Love on the Line by Lynn Michaels 💕 Deleted Scene Sneak Peek, Series Tour & Gift Card Giveaway 💕 (M/M Contemporary Romance)

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Martin has always done everything his parents ever asked, never making waves, but never learning how to say no either. Then his new partying neighbors introduce him to a different lifestyle that pushes his limits.

The only thing keeping him grounded is getting back in touch with his first love, Daltrey, who moved across the country when they were still teenagers. Now, he's a successful artist and plays by his own rules. He wants Martin but won't compromise his morals.

When Martin lets his new friends drag him down until he hits bottom, can he ever find his way back to Daltrey and take control of his life?

Note: Love on the Line books can be read in any order.

I woke up late and rolled over, throwing my pillow on the floor. I didn't have a headache, but my brain still felt foggy. Nothing a good cup of coffee couldn't cure. I staggered into my kitchen to start up my pot, thankful that I had milk and sugar this time.
Running my fingers through my hair, I thought about the party and Alec kissing me. It had been nice. Alec made me feel wanted. Wendy had too. She had danced with me, even after Alec had put his arm around my shoulder and kept it there. I liked them and should have...should have what?
Shaking my head, I poured my coffee, adding the coveted milk and sugar, and sipped it, walking back into the dining room and sitting at the table. I opened my laptop, and Daltrey's profile picture popped up on the screen, right where I'd left it.
Daltrey.
His number was still in the pocket of my slept-in jeans. He had been everything to me. There wasn't really a decision to be made. I needed to rule my own life and do the things I wanted to do and to hell with anyone else. I picked up my cell and dialed the number.
A female voice answered on the third ring. "Daltrey Boxbaum's office. How can I help you?" Girlfriend? No way. Daltrey was gay like me. Wasn't he?
"Uh... Yes. I'd like to speak with Daltrey." My voice shook with fear.
"Sorry, he's unavailable. Can I help you?" she sang back at me lyrically.
"No, uh, it's personal." What was I going to say? I should have taken more time to think things out.
"I'm Jenny Heathers, his personal assistant. I may be able to help." Her voice sounded a little flatter this time, frustrated.
I let out a long breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Can you give him a message? Tell him I called?"
"Sure. Name?"
"Martin Hannan. H-a-n-n-a-n, Hannan." I spelled my name, maybe out of habit. Then gave her my cell number.
"Okay, Martin. I'll tell him. Have a great day."
Well, at least I didn't think she was his girlfriend. Maybe.

A life-changing sacrifice for art and love.
Daltrey Boxbaum is an artist, a lover, an addict, and more. Through the years, he finds and loses love, fights addiction, and defines himself in new ways.
Martin Hannan was the love of Daltrey’s life, the son of a world-famous Silicon Valley developer and tycoon. Left behind to fight his own battles, Martin’s reappearance in Daltrey’s life turns the stable world he’s worked so hard for inside out.

Note: Love on the Line books can be read in any order, but best fits the numbered order.

I laid back and closed my eyes, hoping to rest for a bit.
And I did—until Jenny and her big mouth barged in. “Daltrey!” she called out. “Get up, Romeo. I need gossip.”
“Shut up, woman!”
“Oh! You’re up.”
“Am now.”
“Hmph. I’ll make coffee.” She dropped her purse and jacket on the bar that sectioned off the kitchen area.
I closed my eyes, listening to her putter around until I could smell the coffee brewing. “Why are you here?”
“I need to hear about Martin. Duh.” She leaned forward with her hands on the bar, looking out at me from inside the kitchen.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “I didn’t call him.”
“What?” She practically flew around the bar. “What do you mean you didn’t call him?”
“I, uh, I...”
She smacked me in the shoulder. “Daltrey?”
“I can’t. Okay. I just can’t. He’s not... I’m not.” I didn’t know what words would make her understand.
“You can’t live in the past.”
“He is the past.”
“Coffee first.” She shoved my shoulder. “You’ve been painting?”
“Duh.”
Jenny snorted and headed back into the kitchen. This time, I followed her. She pulled down coffee mugs while I got cream out of the fridge. After pouring and doctoring up the coffee, we sat on the bar stools and sipped it. Hot steam came from my mug, but it didn’t provide enough of a shield to hide behind.
“I knew something was up with you when you left last night.” She took a sip. “This is good.”
I grunted and held the mug in front of my face.
“Stop it,” she growled at me. “You can’t hide. Why didn’t you call him last night?”
I sighed and set my mug on the counter. “I’m not the same person. I’ve been through so much. Too much. He’ll never understand.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It feels like going backward.”
“This is ridiculous. You want me to call him?”
“What? No.” I sounded outraged.
“I think you need to call him. If for no other reason than to put some kind of closure on that part of your life. I mean, come on, Dal. You’ve been painting him, drawing him, since I met you.”
“I know.”
“You aren’t over him. You weren’t over him when Vaughn—”
“It’s okay. You can say his name. I’m not going to go into some kind of tailspin and relapse. Get real.” Recovery was too hard, and I had entirely too much to lose. I knew that even if I hadn’t admitted it back then or to her.
“Good. Then you can call him.”
“Let’s eat first. Hungry? I’ve got eggs or some shit, I’m sure.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile and helped me cook some breakfast. After we ate, I showed her my new painting. She gave the appropriate oohs and ahs. Then accused me of stalling. “Okay,” she finally said. “I’m going to run some errands. You call him. We’ll talk when I get back. Oh. The show info should be coming today, and I need to talk with Ros about it. So...” she looked at her watch, “I should be back around five. Okay?”
I nodded. “Fine. Go.”
Instead of calling, I worked on my painting.

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A Day in the Life – Daltrey & All I Could Do Was Paint

This is a deleted scene, not in the book:

The weather was nice, so I put on sweat pants and my sneakers. I layered up and headed to the park. I needed to work out the kinks in my back and shoulders. I’d spent too many hours alone, under lights, crouched over the painting. The little details were coming out, but they were the hardest part.
I took off running when I got to the park. The path wound around the lake and had bridges that crossed over other pathways. The trees were budding. Spring was almost here. There were some parts of the park that still had some snow on the grass, but the paths were all clear.
After a while, I stopped and pulled off my sweatshirt and tied it around my waist. Then I ran some more. I’d almost forgotten how great it was to simply run through the park, sucking in the fresh air, rejuvenating. My head cleared. I thought about one step in front of the other. One step at a time. It was simple. There was a kind of beauty in that.
Eventually, I wore myself out. I stopped, breathing hard, and bent over. The sun blasted down through the trees. I was tempted to take off another shirt, but I didn’t dare. I’d end up with a cold. My ears and neck were warm, though, so I headed home.
I stripped at the door, dropping my clothes right there and kicking them against the wall. I could pick them up later. I walked naked through my apartment, up the stairs, and into the sleek bathroom. I showered and dressed, then made my way to the kitchen. Mom had shopped for me, so I’d be able to find something for lunch.
After all of that...my head was clear, and I felt great. Back to painting. I had a super-huge canvas to finish. The pressure had been what sent me outside in the first place, I could no longer ignore it.
It had become difficult to paint Martin’s face when once it had flowed like breath from lungs. He stared back at me from the canvas, eyes as bright blue as I could possibly make them. He looked angelic. But behind his head, swirls of dark images floated around. They represented the struggles he seemed to be having with his life. The struggles he seemed to be dragging me into.
I couldn’t change any of that for him. All I could do was paint.

Lynn Michaels lives and writes in Tampa, Florida where the sun is hot and the Sangria is cold. When she's not writing she's kayaking, hanging with her husband, or reading by the pool. Lynn writes Male/Male romance because she believes everyone deserves a happy ending and the dynamics of male characters can be intriguing, vulnerable, and exciting. She has both contemporary and paranormal titles and has been writing since 2014. Her stories don't follow any set guidelines or ideas, but come from her heart and contain love in many forms.