Happy Saturday! It’s been a while since I’ve participated in the My Sexy Saturday blog hop, so it’s appropriate I’m coming back for the Resolutions themed hop.  One of my many resolutions is to share, play and participate more with all the lovely readers and writers online.

My seven paragraphs this week are from an untitled story in my long-planned, yet to be written Recovery Romance series.  There’s a resolution that needs to be made, but has Damien hit his bottom yet?

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Damien hoped to hell Mason wouldn’t be home when he crept guilt-ridden into their apartment. Give him time to shower at least, burn the clothes, come up with some excuse…no, there was no point in stories any more. Like a politician wracking up blowjobs from interns, it was better to come clean than lie.

He pushed away from the brick wall and continued up the slope. His debauched adventure had ended on the unfashionable side of Capitol Hill. He lived on Queen Anne and had a long slog home. He hoped Seattle’s salty breeze would clear his head and blow away some of the strange man funk that clung to him like sticky cobwebs. That was the worse thing. It didn’t mean anything of course, this forgotten sex, but now he’d have to get checked again for STDs and Mason would give him that contemptuous, holier than thou attitude for weeks and…shit.

Sunday. Mason was due back last Friday night. Damien had even planned a nice dinner to kick off their epic three-weeks-apart fucking reunion. He wasn’t much of a cook but he could do spaghetti sauce. He’d bought fresh tomatoes, garlic, the works.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He pushed his fingers into his hair and muttered under his breath, well aware of people stepping to the far side of the sidewalk to avoid him. Little dogs barked angrily as he lurched past.

This was bad. Mason had arrived from Paris Friday night to an empty apartment. He’d waited, worried, freaked out. He had two full days to get into a complete froth. Damien’s head hurt thinking about it. His feet hurt because he hadn’t been able to find his socks and his sneakers chafed his heels after the first mile of his walk of shame.

Maybe, maybe it was time to admit he had a problem. For real. Maybe he should go straight to an AA meeting instead of home to face his lover’s pain. Anything, even walking over hot coals or listening to old bums pontificate about their higher power sounded better than watching Mason’s heart break again, see the suffering cloud his beautiful eyes and know it was entirely due to Damien’s lack of control.

But no way was Damien going anywhere looking and smelling like he did. The one time he’d gone to AA to get Mason off his back, he’d been well turned out and had looked down on all the mangy losers assembled in the basement of the sad Baptist church. Now the losers would be looking down on him, thanking their higher power they’d never fallen as low as he obviously had.  No. He’d just have to convince Mason he was too sick and damaged to fight. Put off the confrontation, think of some way to make up. He had to. Without Mason, he wouldn’t survive.

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Time for another play date with the writers of My Sexy Saturday.  Wether you’re a reader, writer or both, there’s plenty of steamy fun to be had by clicking the link and checking out the amazing selection of excerpts.  Writers of sizzling hot fiction will share either 7 words, 7 lines or 7 paragraphs from one of their works.