watched as Horace clapped Jay on the back. The back slap was hard, too hard. He’d seen Jay around the clubhouse a few times, thought he was a bit of a pussy. Jay didn’t flinch when that slap landed though, and Rollins clocked the non-reaction, took a sip of his water. Jay was pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose, grinning at nothing, grinning in a way that was maddening—just smiling, bopping his head every now and then like he was hearing a beat no one else was. “We’ve had to push it back, haven’t we, babe?” Sarah, Rollins’ missus, was saying. “Yeah,” he replied. “Can’t get married if we ain’t got no venue!” she honked a laugh and went on about the winery going out of business, about how they’d be doing it at a different winery now, about how this one was better, fancier, and her giggling took on a false note of modesty when Tanya said: “Guess you’ll have to wait a while longer to get started then.” Rollins half-listened, most of his attention on Jay near the bar. Horace was holding court and telling everyone about the reappearance of his “long lost son!” “Did you get a paternity?” Slater—second in charge of this joke they called a gang asked—and even Rollins, who thought this Jay was a pussy wanker from Sydney, frowned at that. Horace laughed, turned a mean look on Jay next to him. “Course! Turns out one got past the goalie on the old whore,” he slapped Jay again, harder this time, and Jay still didn’t flinch. Rollins told himself to stay out of it. Oh, he wasn’t planning on getting involved to defend Jay—Christ, no—he was telling his mind to stay out of it. So the newly-minted gang leader had a son reappear after ten plus years. So Horace was trying to pass off the fact he lived with the prostitute in question for almost a decade and that boy there until he was at least seven. So what? The guys gossiped worse than the women and everyone knew Jay was Horace’s. Everyone knew he used to beat the shit out of the kid’s mum as well. Rollins wasn’t much on talking, and he’d only been around for a year, but he was real big on listening. But even if he hadn’t been, it would’ve been hard to miss the chatter when Jay turned up a few weeks ago. What he couldn’t fathom was why Jay had come back at all. He watched as Jay told Horace, again, “It’s JC. Everyone calls me JC,” and Horace hit him again and said with inexplicable fondness, “Not around here they don’t. It’s Jayden.” He’d introduced himself to Rollins as “Jay.” Rollins had caught Jay watching him back in the city; his gaze resting on Rollins a moment too long, a quick smile when he saw Rollins watching him back. He’d even seen Jay give his body an obvious once over, held the eye contact afterwards. That was a clear invitation to hook-up—no homo—if there ever was one. If this was still the army, which it sure as shit wasn’t. Jay bopped his head again now, easy, before excusing himself politely. Rollins watched him weave through the guys. He stuck out in his baggy jeans, boxers riding over the top of the waistband, his stark white shirt and bright red cap on backwards; the contrast to the head-to-toe black was striking as those bodies refused to part to allow him through. He was forced to bump men awkwardly as he made his way through the bar