My short story – B.A.D. BOYS – in the Wayward Ink Publishing Anthology: THREE IS NOT A CROWD is out today! Scroll down for an excerpt!

inside cover

I’m thrilled to be able to share the cover done by Jay Aheer

Release Date: 18 September, 2015



Why would anyone think three was a crowd?

No. No. No. No. No.

Three is a triangle…

and did you know it’s the strongest geometrical shape?

All the best things come in threes…

Musketeers, primary colors, three-ringed circuses, stooges, blind mice, little pigs. The list goes on.

Of course they say trouble comes in three too…

but we won’t go there… or will we?

**giggle** There’s three sheets to the wind.

And **sigh… drool** there’s three piece suits.

And trust us, it’s no coincidence that there are three ingredients in a BLT.

Or only three elements to the game Rock, Paper, Scissors.

Want to get physical???

Well, there’s… three-legged races… (what were you thinking?)

Political? Of the people, by the people, for the people.

Or creepy? Hear no evil. Speak no evil. See no evil.

Why, three has so much going for it we don’t even need to mention a…

1…………          2…………          3………… sandwich

(substitute your own dream guys)

And of course, there’s: On your Mark. Get Set. And Go!

So Go! Read the short stories in…



LilyVBrad has a thing about elevators. He’s also had a tough week.

An accidental encounter with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome Aiden, and sweet, shy, and innocent Danny, will turn his elevator ‘thing’ into something very B.A.D.


WHENEVER I get in a lift I always have an almost-impossible-to-ignore urge to say or do something inappropriate.

It happens every single time.

That is so not great considering I work on the twentieth floor of a highrise in the heart of Sydney.

Think about it.

Including leaving the building for lunch, it means I use the lift a minimum of four times per day. So that’s at least twenty times per week I’m tempted to say or do something that could well be career suicide. At least four times per day I have to purse my lips to stop myself from loudly blurting out that crass joke I got in an email from one of my mates the day before. Or bite my inner cheek not to share to all and sundry the R-rated goings on from the previous weekend, because for those few moments we’re all trapped together, I’m certain they all want to know about the sexy bad boy I hooked up with.

Worse, I can’t help thinking it might be cool to fart. I mean really let one rip. Logically, I know its rarely cool to fart in company. Well, unless it’s a locker room full of jocks and someone has a lighter handy… and you turn it into some sort of pissing contest to see who can do it for the longest or loudest or shoot flames the farthest. But those days are in the past. I’m a career man now, an up-and-coming advertising exec, and craving to do something as juvenile as wanting to watch my fellow lift occupants asphyxiate from my flatulence should be well behind me.

But there you have it. I hop in a lift and all these urges just about overwhelm me.

Perhaps it’s the confined space. People feeling awkward and uncomfortable as others are forced to invade their personal turf.

Maybe I just want to break through the veneer of boredom worn by everyone as we ignore each other and study, as if our lives depended on it, the digits as they light up.

Or perhaps I subconsciously wish to provide them with a valid reason for the way they bolt out of the elevator like Olympic sprinters off the starting blocks. So eager are they to escape the Box of Bored Bullshit you can see their chests expand as they heave a sigh of relief to be free of its four walls.

Tonight, though, I was the opposite of that—I couldn’t wait for the ping that would inform me the lift had arrived at my floor, and not because I wanted to shock someone or pull my skunk act. I pressed the down button again, tapping my foot. It was seven o’clock on Friday night and I’d had the crappiest of weeks. So crappy that mere normal, run-of-the-mill crap seemed like something to aspire to.

At last my prayers were answered. My long awaited ping, accompanied by the sliding apart of steel doors, arrived.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be alone.

I’d seen the guy before. In my head, I called him DiNozzo because he looked like what I imagined a young, geeky, glasses-wearing DiNozzo from NCIS would look like. Unlike DiNozzo, though, this guy was shy and cute and totally oblivious to how sexy he was. If it weren’t for the fact he looked like he should still be in high school I’d have asked him out.

He smiled bashfully at me. I returned his smile, silently apologizing in advance and praying he was deaf, dumb, and hopefully totally lacking in the ability to smell, because my resistance was mighty low.

“Floor?” he asked.

“Ground. Definitely ground, and if you can make it go faster I’d appreciate it.”

DiNozzo chuckled. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse. Bad to the power of ten.”

Before he could reply, the lift came to a stop on the sixteenth floor and I groaned at the delay to my escape. DiNozzo chuckled again. The doors parted, revealing the dark-haired hunk I knew worked for the big accounting firm that took up the whole of the sixteenth floor. I couldn’t imagine anyone less accounterly looking—the guy would have been right at home on the cover of some high-end fashion mag. And not just for his face. He was the whole deal—tall, broad shoulders, narrow hips, and, if the cut of his suit didn’t lie, flat abs and a tight ass.

He was also a pussy hound.

In the two years I’d worked in the building, I’d lost count of the number of women I’d seen him with. Pity. I wouldn’t have minded seeing if his cock matched the rest of him.

“Ground floor?” asked DiNozzo.

“You betcha, and if there’s an express button hit that one too.”

It was my turn to laugh—sounded like someone else had had a shitty week. They both looked at me. I grinned. “TGIF.”

“Thank God It’s Friday,” we all chimed in together, sharing a chuckle as the doors shut and we began our descent. Began being the operative word because we didn’t get far. A couple of floors down we came to a clunking, grinding halt. Problem was it wasn’t because someone else would be joining us. We weren’t even on an exact floor. Rather, we were stuck halfway between the thirteenth and fourteenth floors, if the panel could be believed…






I’m every bit the Everyman.

Or at least I was until I started my current relationship.

You see, there are three of us in this couple: me, my boyfriend, and my boyfriend’s alter ego…



Three college cheerleaders are bound together by unrequited love, secrets, and lies.

That is until dangers on a road trip threaten their lives.

Who will survive?



Plagued by nightmares of a lost twin, David struggles to uncover the truth of his past.

 His family insists he never had a brother, enlisting therapist after therapist to cure him.

David’s only happiness is his boyfriend Terry.

Is the dream-visiting twin real?

Or is he a symptom of a mental disorder?

And real or not, will David and Terry’s relationship survive his presence?



Flynn Jacobs is small, eccentric, and neurotic. He’s spent his whole life being ridiculed and bullied.

On a rare night out with work colleagues, Flynn finally meets Riley, a man he has admired from afar.

Riley isn’t looking for anything special. His boyfriend Mitch is out of town and Riley is bored. Shy Flynn is a challenge. He’s meant to be a one night stand but Riley finds he likes Flynn more than he should…

What will happen when Mitch returns from his business trip?



Richard believed his friendship with Laura was based around their passion for writing.

He didn’t realise he was falling in love with her, until it was too late. 

After all, how could he possibly be falling in love with Laura, when he still loved Bill?



Malcolm has a decision to make.

His two best friends, Jack and Thomas, have just given him a very interesting proposal to mull over.

His mind, his heart, and his Little Malcolm need to agree.

The decision could change his life forever…



Daniel and Michael go shopping for sex toys.

Michael believes their relationship is complete.

That is, until he lays his eyes on the gorgeous shop owner.

Perhaps things are better in threes…



Chrissie is a very smart Rottweiler who has never shifted until now, enjoying his life as a dog.

What happens when he and his owner, Simon, fall for the same guy?




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  1. Have you thought about expanding the B.A.D story? It was such a good beginning and felt like a tease for some more intimate details.

    • I would love to and Brad, Adrian, and Danny would certainly love to have their story told – they chat to me constantly!

      I’m hoping to get some of my works in progress finished this year (otherwise the number of voices chatting away in my head are going to send me insane or deaf….. maybe both!)

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