Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

sneakers and t-shirt, his hair careless, but he looked particularly wonderful today. West snagged his backpack from the floor and took out his sketchbook and a pencil, and drew Riley in a quick rough sketch as he stood at the oven.
    He'd never drawn Riley much, not even when they were young— he was too afraid of people seeing it, of them knowing that he wanted Riley or how much he looked at Riley's body. He could do things like this now. Riley would like it. He could draw Riley sleeping and playing his violin and laughing and no would think it was strange.
    ****
    Some of the musicians from the symphony got together to perform quartets or duets, and Riley had a performance with his quartet scheduled for Sunday afternoon. West had to push him out of bed to take a shower and put on a suit. He drove Riley to the symphony hall while Riley shaved with an electric razor.
    "I'll be back," he promised as he kissed Riley, and drove away from the symphony hall to run a quick errand and put on his good clothes, too.
    When he got back to the hall there were a few dozen people in the audience— normal for an occasion such as this, really— so West was able to take a seat near the front where the musicians could see him. He could see Riley scanning the audience when the musicians came out, anxiety creasing his eyes, and then he spotted West. Every line of his face relaxed.
    West stopped applauding with the rest of the audience and took his seat, and held his surprise on his knee where Riley would be sure to see it. Their eyes met as Riley positioned the violin under his chin, and Riley's face lit up when he saw that West had finally remembered the roses.
    THE END
    Author bio: Jenna Jones is the author of m/m romance such as the EPPIE-nominated Chiaroscuro, Something Beautiful and the Apples & Gin series . She lives in a small town in the Wasatch Mountains, where she reads, writes and watches a lot of movies. She enjoys her imaginary worlds.
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WHERE THE LAND GOES ON FOREVER
    by S. A. McAuley

    I'd dreamed of the Serengeti for years, the wind in the trees, the smell of the dust, the quiet. A place where animals still belong, and we are the visitors. I had a Jeep full of food, water purification gear and a solar charger for my laptop. Six months, and I'd have the data for my dissertation. And then I'd have to go back.
    First night in camp, I heard the lions prowling around, investigating the tires on the Jeep. Next morning, he was there, cooking a small pot of stew over a fire, dark skin warm as cocoa against the forest green of his uniform.
    ~ Sarah Black

    genre: contemporary
    tags: college; scientist; hot Maasai warrior; security/guard; gravity defying sex; interracial; reunited; coworker; conservation is sexy
    word count: 6,571
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    WHERE THE LAND GOES ON FOREVER
    by S. A. McAuley
    If the sounds close to his tent were any indication, he'd arrived in the Serengeti just in time for the water buffaloes to give birth to inordinately large and spiky alien offspring. Fantastic. It wasn't the constant guttural lowing that did him in, but the sudden piercing shrieks which were too back-alley-horror-movie to possibly sleep through.
    Augie threw his arm over the side of the cot and fumbled for his iPod, satisfied he could track it down by sliding the headphone cord through his palm. His day pack was a snarl of cords—mini USB for his cell and Kindle, two solar chargers for his laptop and satellite phone, and headphones and ear buds (because they each had a distinct purpose). The sky was lightening, but it wasn't quite dawn yet. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force himself back to sleep, but the water buffalo bellowed again. He swore she was giving birth directly next to him in the tent. His patience—already frayed from jetlag and strained by disbelief that he'd actually made it onto the plane this time—snapped. "Fucking cows!"
    He knew they weren't biologically related to any cow, but he took a perverse sense of pleasure in comparing them to the usual pump-and-chop beasts which were inhumanely caged at his parents' meat factories in Montana. Ok, maybe he was starting to feel a little bad. Then he realized the water buffalo was no longer strangling itself and the land around his tent had gone unnaturally silent. Flames from the fire outside jumped into the air, crackled, and almost muffled a familiar chuckle. Almost. But there was no way Augie could mistake that sound.
    He