Today marks the first installment of a new biweekly segment I’m calling Cold Brew, Hot Smut.
While I love the flexibility of working from home for my regular “big-girl job,” I’ve learned that my creativity thrives when I occasionally change my surroundings. There’s something about stepping away from my couch and settling into a cozy corner of a local coffee shop that helps shift my brain into smut writing mode.
That’s right… I write the majority of my smut in public.
I was never that girl who went to study at the library. I’ve always much preferred the soundtrack of espresso machines and whispered conversations—you never know what you might overhear and slip into a book.
So, starting today, I’ll be taking you along with me as I explore local-to-me cafés, share what I ordered—because the latte choice is obviously an integral part to the creative process—and give you a peek at what I was working on while I was there.
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Consider this series part love letter to local businesses, part behind-the-scenes look at my writing life, and part excuse to drink an unreasonable amount of cold brew in the name of creativity.
The Cold Brew
Many of you will know that I currently live in Portland, Oregon.
However, as I’m launching this series during my housesit in Boise, I thought it only right to spotlight a few of my favorite spots from my trip… starting with Whitewater Coffee & Tea in La Grande, Oregon.
I stopped at Whitewater—about four hours east of Portland—during my drive to Boise, and hot damn, the menu is bigger than the coffee shop.
Seeing as I had already started the morning with a latte, I ordered the matcha strawberry lemonade. Shoutout to the owner for recommending this one to me when I told her that I wanted “matcha that didn’t taste like matcha.” She might’ve officially converted me to a matcha drinker!
What about you? Do you enjoy matcha beverages? Let me know in the comments.
The Hot Smut
Though this coffee stop was just that, a brief stopover, don’t think that’s going to stop me from sharing an excerpt from what I’ve been working on.
I’ve just put the finishing touches on my upcoming M/M holiday romance, Serving Bunt (available September 29th) so let’s take a sneaky peek inside one of the first few chapters:
“Now, the recipes—”
“About that,” he interrupted smoothly. “What if we just wing it?”
“Wing it?” I echoed, staring at him.
He shrugged “They’re gonna throw curveballs at us anyway. No point in overplanning and stressing ourselves out before we even get started.”
“Says the guy with an eight-step pregame process.” I was seconds away from reaching over and knocking that infuriating smile off his face. “We’re about to be on national television. Millions of people, our family, our friends—they’re all going to be watching. Better we go in with some kind of plan instead of looking as lost as last year’s Easter eggs.”
“You really think a perfect plan is gonna save us if the judges ask for something completely off the wall?”
“I think it gives us a better chance than flying blind, Peter,” I shot back, frustration bleeding into my voice. “Some of us actually care about not humiliating ourselves in front of the entire country.”
Diaz tilted his head.
Heat crept up the back of my neck when his gaze dragged down my front and then back up again. Slowly.
Finally, when I couldn’t bear the weight of his stare any longer, I cleared my throat. “I just meant I don’t want us to look confused or out of place.”
“Say it again.”
I blinked. “What?”
“My name.”
My brain stalled out completely.
“Peter,” I breathed.
Something dark and hungry flickered across his face. For a second, I thought he might close the distance between us. For a second, I thought I might let him. Instead, he took one careful step back.
“Goodnight, Matty.”
He let himself into his cabin and closed the door behind him, leaving me standing there, dick throbbing, dog whining, silently replaying the last thirty seconds.
“Night,” I said to no one.
When I finally stepped inside, it felt like I had just run a marathon. The room was small but cute, with knotty-pine walls, a queen bed, a barely there kitchenette, and a window that looked straight at—
Yup. His cabin.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
Mo gave me a judgmental side-eye from the pillow she’d claimed at the head of the bed. Hopefully, she would forgive me for what I was about to do. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
And horny times called for jerking off in a tiny cabin.
Thirsty for more? Preorder your e-book copy of Serving Bunt today—paperbacks and audiobook coming soon—and add it to your reading list.
Until next time,
Be feral. Stay dangerous.
xo
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