Island Tales Press, $2.99, ISBN 978-1310563201
Contemporary Romance, 2015
Ric Costanza and Connor Ferguson were BFFs from way back, until they weren’t because Ric’s family for some reason is fixated on him becoming a priest, and he found that he had the hots for Connor. When you’re from a religious Italian family that deems homosexuality to be a big no no and insists on you becoming a priest—I know, the punchline writes itself—coming out to anyone seems impossible. So yes, he pushed Connor away.
Well, cut to the present day, when Ric is finally going to a hot gay priest while Connor is engaged to one lady called Keira. Oh no, will Ric lose any chance of having a go at Connor’s hot ass… forever?
Now, this may seem odd, but KC Wells’s Trust Me could use a lot more Jesus… a lot more. This is because Ric doesn’t appear even a quarter-way religious, so having the whole story revolve around his so-called “Jesus… or anus?” conflict feels very artificial—a conflict on paper, for the sake of having one.
The whole thing never feels authentic and real, and indeed, Ric certainly doesn’t waste time boinking away at Connor’s rear end when the opportunity arises. So, what’s stopping Ric from just walking away from his family sooner?
There is no other conflict here. Keira is barely a presence here, so gee, there goes the suspense. Connor is already into Ric as Ric is into him, so their whole drama boils down to them just waffling around until they get the go signal from the author to start going at it like rabbits.
The author doesn’t even let the romance develop organically—there is a truly cringe plot device here, a gay guy with cancer, acting as the sage matchmaker and advisor like he’s the embodiment of the Magical Homo stereotype. At least he’s not a fat drag queen, I suppose.
In addition, there is a “Written in Tumblr” feel to the whole story. Everyone talks like teenage girls hoping to sound precocious and precious, and the sap flows like a tsunami of sentimental melodrama interspersed with awkward gay sex that is all thrusting and moaning like a creaking piece of furniture.
Oh, and Ric’s mommy is the villain. How original!
I tell you, each time I turn the page, a part of me can’t help cringing at how this one conforms so much to the “when women write gay romances” stereotype.
Anyway, this one is a generic and tad forgettable story that never comes alive or feels real enough to engage my feelings. This is due to the lack of compelling conflict, drama, suspense, or angst—making this story to have only one use and purpose: to titillate fans of awkwardly-written gay sex scenes.
