Good Enough Cover, Blurb, & Excerpt

Heya!

So. I'm rereleasing a novella I put out forever ago, called Good Enough. It was only available for a few months before I ultimately pulled it because it was in pretty rough shape and I didn't give it ANY promo for its first release. It was a reader appreciation bonus kinda thing that I dropped because I didn't know what else to do with it haha. But I loved Payton and Noah SO much — particularly Noah, I won't lie. 

Well. I pulled them out, dusted them off, and have revised in pretty major ways, added word count, and sent off for some heavy re-edits. It grew by 10k words from its original draft, even after deleting several thousand in revision, so it's new in many ways, expanded in others, but still very similar if you read the first edition. I'm SO very proud of the new life these guys got. 

I know some of you read this, so I hope you'll give the new edition a chance because I think the new material makes it better. And those who hadn't, I hope you enjoy it. I WILL WARN HERE, because I'm not going to go around tagging it everywhere: there is an ON PAGE cheating scene in a flash back from "8 years ago". If cheating makes you squeamish, you've been forewarned. 

I plan to have this out for you guys right before Christmas.

So I give you this lovely Natasha Snow cover art. And damn, Noah's looking better than ever. Also, giving you the blurb and the first excerpt—which is still unedited.

Good Enough

by Kade Boehme

The day Payton Grady returns home to Seattle after a few years away, he sees a gorgeous club kid who accidentally leaves an interesting scarf behind at the bus stop. In a silly attempt to locate the owner, Payton’s best friend places an ad on Craigslist. Two years later, Payton and his friend are shocked to receive a response from the erstwhile club kid. After balking, Payton’s stunned to find his missed opportunity was with someone from his past — his ex-boyfriend from college.

Noah Di Cicco has been wracked with guilt since college when he crushed Payton. His insecurities and betrayal destroyed their relationship, and eventually Noah's whole life. Six years and the experience of a rock bottom have changed Noah.

Now that Noah knows he’s good enough for love, both men remember what they had, while moving past the hurt they caused each other so long ago. Maybe they can be good enough together.


2nd Edition. Revised, heavily re-edited, and expanded.
WARNING: Not intended for readers under 18.

EXCERPT

Nothing made me antsier than sitting around for a long time so I was more than happy to stretch out my jumpy muscles after a five hour flight from Chicago and an hour on the Seattle Light Rail. I walked around 5th Ave breathing in the cool, fresh air and took in the familiar old sights of the city I’d left behind years ago. I’d been wary of the move back but as I looked around my old stomping grounds I was thankful I’d let my friend Adam talk me into applying for a job at the law firm where he worked as a junior associate.

After complaining about how dead end my job back in Chicago felt, Adam had started a full-fledged campaign to get me back to the West coast. It had taken a lot more work and I balked much more than I’d needed to. It’s not that Seattle had done anything to me. I loved the city, but when I finished college I’d been ready for a change, especially where my personal life was concerned so I'd applied for paralegal positions on the other side of the Mississippi. I was glad to have gone out into the world but damn it was nice to be home. Even if I would be working under my best friend who'd continued on with law school, unlike me who'd decided I much preferred research to actual litigating.

I walked, continuing around to Pine Street where I needed to grab my bus up to the University District, where I’d be crashing at Adam’s apartment until I found my own place. After I’d sidled up to the sign and checked that I was at the correct stop, I rolled my bag beside a bench but decided to continue standing. I’d had quite enough sitting, thank you. As I was digging through my messenger bag for my blasted cell phone, which I managed to lose more than the average person did, I noticed him.

Wow, but this guy was gorgeous, if not vaguely familiar, which I figured was more because of his style than his features. I wasn’t even stealth in my observation of him. I only saw his profile as he leaned against the bus stop shelter, set down a shopping bag and lit a cigarette. He was taller than me, long legs nicely muscled under his tight black jeans and his turquoise shirt made his olive complexion and his simple black tattoos stand out. Even his head was that perfect round shape with hair shaved to the skin all the way around, but medium length black hair on top that was flipped to one side. He was obviously wearing make-up, lips shining and eyes thick with more than just black eyeliner. It looked like he may be wearing a smoky eye shadow, but he was a walking wet dream from what I could tell.

When he shifted I could make out the perfect ass that was obviously firm because those jeans were tight and they were forced to stretch over the globes of his glutes. Goddamn was he hot for a club kid... well... club man. He looked closer to my twenty-six years.

He started to turn my way which made me avert my eyes quickly, studiously glancing at my phone. Thankfully there were no street lights close to me so he probably wouldn’t have noticed if he looked my direction, anyway. The diversion of my phone was good, though. It stopped my foolishness. Why was I checking out a club kid, especially one old enough he should have retired the style by now?

I don’t do club kids. Ever. I don’t even go to clubs. It isn’t my thing—anymore. I, like any gay man in his earlier twenties definitely had had my days of too much booze and dancing. I’d also dated my club boy. But I’m well past that phase. It was no longer a novelty and I knew exactly what happened when you got involved with those boys.

Okay, so I don’t want to be a dick and tar them all with the same brush. Just because my one experience was bad doesn’t mean every club-hopping, twenty-something gay man is a tool. But what would we have in common anymore? Well past my collegiate years and a couple years into my chosen profession, I definitely found myself spending more time with the young professionals crowd. I’d long-ago traded strobe lights and skinny jeans for chinos and sports bars.

That didn’t stop my eye from wandering once more to the man once more, noticing he’d moved on up by the sign where a bus was pulling up. I was sad to see it wasn’t the bus number I was waiting for, instead being a bus going up to Capitol Hill, but that was a good thing. I didn’t need to sit on a damn bus with him. Was I out of my mind? It was my first night—hell, first hour—back in Seattle. I wasn’t looking to start seeing someone and I couldn’t hook up in Adam’s one bedroom apartment.

Who was I kidding? I wouldn’t even speak to the guy. Sexy or not, he was but a throwback to one of the reasons I left Seattle behind and I sure didn’t want to revisit that. So I’m a little bitter and he is being judged because of one guy’s mistakes, sue me.

As I rolled that thought around in my head, I noticed the guy had left behind his shopping bag. I sprang into action before I really even thought it through, jumping to grab the bag. Before I could hop to the bus, though, the door had swung shut and the driver had accelerated. Not that city busses are fast, but you try talking a metro driver to slow his roll and see how fast you learn that it isn’t going to happen. I jogged a few steps in a futile attempt to maybe get the driver’s attention, but stopped exerting myself when, as I knew would happen, I got let in the proverbial dust.

I looked down at the paper bag, feeling I’d attempted my good deed for the year, but also more let down than I wanted to admit that I hadn’t at least gotten one last look at him. I wandered back over to where I’d carelessly abandoned my luggage and saw that the bus that was now pulling away from the curb beside me was the one I was supposed to be on.

*       *       *

“So you still have the bag?” Adam asked, snatching it from off the couch where I’d placed it and looking inside—something I’d yet to do. I’d had to explain to him I wasn’t later than I’d said because I was out shopping, but because I’d had to wait twenty more minutes after missing my bus trying to help out a stranger.

“I don’t know why I did. It’s not like I’ll see him again to return it.” I grabbed the bag from him, for some reason feeling it’d be tacky to trifle through it. “Stop being nosy. It just felt rude to throw it away.”

Adam flipped his blond bangs out of his eyes and smirked at me. “So you weren’t hoping to maybe run into the pretty boy again and play Knight in Shiny Chinos, gallantly returning his scarf. And that’s what’s in the bag, by the way. A very pink scarf.”

I frowned down at the bag. Yeah, the guy seemed the type to wear a fuchsia scarf. I bet it’d look stunning on that strong, olive-toned neck. I looked back at Adam with a scowl. “That wasn’t my motive at all. I don’t know what I was thinking, honestly. Guess I hope if I’d left something behind more important than a fuchsia scarf maybe someone would do the same with me.” I shrugged and dropped the bag back on the couch.

Adam snatched it up immediately and turned his back as I reached for it, digging through it and saying, “Maybe there’s a credit card receipt with his name and you can look him up on Facebook or something.”

I had to admit that was a sound plan but I sure wouldn’t admit that to Adam. He was still dancing and singing I told you so since I fucked up and said “It’s kind of nice to be back in Seattle” upon walking into the apartment. He needed no more encouragement.

“Damn,” he said. “No receipt.” He then pulled out the very fuschia scarf which had GONADS! knitted in black yarn in the middle. Adam snorted. “Very classy, this young man of yours.”

I grabbed the scarf, smiling at the word. “Interesting scarf” was my only commentary.

Adam let loose his signature obnoxious laugh that was probably the most infectious I’d ever heard. “He has a scarf that says GONADS!” Yeah, it was gonna be nice to have my friend around again.

“He had a scarf that says GONADS! Should I take it to a bus driver and give it to lost and found?” I handed Adam the scarf and he read it again, snickering.

“No way!” Adam looked at me with eyes wide. “Someone made this for him. It’ll just get tossed out after so long at lost and found. Maybe there’s somewhere we could advertise you found it and you’d hear from lover-boy.”

I scoffed. “He’s not—What the hell are you talking about? This is not a lost dog. Who puts up Lost Scarf Found signs?” I don’t know why I was dumb enough to even ask that because I could see the gears in his head start turning.

He flailed his arms, excitedly. “Oh, I know!” I didn’t even have a chance to respond before he practically skipped off to his room. Really? Twenty-six and the man still skips? Of course, that’s why I adore him. The guys got brains for days, but he’ll never grow up.

He came back from his room with his laptop in hand and plopped on the couch. I eyed him dubiously. “What exactly are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, ignored me. I rolled my eyes and decided I was probably better off not knowing. “Never mind. I’m going to take a shower.” He waved me off, mumbling that towels were in the cabinet under the sink.  

After a quick shower and changing into gym shorts and a t-shirt I felt a lot better. Nothing makes one feel quite as disgusting as six hours crammed next to strangers on planes, trains and city busses. I was not pleased to see how devious his grin was when I made it back into the living room.

“What did you do?”

“Oh, stop being such a grump.”

“In other words I’m going to hate it.”

“Probably,” he said, unable to contain his glee. Bastard. “I just figured, hey why not kill two birds with one stone. It’s a one in a million shot but…”

“Adam…”

He handed me the laptop and I looked, feeling my face grow tighter with each word I read.

“Adam, shit! Are you kidding me?” Craigslist. No, not just Craigslist. He’d posted it on their Missed Connections.

Are you my bus stop boy?

You were standing at the bus stop on Pine & 5th waiting for the 13 bus to Capitol Hill. You were wearing black jeans and a turquoise tank showing off your black tribal tattoos on your arms. I’m not even sure if you’re gay, but if you are and you see this, I’ve got something you left behind and would love to treat you to coffee. Send an e-mail, subject line should be the word on the thing you left behind. adamantsea@name.com

“Delete this!”

“Come on! Not likely he’ll actually see it but it’s worth a shot and I put my e-mail address. You won’t even have to weed through the weirdos. I’ll handle it all.”

“You’re too kind,” I drawled.

“Oh stop, Payton. Think how romantic it’d be!”

“He wasn’t even my type!”

“Honey, he sounds like every gay man’s type.”

“Not mine.”

“Oh yeah, the No Club Boys Allowed rule. Can you get over Noah’s shit already.”

I scowled at the mention of Noah. “Don’t—”

“Okay, okay. Breathe. Didn’t mean to bring up the shit head, but seriously…” I glared at him.

“I’ll take it down,” he grumbled.

“Good. Now can we drink some wine?”

“No, we can’t. We can drink vodka,” he sing-songed. Oh boy, it was going to be a long first day with a hangover. Fuck it, at least it’d get my mind off of bending Bus Stop Boy over and fucking that plump ass in the back of whatever club he’d been headed toward.

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