How About a Boyfriend?

From friends to lovers.

Roar has been dumped one time too many. Now he’s decided he’s done with women. Henning finds Roar’s predicament quite amusing. He’s never preferred women—but he much preferred Roar.

When Roar suggests the two of them hook up, Henning is dubious. Roar’s set in his ways, however, and he knows what he wants. In the end, Henning’s faced with a question he never imagined his best friend would ask.

Details

Published: July 18, 2016
Publisher: Arctic Circle Press
Genres: New adult, m/m
Wordcount: 11,000
Tags: friends to lovers

Excerpt

“Bloody hell.”

Roar dropped down on the kitchen chair opposite Henning. He thumped his forehead against the tabletop before bringing his hands up and resting his forehead on them.

“What’s wrong?” Henning asked, though he could probably tell. That specific reaction was a known thing to him; so known he shouldn’t even have to ask. However, by asking, Roar would spill it all, so it was quicker.

Henning could tell Roar glanced up at him, but kept his eyes on the newspaper he was reading. He always played nonchalant when these kinds of news came.

“I was dumped last night. Or, well, I suppose I was dumped.”

“You suppose?” Henning peeked over the newspaper at him and took in the slight grimace on Roar’s handsome face. His skin was constantly tanned, the complete opposite to Henning’s pale shade. Roar hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, so his cheeks and chin were covered in dark stubble. “How can you suppose you were dumped? Either you were or you weren’t. There’s nothing in-between.”

“Well, she was snogging another bloke and when she saw me she flipped me the finger. I guess that qualifies as being dumped.” Roar thudded his forehead against the tabletop again. “Thoroughly.”

Henning hid his face behind the newspaper to hide his quiet laughter. In fact, he had to restrain himself so he wouldn’t let it loose.

When he was certain he had himself under control, he folded the newspaper together and leaned forward so he could stop Roar from hitting the table anymore. “Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Roar groaned and tilted his head slightly, resting his cheek on his forearm. He looked up at Henning, and Henning found himself mesmerized by those warm, brown eyes. As always, there was nothing new there.

“I hate women,” Roar proclaimed. “I’ve had nothing but trouble with them in all my twenty-three years. I simply detest them all.”

“Not all of them are like that,” Henning said, trying to be reasonable, even though he knew nothing about women as sexual partners. “But you do have a bad habit of getting into the wrong sorts of women.”

“I’m giving them up. I’m tired of always being used and then evilly dumped by them, every single time. I don’t need tits and fanny in my life when it only comes with so much drama.”

Henning smiled and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest. “There is nothing special about women,” he said, for lack of anything better to say.

“Says the gay guy.”