Welcome to the Poster Boy Blog Tour! *confetti*
As you may or may not know, Poster Boy is the fifth in the Theta Alpha Gamma series, and (at least as far as I’m able to be sure about such things) the last TAG book. No, no, don’t be sad, be happy—we’re gonna go out in style!
Let’s discuss the nitty-gritty: the Blog Tour Giveaway. The prize package this time includes: one lovely “Theta Alpha Gamma Beer Terrorist Response Team” sweatshirt (I believe I have sizes M-XXL available, choice of two styles); one paperback copy of Frat Boy and Toppy with the new cover art, signed and inscribed to the winner; a bar of soap I bought in Les Baux (was going to send olives from Sainte-Remy, but we ate them . . . sorry about that) and; of course, one penis crocheted by moi.
How does one win, you ask? By following the tour, collecting all the official “prize” words (posts will have them clearly marked), and using them as directed at the end of this post (it’s complicated).
Happy word hunting, and enjoy the tour (psssssst, this one is heavy on the cut scenes).
* * *
Poster Boy by Anne Tenino
It’s all fun and games until someone puts his heart out.
When Jock meets sexy grad student Toby at a frat party, things finally start looking up. After having been outed to his hockey team and then changing schools, he figures he’s due something good—like the sex he missed out on in the closet. Toby seems like a great place to start, and their night together is an awesome introduction to the fine art of hooking up.
Toby’s heart takes a bruising after the near-perfect experience with Jock leads to . . . nothing. He’s been left on the outside as his friends pair up into blissful coupledom, and he’s in danger of never completing (or starting) his thesis. Can’t something go right?
Then Toby’s coerced into chaperoning a Theta Alpha Gamma trip to France. Not that he’s complaining. What better place to finish his thesis and get over that frat boy? Except Jock’s outing is leaked to the press, making him an unwilling gay rights martyr, and he decides France is a great escape, too. It’s a break from reality for both guys, but they soon find their connection is as real as it gets.
* * *
This is another one of those scenes that we got a taste of in Sweet Young Thang, when a very explicit and incriminating picture of Jock with another guy is emailed to all the frat brothers. In SYT we see the aftermath of that from Collin’s point of view, but here’s the aftermath from Jock’s. After finding out about the picture being sent out, he goes on a long run (because punching holes in Brad’s wall would be rude). In the following, he and Brad are trying to get back into his room without attracting attention.
They almost made it to his room without seeing anyone—Jock could hear lots of voices coming from the common area though—but of course Tank was waiting at his door.
Shit. For a second Jock wanted to trade-in his big brother for a newer model, but then the expression on Tank’s face changed his mind. The dude was wrecked over this, so much so that when Jock got close enough, Tank reached out one long arm and grabbed him, yanking him forward and hugging him tightly.
“Um . . .” After a second or two of shock, Jock patted his back. Okay, yeah, this was hard on him, too. He may have worshipped Tank as a kid, but Tank had always looked out for him.
It took a lot of patting before Tank finally let him go, clearing his throat and ducking his head. “All right?” he asked after a second.
Jock sucked in a breath through his teeth and exhaled slowly. “I guess.” And he was, sort of. It was out there, at least to the frat—
“Sorry, stupid question.”
“Jock,” Brad broke in. “Dude, we gotta get in your room now.”
He could hear it. A group of agitated, chattering frat boys coming closer. “Shit.” He fished the lanyard around his neck out of his shirt, fumbling his student ID, trying to get the key out of the pouch.
“There he is!” someone shouted. Tank and Brad moved to create a human wall, blocking Jock from the stampeding herd of sensitized brotherhood as Jock shoved the key in the lock and twisted the knob. The three of them spilled into the room and slammed the door only seconds before the guys descended, knocking on the door and yelling, “Jock, man, come out, we want to show you some compassion!”
“Jesus Christ,” Tank muttered, kicking something under Collin’s bed then sitting on it to rest his face in his hands. Brad laughed shortly and rested his butt on the windowsill.
After five minutes of listening to the guys yelling things like, “We just want you to know we accept your cocksucking activities, man,” and “Gay is okay, here, you know. Long as you don’t, like, do it in the living room. We’re inclusive.” and his personal favorite, which Danny hollered a couple of times, “I need you to tell me if I’m doing this sensitivity shit right, so c’mon, let me practice it on you already, dude,” Jock was considering climbing out the window. Even when they weren’t trying to commiserate with Jock through his door, they were still out there, milling around, arguing with each other about possible acts of sympathy.
“Fuck me,” he moaned. “We’re under siege from a marauding pack of empathetic frat boys.” He could see the humor in it; he just didn’t have it in him to show it. Too fucking tired. Tired from his run and the last few weeks and his move across the country and now this shit. He flopped back on his bed and threw his arm over his eyes. “Just let me know when it’s over, okay?”
“Okay.” Brad agreed. Tank didn’t answer, which Jock was supremely thankful for. Every thing Tank said lately grated on his last nerve, and he couldn’t not react right now.
Jock worked to calm down. Tried to listen to his breathing, and only that, blocking out the voices and the other guys in his room and everything. He must have gotten something right, because when Brad said, “I think they’re moving off,” he flinched.
“Thank God.” If one more person tried to offer their fucking sympathy or an opinion, or even came into the room he might—
Awesome. Someone new at the door. Jock didn’t move, but the springs of Collin’s bed squeaked, and then Tank’s voice was murmuring. Then quiet footsteps and rustling clothes.
“Jock?” someone asked softly from next to the bed, like they might be speaking to someone in the final stages of a terminal illness. Kyle. When Jock didn’t respond, he went on. “I just want you to know we’re taking care of this.”
That jolted him into movement. He sat up, staring at Kyle, trying to figure out what to say. How to protest. But he came up with nothing, and that was when things really kicked into high gear. Kyle declared it DefCon Fratshit, or something, and they brought in the big gun to deal with the misguidedly sensitive straight boys—Collin.
For those of you playing to win the blog tour prize cache, here’s the word: sexy.
The word game—the rules are that I provide a bunch of words, and you have to create an ode to testicles. Hey, it’s fair—I gave you an ode to testicles in the book (well, part of one), you should give me one in return, using all the words from the tour. You may add any other words you need to, but it must include every word I gave out on the tour.
Of course, creative cheating might receive a pass from me . . .
At the end of the tour, send your ode to me at anne @ annetenino.com and I will choose one lucky winner from all the entries I receive by paying one of my children some exorbitant amount to draw an ode out of a hat (or other handy receptacle). All masterpieces must be to me by May 4th, 2014 at midnight Pacific Daylight Time (GMT -7:00). For a schedule of all tour stops, you can go here.
*If the winner will be at GRL, GayRomance Northwest or the RT Booklover’s Convention, I’m also offering a lunch with me. And yes, I’ll pay. 😉
Raised on a steady diet of Monty Python, classical music and the visual arts, Anne Tenino was—famously—the first patient diagnosed with Compulsive Romantic Disorder. Since that day, Anne has taken on conquering the M/M world through therapeutic writing. Finding out who those guys having sex in her head are and what to do with them has been extremely liberating.
Anne’s husband finds it liberating as well, although in a somewhat different way. Her two daughters are mildly confused by Anne’s need to twist Ken dolls into odd positions. However, other than occasionally stealing Ken1’s strap-on, they let Mom do her thing without interference.
Wondering what Anne does in her spare time? Mostly she lies on the couch, eats bonbons and shirks housework.
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