"4.75 Rating!...This story brought New Orleans to life for me in a different way than one might expect. There is no Mardi Gras or frolicking in the street. Instead, this is the N’awlins of the everyday residents of that city and especially the homeless residents. We see the homeless shelters, the seedier and more dangerous parts of town, and the local eateries like Tiffany's. I could almost smell the decadent scents of Tiffany’s Waffles and Wings...It made me hungry without a doubt and called forth a yen for the food that I grew up with in the South...Packs a powerful story of hope and love that make it a wonderful and affecting read."--Bobby, BookWenches.com
"5 Stars!...This book is about two dissimilar men (except for their financial circumstances) who will break your heart and make you love them despite yourself...This was a wonderful story mostly about hope in the midst of living in the worst possible conditions...A story about how people cope with losing everything except their self respect...If you would like to read a story that is unforgettable, one that brings a smile to your face and makes you thankful for your life, read Breakfast At Tiffany's- you will want to cheer at the end for Scott and Tony. Highly recommended."--Wave, Reviews By Jessewave
"5 Stars!...As an Englishman, I find the combination of waffles and chicken wings very strange. But I know they’re a regular feature of New Orleans cuisine. Ms. Lorenz does a wonderful job of describing the city, with its unique sites, sounds, and smells. In a very few words I felt I was there in this recovering city...It was easy to empathise and fall in love with Tony and Scott...As with the descriptions of the city, Ms. Lorenz gave us rich details surrounding these guys’ lives...It took me a lot longer to read this story than its comparatively short length would warrant. The truth was I kept pausing to savour it, as I didn’t want to get to the end and have to say goodbye to these two delightful, special, and precious young men. Hats off to Lynn Lorenz for creating a story that will live long in my memory. This one’s a keeper, folks."--British Bull Dog, Rainbow Reviews
"5 Nymphs!...Takes us to New Orleans, where we meet Tony and Scott. The men are as different as night and day in some aspects, but they both understand the struggle for survival and the importance of maintaining self-respect. I loved both characters equally, and could see the wonderful impact they had on one another. The story reminded me of how much I have and made me feel slightly proud of all that I’ve accomplished...To see people struggle to keep food on the table without a word of complaint, well I found it humbling. Lynn Lorenz has a style that is all her own. Her characters are ever changing, the settings always have a subtle allure and the plots are sound and believable. I think that’s why she is one of my favorite authors to read. Pick up a copy and enjoy!"--Scandalous Minx, Literary Nymphs Reviews
...Inhaling, Tony pulled back farther into his hiding spot. His stomach rumbled. Fuck, he hadn’t had a thing to eat in two days and if he didn’t get some cash soon, he’d have to go back to selling his ass on the street. Jobs for people like him were few and far between.
He’d already promised the memory of his grandmother, embodied in her silver cross around his neck, that he’d never sell his body again. And no selling drugs. Uh-huh. He was clean and he was gonna stay that way.
Running out of choices, he’d turned to thieving. Grandmama would forgive him that, Tony was sure of it. Which is why he now found himself on the outskirts of the Quarter, looking for someone stupid enough to be walking around down here.
Like this fool kid.
He had to be about eighteen, maybe twenty, but damn, the boy was skinny. Hair so black it looked blue in the lamplights, skin so white it nearly glowed. Skin so white that, next to Tony’s ebony skin, the contrast between them would burn his eyes.
Somewhere a car horn blared, and the kid’s head snapped up.
Shit, his eyes were pale, too. Almost without color. For a moment, he stared into the spot where Tony hid, but his steps never faltered. Then he dropped his head, dug his hands deeper into the jacket’s pockets, and kept going.
Booking for the Quarter.
Maybe one of those rent boys on his way to earn a little cash in the clubs.
Maybe he had a little cash on him right now.
Maybe if Tony moved fast when the kid passed him, he could just reach out, grab him, and drag him into the alley. Tony easily had size and muscles over him. It’d be no problem.
Tony held his breath.
The kid passed him.
The scent of soap and something else filled Tony’s nose, stirring a memory from long ago deep inside him. When he had a home, a momma who gave a shit, and two little brothers and a baby sister to care about.
Everything he’d lost in Katrina.
Tony struggled with the wave of grief washing over him, making his knees buckle and his gut ache even harder.
The guy continued on down the block.
* * *
A soft sniff broke the silence.
Scott swallowed and his ears pricked up. It had come from behind him, he was sure of it. He pulled his hands out of his jacket, fisted them, ready, just in case. As he strained to hear any sound other than his own footfalls, he never saw the hand reaching out from the alley he’d passed, grabbing him by the neck, and yanking him to the side.
He cried out, his own fists flying blindly, but another harder, bigger fist smashed into the side of his head, shooting pain and a warning to shut the fuck up or he’d get worse.
Strong hands cupped under his armpits, dragged him into the darkness of a narrow space between buildings, and dumped him like a bag of garbage on the cold, damp concrete.
Fuck. He’d almost made it to Canal.
Dark, feral eyes surrounded by yellowed whites stared into his face.
“Gimme yo money, muthafucka.”
Scott nodded his head and reached into the pocket of his jeans. His ear stung from the blow, and a warm trickle ran down his neck. The back of his earring must have cut him. Lucky his attacker hadn’t seen it and tried to rip it out of his ear. He leaned closer to the brick wall to hide it. No sense losing everything.
The black man, so much bigger than Scott, pushed his hands out of the way and dug around for the cash, bruising Scott’s hip, crushing against Scott’s cock, ignoring the gasp of pain from his victim.
He pulled out the money and looked at the few carefully folded ones Scott had, then straightened as he went through it. “Shit, man, you ain’t got shit.” He sounded so disappointed. Disappointment was bad. Disappointment could get you killed.
Scott looked up from the ground and prayed the guy would just go away, not get any ideas, or get pissed and kick the living shit out of him. Or worse.
“Fuck you, you little faggoty cocksucker.”
The man put his hand on the wall, leaned against it, and drew back his foot, aiming for a hard kick in Scott’s ribs.
Scott curled into a ball, waiting for the first of many blows that would rain on him until he mercifully lost consciousness. Over the last few years, this wouldn’t be the first time or the last. Nothing to do but duck and cover.
“What the—” The man’s voice abruptly ended, cut off.
Scott peeked from behind his arms as they covered his face, protecting it.
A huge man, bigger than his attacker, had his hand around the throat of the guy, and his other hand, a tight black mallet of a fist, landed a punch in the guy’s gut...