About Taste Test: Tis the Season

by Mary Blyton, Kris Klein, EM Lynley
35 pages / 15000 words
ISBN-13: 978-1-60370-560-8
ISBN-10: 1-60370-560-0
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

Tis the Season for a little holiday cheer, and this Taste Test brings on the fun, and the romance! In Quinn, by Mary Blyton, Quinn is a tough Irish immigrant, working to support his family back home. When he's ordered to train a quiet Filipino man named Dakila, a surprising relationship develops.  

In Deck the Balls, by Kris Klein, it's Christmas in retail hell for Sam Harmon, a college student who's only recently joined a department store Santa team. Still, between Dylan Carter in menswear, and a chance to get closer to his dad, Christmas might not be all bad. Finally, in The Sweetest Christmas, by EM Lynley Jared and Erik are having a blast with blindfolds and truffles while everyone is at Christmas Eve Mass, but will Jared's family spoil the fun?

Sample

Deck the Balls
by Kris Klein

No pun intended, but, Christ, was working retail at Christmastime a pain. Retail as a career move is insane, period, and I was sorry to be back in it, as it was... but there was something about Christmas that brought out the worst in your average shopper. Jolly? Yeah -- like Hitler with a headache. Patient? Like a druggie in need of a fix. Easygoing? Put me in a burlap sack with a cobra and a mongoose -- I’d have a better time.

I guess it was partially my fault, though. I was the one who quit my restaurant server job the first week of November. Sick of bad tips and coming home tired all the time, I’d had enough of my asshole manager and had given her the early Christmas gift of my departure during dinner rush on a Saturday. 

I was getting kicked in the ass by karma for doing it now, though, ‘cause here it was, Thursday, December eighteenth -- less than one week from C-Day -- and I was spending, forty hours a week wrapping presents at Humble’s department store, on the second floor of their five-story flagship store on Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago. The entire floor had been converted over to a Christmas theme, with gift wrap taking up the entire back wall -- where Housewares used to be -- and on any given day this close to Christmas, you could expect five of us “Santa’s helpers” on duty at any and all times. And, yes, I said “Santa’s helpers.” Those of us in gift wrap could still wear the regular semi-casual business attire required by Humble’s store policy -- shirt, tie, and slacks for the guys -- but to further humiliate us “Santa’s Helpers,” we also had to wear cute little red-and-green elf hats, a single gold jingle bell on a green cord around our necks, and an oversized Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer pin -- complete with Rudolph’s nose flashing neon red on the front -- that had the subtle legend “Humble’s -- for all of Santa’s needs!” printed in white along the bottom.

I’ll tell ya, I was trying so hard to be a good boy and not start drinking liquor until my twenty-first birthday in March,,. but Humble’s at Christmastime was almost enough for me to break my long-standing reputation as a nerd. The demands of the customers were just beyond insane. I mean, who the hell would buy six pairs of socks for the same person -- and then want each pair wrapped individually, in different-sized gift boxes so the person wouldn't be able to figure out what they were? A typical Humble’s customer, that’s who. 

Anyway, the bitch sessions we had in the break room, during and after each shift, were enough to get me through most of the crap. And on that Thursday, at about four p.m., the other thing that kept me behind that counter -- the one thing that kept me at Humble’s more than anything else, period -- was heading toward me at full speed now, a box of kid’s ice skates in his hand. 

Dylan Carter worked in the Men’s Clothing department -- pretty damned fitting, considering the guy looked like an Abercrombie and Fitch ad come to life. He had thick, wavy blondish-brown hair cut short on the sides and long on top -- styled in that "I just fell out of bed" look that can only actually be achieved through very careful styling. He was... beyond handsome, with eyes as blue as a Hawaiian sky, thick and sculpted brows, a regal nose, and full, pouty lips that curled up crookedly on one side when he smiled, which was also when his incredible, perfect dimples showed. From the neck down... pure male model material: v-shaped, smooth frame, chiseled abs, a gymnast’s chest and arms -- and a round, firm ass that looked, in jeans, like a pair of soccer balls vying for your attention. He was about six feet tall and had long, athletic legs, with thick thighs and calves from years of running in high school and college, and big feet that -- today -- were wearing white Pumas. I had wandered through the Men’s Clothing section my first week at Humble’s, seeing what kind of high-end labels the store had, and about had a heart attack when I’d first seen him. The fact he’d been on his break at the time, trying on dress shirts, probably had something to do with that, though; Dylan Carter, shirtless, simply took your fucking breath away.

Weeks later, I was in love with the guy. But then again, so was everyone else in the store. He was twenty-five, educated, hot as hell, funny, and perfect. He lived with his parents in a high-rise off Lake Shore Drive, and even they were perfect. His mom rang the bell on downtown street corners for the Salvation Army at Christmastime, and Dylan’s dad worked weekends at the store, playing Santa Claus for the kids -- or so I heard. I hadn’t met Mr. Carter yet.

Yep, Dylan Carter was everything I’d ever dreamed of in a boyfriend. And as Randy and I had broken up exactly two years ago, at Christmas, God knew I was ready for a new relationship -- especially that time of year. But, boy, was I not Dylan’s type: short, dark-haired, cute but nothing spectacular, with your average twenty-year-old’s body. I resembled the actor who played the son on that TV sitcom Still Standing -- cute, funny, attractive... but all in that dorky sort of way. Perfect model types like Dylan tended to gravitate toward their own kind... not to “regular” guys like me.

But I could dream. And in the meantime, I had been up to Dylan’s department enough that: 1) we were now sort of friends, within the store, anyway, and 2) I had very little money to show for all my hard gift wrapping, thanks to spending too much of it in the Men’s Clothing section, just as an excuse to see Dylan.

Ahh, what we do for love. Or, for that matter, lust. I wasn’t quite sure, yet, which it was with him.