Quinn Coleman

Look at me!!
Making a newsletter post the DAY I publish!!
(This may never happen again…)

Please welcome Ben and Simeon to the published Masc Narrative universe!!

I am beyond relieved and elated that I never need to read this book with a red pen again. I can’t wait to simply visit Ben and Simeon in the future the way I have with all the others

(Like when I ‘visited’ Starts with a Match and found I had misspelled a Russian country–but it’s fine…)

What’s even more fun is that NOW I get to start introducing character art for some new faces and voices for Book 5.

What I can share about Book 5, Point of View:

• There are TEN points of view in the book (go figure) but some of them are much more prevalent than others. Sometimes you just need a chapter in another character’s voice
• The book includes some old friends we haven’t heard from in a hot minute (Like our beloved NHL superstar, Winston, or our favorite artist and car fan, Thomas)
• We get to see Russell’s life as a successful author, amping up toward his next book publication (writing his stress was all too easy (and relatable))
• When we see Ben and Simeon again, it’s via viewing them from the outside (so we get to witness just how absurdly in love they are…it’s a bit ridiculous…)
• Oh, and after the [REDACTED] we get to meet [REDACTED] who I’m sure will be a fan favorite.

Other than that, I can’t share much. Not yet.

Well…okay, I can do ONE book snippet…
Or an unedited chapter.
Let’s do a chapter. I’m feeling generous and over-caffeinated.

---

POINT OF VIEW
(Russell’s sequel, out spring 2027)
Russell

Waiting outside the mechanic shop, I feel Thomas approach my side before I’ve even turned my head. TJ in my arms hasn’t noticed him yet, too busy chewing on my finger, and when he creeps around my side and pokes at her foot until she looks over—

I flinch at the shriek she lets out, then she’s thrashing wildly until he scoops her up. His grin stretches at old scars and shows his missing tooth; I’ve long forgotten if he ever tried to hide the gap in his smile.

“Hello to you, too, monkey,” he chuckles, lightly lifting her and dropping her to get more squealy giggles. He took off his Jorge’s Auto polo, wearing a black t-shirt with his jeans. There’s some gray skin under his eyes, but not nearly as much as there used to be. He was probably up too late drawing, which he knows is bad for his eyes.

He nods up to me and steps under my outstretched arm for a hug. “How was the meeting?”

I snort and push off the hood of my truck. With him still on the curb, he’s nearly my height. “Dude, Zane said Jay should stay at home and not bother with a job.”

Thomas tilts his head. “I mean, I agree, she doesn’t need to work unless she wants to.”

“That’s what I thought he meant, too.” He nods a little slower, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth. “But he meant barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen.”

“Oh.” His nose scrunches. “Oooh. Ew.”

“Exactly.” I lead us to the backseat, and I swing open the door so he can get TJ settled in her carrier. “Let’s just say I lost my cool a little and threatened to not resign with him.”

He snorts. “And what did your manager say?”

“I haven’t talked to her about it yet.” Thomas hums, stands on his toes to kiss TJ’s head, and he steps back to close the door.

We both look at the autoshop at the same time.

I spot Trent first, his ivory skin sunburned despite working in a shaded bay all day long; he smacks his fist to his chest twice, then lifts a peace sign with an angle of his chin, duck lips the icing on the cake. “Just wave like a normal person,” I mutter under my breath and open the driver door.

“That is normal for Trent,” Thomas reminds me. “Be glad you didn’t get a dab—oh, nope, he just did one. Put his whole body into that.”

We’re on the road for Stacks, and Thomas continues to check over his shoulder at TJ in the back. He does that any time he’s in the truck with me or van with Jay, as if he’s worried one time he’ll look back and TJ won’t be there anymore.

Not judging; I do that a lot, too. Especially when Jay’s driving. Sometimes I just sit in the back with our girl.

Mostly because Jay gets cranky at me for sitting unsafely and boots me back there.

“She still there?” I ask as he faces forward again.

“I’m obsessed with that tutu,” he says. “Tell me you have that in—”

“Your size? Oh yeah, it’s for your birthday.”

He swats me on the arm as I put my hand to the stick shift at a light. “Other colors.”

“Ah. That, too.”

“Mine better be green.”

“It’s blue, but it has little cars on it.”

“Heck yeah,” he grins; as always, whenever I see him smile, I’m pulled to smile, too. I watch him tug his phone from his pocket, and he goes to a text thread with MOM at the top. It looks like half their convo is gifs. My smile widens and I guide us through a light.

At almost nineteen, Thomas still happily lives with his adoptive mom, Abby Meyer; she lost her husband the summer she moved to Towson, when she first became Thomas’s new neighbor, and from what I’ve heard about the guy, Dimitri sounded like a total bad ass that would’ve adored Thomas as much as she does. He was obsessed with planes; they would’ve had lots to talk about.

Abby is sixty-twoish, but you wouldn’t believe that looking at her (not just because her hair is bubblegum pink), nor hearing how she talks and teases and laughs. Her eyes are a friendly faint green, her posture constantly like she’s ready to do jumping jacks or challenge you to a race, and she has an absurd amount of bookshelves around her house. And you know it’s bad when I’m saying that.

“Mom says hi,” he tells me, tucking his phone away. “Just let her know you had me. She’s asking for a to-go coffee.”

“To no one’s surprise,” I reply.

“Literally.” Thomas leans forward to tug his hair into a ponytail. It’s long enough now to not lose any strands when he does that; he said he’d get a haircut for the wedding, but both TJ and I have told him he doesn’t have to. The longer hair suits him in some ways.

Unlike Winston’s hockey mullet. That thing has got to go.

Whenever Tommy pulls his hair fully away from his face, the divots from his old sutures are visible; with him this close, they’re almost countable. But usually, they just look like freckles.

At a light, I do a doubletake as he finishes off the hairtie. “You got something,” I tell him, tapping my cheek. He smacks at his face and scowls at his fingers, missing it.

I lick my thumb and wipe it across his cheekbone where there’s a smudge of grease.

“Thanks, Dad.” He laughs and scrubs his cheek, and something written on the top of his hand catches my eye. I grab his wrist before he can put his hand back in his lap.

“And what, young man, is this?” I smirk, wagging his hand limply in the air. “Did someone write their number on your hand? How very high school.”

He tugs free and crosses his arms, slouching. “I wrote it. It’s just a customer’s.”

“Your handwriting isn’t this messy.”

“Fine, it was Trent.”

“And he drew the heart there, too, I take it?”

“Shoot, did she really—” Thomas looks at his hand and the lack of heart; he scowls at me, and I snicker and push us through the light. “She wrote it with a marker, Russ. A permanent one.”

I grimace and shift gears. “Oof. And how many times did you politely turn her down before that?”

“Twice,” he yawns. “Trent said I should go for it.”

“Trent put ‘Snapchat user’ as a skill on his resume.”

“I never should’ve told you that, you won’t let it go.”

“Because it’s hilarious, and it also shows he’s not fit to give relationship advice.”

“Okay, but Jorge also said I should give it a shot.” Thomas turns to peek at TJ behind us. “And he’s much more intelligent than his nephew.”

I rest my elbow on the window ledge, pushed against the glass. “Fair. But if you’re not interested, you shouldn’t feel forced.”

He shrugs and faces forward again. “I mean…maybe I could be. It’s been awhile since my last date.”

“With Jenae?”

“Calvin.”

“Eeeh, do we call Calvin a date?”

“He let me use his coupon to get our coffee; got half off our drinks.”

I make a face at the windshield. “And that qualifies as a date…?”

Thomas shrugs again, shoulders remaining high as he rests his head back. “Man, I don’t know, Russ. Maybe I’ve never been on a first date. Maybe I’ve been doing it all wrong this whole time.”

I pat him on the knee before I shift gears. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“I’m doing something wrong,” he mumbles through another yawn.

“You’re not.” He grunts. “Tom, you’re not doing anything wrong.”

Thomas fidgets, and when I peek at him, he’s leaning more toward the window; there’s a line he’s gently putting down. “Can you please wait to give me fatherly wisdom until after I’ve been fed?”

I hold up my hand. “Alright. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“How late were you up drawing?” I ask. He scratches under his nose mutely. I snort. “Yikes.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

We move on to talk about what he was drawing well past one this morning, though the previous topic doesn’t leave my mind.

It’s still a pleasant surprise that Thomas feels comfortable enough to talk with me about his dates, or lack there of.

He didn’t come out to me as not straight until last month.

It was the weekend Jay had scheduled a girl’s night out with Aleese, while Taron was in Texas with Hunter. During that first afternoon, Jay had just arrived to Annapolis with Aleese, when TJ came down with something. I called Jay just to let her know, but I was determined to handle it myself. Jay asked me repeatedly if I was sure it wasn’t something she needed to be home for.

Tummy virus and slight fever? Nah, I can handle my baby, go have fun.

I hung up claiming I had it in the bag.

I did not.

I made it two hours before I called in reinforcements.

And Thomas was the one to answer my bat signal; he proceeded to stay up all night with me, doing laundry, eating half-cold pizza, taking turns with a squalling (or vomiting (or both)) TJ; by five AM, our hysterics had turned into giggle fits, and he blurted something about how attractive Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings is. (To his credit, we’d had the trilogy on for comfort; it wasn’t just a random observation.) (Though even if it was, it’s an accurate one and always welcome.)

It caught me off guard, and I was exhausted enough that I simply blurted, “Are you gay?”

And Thomas replied, “I’m not straight.”

We moved on (we had to, TJ spewed all over my face, and if you’ve never gotten baby spew in your mouth, I can tell you it’s a horrible experience) and it wasn’t until another two days had passed, when Jay was set to come home, that I brought it back up.

“So tell me about Aragorn,” I said.

Not my best work; was less a toe dipped into the discussion and more a belly flop.

But it worked. It made Thomas choke on his breakfast, laugh, and he at least saw that the door was open to talk about it whenever he wanted.

He hasn’t said much, just the occasional comment, but that door has never and will never close. At least he knows that.