About Go Fish
by HT Murray
46 pages
/ 21000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-869-2, 1-60370-869-3
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, Sony-optimized pdf, epub
Ian and Cal have known each other since they were kids. When Cal offers to let Ian move in with him, Ian doesn't even let the fact that Cal is gay factor in. It's supposed to be a joke when Ian brings home a fish bowl with no fish, but when Cal buys fish and comes into Ian's room to check on them, Ian starts seeing more of Cal than he'd counted on, and liking what he sees. There's really only one logical way for Ian to sort out his feelings for Cal. Buy more fish.
Soon, he's a regular hobbyist with an excuse to get Cal in his bedroom several times a day. He has no idea what to do once they're there. Throw in Marcy- the adorable pet store geek who keeps him plied with bait- a bad chili dog, a game of strip Go Fish, and a raging case of food poisoning, and Ian's about to lose his gay virginity the way only he could... ass backward.
Review
CB Potts, author of Cake Walk, writes: The greatest obstacles are those
we create ourselves. Ian is living in Cal's house, letting his bud take care
of him -- laundry, housework, even caring for him when he's ill -- and Ian
finds himself checking out his buddy's ass...but he couldn't possibly be
gay, could he? While Cal is secure in his sexuality, Ian's really not. He
feels desire for Cal, but should he, could he act on it?
Murray delivers a detailed examination of angst and self-doubt, sandwiched
nicely beside a tale of patient passion. Sweet, romantic, and engaging, Go
Fish is an enjoyable read guaranteed to make you smile.
Sample
In hindsight, moving in with his best friend and lifelong partner in crime might not have been such a great idea -- a judgment that had nothing to do with Cal being gay. Well, maybe it had a little to do with Cal being gay. Ian wasn’t sure if bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (and hence, likely to impose upon the sleep of best friends and roommates) were card-carrying gay traits. Cal was the only gay man he'd ever lived with, but none of Ian's straight friends or roommates had ever awakened him at that time of the morning except to tell him that wasn't his bed and to get his drunken ass out. Right about then, Ian would gladly have made concession for his ex-roommate's moldy socks and half-empty beer cans if it meant he'd get to sleep in a little longer.
Instead, he lived with a Tony Horton/Martha Stewart hybrid mandroid who was… God, what was he doing?
"Caaalllll. Ugh." Ian peeked to see just what was so important that Cal needed to be in his room so early on their day off, and found out the hard way that it was well into mid-morning. The sun at that spot in the center of his window reminded him of the list of things he needed to get in order to officially finish his move in. Blinds were on it, solid lead if he could find them, dense enough that friggin' Superman couldn't get through, and they were so going to the top of the list just as soon as Ian dragged his ass out of bed. So, maybe tomorrow. For the moment, and likely for posterity, considering how diligent he was about following his own to-do lists, maybe he'd just stick the actual list up in the window to block out the sun.
Grunting against the light saber boring a hole in his eye and out his skull, he crammed a pillow over his head, leaving just enough space over his mouth to keep whining. "What are you doing? It's our day off."
"Shhhh. Oh, shit," Cal hissed, apparently realizing mid-shush that the dude he was trying not to wake was the one he was shushing. "Sorry, dude. Really. Go back to sleep. I was just doing some laundry, and I figured since you grilled the steaks last night, I'd throw some of your clothes in with mine."
Ian shifted the pillow over enough to uncover one squinted eye. Cal was bent over his clothes hamper, one hip cocked, wearing nylon running shorts over black spandex leggings that went to mid-thigh. Probably chilly outside that morning. There were still sweat stains under the arms of his t-shirt, and it clung to his lower back in a way that really framed his ass.
Not that Ian had ever thought about framing Cal's ass.
"It's okay," Ian mumbled. "Just, you know, no mixing of the underwear. We don't want 'em comparing notes in the dryer."
"I ain't touching your underwear, man; the skid marks would give me nightmares."
"Then I won't mention that I bought 'em at Wal-Mart. Last time I mentioned Wally World, I almost had to get you your Epi-Pen."
Cal laughed and stood up, clothes basket under his arm. "What can I say? I'm allergic to cheap and ugly." He did a slow turn around, long brown hair falling across his forehead in sweaty stringers, his eyes on the floor. "You got any more around here?"
"Um." Ian waffled for a second, having almost missed the question. Seriously, his brain seemed to have short-circuited, a transient ischemic attack due to his blood not being thinned with the proper amount of caffeine. "Check behind the dresser."
Cal did, because he was way too gullible even after all those years, leaning way over to peek down the wall. "Don't see anything else," he said.
Okay, so in hindsight, maybe moving in with Cal was the best idea ever. Ian hoped the pillow covered most of the smirk spreading over his face. He so wasn't checking out Cal's ass. Just seeing how gullible the dude actually was. He would've thought a guy who'd pulled as many pranks as Cal had would have been a little less oblivious. "Then, that's it, I guess. You'll make someone a good little wifey one day, sweetheart."
"Fuck you." Cal laughed even as he said it, dry and exasperated, like the time Ian decided to ease his 'coming out' by taking him to IHOP and ordering him the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast.
Not finding anything of substance to chuck at Ian's head, Cal hmmphed and said, "This place is bleak. Somehow, when I invited you to move in, I thought you'd bring a few more permanent fixtures than your wardrobe, stereo, and that ratty Dame poster. Hair bands have been out for over a decade."
"Hey," Ian protested. "I'll have you know that's a limited edition."
"Because they couldn't give the nasty things away and burned the rest. What was Scott thinking with the white leather pants? You can totally see the roll of quarters."
Ian laughed. "Some chick put him up to it."