Well this is a book that has some controversy surrounding it, of which I was blissfully unaware until I read a warning that came with this ARC. There are lots of reviewers who refuse to read this book, and that’s fine. But based on its merits, I enjoyed this MM romance that comes with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
Black Balled is a fairly quick read and is a parody of the indie book world, pairing a snarky book reviewer with tons of anxieties with an author who has tons of anger issues. The authors did a great job at the dual POV and really, when you peel away the layers of sarcasm and humor, the story is about finding yourself.
“Larson knows who he is and he makes no excuses or apologies for it. He wears his flaws just as proudly as he does his attributes, for all to see, and for everyone to accept or reject–as the case may be because it makes no difference to him. He is comfortable in his own skin. That is probably because Larson is genuine. He doesn’t wear layers of facades that need to be ripped away in order to find his inner soul; or his truth. He just puts it all out there without reservation.
Not like me.”
There is lots and lots of white-hot sex in this book and tons of great banter. If you go into Black Balled knowing it has a very different storyline, and that both characters have a wicked sense of humor, then you’ll love this book!
eyes flickering over Floyd’s hot pink shirt. I feel insulted and, for a moment,
I debate whether it’s the dandy that should be on the receiving end of my fist
or Larson. I quickly decide to strike the nearest prey first. My fist shoots
out and cuffs him good with an uppercut to the chin, sending him sprawling
backwards, where he unceremoniously lands on one of Larson’s black glass end
tables, knocking the lamp to the floor. The sound of glass shattering echoes
throughout the room, and I’m not done yet. I move towards him and, realizing
he’s still in a daze, I take the opportunity to snatch him up with both hands
fisting the collar of his shirt, and shove him against Larson.
flamer here? Because I can clear out right now so that you and Pink Floyd can take up where you left
off before I so rudely interrupted your cozy soiree.”
movement of Floyd as he lunges at me with a growl. “My name is Lloyd,” he hisses, “And I believe I made
my position quite clear the last time we spoke. You’re not good enough for my Larson.”
perfectly straight nose, and the sound of crunching cartilage resounds just
before his shriek of pain.
his head upward and placing a palm over his bloodied nose so as not to allow
anything to stain his expensive pink shirt. “Sir,” he repeats, “Are you going
to permit this?”
huh? What kind of fucking weirdness was Blackburn into with this dudette? I
turn to acknowledge Larson, who is standing there, muscular arms crossed and
his sexy drawstring pajama bottoms hanging low on his narrow hips. He’s shaking
his head, and I don’t miss the sexy grin.
beneath those sweats. Not sure if that’s for me or if the sight of Pink Floyd’s
blood is getting him hard.
say, trying to mimic Lloyd’s voice and dripping sarcasm along the way. “Speak
up. Who’s it gonna be, huh? Me or your Fifty Shades of Whack over there?”
the kitchen counter and takes hold of his beer before making himself
comfortable on the bar stool. The room is silent but for the wheezing coming
from the damsel in distress over there. I’m guessing he’s uncomfortably numb in
the entire nose region.
rapidly growing erection he is sporting, “Could you start over because the view
is much better from here?” Then he takes a sip of his beer and waves his hand
as though giving us permission to continue.
the lid down, effectively cutting off the world and relishing the feeling of my
distinct sound of my mother’s ringtone. She insisted I use Madonna’s “Like a
Virgin” song specifically for her, saying that any artist who openly sang about
the Lord’s mother should be respected.
Either she is bored and wants to tell me about her nurse, Rose, and all the
trouble her children cause around the neighborhood or…
distract her. No, it’s not working.
did your father and I teach you how to steal?”
and just got caught stealing warm cookies from the cooling rack before Kennedy
got a chance to do it.
soul—he would kick your behind so raw it would look like one of those monkeys.
I don’t know what they’re called…something about…”
him. Did you go to confession?”
church and get your conscience all cleared up.”
would go over well. A bisexual atheist
seeking forgiveness for a crime he did not commit. See?
know me better than that, right?” I mean, she did give birth to me after all.
Shit, if my own mother doesn’t believe me, I’m fucked.
cutting off the hair from your sister’s Barbie and yet…you did.”
eight years old.
is…Oh, a tunnel…can’t hear you…bzzzzzz…sshhhh…love you…”
frisky at one end of the bar. The woman, Marie Antoinette from what I can
decipher from my position, has her hands travelling all over what must be
Cyrano de Bergerac if the size of his nose is any indication. I chuckle to
myself, wondering if the size of his nose is any indication to the length of
his cock. I have pondered that question on many occasions and no, one does not
equate the other, unfortunately.
the groping couple. I can’t hear their conversation, but my overly active
imagination is already creating their dialogue from their body language alone.
is more annoyed than turned on. His eyes are darting from one person to the
other, his minutely trembling fingers circling his glass in an attempt to calm
his nerves, maybe? In my mind, their conversation goes something like this:
you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
inner musings. “It is now, ma belle.” My French will be coming in handy
tonight. “Who do I have the honor of meeting?” The shit is just spewing from my
lips. This classically beautiful woman is not dressed in elegant clothing, but
rather is wearing trousers and a man’s coat.
dresses up as George Sand is worth my attention.
take her hand into my own and kiss the back all the while keeping my eyes
solely trained on hers. We spend more than an hour talking, drinking and
flirting shamelessly. George plays coy one minute and sexually cunning the
next. I’m not sure if I want to spank her or fuck her at this point. Maybe
calling her by a man’s name. It suits my bisexual tendencies.
lips pursing into a slight smirk.
handkerchief from his pocket, and gently wipes the lenses clean before putting
them back on. “It’s interesting that these last few sessions we’ve had together
seem to generate a bit of hostility you seem to have bottled up. Is there
anything new with the author you claim is cyber stalking you?”
suggestive email to my anonymous account like I’m interested in switching
sides,” I snap. “I’m not sure if I’m more offended by his vulgar and graphic suggestions, or the fact that
he’s obviously labeled me as ‘queer-bait’ in his depraved mind.”
was extremely vile. He suggested I wanted to deep throat his cock, and there
was some mention of my ‘tight little virgin ass’ and what he might want to do
to it. He went too far.”
L. Blackburn’s lewd and lascivious suggestions. Shit. “I sent him a digital
picture of my virgin bung hole,” I snap. “He’s probably jacking off to it as we
my reply. “Babu, I need to ask you something here, and please don’t respond
with your usual knee-jerk reaction when I do.”
internal response to one’s questioning of his or her own sexuality. The fear of
admission for whatever reason.”
“You’re fucking fired.”