reviews_and_ramblings | Excerpt Day: Apples and Gin by Jenna Jones

Going to the Chapel stories by Jenna Jones, JJ Massa, and Alexa Snow
Release Date: June 24, 2009
Publisher: Torquere Books
ISBN: 978-1-60370-744-2, 1-60370-744-7
Publisher Link: http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2036

Blurb: Who doesn't love a wedding? The three stories in Going to the Chapel prove that everyone has a special day. In Don't Ask by JJ Massa, Captain Zachary Smith has always wanted to find out what boils behind Agent Falk Thayer's calm exterior. Falk, on the other hand, isn't looking for anything long-term. Never has. Never will. When things get hot and heavy between them, Captain Smith has to decide if he's willing to take less than what he needs or sacrifice everything. In Building a Life by Alexa Snow, when Levi goes to his best friend Cooper's engagement party, he doesn't expect to meet someone fascinating -- and he definitely doesn't expect that someone to be Cooper's five-year-old niece Ashley. It comes as an even bigger surprise to find that Ashley's father Philip is both fascinating and hot. But Philip is married, even if his wife is mysteriously out of the picture, so this ready-made family can't possibly have room in it for Levi... or can it? Finally, in Apples and Gin by Jenna Jones, country singer Sawyer Shaw loves photographer Noah Kingston and is tired of hiding it. He's kept his sexuality hidden for the sake of his career and his family, but over the past ten years Sawyer has come to realize what matters most to him is Noah and his happiness, and Sawyer is ready not only to make it public but also to make it permanent.

Excerpt:

From “Apples and Gin” by Jenna Jones

A voice carried down the long hallway, and for a moment all the assistants froze. "No, no, what you don't understand is that when I say 'please don't take my car' I mean 'please don't take my car.' I don't mean 'please don't take my car unless you decide you need a hit,' or 'please don't take my car unless you decide to drive down to Tijuana for the weekend without telling me,' I fucking mean 'please don't fucking take my fucking car.'"

The assistants leaped to life, one scrambling to get water bottles from the refrigerator at the end of the room, another to put several cameras in a row on a white Lucite cart, and Roddy to gather the Polaroids and straighten his shoulders. Sawyer straightened up, too, hoping he didn't look like a nervous hick kid, no matter how much he felt like one.

Noah Kingston walked into the room, a cell phone to his ear, the other hand shoving through short dark hair until it stood up in soft spikes. He had dark eyes, a short beard, and a face that was both weary and kind -- not like the pinched look so many industry people Sawyer had been meeting lately wore, like they never stopped feeling anxious and on display. Sawyer supposed you could tell he was the boss because he was the only person wearing a color: a bright blue shirt, mostly unbuttoned, and jeans and work boots, like he felt no need to make the "I'm an artist" statement his assistants did. He doubted Noah Kingston felt the need to make a statement of any kind to anyone.

Noah waved a hand at Roddy, who started showing him the Polaroids, and said into the phone, his voice more exasperated than angry, "Okay, you know what, we're not going to have this conversation right now, because I have to take pictures of a country singer and earn the fucking money to buy a new fucking car since you drove mine into a fucking tree. Yeah, well, fuck you, too." He closed the phone with a snap and told them all conversationally, "My boyfriend is an asshole. You're Sawyer Shaw, right?"

"Yes, sir," Sawyer said.

"Don't call me sir; it makes me feel like you should be saluting me, and they don't like my kind in the military. Okay. You're cute, Sawyer Shaw, which, I'm sure, is why the record label loves you. But cute is not going to move units all by itself: it has to be properly packaged cute. So that's my job here: the label has decided on your image and I'm going to give it shape and form. Okay?"

Sawyer blinked, lost in a sea of verbiage. "Um."

"Exactly. Cute but dumb. Easy. Okay, people, let's get him made up and dressed." A young woman with magenta hair joined them, carrying what looked like a tackle box. "Anna, do your best with him. Jonathan, I want an inch off the hair all around. We'll start with the basic white T-shirt and jeans and go from there." He turned to the rack of clothes an assistant wheeled over for his approval.

"Hey!" Sawyer said, hopping off the stool. Noah Kingston, Roddy, and Terry all looked at him, Terry's eyebrows drawing together like when he was afraid Sawyer was going to say something he'd have to explain with a "no comment." Roddy looked stressed. Noah just looked interested.
Sawyer fidgeted with one of his rings and said, "I'm not dumb and I don't want to be cute."

"Oh, Sawyer," Terry said, holding his forehead.

"No, no, I get you, kiddo," Noah said. "You want to be unique in a sea of blandness, right? You want to stick around a while, not just be this summer's cute kid in a cowboy hat. Right?"

"Yes," Sawyer said.

"Okay," said Noah, "I'm going to tell you two things, and you can take or leave them as you like. First, you are cute, and there's nothing you can do about that because your mommy and daddy blessed you with some fucking fantastic genes, and you didn't do anything stupid like scrape your face up on a highway in a motorcycle accident. For which I, personally, thank you. I hate seeing beauty messed up. Breaks the heart.

"Second, the record label has done this many, many, many times before, and they know what they're doing. And I know what I'm doing. So I'm going to take some pictures of you just like how the label wants, but then -- and this is the important part -- then I'm going to take some pictures like how I want. And I may even take some pictures like how you want. And when we send them all to the label, if you're lucky, they'll choose some of the other pictures for your album cover and publicity pictures instead of the ones where you're merely cute. Deal?"

"Deal," Sawyer held out his hand to Noah.

Noah looked at his hand and laughed as he clapped his hand into Sawyer's grip. "You're really the old-fashioned kind, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," Sawyer said, grinning, and pumped Noah's hand a few times before letting it go.