My Anti-Valentine Read online

  My Anti-Valentine

  Copyright 2017 DJ Jamison

  Published by DJ Jamison at KDP

  Heart and Arrow Logo | Designed by Vexels.com

  Cover design by Lucas Soltow

  KDP Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return Amazon.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content suitable for mature readers.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Connect with DJ

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Author’s Note

  Human sexuality is a spectrum, and everyone experiences it differently. That is no less true for asexuality. “My Anti-Valentine” focuses on a graysexual character. As explained by AVEN (The Asexual Visibility and Education Network), graysexuals — also called gray-ace, grace or gray-a — are individuals who do not normally experience sexual attraction but experience it sometimes; experience sexual attraction but have a low sex drive; experience sexual attraction and drive but not strongly enough to want to act on them; and/or enjoy and desire sex but only under limited and specific circumstances.

  Visit asexuality.org for more information about asexuality, answers to frequently asked questions, forums, links to resources and more.

  Chapter 1

  Harry woke up still hung over. His ass throbbed, telling him what he’d been up to before he even remembered the night before.

  The rustle of fabric drew his eye to the man in his bedroom. He couldn’t make out the detail of his face, not because it was dark but because it was too bright. He squinted, shading his eyes with a hand.

  He was surprised his date from the night before was still there in the light of day. That had to be a good sign, right?

  “Hey,” he croaked, his voice a wreck. Then he remembered the guy’s cock, which apparently had been auditioning for the part of battering ram the night before. They’d fallen into bed after a mediocre date and too many drinks, Harry’s last-ditch effort to find a love connection with the personal trainer who enjoyed talking about his muscles as if they were the national pastime.

  He cleared his throat and tried again. “You taking off?”

  “Yup.”

  The sound of a zipper seemed loud in the silence between them. Harry tried to think of something to say. He liked sex as much as the next guy, but not even he could say their night had been great. It had been rushed and unsatisfying on his end.

  “Want to exchange numbers? We could go out again tonight,” Harry suggested.

  They’d both been drunk. Maybe the sex could be better if they made more of an effort. And it would be nice to have a date for Valentine’s Day, even if Reed was a smidge self-centered. Harry always seemed to be single on the holiday, and it was getting to be depressing.

  Reed looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “No, thanks.”

  “No?”

  Reed smirked. “No offense. You’re not a bad cocksucker, though you might want to work on your gag reflex. I haven’t had that much resistance since high school.”

  Harry’s jaw dropped. His gag reflex was fine when some asshole wasn’t trying to force him to deep throat 8 inches without warning.

  Reed walked out while Harry was struck speechless, which was fine. He’d been overly generous in trying to give Reed another chance. The man was not worth his time, obviously, but he was so tired of this same old routine.

  Meet guy, screw guy, forget guy. Rinse, repeat.

  At this rate, he might as well follow in most of his friends’ footsteps. Go to a club, find someone hot to grind on and have a quickie. At least he could skip the boring small talk.

  Didn’t anyone want an actual relationship? What was so wrong with sleeping with the same person twice?

  His phone started playing “Let me Love You,” a ringtone that never failed to annoy his friends. He liked to imagine a boyfriend would be on the other end of the line someday.

  That day was not today.

  Harry saw the name on the display and accepted the call. Darla was his cousin, but she was kind of his personal BFF too.

  “Hey, girl. Calling early.”

  “It’s noon.”

  “Oh. I had a late night.”

  “That’s right, you had a hot date. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  Harry flopped back against his pillows with a huff. As if a guy would stay that long.

  “Not unless you count wallowing.”

  “Uh-oh. Why are we wallowing?”

  Harry didn’t exactly want to share the details, but he did need to vent. “It’s like there are no nice guys anymore. Every guy I meet wants to get in my pants and then they’re done with me. It’s depressing.”

  “That’s an image I could have lived without,” she said, “but if you’re wanting a change of pace, this could be good timing. I actually called to see if you had plans tonight.”

  “It’s Valentine’s.”

  “Sure is ...”

  She waited him out until he sighed.

  He knew a group of his friends would be hitting the clubs as usual. Valentine’s was just one more day they could get laid. He could go with them, skip the effort of dating and cut to the chase. None of his dates ever worked out to be much more than hook-ups anyway. But as he shifted in the bed, his body ached. Harry wasn’t in any condition for another random fuck, and he knew it.

  “No plans,” he admitted, “except my pity party.”

  “How about you come to a party with me instead? It’s not your usual crowd, but it’s an anti-Valentine’s Day party, so there won’t be a bunch of happy couples throwing love in our faces. It’ll be better than sitting at home, right?”

  “What the hell is an anti-Valentine’s Day party?”

  “Uh, well the guy throwing the party, Bret, is going to burn some of his ex-boyfriend’s stuff or something,” she said with a laugh. “Only single people were invited. It’s kind of the anti-romance place to be.”

  “Sounds interesting.” And weird.

  “So you’ll go? There’s going to be at least one gay guy there, and he’s cute.”

  And there’s the carrot on the stick, but am I hungry enough to lunge for it? Probably.

  “This isn’t you trying to set me up, is it? Because last time—”

  “It’s not a set-up,” she interrupted, “and you need to forgive and forget about that last time. Everyone at work thought Kyle was gay!”

  “Yet, I’m the one who had to break the news that your cousin he’d agreed to date wasn’t Mary, but Harry. It’s like my life is a sitcom.”

  There was a muffled snort, and he knew she was laughing behind her hand. His life was a never-ending source of entertainment to Darla. It was less fun living it than watching it, apparently. Still, she’d always been supportive of his sexuality. Had been there, in fact, when he came out to his parents.


  It had been a tension-filled night, but his parents had taken the news better than he expected, and he suspected that was in part because of Darla’s encouragement. He’d always be grateful for that, even if her teasing got annoying. Besides, the got his revenge whenever the opportunity presented itself, so they were pretty even.

  “So? What’s it going to be?” she asked. “Anti-Valentine’s party with cute guy or sulking at home?”

  “Well, when you put that way ... what time should I be there?”

  Chapter 2

  Bret made a final pass of his apartment, checking that everything was in order for his party before guests began to arrive. He’d cleaned his little one-bedroom cottage to within an inch of its life in the past week. The wood floors glowed with a fresh coat of wax; his kitchen gleamed in all its disinfected glory; and you could safely eat off his toilet seat, not that he’d advise it.

  He was more concerned now with the party essentials.

  Heart Breaker alcoholic beverages? Check.

  Heart-shaped cake with a crater-sized crack down the middle? Check.

  Box of ex-boyfriend mementos ready for burning? Check.

  All the other party crap, like snack food and soda and beer? Yeah, whatever.

  Bret might hate Valentine’s Day, but no one could accuse him of poor party planning. He was ready to indoctrinate his single friends into joining his pledge to give a big fuck-you to romance on V-Day. Why should they feel bad they weren’t getting roses or dating some loser? Valentine’s Day was totally commercialized, practically a conspiracy to make money for flower shops and supermarkets selling greeting cards and chocolates.

  By the time he heard a knock at the door, a small fire was already smoking in the fire pit in his backyard. Bret was more excited for that phase of the party than any other.

  He couldn’t wait to watch Jake’s T-shirt go up in flames. He’d had that stupid thing in a box since Jake dumped him two years ago. Not to mention the stupid ties his more recent ex, Noah, bought him for his birthday. He didn’t even wear ties, but then Noah had probably had his head in the gutter when he bought them. A total waste of time when it came to Bret, which he soon learned judging by his “cold fucking fish” comments during his break-up monologue.

  Jesus, but that guy liked to hear himself talk. Bret was better off without him. Without all of them. Hence, the anti-Valentine’s Day party.

  He opened the door with a grin to find Erin on the doorstep.

  “Hey, Bret!” she said with a big smile, stepping forward to hug him.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said with a big smile. “Come on in.”

  He was stupidly excited about this party, and he couldn’t turn off his grin. When Bret took an interest in something, he tended to go all in.

  His best friend looked around, eyes widening at the sight of the cake. “Wow, you’re taking this whole anti-Valentine’s Day thing seriously.”

  “Yep. That’s what the party is about. Look!” He walked her into the kitchen, showing her the liquor bottles lined up on the counter.

  “What’s all this for? I didn’t think you were into the mixed fruity drinks.”

  “I’m not, but this is for the Heartbreaker Special,” he said with a grin. “Every good party has to have a theme, right?”

  She shook her head and laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

  A knock on the door interrupted, and he went to let in a few more singles. He spent the next 10 minutes running between the door and the kitchen to let in friends and make Heartbreaker Specials and show off his awesome party decorations. He’d even ordered a box of candy hearts online that had sayings like “meh” and “no thanks” instead of the usual lovey-dovey crap.

  By the time Darla arrived, he’d given up on greeting duties and was in the kitchen working on more drinks.

  “Bret! Thanks for the invite,” she said. “I was so bummed this Valentine’s Day.”

  “Aww, but I made you a card,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  Bret looked over to see a blond guy wrapping an arm around Darla’s shoulders and squeezing her tight. He looked like a member of a boy band, with his perfectly gelled hair and stylishly distressed jeans and tight printed T-shirt.

  Bret pointed an accusing finger. “No couples! This is anti-Valentine’s Day. You can take your cards and your candies and your flowers, and go to one of the bajillion places celebrating loooove tonight.”

  “Ew, no,” Darla said with a laugh. “Harry is my cousin, not my boyfriend. I wouldn’t break your rules, anti-love guru!”

  Bret did love the name Harry, mostly when applied to a boy wizard with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He gave Harry another once-over, noticing his sky-blue eyes and perfect cheekbones. Nope. Still didn’t like him, especially the frown that was twisting his features.

  “Someone must have done a number on you,” he said.

  Bret bristled. “Why do you say that?”

  “I mean, to be this bitter about Valentine’s Day? It’s hard to imagine you really hate the commercialism of the holiday that much. I bet if you had a girlfriend it would be a different story.”

  Bret rolled his eyes. “It really wouldn’t. Romance is a manufactured concept, you realize that, right? You might love someone, but if you do, you should appreciate them every day, not once a year with the most predictable gifts ever. That’s without even getting into the origins of Valentine’s and how very un-romantic it actually is.”

  Darla grabbed a drink from the counter, and swatted Bret’s butt playfully. “I’m going to leave you boys to it. If you get over your romance phobia, Harry’s on the market and he hasn’t landed a nice guy in ages, so he’s pretty much a sure thing.”

  “Darla!” Harry shouted after her, his cheeks turning bright red. “What the hell? Jesus, that’s not how I usually …”

  “What?” Bret asked, feeling uncomfortable.

  He’d thought he was engaging in friendly debate with a straight guy, only to discover he’d been bantering with someone cute, available and gay. And that wasn’t at all the point of this party.

  “Um, you know. Tell people I’m gay, or that I’m available. I definitely try not to go the ‘I’m so desperate I’ll take anyone route,’ but Darla seems to have taken care of that for me.”

  He cracked a smile. It was crooked, a smidge embarrassed and way too charming for Bret’s well-being.

  “I’m not interested,” Bret said stiffly. “This is an anti—”

  “I know!” Harry said, holding up his hands. “I’m not actually desperate.”

  Bret stopped short, frowning. Was Harry implying he’d have to be desperate to like Bret? Ouch. He wasn’t Abercrombie and Fitch material like Harry, but he didn’t think he was that bad.

  “That came out wrong,” Harry rushed to say. “You’re cute in that nerdy hipster way.”

  “Unbelievable,” Bret muttered under his breath.

  “I mean it,” Harry said, misunderstanding the reason for Bret’s shutdown. “I would totally do you.”

  Bret avoided his gaze. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  He made a quick exit from the kitchen, more than ready to get the real party started now that everyone had arrived.

  “Hey, who wants to burn some shit?” he called out, grinning when a round of cheers went up.

  ***

  I would totally do you? Really, Harry?

  Maybe Darla was right to call him desperate. He tagged along to this party with his cousin because he didn’t want to sit at home feeling depressed about being single. Every freaking year he was alone on Valentine’s Day.

  Harry had tried, really tried, to have a relationship that lasted longer than two weeks. It just never seemed to take. The guys he attracted were more into casual sex with no strings than a serious relationship. The guys he’d managed to see more than once never seemed as committed as he was. His first boyfriend cheated within two weeks. The second told him he was too damn clingy and if he wanted to date a girl, he knew where to fin
d one. Charming and misogynistic. Obviously a big loss.

  Maybe the problem was Harry, though. Maybe he just didn’t deserve that kind of love. He was average: good-looking but not exceptional, fit but not built, smart but not any more than most people. When it came down to it, he couldn’t think of one single thing he did better than anyone else. So, it wasn’t so surprising he had an easy time capturing men’s interest for a good time, but not a long-term commitment.

  Harry followed the crowd to the backyard, where Bret was presiding over them like an announcer at the circus. Funny how he seemed in his element now, with all eyes turned to him, when he could barely make eye contact with Harry in the kitchen.

  “You’re here to bear witness, my friends!” he called, adopting a dramatic tone. “Watch as I burn my ties to romance and declare myself free of the BS associated with Valentine’s Day, coupledom and all that other mushy crap!”

  It was dorky and cheesy and charming all at the same time.

  A dark-haired girl held up a box to Bret, where he stood on the bench of a picnic table in the backyard. A fire pit blazed orange on the ground before him.

  He reached inside and withdrew a T-shirt with a logo for One Direction on it.

  “Yeah, I should have known this one was a mistake by his choice of music.”

  He wrinkled his nose before twirling the T-shirt and throwing it down in the fire.

  “Burn, motherfucker, burn!”

  “I think you’ve got your band lyrics confused,” someone called, and they all laughed.

  There was Strike 2 — or had he reached Strike 3 already — with Bret.

  Harry didn’t particularly like One Direction, but he wasn’t too picky about music. He generally found pretentious types who called other people sheep for liking “shallow, commercialized pop” to be annoying. And he could totally see Bret giving that lecture.