"With no job and no boyfriend, Justin sees no reason to make a big deal out of Christmas this year, so he plunks down his severance pay on a cottage in the Caribbean and jets away for some Me Time. Not that he'd mind a little Us Time, you understand, but the handsome young islanders of his acquaintance are all friendly, fun, and straight as they come. He sure didn't leave San Diego looking for any middle-aged American gym jock, but when one washes up at his favorite local watering hole, Justin discovers there are worse ways to dance the night away. Too bad the sexy stranger is on a cruise and the next port is calling.
When he spies the ship still in port while he tends to his Christmas Eve hangover, Justin knows he must manage his expectations. Just because the ship's still here doesn't mean the guy will come ashore, and so what if they do cross paths again? Did they really connect as Justin thinks he remembers, or is that just the beer filling in the blanks? He invents an errand, throws on some clothes, and heads for the dock, figuring there's one way to find out."
Isle Be Home for Christmas By Michael P. Thomas If I was looking for a big, square-shouldered American meathead, I’da stayed in America. I live in San Diego, for Heaven’s sake—it’s like the square-shouldered American meathead outlet mall. Any size you want, from Extra Small to Big ‘n’ Tall, available in custom colors: brown-on-brown, red and white, even blue and green, if ink’s your thing. Mind you, they’re not all quite as grin-happy as the guy wedged behind the little pink wooden table back in the corner of the bar. Not quite as chest-heavy. They certainly don’t all have that dimple in their right cheek that you could do tequila shots out of. He’s sipping a local beer—a Loro Loco, like me—and waiting for his ceviche, which I only know because I was eavesdropping, which I was only doin
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