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    Flushed
    Flushed
    Flushed
    Ebook100 pages1 hour

    Flushed

    By Susan Laine

    3.5/5

    ()

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    About this ebook

    To prove to his annoying older brother that he’s a man, well-to-do sculptor Rupert Pemberton tries to repair his broken toilet. But he has no knack for practical tools and no know-how. After a flood of biblical proportions, he has no choice but to call for help.

    A gorgeous hunk of a plumber named Paul Cooper shows up at Rupert’s doorstep with a ready toolbox and a sexy smile. With Paul at his side, Rupert realizes he wants more than a quick fix. After a couple of cozy dates and a few bouts of steamy sex, Rupert wonders how he can keep Paul around for good.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDreamspinner Press
    Release dateJan 13, 2016
    ISBN9781634767729
    Flushed
    Author

    Susan Laine

    Susan Laine, an award-winning, multipublished author of LGBTQ erotic romance and a Finnish native, was raised by the best mother in the world, who told her daughter time and again that she could be whatever she wanted to be. The spark for serious writing and publishing kindled when Susan discovered the gay erotic romance genre. Her book, Monsters Under the Bed, won the 2014 Rainbow Award for Best Gay Paranormal Romance. Anthropology is Susan’s formal education, and she could have been happy as an eternal student. But she’s written stories since she was a kid, and her long-term goal is still to become a full-time writer. Susan enjoys hanging out with her sister, two nieces, and friends in movie theaters, libraries, bookstores, and parks. Her favorite pastimes include singing along (badly) to the latest pop songs, watching action flicks, doing the dishes, and sleeping till noon, while a few of her dislikes are sweating, hot and too-bright summer days, tobacco smoke, purposeful prejudice and hate speech. Website: www.susan-laine-author.fi Email: susan.laine@hotmail.com Blog: www.goodreads.com/author/show/5221828.Susan_Laine/blog Facebook: www.facebook.com/Susan-Laine-128697277229180 Twitter: @Laine_Susan

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    • 3/5
      The story is sweet, but the sunshine and sparkles style of describing everything the characters felt was too much. The 22-year-old antagonist sounded more like a teen. Though I guess we act younger nowadays than in the past.

    Book preview

    Flushed - Susan Laine

    Flushed

    By Susan Laine

    To prove to his annoying older brother that he’s a man, well-to-do sculptor Rupert Pemberton tries to repair his broken toilet. But he has no knack for practical tools and no know-how. After a flood of biblical proportions, he has no choice but to call for help.

    A gorgeous hunk of a plumber named Paul Cooper shows up at Rupert’s doorstep with a ready toolbox and a sexy smile. With Paul at his side, Rupert realizes he wants more than a quick fix. After a couple of cozy dates and a few bouts of steamy sex, Rupert wonders how he can keep Paul around for good.

    Chapter 1

    YOU’RE ACTING like a child again, Roo, Emery said, smiling.

    He was always smiling, but with a hint of condescension that made the gesture less than believable. Rupert couldn’t decide between calling him a butthole or a dickhead in the back of his mind. Of course, Emery wasn’t really being condescending. He’d never stoop so low. It was all in Rupert’s mind. Sibling rivalry or youngest-child syndrome or some such. At least, that was what Emery would no doubt insist if Rupert called him on it.

    "I am not acting like a child," Rupert denied, stomping his foot on the foyer floor. Belatedly he realized this probably was juvenile. But hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

    Emery graced his little brother with a sympathetic look. Just call the repairman, will you? Better for everyone. He put on his leather jacket as he prepared to leave Rupert’s colonial-style estate in Greenhaven, New York. They’d had dinner together, as they often did. Rupert didn’t want to consider the reasons why too closely—his empty social life being what it was.

    Rupert glared at him, envious of his big brother’s beauty and success. Six two and all man, Emery epitomized the tall, dark, sexy stranger acting as the hero in the cheesy romance novels Rupert liked to read.

    Compared to Emery, Rupert was small—five ten, slender, and lithe. He could eat a bakery full of goodies and not gain an ounce. Visits to the gym hadn’t helped in any meaningful way. He simply couldn’t increase his body mass.

    Naturally muscular and strong, Emery carried himself like he had a fire poker stuck up where his spine should have been. At his side, Rupert appeared to be slouching no matter how hard he tried to stand tall. With black hair falling over his gray, unremarkable eyes, he knew he had that bored rocker look going on, even though he was more of an oddball artist than a rebel without a cause.

    Emery was one of those annoying men who had it all without trying, the kind who succeeded at everything they attempted—even in things they did casually and with no great ambition. Including bringing out the worst in Rupert. An Olympic athlete, Emery was like unto a god. Rupert simply didn’t match up.

    Rupert hated him. And loved him. And hated him. Loved him. The way brothers do.

    I’ll show you, Rupert swore when the door closed behind Emery with a snick. Emery never banged a door shut. Which is why Rupert typically did—to prove they were different and to avoid any further contrasts that inevitably were to Rupert’s detriment.

    Rupert stomped to the upstairs bathroom. Luxurious was the best word to describe it. Italian marble counters, floor tiles, and walls, and a sunken whirlpool bath with gold fixtures attested to the wealth of the owner. Rupert had inherited his fortune, but no one needed to know that. Besides, this was Greenhaven, the tenth richest neighborhood in the U.S. Most of the residents here came from money.

    Rupert stood on the threshold, glaring at the sky-blue toilet. Custom-made, the damn thing had decided to flush endlessly after Emery had used it.

    You’re not a fixer or a repairer, Roo, Emery had told him the minute Rupert lifted the tank lid and peered inside. I bet you don’t even own a toolbox. Go read one of your smutty books and hire a professional to fix it. His frustrating tone may not have been intended to belittle, but that was how Rupert interpreted most of what his better-at-everything big brother said.

    As he stared at the infernal device, which was still bubbling and continuing to flush, Rupert was forced to admit he didn’t, in fact, have a toolbox. What kind of man was he that he didn’t own a goddamn toolbox? A prissy little prince in his palace? No. Way.

    Fuming and muttering curses under his breath, Rupert made his way downstairs and out to the three-car garage, hoping to find tools there. Not that he could distinguish a wrench from a hammer or a screwdriver from a pair of pliers. Okay, not really, but he sure as hell didn’t know what specific tools he needed for this unpleasant job.

    So I’m not the most mechanically oriented guy in town, Rupert huffed to himself, his lips pursed in anger and his arms crossed over his chest in frustration. Then he took a couple of deep breaths, counted to ten, and relaxed. I can do this. I’ll prove to Emery I can be a man.

    Sure, he was only twenty-two and Emery twenty-six, but the distance between them seemed like light-years sometimes.

    Rupert wandered about, studying the chests and workbenches, boxes and plastic bins. Finally he noticed a gray steel box on one of the workbenches. He popped the lid open and discovered he actually did own a toolbox.

    Yay! he whooped and jumped up and down.

    Then he decided that bouncing was probably too buoyant for a gruff man’s man, so he stopped, cleared his throat, and carried the heavy toolbox up to the bathroom. He took out a claw hammer and stood in front of the toilet without a single clue what to do with it.

    Okay, first order of business: look into the tank, Rupert recited from the toilet manual he’d saved in one of the baskets on a shelf. He never threw any instructional pamphlets away. Thank God he’d preserved this one.

    With a worried frown marring his forehead, Rupert stuck his nose into the tank. At least it didn’t smell bad, and the water in the tank ran clear. He saw weird tubes and plastic flapping thingies and chains and levers and—okay, he had to admit

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