Series: Murmur Inc #2
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Cover Artist: LC Chase
Publication Date: June 5, 2017
Length: 366 pages
Pete Griflow is the last person anyone would suspect of being a porn star. He’s quiet, gawky, and can’t even talk to guys without turning red. But on camera, he’s a different person. In the porn world, he’s Jaden Prime, a coquettish power bottom who’s been tantalizing fans for over a year now.
Pete is in a rut, though, and he knows it. And what’s worse, his boss knows it. If he can’t reignite his passion for the biz, he’s going to have trouble paying his none-too-cheap college tuition.
When Pete is given the opportunity to star in a huge summer production, sparks fly between him and his costar, Kyle Darko. Kyle is Pete’s opposite: he’s daring, achingly sexy, and in love with the sex industry. Their chemistry is palpable on and off screen, but dating on a porn set is tricky. Even pros struggle to separate fantasy from reality, especially with a script dictating their seduction. But what’s building between them can’t be ignored, and it’s so much more than getting some “action.”
Hello, everyone! This is Quinn Anderson, author of the Murmur Inc. series, and I’m here to share some inside information about Action, coming out June 5th. Stay tuned to get an inside look at what filming porn is really like, hear fun facts about this novel, and find out what’s next for the Murmur Inc. series. Leave comments on the tour posts for a chance to win a $10 Riptide Publishing gift card!
He parked his clunker by the curb and stepped out, not bothering to lock the doors. If someone stole it, the joke would be on them. The fading sun cast the street in hazy orange light interspersed with deep shadows. Out here in the suburbs, there were no monstrous buildings to block the sky, and so he had an unimpeded view of the sun’s golden crown as it dipped below the horizon. The cold seemed to make the colors more vibrant, the contrast more vivid. He would have appreciated the simple beauty of it if he were one iota less nervous.
Standing in the driveway, he smoothed his clothes and ran trembling fingers through his wet hair. He’d stopped off at home to shower, rushing to avoid being late. His shaggy brown hair was heavy with water, plastered to his angular face. He’d thrown on his favorite blue hoodie for luck without thinking. His red flannel shirt peeked out at the sleeves, clashing horribly with it. He probably looked like he’d tumbled out of a washing machine. Anxiety trailed a cold finger down his spine. Maybe he should blow off the audition after all.
The photo Colette had sent him flashed before his eyes. His feet began walking up the driveway of their own accord.
The house wasn’t a mansion by any means, but it made Pete’s place look like a roach motel. He approached the double front doors, trying to ignore his erratic pulse. When he knocked, one of them swung open on its own. He absently wondered if Hitchcock was directing this gig.
He stuck his head in and was met by the sound of distant voices. He entered a well-lit and pleasantly decorated foyer, sneakers squeaking on the polished hardwood floor. No one appeared to welcome him, so he followed the voices down a short hallway.
When he rounded the corner into a living room, it took everything he had not to visibly react. The room had cheerful, coral walls and modern décor. Gray throw pillows decorated two large white sofas, and a patterned rug covered the floor. The recessed lights had been dimmed, creating a relaxed and intimate atmosphere.
But Pete’s attention was captivated by six young men lounging on the sofas: his competition, undoubtedly. They were all lanky and waifish like Pete, with fair complexions and boyish features. Only someone had swapped out his gawkiness and replaced it with model-like good looks. There wasn’t an average one in the bunch.
Pete swallowed. Well, this was off to a fabulous start.
“Hi,” he greeted the room, raising a stiff hand. “The door was open, so I just, um. Yeah.”
Two of them glanced at him, but no one replied. His face burned. There wasn’t room on either sofa for him to sit, so he lounged in the doorway. Or at least, he attempted to. As was often the case, he had no idea what to do with his hands. He started to shove them into his pockets, but then changed his mind and crossed his arms over his chest. A moment later, he decided that looked too hostile. He let them hang at his sides, wondering if it were physically possible for him to be more awkward.
Voices to the right drew his attention to an open doorway he hadn’t noticed before. Through it was a formal dining room. Colette was seated at a marble-top table with a mountain of paperwork stacked in front of her. A middle-aged blonde woman was sitting next to her; they were deep in conversation.
Pete couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he was willing to bet the woman was the owner. She kept glancing at the men in the living room with big, moony eyes. He’d seen that look before. Must’ve been her first time. She was probably signing a release form right now.
Before he could attempt to get Colette’s attention, a man strolled into sight.
“Are you done yet?” the man drawled. “I wanna get this party started already.”
Colette said something back, but Pete wasn’t listening. He froze even as his body temperature spiked. Though he’d never seen the man before, Pete instantly recognized him.
Christ. His photo hadn’t done him justice.
The man had a swimmer’s build: tall and lean. Pete could tell because he was wearing nothing but an unbuttoned black coat and gray briefs. Despite standing half-naked in a room full of people, confidence oozed from him. Pete wanted to reach out and see if he could actually feel it radiating from him like heat.
But if he were going to reach for anything, it’d be the man’s glossy brown hair. It had been swept up into soft peaks that begged him to grab a handful. Pete’s fingers tingled at his sides with the urge to touch it. The man had no body hair to go with it—porn stars seldom did—but he did have a hint of stubble on his sharp jaw, no more than a shadow. Pete could vividly imagine how it would feel scraping against his throat.
The man bent over the table to look at one of the papers in front of Colette, unwittingly highlighting the curve of his back. Fuck, if Pete had that body—and those cheekbones, for that matter—he’d be confident too.
Pete was staring. He knew he was, but he couldn’t stop. Part of him wanted to write Colette a thank-you note, but another, much more paranoid part wanted to ask if she somehow knew how much the man looked like him. Pete’s very own Evil Ex-Boyfriend. His Moby with an emphasis on Dick. Most people had a “one that got away.” Pete had a “one who hurt him so badly, he wished they’d never dated in the first place.” He still didn’t like to talk about what had gone down between them.
Though that certainly hadn’t stopped him from showing up for the audition. He must be some sort of masochist. Here he was, dead tired and looking like a mess, and yet he’d dragged himself out to the ’burbs for . . . what? A chance to confirm with his own eyes that his ex had not, in fact, become a porn star? Because that would have been hilarious, and so fucking hypocritical—
He shook his head, slamming a mental door shut on that train of thought. Regardless of who he looked like, his possible new costar was a five-alarm hottie. That was enough to pique Pete’s interest, even as his insides squirmed.
As if on cue, the man glanced up and locked eyes with him. Pete tried to look away—he really did—but was rooted to the spot. Maybe it was the light, but Pete swore he’d never seen eyes that dark before. Pupil and iris were indistinguishable from each other. While Pete stood there helplessly, the man’s gaze slid once, oh so slowly, down his body, and when he looked back up again, his eyes blazed.
Pete had been right. He was definitely fucked. It was as though the phrase tall, dark, and handsome had just been personally demonstrated to him.
The man turned to Colette—Pete could expound about the length of his neck—and whispered something. Colette’s head shot up, and she looked directly at Pete.
Well, I wonder who they’re talking about.
The man left as quickly as he’d appeared, though not before Pete got an eyeful of his plump ass. Jesus. His underwear might as well have been painted on.
When he was gone, Pete dragged his eyes back to Colette. She was watching him, her pink lips curled up in amusement.
Colette turned to the blonde woman and said something he couldn’t hear. They stood up and made their way into the living room.
“Gentlemen,” Colette announced, “thank you for your patience. Joyce and I have tied up the last few loose ends, so if you’ve all got your IDs and paperwork ready, the auditions can begin.”
A cheer rose up from the potentials. Pete stayed quiet, however, ruminating. There was no guarantee he was going to get this part, but he suddenly wanted it very, very badly.
“Chris, Chaz,” Colette continued, turning to two of the men, “you’re up first. Darko is waiting for you in the bedroom.”
Darko? Like the movie? That was an odd choice for a stage name. Kinda gothic-sounding. Though it was light-years more interesting than Chaz. Sometimes he wondered what his colleagues were thinking.
Colette beckoned toward the door that Darko—was that his first or last name?—had just used. Chris and Chaz scrambled to their feet and disappeared through it. Judging by their eagerness, they’d also seen something they liked.
When they were gone, Colette made a beeline for him. She was grinning in a way that made Pete want to fall back a step. Like a lioness who’d just spotted a limping antelope. “Glad you could make it, Jaden. I had a feeling you would.”
“Well, that picture was hard to ignore,” he admitted. “But I’m sure you knew that.”
“I had an inkling. I take it you like my newest star?” She raised a suggestive brow.
Pete hoped the flush crawling up his neck wasn’t visible. “He’s pretty gorgeous. You said his name is Darko?”
“Kyle Darko, to be precise. He’s relatively new, but I have high aspirations for him. And for you, for that matter. Somehow, you managed to make an impression already.”
Pete’s heart thudded in his chest. “What do you mean?”
“When he spoke to me just then, he expressed a desire to work with you.”
Pete frowned. “That sounds . . . bland.”
“His exact words were ‘I’d hit that at Mach five.’”
Electricity crackled up Pete’s spine. His voice was embarrassingly breathy as he asked, “Really?”
“Yeah. Assuming you don’t blow your audition, I’d say your chances are good.”
Excitement flooded into him unchecked. Colette had wanted him to get his old spark back, and it seemed Kyle had already lit a fire within him. If Kyle could make him feel all this with a look, Pete could only imagine what actually touching him would be like.
So far, so good, though when the audition rolled around, he’d have to curb himself. If he appeared too eager, he’d look like a newb, or worse, a creep. Besides, he’d worked with some of the hottest guys in the industry. This was nothing new.
He needed to remember what was really important here: a chance to secure a steady paycheck for a couple of weeks. Every other job he’d booked had consisted of him showing up, having sex, and then leaving. If Colette was serious about having multiple filming sessions, this was going to be the most involved role he’d ever landed.
“I’ll do my absolute best,” he said in what he hoped was a casual way. “This role is a great opportunity. I really hope I get it.”
“Me too. We’ll see what Darko says after he’s finished with the others. Some of them have a lot more experience than you.”
“Is he picking his costar? I thought you were.”
“A little of column A, a little of column B. Obviously I value his opinion. The chemistry needs to be just right, so if he says a guy is out, he’s out.”
Pete whistled to cover the anxiety that pierced through him. “Wow, you must really want him to be so accommodating.”
“You’ll understand when you meet him. He has this . . . magnetism. Just you wait.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on how my new star is getting along with Chris and Chaz. It’s still anyone’s game.”
She sashayed away, leaving Pete with a strange, uncomfortable emotion churning within him. It was sort of like competitiveness, but more incorporeal than that. Whatever it was, it made him burn up inside.
A mental shake failed to dispel the sensation. Jesus. He needed a cigarette.
He poked his head into the dining room and spotted a sliding glass door leading out to a patio. Perfect.
Joyce was still standing nearby where Colette had left her. Pete waved to get her attention and then jabbed his thumb toward the door. “Do you mind if I smoke? I promise I won’t leave any butts in your yard.”
“Sure thing, honey,” she chirped. “In fact, if you’ll give me a minute to grab some wine, I’ll join you.”
“Oh, okay,” Pete said, surprised. “I’ll wait right here.”
“Want a glass?”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink on the job.” And I’m also not old enough.
She pushed open a door on the other side of the room, revealing a sliver of a neat, modern kitchen. Pete waited with his hands in his pockets, fiddling with his lighter and cigs. He caught one of the other men studying him out of the corner of his eye, sizing up the competition no doubt. No one attempted to speak to him. He’d forgotten how catty some porn stars could be when a gig was up for grabs. Not that he had room to talk. He wasn’t exactly organizing a group outing, and he was definitely coveting the role.
Joyce reappeared with a glass of white wine in one hand and a pack of fancy, organic cigarettes in the other. “Shall we?”
Pete slid open the door and gestured for her to go first. A burst of cold air blew his now-mostly-dry hair into his eyes, but he held his position.
“What a gentleman,” she cooed as she moved past him. She was dressed stylishly in a black cocktail dress and had thrown a short white jacket over her shoulders. If Pete had seen her at Murmur Inc., he would have assumed she was there to film MILF porn. Perhaps renting her house out was a way of getting her feet wet. That, or Pete had been in the biz too long, and he was starting to see porn stars everywhere.
Joyce led the way across the deck toward a set of tasteful patio furniture facing a wooden railing. A spit of moonlight-drenched yard lay just beyond it, ending in a tall fence. It was a clear, crisp night, though not a single star was visible. They seldom were this close to the city.
Joyce took a seat on a sofa and then patted the cushion next to her. Pete fell gracelessly into the space, all limbs as per usual. She handed him a lighter without speaking.
He took it. “Thank you, Ms. . . .?”
“Call me Joyce,” she replied. “What’s your name?”
“That’s a cute name for a cute boy.”
He almost choked midpuff on his cigarette. He handed the lighter back to buy himself time to recover. “Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind my saying, you look a bit young for this.”
“I get that a lot, but I’m twenty, I swear. Plenty old enough. And we get ID’d and screened and all that before filming starts.”
She took a dainty drag on her cigarette and exhaled away from him. “That’s good to know. Thanks for not taking that wine I offered you.”
“No problem. Colette would have kicked me off set anyway if she’d caught me drinking.”
“Very responsible. Tell me, Jaden, why is someone your age doing this instead of . . . well, just about anything else?”
Pete restrained the sour expression that wanted to crawl over his face. Joyce meant well, he reminded himself. They almost always did. But man, was he tired of getting asked that.
“I do other things,” Pete droned, reciting from a script. “I’m a student, and I have a part-time job. Porn is something I do on the side to make ends meet. I’ve actually only been in thirty or so films in the year I’ve been performing.”
Joyce grimaced. “Sounds like a lot to me.”
“Trust me, it’s not. I have costars who have been in hundreds.” Granted, they were seasoned vets who put “porn star” on their taxes, but he didn’t mention that.
“My questions aren’t bothering you, are they?” Joyce asked.
“A little bit, yeah.”
Joyce stared at him, and in a flash, Pete realized she hadn’t expected him to say yes. He quickly amended, “Just a tiny, tiny bit. Barely noticeable.”
That seemed to mollify her. “I’m not trying to pry, I swear. I’m just curious. I’d never met an actual porn star before today, and suddenly I have a living room full of them.”
He grinned. “I thought as much. I pegged you as a first-timer when I walked in.”
“To me, it is. I recognize first-time jitters when I see them. Nervousness and excitement and a little edge of guilt, right?”
“Spot on. How’d you know?”
“That feeling is what got me into porn, more or less.”
Joyce laughed. “That sounds like a story I’d like to hear one day, when I’m not hosting the gay Olympics at my house.” She studied him again, eyes bright with curiosity. “You said you’re a student. What are you studying?”
“I can’t tell you that, sorry. It’s one of those privacy things. If it got out to my classmates that I’m a porn star, I could get harassed. In fact, I would get harassed.”
“Ah. I’m guessing Jaden isn’t your real name, then?”
“Not even close. No one uses their real name in this industry.” Which means I’ll never know Darko’s real name. That was an oddly disappointing thought.
“Seems like there are a lot of rules. And here I thought I’d just have to wash my sheets after.”
“That might not be as big of an issue as you’d think,” Pete said. “Clean up, I mean. Condoms are common practice in gay porn.”
“No offense, but I’ll likely wash them anyway.” She wiggled the fingers of her left hand, making a large diamond ring glint in the moonlight. “Is the money as good as they say?”
“Depends.” He shrugged. “This is one industry in which women absolutely make more than men, so there’s that. And you get paid more for doing the ‘harder’ stuff. Like group sex and double penetration and the like. A lot of guys end up doing gay porn as a result, regardless of their orientation. It pays way better.”
“Oh, so the men in there might be straight? What about you?”
“They might be for all I know, but I pitch my tent firmly in the gay camp.” He flinched. “I regret the way I chose to phrase that.”
She laughed again. “Sorry again for bombarding you with questions. Ever since my divorce, I’ve been looking for a hobby. Right on cue, I met Colette at a party, and she suggested renting my house out. Before I knew it, here I was.” She hesitated, pressing her lips together. It seemed like there was more she wanted to say but didn’t know how to say it. He waited patiently while she gathered herself.
Eventually, she asked, “You said you’ve been doing this for a year?”
“Reflecting back on it, if someone came to you and asked if they should get into the porn industry—maybe just to try it out—what would you say? Would you tell them to go for it?”
He did her the courtesy of considering it before answering. “I like my job. It’s not what I plan to do forever, and the work itself can be challenging, but there’s never a dull moment.” Taking one last drag on his cig, he crushed it out in the ashtray. “I suppose I should check to see if it’s my turn yet.”
“I’ll check for you.” Joyce stood up. “I need more wine anyway. Have another cigarette. I have plenty more questions.”
Before Pete could protest, she disappeared inside. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to shiver. Good company or not, he wasn’t certain how much longer he’d last out here. And he certainly didn’t want to be frozen through when his turn rolled around.
Joyce had offered a welcome distraction, but now that he was alone, preperformance butterflies swarmed in his abdomen. He still didn’t know if the audition was going to involve sex or not. Despite his exhaustive session earlier, he found himself hoping it did. He usually had to psych himself up for a scene, but in this case, he was ready to go. He wondered how much of his attraction to Kyle had to do with his ex, and if it was fucked up for him to be turned on anyway.
Despite the cold, he didn’t want to go inside only to be ignored by the potentials. He couldn’t just sit here, though. He climbed to his feet and paced the length of the small deck, hoping to get his blood flowing.
He’d walked the perimeter twice before the sliding glass door opened.
“That was fast.” He spun around, smiling. “Is it my turn?”
His smile evaporated from his face. Oh God yes.
Kyle was standing at the other end of the patio, his head tilted to the side as he regarded Pete. The outside lights cast deep shadows beneath his chin and cheekbones. He was still shirtless—and pants-less, for that matter—but he’d tied the coat shut around his waist. Pete couldn’t decide if he was happy about that or not. It certainly did wonders for his cognizance.
Because, fuck, Kyle was even better looking up close.
Instead of speaking, he gave Pete a thorough and unabashed once-over. Pete was suddenly much, much warmer.
“Hey,” Kyle finally said. He took a step closer, grinning. Or was it smirking? “Sorry if I startled you. I meant to announce my presence, but . . .” he bit his lip, and when he met Pete’s gaze, he was definitely smirking, “I couldn’t resist the opportunity to get a good look at you.”
Pete’s brain promptly crashed. He heard the screech of an old dial-up connection in his head. He attempted to reboot, but the whole system started spitting off angry red sparks. He probably seemed like he was having some kind of fit. Smooth.
He managed to clear his throat. “It’s Kyle, right? I’m Jaden.”
“I know. I asked Colette. You can call me Darko if you want. Everyone does.”
“I’ll stick with Kyle if that’s all right. I’m not manly enough to call people by their last names.”
Kyle chuckled, and the sound brushed against Pete’s skin. “You’re cute. I like that.”
Pete wasn’t certain how to respond to that. Saying thank you didn’t seem quite right, so he went with, “What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you.”
Pete started to ask why but stopped himself. Duh. Colette had sent him to say it was his turn. “Right. Sorry you had to come get me. Are you cold?”
Kyle tilted his head to the other side in a distinctly feline way. “No. I was just fooling around with those guys. Sharing body heat and all that. I’m actually still sweaty. See?” He pulled his collar aside and angled his torso toward the light. A few beads of sweat were running down his chest. His extremely well-formed, beautiful chest.
Pete had to swallow several times before he could speak. “Ah, I see. I guess round one went well?” His stomach sank.
“Not really.” Kyle propped a hip against the railing a few feet down from Pete. His coat fell open. Twin cuts of muscle peeked out the top of his underwear. He had that beautiful V-shape going on. Pete salivated.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Kyle continued, “they both performed well, and I know from past experience that Chaz has the stamina of a stallion, but they’re not quite what I’m looking for.”
Pete wanted to focus on what Kyle was saying, but he was too busy staring. He scrutinized Kyle’s face in what he hoped was a subtle way. The more he studied him, the less he saw the resemblance between him and his ex. There was something else about him that caught Pete’s attention and squeezed. Something that made his blood sizzle. But what? Kyle was handsome, no question about it, but wouldn’t stand out in a room full of male models, and Pete had just vacated one.
“R-right,” he stammered, realizing he was taking too long to respond. “What are you looking for, if you don’t mind my asking?” He told himself he just wanted inside information. Anything that might give him a better shot at landing the gig. The lie sounded weak even in his own head.
Kyle’s grin was wicked. He stepped closer, leaving just a few inches between them. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Though when you walked in, I felt like I had a much better idea.”
Pete forgot how to breathe. He knew what Kyle was doing, of course. Flirting with him. Building a rapport. Getting him all hot and bothered so he’d be ready to go when their session started. It was exactly what a good porn star did, what Pete had wanted Antoine to do earlier that day.
And God, was it ever working. It was enthralling . . . and a bit unsettling. He’d never felt anything like this, and he didn’t know quite what to make of it.
Kyle reached out and fingered one of the drawstrings on Pete’s hoodie. Christ, even his fingers were sexy: long and thick. Pete didn’t dare think about the implications.
“I like that you didn’t dress up for this,” Kyle murmured. Pete had to lean forward to hear him, and the second he did, he wondered if Kyle had meant for him to. Now their faces were close. “All the other guys in there might have just walked off a runway. It’s so . . . calculated.” He wrapped his hand around the drawstring and pulled on it lightly. Then he met Pete’s gaze. “You look like you just tumbled out of bed and are dying for someone to drag you back. Would you like that?”
Christ. If this guy is straight, then I’m Cher.
Pete scrambled for an answer. Something suave and sexy. What he ended up saying, however, was the truth. “I don’t know.”
He was turned on in a big way, yeah, but when he prodded at his feelings, he found hesitation buried under all the lust. He’d wanted to be flirted with, even considered it part of the job. A professional courtesy. But this . . . this was setting off alarm bells in his head. Maybe he just couldn’t get past the resemblance thing. Or maybe it was how genuine Kyle’s flirting seemed, as if he were actually into Pete.
That was the problem, he decided. There weren’t any cameras on them out here. Kyle didn’t need to put on airs, and the false intimacy of it was jarring. They were porn stars. If they ended up having sex, it would be because someone paid them to. There was no reason to make this feel so . . . right.
Kyle rolled with it. “I can help you make up your mind, if you like.” He put his free hand on the railing at Pete’s side. “I love a challenge.”
Fuck. Kyle was good.
He should return the favor, Pete thought. Flirt back. Whether Kyle meant what he was saying or not, Pete still wanted this role, and it needed to seem like attraction between them was mutual. It wasn’t just on Kyle to make this work.
Unfortunately, Pete couldn’t seem to do more than stand upright and sputter. He couldn’t tell if he was hot or freezing, and his thoughts were muddled with a mixture of arousal and bewilderment. Despite what he’d just thought, Kyle’s flirting still seemed real, and his body thought it was real too.
“You’re shaking,” Kyle said.
Pete willed himself to hold still but couldn’t control the tremble working through him. “Sorry.” He couldn’t think of what else to say.
“Is it from the cold?” Kyle asked, his voice deepening. “Or something else?”
Pete couldn’t begin to answer that question, but Kyle didn’t seem to want him to. He lifted a hand slowly, almost lazily, and brushed his fingers over Pete’s cheek.
“You’re plenty warm,” he whispered. “Must be something else, then. Am I coming on too strong? I can back off.”
“No,” Pete answered immediately.
“Then what is it?” The dare in his tone was unmistakable.
If either one of them leaned forward, it would bring their faces together. And for one magnetic moment, it seemed Kyle was going to do precisely that. His eyes floated from Pete’s eyes to his mouth. Then, with enough deliberation to make Pete ache, he licked his lips.
Please kiss me, Pete thought dizzily. Please, please kiss me.
And just like that, it was over.
Kyle stepped away.
Pete almost followed him. He stared uncomprehendingly at Kyle’s back as he headed toward the door. “Um, wait. Where are you going?”
“Back in,” Kyle said without turning around. “It’s freezing out here. You should head home before you catch a cold.”
“But, I— Um. What about—” Pete raised a hand only to drop it again. “What about my audition?”
Kyle stopped just as he reached the door. “That was your audition.”
Without another word, he disappeared inside.
About Quinn Anderson
Quinn Anderson is an alumna of the University of Dublin in Ireland and has a master’s degree in psychology. She wrote her dissertation on sexuality in popular literature and continues to explore evolving themes in erotica in her professional life.
A nerd extraordinaire, she was raised on an unhealthy diet of video games, anime, pop culture, and comics from infancy. She stays true to her nerd roots in writing and in life and frequently draws inspiration from her many fandoms, which include Sherlock, Harry Potter, Supernatural, Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Buffy, Marvel, and more. You will often find her interacting with fellow fans online and offline via conventions and tumblr, and she is happy to talk about anything from nerd life to writing tips. She has attended conventions on three separate continents and now considers herself a career geek. She advises anyone who attends pop culture events in the UK to watch out for Weeping Angels, as they are everywhere.
Her favorite television show is Avatar: the Last Airbender, her favorite film is Tangled, and her favorite book is Ella Enchanted. She can often be spotted at conventions, comic shops, and midnight book releases. If you're at an event, and you see a 6'2'' redhead wandering around with a vague look on her face, that's probably her. Her favorite authors include J.K. Rowling, Gail Carson Levine, Libba Bray, and Tamora Pierce. When she's not writing, she enjoys traveling, cooking, spending too much time on the internet, screwing the rules, finding the Master Sword, guided falling, consulting for the NYPD, guarding the galaxy, boldly going, and catching 'em all.
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