LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE BOYS - ANTHOLOGY
Release - November 2014
Available now from -
Mo Sistas, it’s time to step up . . .Perhaps one of the men close to you (brother, husband, son, friend…) join in with the moustachioed adventure that happens every November. Around the world it’s the month that has literally changed its name, as the global organisation, Movember, leads the way in changing the face of men’s health.
This year it is time for the ladies to step up and grab the moustache baton. While we Mo Sistas may be follicly challenged about the face, we do have the power of words at our fingertips.
Let’s Hear It For The Boys is a tribute to the men of Movember. The HitLitPro authors have created these 9 short stories to celebrate the men in our lives, the effect they have on our hearts, our minds (and our bodies) and the difference they can make to the world around them.
This anthology includes the work of nine authors: Caroline James, Emma Calin, Jenny Harper, Linn B Halton, Mandy Baggot, Nikki Mason, Rosie Dean, Sheryl Browne and Zara Stoneley.
All proceeds from the sale of the book will be donated to the Movember charities. So come on ladies, it’s time to do a little something for our boys!
‘A Bit Like Bridget Jones’ by Zara Stoneley
Friday 24th October
OMG the sex god spoke to me! I am in love. Well lust. Well, whatever. He just has to be the most gorgeous man ever, well in real life. I have always fancied Henry Cavill, and that guy who was Aragorn in Lord of the Rings, and then there is Richard Armitage when he looks all stern and unforgiving. But I do realise that they could be a complete let down in real life, although if any of them would actually like to call me, I’d be prepared to take the risk and find out.
I’ve been eyeing him up (sex god, not Henry Cavill) over the top of my e-reader for several months, but he’s never actually acknowledged me before. Never actually caught me doing it (or if he had he was too polite to make it obvious). Commuter relationship are a bit like speed dating, without the drinks, or the chat. You sit down, try not to stare too obviously, and then rush off when the train pulls into your stop. I see more of sex god than I see my mother, so I do feel we almost have a relationship. And as I do not want a proper relationship yet, sex god has been my ideal date.
He has no wedding ring (good), a dimple (excellent, lots of sex gods have dimples), dark curly hair that always looks slightly ruffled (good, definitely not too much man grooming going on), open necked shirt and nice suit (cheap suits are tacky but this one suggests he is a man adequate means, and the open neck means he’s not stuffy. Stuffy suits and I aren’t compatible).
I thought Sam was gorgeous (before he dumped me and went off with the laughing hyena), but I’ve realised he wasn’t. I obviously didn’t have very high standards when I met him, something my mother tells me off for. Well she was right. And I have upped my standards since starting train speed dating. I have met a sex god.
I was just having a sneak peek as I went on to a new page and he winked. Well I hope it was a wink. Oh hell, what if it was a nervous twitch? No, he didn’t look the type to be nervous about anything. Sam was nervous about all kinds of things. Like my driving. I mean, what is it about men that means they can drive at well over the speed limit, and simultaneously make rude gestures at people, whereas if I as much as lean out to look at a cat stuck up a tree they’re reaching over to grab the steering wheel? I am perfectly capable of driving. Quite well in fact. And statistically women are much safer drivers than men are. I ignored him, read the page quickly, and when I started the next one he was still looking my way.
“Fifty Shades?” He had that slightly upper class edge to his voice that made me think about afternoon tea and champagne. Oh God, that’s it! I’ve met my Mr Darcy, now all I need is that lake… “Or are you into more serious stuff?” He nodded pointedly in the direction of my kindle, which was now plastered to my nose.
“Sorry, yes, I mean no. I mean not Fifty Shades. Oh no, no, that’s so passé now.” I don’t want him to think I’m a sex maniac do I? “We aren’t all into whips and er, stuff.”
Did I detect a note of disappointment? Or does he now think I am a sex maniac and trying to hide the fact? I decided to take the high ground so I don’t appear sluttish. “That isn’t a very original chat up line you know.”
“Chat up line?”
“Oh.” He wasn’t chatting me up. Oh hell, what do I say now? And it is actually Fifty Shades, and I must be the very last person on earth to read it. My mother made me, she said it might help. Haven’t got a clue what she means. But that is the trouble with books like this, one minute you’re a sane newly (and happily) single girl and the next you’re thinking about whips and bondage. And all men who see you reading a book assume you are too. As if we have nothing better to think about.
“My stop.” And then he winked. Again. At me. And grinned. “Enjoy the rest of your book.”
“Thank you. It’s a serious book. A… murder mystery type of thing.” Murder? Mystery? Where did that come from? Now he’ll think I’m into axe wielding lunatics, or I am one.
“And you’re absolutely not into whips?”
I shook my head.