Today’s another obscure holiday–Hot Sauce Day! Since I’m a lover of hot sauces, I thought celebrating them would be fun.

Did you know that chili peppers originated in the Americas? They were spread around the world by Spanish and Portuguese traders. They get their heat from something called capsaicinoids. They’re rated, too, on something called the Scoville Scale. Reading the rating of some of the hot sauces I looked at, I’m a bit of a weenie with my favorite sauces (Cholula, Tabasco, and Frank’s) only rating in the 1000s. Tabasco is the hottest in my fridge at 7,000. Da Bomb, which I listed in the puzzle, is a scorching 119,000 to 1.5 million!

So, for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, tell me whether you’re a fan of hot sauces and which ones are in your fridge!

After yesterday’s excitement, it’s hard to concentrate, but…back to work!

I know many of you come to my website to read my daily blog, but have you fully explored the many stories I have ready for you to consume? Have you read a short story written by me? I’ve written short stories that have appeared in many Cleis anthologies and stories that appeared in Penthouse Magazine. Do you remember those with the sexy, cute cartoons? Yeah, “Tailgating“ was one of those. I’ve written short stories that appeared in my own curated anthologies, my Boys Behaving Badly stories. I love writing them. Most often, they’re not connected to anything else I’ve written. They’re a chance for me to experiment. One theme that runs through all of them is a deep eroticism. So, if you’re into sexy stories, look no further. I would like to know if you’ve read one of my short stories before, and if so, which one was your favorite?

Comment for a chance to win your choice of
one of these stories! I’ll choose
three winners!

Click on the covers to read more about these stories!

And if you haven’t read my shorties, check out the full list here!

Tailgating at the Cedar Inn

Two construction workers come to the aid of one woman looking for a last taste of freedom…

I stepped out of the shower onto chipped and cracked aqua blue tiles with grout so dingy it was hard to tell what color it had been. Not that the bathroom was dirty, thank god. Just old. Like the rest of the 60’s-built motel I’d found on the little back country road.

I toweled my hair then shook my head like a dog, not caring where the droplets landed. It wasn’t a mess I’d have to clean up. For one last night I could be irresponsible, messy, even if it was only in a small way.

I draped the towel over the edge of the old white tub and sauntered naked into the small room with the double bed. It smelled of tobacco and industrial cleansers. The bedding looked clean if a little nappy from wear, but I peeled back the quilt-top and tossed it on the floor anyway. Pristine white sheets beckoned.

Just as I lay back, sighing with relief, sounds from outside the room jarred me from my happy haze. Tires squealed, masculine laughter bellowed through the thin walls, and car doors slammed.

I sighed and stared at the bared rafters above me. The laughter faded. I reached across to flip off the switch to the nightstand lamp with its yellowed shade. Lying in the darkness, I willed my body to relax, one limb at a time. I’d driven three hundred miles that day. I’d have gone another fifty for a decent hotel, but the shorter route my Garmin had found led me through narrow two-lane roads deep in the Ozark Mountains. I doubted I’d have found anything nicer.

I should have stuck to the Interstate, but I’d wanted to shave some miles. Little did I know that the route would keep my foot busy pushing on the gas pedal then the brake the whole way. Exhausted, nerves shattered, I’d seen the crooked Vacancy sign outside the Cedar Inn and made my decision on the spot, swerving into the empty gravel parking lot. Not until I’d opened the door to my tiny, musty room did I have second thoughts about my decision. But how bad could it really be? I’d turned on the swamp cooler set into a window frame and felt my hair frizz instantly.

Not that I’d really cared. There wasn’t anyone around to impress. Other than the clerk at the front desk, a skinny, twenty-something redneck with puppy dog eyes, the place was deserted. I’d shivered a little bit at the thought, double-bolted my room door and checked the locks on the remaining window. Visions of the shower scene from Psycho didn’t put me off taking a long, lukewarm soak to wash away the road grime and sweat.

The cooler purred, spilling muggy air into the room. The sheets felt clammy. Still, I grew calm as my body warmed the sheets beneath me, then a little horny when I wondered if the room might have little peepholes for the clerk to watch me. He’d been cute if a little skinny. I wouldn’t mind if he watched—at least not in my fantasies. Who knew how long it would be until I felt comfortable enough, private enough to indulge in a little one-handed play when my grandmother slept in the room next to mine.

I slipped a hand between my thighs and lazily trailed my fingers through my cleft until my breath caught and heat pooled. I raised my knees and let them fall open, tilted my hips and thrust two fingers inside my pussy. I wasn’t in a hurry. I wasn’t even that eager to come. The motion soothed and excited, allowing my mind to let go of my troubles—the firing, the break-up, the move to my grandmother’s house—and focus only on the pleasure curling deep inside my core.

When the blare of a TV sounded from outside, I had third and fourth thoughts about my decision to stop here for the night. What the hell? Why had someone moved their television set outside rather than watch in the seclusion of their room where the sound would be somewhat muffled.

I gritted my teeth, swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for shorts and a tee, slipping them over my nude body and the keys in my pocket before I stomped to the door and flung it open.

Not that the two men sitting on the truck noticed me—at first.

Under the single flood light that illuminated the parking lot, I noted the construction company logo on the side of the pickup backed up to the door of the room beside mine. Then I eyed the large men seated on the sides of the truck bed, their shirts gone, faded jeans stretched over thick thighs. Their attention was glued to the basketball game, blaring from the small screen of the TV they had set in the bed of the truck on top of a white ice chest. They held Budweisers in their grips.

At last, one of the men’s heads turned. He spotted me then whistled at his friend. Soon both their gazes peered down.

I felt foolish standing in my bare feet with my wet hair spiked around my head. Why hadn’t I simply put a pillow over my head to muffle their noise? But I was testy. Moody. I’d lost my job, had a blow-up with my boyfriend over the fact I wouldn’t be splitting rent with him for a while, and cut my nose off to spite my own face by breaking up with him. Homeless now, I had no options. Grandma’s in Little Rock was my last resort.

Tonight would be my last night of freedom before I moved under her roof and abided by her rules. She’d pay the bills—if I knuckled under and went back to school. Something I resented after being on my own for a couple of years, living by my rules.

Which might have been exactly why I remained, rooted to that spot. The men seated on the truck would never meet Grandma’s high standards.

Sweat gleamed on their naked chests and both of them were thickly muscled and a little dirty—as though they’d come straight from work without the benefit of a shower.

The shine only served to emphasize the depth of the musculature and their starkly masculine features. Their tanned, leathery skin stretched across cheeks and jaws that were sharpened to rough edges by hard work.

Both their gazes homed on me, and while I knew the smart thing would have been to retreat without a word to my room and relock the door, I tilted my chin and thrust out my chest. “Can’t you watch the game in your room?”

“We botherin’ you, sweetheart?” the one closest to me said, sliding off the truck to land in front of me.

I peered a long way up and frowned into the face tilted my way. We stood close enough I could see the bristles of his evening shadow. He wore a ball cap that shadowed his eyes, but glints of blond hair shone beneath it. “It’s late. I was trying to sleep.”

“It’s not that late,” he drawled. “Join us for a beer?”

I glanced behind him and noted the grin on his buddy’s face. He was bare-headed with shaggy brown hair and a devilish quirk to his firm lips. The game seemed to have lost its fascination. Their gazes drank me down like I was long cool drink.

Taking a deep breath….

Last August, after my first PET scan, I remember my oncologist’s expression before he brought up the scan for us to review. He wasn’t smiling. His eyes looked sad. He slowly hit the key to progress the images and pointed out everywhere that was lit up like a freaking Christmas tree to show me where the cancer was. In one image, I could see that it looked like an apron of Christmas tree lights was spread across my abdomen, fully covering it. At that time, I asked him about best case scenarios, and he told me I might have three years if I did well with the chemo, but my cancer was extensive, and he didn’t believe I’d ever be a good candidate for surgery to debulk my tumors. The best I could hope for was some reduction of the size of my tumors to prolong my life a bit.

The first thing I did after getting the news was to make an appointment to update my will.

Today, when he walked into the room, he had the biggest smile on his face. He said, “Let’s pull up the latest scan.” He opened his laptop and brought up the previous picture that was so colorful and beautiful with the intensity of all those awful lights. Then he pulled up last Friday’s scan and slowly hit the key to progress through the screens. There was nothing but gray scale pictures to look at. The ONLY place we could detect some activity was in my uterus, but it was a bare smudge of light.

He said, it was almost funny because the radiologist that read the scan thought I’d had surgery already to remove my omentum. That’s an apron of tissue that covers all the major organs in your abdomen. The reason he thought I’d had surgery was because there was no cancer to be seen whatsover. The “capsule” of cancer on my liver? Gone, too.

He said I’d done amazingly well, and that I am officially in REMISSION! He went on to say that I would be on immunotherapy from here on out and that he had patients who’ve been on it for eight years—so my prognosis is stretching into territory I couldn’t even begin to dream of when I started. Sure, it can come back, but we’ll be doing blood tests and scans to keep on top of it.

I could not have received better news. Now, I’ll wait for the surgeon’s office to contact me because I am getting that dang surgery to have my girlie parts removed for good.

Just thought I’d share the news because I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. We’re in celebration mode at the Devlin house!

My daughter has been busy making some fun pens for me and to sell. I think I’ll give one of the above away as the prize today. They are so cute! And they write really well! See the contest below!

And yes, I usually do the Report Cards on Sundays, but I had a guest yesterday!

Report Card

Last week…

1. The big event was that I had my PET scan last Friday. I’ve read the radiologist’s report but my Google-MD degree needs my actual doctor’s interpreting skills, so I’ll let you know later what was said…
2. I continued work on one author’s edits. I didn’t finish because she’s slacking giving me pages. Well, two broken wrists are a great excuse. *wink*
3. I sent out the Call for Submissions for the next Boys Behaving Badly Anthology! It’s tentatively entitled Burn.
4. I uploaded Once Upon a Legend to sites other than Amazon since it’s no longer in KU.
5. The family and I watched Red One. Yes, it’s rather late for a Christmas movie, but we were looking for an action flick, and it fit the bill. I enjoyed it!
6. The local art guild I belong to held their election. I’m VP of Programs now. 🙂

This next week…

1. I meet with my oncologist this morning! I’ll hear his interpretation of my scan. Wish me luck! Then it’s straight to the chair to begin my first immunotherapy infusion. I hear it’s a lot easier on the body than chemotherapy, so I don’t mind one bit!
2. I have two authors’ edits to work on this week. One to complete.
3. This week, I’ll be diving back into finishing up Ignition! Okay, so I said this last week, but I mean it this time.

Open Contests + New Contest

Be sure to check out these posts and enter to win the prizes that are still up for grabs:

1. Word Puzzle — Ideas for Next Boys Behaving Badly Anthology (Contest) — Last day to enter! Win an Amazon gift card!
2. Karenna Colcroft: Back to Boston (F*R*E*E Read!) — This one ends soon! Everyone, get your FREE read!
3. Memory Game: The OG — Montana Bounty Hunters (Contest) — This one ends soon! Get an Amazon gift card!
4. Saturday Puzzle-Contest: Movie Night! — This one ends soon! Get an Amazon gift card!
5. Word Search: Favorite Romance Tropes (Contest) — This one ends soon! Win an Amazon gift card!
6. Flashback: Saddled (Contest) — Win a FREE book!
7. Memory Game: Places I would like to go… (Contest) — Win an Amazon gift card!
8. 5 Things I’m Thankful For… (Contest) — Win an Amazon gift card!
9. Saturday Puzzle-Contest: Dream Dinner Table — Win an Amazon gift card!
10. Gabbi Grey: Gay Historical Romances (Contest) — Win a FREE eBook or audiobook!

Today’s Contest: Comment below and enter to win one of the pretty readers’ pens!

Thank you, Delilah, for hosting me today.  I want to share a bit of my journey into a subgenre I’d never considered writing!

The first MM romance I ever read was an Ava March historical novella.  I almost didn’t notice the main characters were both men — the lush setting, vibrant period, and brilliant story carried me away.  I was enchanted. Enthralled. I moved on to other authors as I discovered the joys of free e-books, but I often returned to pick up a new March story.

Fast forward a few years.  I’d hired a wonderful person to edit my stories and to whip them into shape so I could publish them. But I didn’t know what I was doing.  So she recommended I read authors who were better than myself.  She listed a number of her favorite authors, including Tara Lain and Kaje Harper.  Both of the authors had audiobooks, so I snapped them up and dove in.

My life changed forever.

Now…the transition was gradual.  I listened to the MM audios from these authors.  Then I listened to more.  Then I sought out blogs that discussed queer books.  Then I started writing reviews for one, and my immersion was complete — about eighty percent of what I listen to is queer fiction.

One book, though, has always stuck with me.

Kaje Harper is a talented writer — and someone I’m proud to call a friend.  Her book, Into Deep Waters, had a profound impact on me.  It is just a simple story about two sailors serving in the Navy in the Pacific Ocean during the Second World War.  Two men who struggled with their identities. Two men who earned a richly deserved happily ever after.

Now, I never saw myself writing historical stories.  Ava March, Kaje Haper, KJ Charles, and Joanna Chambers make it look easy. It isn’t.  Layered into the historical periods are the societal prejudices and outright illegality of being a homosexual.

Plus, you know, historical accuracy.  Apparently, that’s a thing.

All fine and good.  I wasn’t going to write a historical novel.  Just like I wasn’t going to write a paranormal gay romance (oh, wait, ghosts are paranormal…huh, yep blew that idea out of the water…).  The tipping point for me came from a charity anthology last year.  The premise was each story would be Jane Austen adjacent.  So my characters would either interact with an Austen character or in fact be an Austen character.

I checked with the anthology folks that gay romance was okay.  They said, sure.  They said representation mattered.  They said no light switches.

I figured even I couldn’t screw this up too badly.

I also secured a beta reader who is a former history professor since my editor doesn’t specialize in Regency England either.  Turns out I made a few mistakes — easily corrected.

In a short span of time, I had my short story. An Uncommon Gentleman is the tale of two sailors — onboard Captain Frederick Wentworth’s ship — whose lives are upended when one gets an unexpected inheritance.  It’s a simple short story. Just under 8k words.  I submitted it, and the charity anthology raised some money, for which I was thrilled.

The comment from several reviewers was the story ended abruptly.  Well, yeah, I had a word limit.

When the rights reverted to me, I added an epilogue, and then I had the audio recorded by the very talented Michael Ferraiuolo. I published the e-book and audiobook and sat back to enjoy my lovely story.

In 2024, I did another Austen charity anthology.  This time, instead of Persuasion, I chose Sense and Sensibility.  Those rights reverted back to me and Michael will be narrating the audio shortly.  Finally, this year, I’m doing another charity anthology.  This one won’t be specifically Austen, but I’m choosing to set my redeemed rake in the same period, and I’ll make him Austen-adjacent.

Man, I’ve had so much fun.

Outstanding beta readers, strong editors, tons of research…finally, historicals are (almost) within my grasp.

Moving from short stories to full-length books isn’t yet possible. I don’t think.  Never say never, though.

That’s how An Uncommon Gentleman came to be!  I would love to hear your thoughts — historicals? Love ’em or not for me?  Leave a comment and you might win either an e-book or audiobook copy of my story.  Or another book from my back catalogue.  Random will pick the winner.

An Uncommon Gentleman

John

I have served as a sailor in His Majesty’s Royal Navy for the past ten years and had no intention of changing that path. The death of my uncle means I must return to Blackthorne Estate to take up my position as Lord and Master. I’ll step up to do my duty. My dearest wish is that my beloved joins me. When he chooses to accompany me, I set my mind to making him mine—body and soul.

Philip

I have been a sailor for nearly thirty years and never planned to retire until my captain orders it. When my beloved is called to attend to his family’s estate, he asks me to accompany him as a valet. I’m happy to do so as it keeps me close to him. He wants to grow the affection between the two of us, but I feel the need to hold myself apart. In the end, though, I suspect he will win this argument.

An Uncommon Gentleman is an 8k Regency gay romance short story.  The story was previously available in Austen Tea Party: A Historical Romance Collection for Charity Inspired by Jane Austen. This version has been expanded.

Links:
Universal Link: https://books2read.com/AnUcommonGentleman
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Uncommon-Gentleman-Regency-Romance-Short-ebook/dp/B0CLKZDW9H
Add it to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/201840113-an-uncommon-gentleman

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling author Gabbi Grey lives in beautiful British Columbia where her fur baby chin-poo keeps her safe from the nasty neighborhood squirrels. Working for the government by day, she spends her early mornings writing contemporary, gay, sweet, and dark erotic BDSM romances. While she firmly believes in happy endings, she also believes in making her characters suffer before finding their true love. She also writes m/f romances as Gabbi Black and Gabbi Powell.

Sorry, I’m so late posting! My website was down this morning, and I had to wait for the hosting site to do whatever they did to fix it. It’s all good now. ~DD

Yesterday, I underwent a PET scan to see how all those rounds of chemo did. I read the radiologist’s report and instantly went into “Google-MD” mode with my daughter, but I’ll wait to see whether my pieced-together diagnosis matches my oncologist’s on Monday. Damn, I hate waiting! I’ll share whatever he tells us. You’ve followed me, supported me, and encouraged me all along the way; you deserve to know the good or bad that comes of all this.

So, onto today’s puzzle!

Maybe you don’t know it, but I love food. I’m a huge foodie. I’ll try anything. Traveling to so many different countries in my younger days, I was game for anything. I remember eating a shared sheep’s head sitting in the middle of a bed of couscous on a huge tray with half a dozen Saudis around me—so delicious. A Greek woman, who I visited in her home, made a lovely Greek salad with cucumbers, tomatoes, olives—and octopus. I tried it, and guess what? I loved it! I have so many fond memories of food adventures.

These days, I’m a bit homebound, but my daughter has my foodie gene and finds exotic things to cook. The kids aren’t always so eager to experiment, but they probably have a more diverse palette than their peers at school.

I am a huge lover of pasta. The photo above? I make ravioletti with sundried tomatoes, onions, spinach, pine nuts, basil, oregano, olive oil, tons of garlic, and it’s so good. It’s one of my dd’s favorite things to eat. I like it with chopped up artichokes, too, but she doesn’t like them. *sigh* In that picture, she made the homemade focaccia bread. So yummy.

Of course, I make a very tasty spaghetti with meatballs. The 11-year-old recently went to the local Italian restaurant and ordered theirs and couldn’t finish it. She said mine was much better. Proud grandma moment there.

I’m always perusing pasta recipes on Pinterest. This looks so incredibly easy. Pasta with spinach, and it looks like bits of walnuts? I’d be all over that.

I digress because I’m hungry, and you’re here for a puzzle and contest…

Today’s puzzle features an aspirational (for me) dinner party. Pasta, seafood, all kinds of sides… For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, tell me your favorite pasta dish that you think belongs on this table. If you have a link to the recipe, it would be much appreciated, but if it sounds good, I’ll Google the heck out it! Have fun!

I’m off to the city today for a PET Scan. I’m hungry and grumpy. I could only eat protein—no carbs or sugar for the last 24 hours. That sounds easy enough, but dang, I’m craving a burger with a bun with French fries and a soda! In fact, the minute I’m out of the clinic after the scan, that’s where I’m going to insist my daughter take me!

Last night, I attended my local art guild’s meeting. We voted on a new board. I’m VP of programs! My dd and I went in with a long agenda that we whipped through quickly, including ideas for future programs. It’s something to keep me looking forward, so many things to do. I love being part of that community. My mother was one of the founding members of that group and a true artist. I think she’d be pleased.

Anyway, today, I have lots on my mind—the scan, writing projects I need to begin, fun things to do with the art guild. Too many hopeful future-looking things for me to accept any news from my scan that isn’t also hopeful and future-looking.

I made a quick list of 5 Things I’m Thankful For…

👨‍👩‍👧 — My family, who love and take care of me

🏡 — A comfortable home

🗺️ — The many wonderful memories of the adventures I enjoyed while traveling abroad

🥘 — Good food!

⌛ — The time to enjoy all of the above—even if it’s only one year, although I’m hoping for more!

For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, tell me the five things you’re thankful for!