About It's How You Play the Game
Written by Willa Okati
125 pages / 51000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-212-6, 1-60370-212-1
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, paperback
In this follow up to The Name of the Game, Seth and Clay's friend Anthony decides to cater his happy friends' wedding. Problem is, he can't cook, so he signs on to take lessons, willing to do whatever it takes to help out.
Anthony bumps into the most amazing man at cooking school, a guy named Roan, who seems more edible than anything on the menu during class. Roan thinks Anthony is quite a dish, too, and sets out to demolish Anthony's defenses, captivating and seducing.
Happy to play around, Anthony allows himself to be seduced, but Roan starts to push for something more. Unsure that he wants to make such a commitment, Anthony backs away, but Roan has a reason to live life like there's no tomorrow, and he doesn't want to take no for an answer.
Like a game of fire and ice, Anthony and Roan come together and split apart, trying to find a middle ground. Can they find a way to be as happy as Seth and Clay?
Review
Kiernan Kelly, popular Torquere Press author, writes: How long does it take for someone to fall in love? The answer is one minute and 28 seconds, which was exactly how long it took me to read the first paragraph of Willa Okati's newest book, IT'S HOW YOU PLAY THE GAME. That's how long it took me to fall in love with Tony, the lead character.
This is a sequel of sorts to THE NAME OF THE GAME, another of Willa's books that I absolutely adored. In that book, Seth and Clay were wonderful, memorable characters, and while they make appearances in this one, it's Tony, their friend from the first novel, who takes center stage.
Tony is a character that you just can't help falling in love with; the kind you want to take home with you. Tony is a keeper.
Roan seems to think so, too. As Tony's love interest, he'll need a heap of patience and a will of iron to get past Tony's defenses and earn his trust.
These two are so perfect for one another that the reader can't help cheering for them, to the point of wanting to slap some sense into Tony's head when stubbornly refuses to say the three little words that seem the hardest for him to get past his teeth.
This book had everything - from humor that made me laugh out loud to sex scenes that made my CPU sizzle. Willa certainly knows how to turn a phrase and her imagery will leave you laughing, smiling, drooling, and panting – sometimes all at once – until the very last page.
IT'S HOW YOU PLAY THE GAME is one of those rare sequels that are every bit as good as its predecessor, while shining with a charm as unique and endearing as the characters who live in its pages.
Kudos to Willa Okati for serving up another helping of the men we've come to love, and for teaching us all that in the end IT'S HOW YOU PLAY THE GAME that counts.
Sample
It was like watching a tennis match, only with talking heads instead of flying racquets. The histrionics were the same, of course, although Anthony was pretty sure that if he suggested such a thing to either Seth or Clay, their advanced state of heebie-jeebies would result in his head being neatly severed and presented to him on a plate. With a sprig of parsley in his mouth for garnish. Not just any parsley, mind. Belgian Endive, maybe, with the leaves attractively curled and sprayed with the zest of a lemon.
Nerves like theirs were spelled B-A-D N-E-W-S. Something had to be done. Stat.
In the meantime, though, it would do no harm to enjoy the car ride and watch the show taking place in the front seat of Clay's questionable Toyota. Anthony picked critically at the nubbly upholstery of the back seat, a fabric that he'd have thought more appropriate to a great-uncle's favorite recliner than a quote-unquote "sedan". Tartan plaid, too. Scary. Probably the Killyerdriver clan. Low roof -- Anthony only aspired to five-foot-seven and the crest of his wavy blond noggin had perhaps a comfortable inch or so to spare before meeting an unfortunate maroon felt.
Seth and Clay, both standing tall and proud at six-one and six-even, respectively, had to crouch over in a blue-haired old lady style. Watching them try to bitch while crouched in on themselves reminded Anthony of two grouchy snapping turtles taking bites.
Trouble in Paradise? Oh, yes, indeedy.
Anthony wished he had popcorn.
"No. No way on the green and growing earth." Clay took what should have been a gentle left against oncoming traffic and twisted it into a hairpin turn complete with squealing tires. Anthony squinted out the window to see if Clay had left skid marks.
Oblivious to Seth's white knuckles on the Jesus handle, Clay ranted on. "What are you thinking, Seth? The woman tried to exorcize me in my sleep a few years back."
"She did not," Seth grouched. He wasn't looking at Clay. His strong chin pointed due east and his teeth were gritted in between words. "That's so like you, Clay. Always playing the drama queen."
"Excuse me?" Clay hammered on the horn. Anthony winced. The noise Clay's Toyota produced sounded like a squashed flugelhorn. "Tell me how I can over-dramatize waking up at midnight after having a glass of holy water flung in my face, and while I was sputtering like a dying fish, looking up to see a blue plastic crucifix dangling two inches from my nose? And then there's dear old Nonie Sadie -- Sadistic, if you ask me -- mangling Latin and exhorting the angels to bear witness." Clay carried off his huff with both style and élan. Anthony had to admire the magnificence of the man's self-righteous snit. "And that was before I 'corrupted' you. Why would you even think she'd come?"