Whiskey and Wry : Blog Hop
“Whiskey and Wry” by Rhys Ford.
Sequel to Sinner’s Gin
Sinners Series: Book Two
I’ve been a fan of Rhys Ford from the very first book of hers I read, Dirty Kiss. Cole and Jae *sigh*. Then Sinner’s Gin, the first in her Sinners series, came along. More hot menz, sure, but also the fantastic characters, the awesome storylines and the well-crafted mystery that she did oh-so-well in her Cole McGinnes series. And then there’s rockers. Be still my heart! Add in some big, sexy Irishmen and, well, that’s nigh on perfect! To celebrate the release of Whiskey and Wry, the second book in the Sinners series, Rhys has ever so kindly interviewed the delectable Miki St John and his brother from another mother (and father), Damien Mitchell. Take it away Rhys! ~ BookSmitten
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Sitting down with Miki St. John is always interesting. Reunited with Damien Mitchell, things go from interesting to explosive.
They are definitely a couple. Not in the traditional way two men connect with one another—a forever-romantic love and sex—but rather an entangled brotherhood rarely seen in modern days. Seeing them together on stage gives a fan only a hint of the bond between these two men. Up close and in person, that friendship is almost palatable.
I’d arranged to meet the boys of Sinner’s Gin and their lovers for a two-part series of interviews. Meeting them at a renovated warehouse Miki moved into following the band’s tragedy, there is no trace of sorrow in Damie’s face when he opens the door. He’s as cockily handsome as he is in the band’s past photos but there is a depth of shadows in his eyes, a passing darkness as Miki, his figurative twin, comes out of the kitchen to join us in the living room taking up a big chunk of the warehouse’s first floor space.
Both are relaxed and happy. Damie’s charismatic smile is in place as he takes a Gatorade from Miki and he waits until the other man settles down before perching on the couch next to him. Their shoulders touch and there is a brief moment of aggressive jostling, a childlike tug of play between them before they both burst into laughter, Damie’s baritone rolling under Miki’s rich tones.
Miki St. John is quite sexy in person, a slithering boneless man with a shy, sweet face. His hands are constantly in movement, picking at the bottle’s plastic ring or playing with the tear in his jeans’ knee. Damien is less fidgety but no less personable. Nearly aggressive with his charm, the guitarist provides a social buffer for his best friend, stepping in to fill any silences as we make small talk about the city they both love.
I show them a sheaf of paper with a small list of questions posed by fans and Miki’s nose wrinkles. Damien gives him another nudge and tells him to behave, then gives me permission to let the questions rip.
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First, thank you both for answering these. I appreciate it.
M: Not like we’re doing anything else.
D: What Miki means is that we’re delighted to. You have to speak fluent asshat with him sometimes. He’s cranky. We’re out of cinnamon brown sugar Pop Tarts.
M: Nice. Dick. He ate them.
Okay, let’s get started. Do you like apples?
D: Really, apples?
Don’t judge. She was shopping for apples.
Miki shrugs then says: Yeah, I like them a lot. The really dark red ones. And sweet. I like sweet apples. Not the green ones.
D: I like the green ones.
M: I just don’t want them to taste like potatoes. Blech. Gack.
From another fan: Why can’t you guys just eat? This fan implores you: Please eat all the things. Just eat all the things.
D: Shit, I eat all the time. Really, constantly. Miki’s the one who forgets. Or he eats shit.
M: I don’t know how to cook. I burn stuff.
D: You wander off and leave stuff on the stove. Or I’ll come into the kitchen and there’s a couple of dead corn dogs in the microwave. The dog gets fed a lot ‘cause when he does get food on a plate or something, he forgets it’s on the table and Dude helps himself. Your dog is fat.
M: Not my dog.
D: You keep telling yourself that, man. Whatever helps you sleep at night but eat some fucking food.
M: Yes, Brigid.
Damie eyes him: Cold, dude. That’s cold.
What do you do when not on tour or recording?
D: Eat. Write music. Hell, I don’t know. Play video games. I listen to a lot of music. I like going to Farmers Markets too. Those are cool.
M: Bullshit. He has sex. Everywhere. It’s disgusting.
D: Miki deep throats bananas in public.
M: Really? That’s the best you can do?
D: I was under pressure. Look, I had a head injury.
M: I was in a coma. Fuck you.
Will you send a fan nude photos of the band?
M: Dude, have you seen us? I’ve got a fucked up knee and D looks like he zombied up from the morgue. So no. I’m surprised anyone would fuck us.
D: I have a line down the front of my chest. It’s awesome. Sionn loves it.
M: D’s an exhibitionist. He and Dude walk around without any clothes on all the time.
Was it difficult for Damie to play the guitar for the first time?
D: Yeah. I was scared I was making all of this shit up. Like my head was all fucked up so maybe thinking I could play was all in my head. Playing Rock Band in the hospital fucked me up major because nothing matched with what my fingers were doing. First chance I got, I tried a real guitar.
Literally came in my pants when I could do scales. I could have fucking flown right then. That was good enough for me. I knew I wasn’t crazy.
Damien, what made you pick Finnegan’s??
D: I didn’t really pick Finnegan’s. Really, the old lady would kick your ass if you showed up there to sing or play. She liked jugglers. No. Really. Sionn loved his grandmother and shit but if she was scary. I really thought she was being nice sending Sionn out to kick my ass. Felt like shit to find out she’d died. I was sucking on my foot there.
Playing in front of a restaurant or bar can sometimes backfire. You don’t get as many tips in the afternoon because people think you’re part of the ambience. Evenings are good. Drunk people tip like crazy.
What part of your soul drew you to each other?
M: Shit, I don’t know how to answer that. I dunno. I guess I thought Damien was crazy but shit, what did I have to lose?
D: Yeah, he thought I was insane. Maybe even a pervert. Surprised he even followed me back to the place I was crashing.
M: I would have just kicked your ass.
Damien nods at me: Really, he could have kicked my ass. Probably still can.
M: We just fit, you know? I can’t explain it. It just is what it is.
D: I hate that phrase.
M: Suck it up. It’s all I’ve got. Coma? Remember?
What was the weirdest thing Dude ever stole?
M: Panties. Swear to fucking God, there’s got to be a strip club around here someplace because Dude keeps coming back with some of these crotchless things. I pick them up with some tongs I’ve got in the garage.
D: Dude! The alligator tongs? The ones next to the grill?
M: They’re on the bench. I use them for the panties and the icky shit the dog drags in.
D: Shit. I used those for the burgers we had the other day. I thought they were clean.
M: Well. Shit. Don’t tell the guys. They’ll fucking freak.
Were you ever tempted to hook up? Was Damien ever attracted to Miki or vice versa?
D: Great, like the dog tongs wasn’t bad enough? You trying to make me vomit?
M: Dude, you know we’re brothers, right? Shit. Ew. Fuck. Ew.
D: Never. Ever. Never even crossed my mind.
What does Damie think of Kane?
D: Shit, he’s cool. Really. I like him. He takes care of Miki.
M: I can take care of myself.
D: He ignores Miki when he says shit like that. Kane’s good at that. He needs to know when to listen sometimes though. Kane’ll get it in time. He just needs to learn when to step back though. You can tell he’s a cop.
Miki laughs: Yeah, sometimes. But fuck, he gets me.
They share a glance then a smile before Damien says: Yeah, Kane gets Miki. And that’s all I care about.
Miki have you ever or will you sing to Kane?
M: I sing to him all the time.
D: Shit, he sings in his sleep. Constantly. Want to change channels? Kick him.
M: Yeah, I sing a lot.
Last question: Will you ever start another band? Or do music professionally again?
D: Yeah We are. Both of us talked about it and came to the decision to start another band. There’s still a lot of music we want to write and I think the other guys… Dave and Johnny… they’d know we’d have to go on.
M: Fuck, I miss them. Really. I mean, it’s hard sometimes, you know? Because I keep expecting them to be around. They’re always going to be here. Shit, always.
D: No matter what we do, yeah—Dave and Johnny’s with us. It’ll take some time. We’re not going to just jump into it.
M: No, not that. D and I want guys—people—who’ll work with us. People we’ll like.
So you plan to go on the road with this band?
D: Yeah, it’ll be road trips and bars if we have to. We want to play music. It’s just something we do. Hell, even if we only play in the garage…
M: Someone else is gonna drive the GTO out. Not me.
D: Yeah, not you. But yeah, Miki and I are going to play on. Where doesn’t matter. Just that we do.
* * *
After thanking them for their time and looking for my left shoe which had somehow found itself under the couch, I left Damien and Miki at the warehouse. The music begins before I’ve even closed the front door and their laughter follows me out. I’m off to my next interview; one with Kane Morgan and Sionn Murphy. Now that I’ve spoken to the rock stars, it’s time to talk to the men in their lives—the other men in their lives, because one thing is for certain, Damien Mitchell and Miki St. John have definitely found one another again.
And according to them, they hope the world is ready for them.
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Sequel to Sinner’s Gin
Sinners Series: Book Two
He was dead. And it was murder most foul. If erasing a man’s existence could even be called murder.
When Damien Mitchell wakes, he finds himself without a life or a name. The Montana asylum’s doctors tell him he’s delusional and his memories are all lies: he’s really Stephen Thompson, and he’d gone over the edge, obsessing about a rock star who died in a fiery crash. His chance to escape back to his own life comes when his prison burns, but a gunman is waiting for him, determined that neither Stephen Thompson nor Damien Mitchell will escape.
With the assassin on his tail, Damien flees to the City by the Bay, but keeping a low profile is the only way he’ll survive as he searches San Francisco for his best friend, Miki St. John. Falling back on what kept him fed before he made it big, Damien sings for his supper outside Finnegan’s, an Irish pub on the pier, and he soon falls in with the owner, Sionn Murphy. Damien doesn’t need a complication like Sionn, and to make matters worse, the gunman—who doesn’t mind going through Sionn or anyone else if that’s what it takes kill Damien—shows up to finish what he started.
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About the Author :
Rhys Ford was born and raised in Hawai’i then wandered off to see the world. After chewing through a pile of books, a lot of odd food, and a stray boyfriend or two, Rhys eventually landed in San Diego, which is a very nice place but seriously needs more rain.
Rhys admits to sharing the house with three cats, a black Pomeranian puffball, a bonsai wolfhound, and a ginger cairn terrorist. Rhys is also enslaved to the upkeep of a 1979 Pontiac Firebird, a Toshiba laptop, and a red Hamilton Beach coffee maker.
Check out what Rhys is up to now by visiting her site rhysford.com