Romance - Tigers - Australian accent Job # 17298

Job Posting Details

Job # 17298 Romance - Tigers - Australian accent

Posted Date
Dec 11, 2009 @ 08:01
Respond By
Dec 16, 2009
Word Count
English (Australian)
Age Range
Young Adult

Job Description

Gay Romance to be read for an audio book. 140,000 words. Please supply a sample of the below text. Prefer real Australian accent. Quote must include editing of errors and pauses. The content is not explicit - more like gay version of harlequin romance books.
Please let me know if you have any questions.
Toni Pallent

“Perfect night,” I sighed, and I fetched us fresh beers from the fridge. I had just sat
back down opposite Declan when Fran and Roger reappeared. The lack of firewood in
their hands proved that their excursion was little more than a ruse. Declan selfconsciously
adjusted the front of his shirt slightly, and I grinned to myself as I imagined
him stripping out of it later.
“No firewood?” I asked innocently.
“We’ve run out,” Fran said smoothly. “I should have realised. But I think it’s time
for lasagne!”
Roger took his seat at the foot of the table again while Fran busied herself with the
“Fran does the best lasagne,” I told Declan.
“Not as good as my mum’s,” Fran said self-deprecatingly, placing the gourmet
extravaganza in question on the table before us as artwork.
“I don’t know,” I said, “they’re pretty much on par.”
“Yeah,” Roger said, taking a swig of his beer. “Maybe you’ll try it one day,
Everyone froze uncomfortably for a second or so.
Declan broke it by smiling and saying quietly, “I hope so. But for now, I can’t
imagine anything tasting better than this.”
Fran rested her hand upon his arm briefly, and as she walked away she shot a glare
at Roger that only I noticed. Roger was too busy peeling the label off his beer bottle, a nervous habit that he had never seemed to grow out of. It also made me feel slightly
wary that something wasn’t quite right with him.
We started serving ourselves, and a huge bowl of garlic bread was passed around.
Fran and I had decided the no-garlic rule only existed for the first two weeks of a
relationship, so now I was home free and I made sure I loaded up my plate with the
offending foodstuff.
“Oh, this is good,” Declan said appreciatively after only the first bite.
“I told you,” I said while Fran looked pleased with herself.
“So, what are your intentions with Simon?” Roger asked out of the blue.
The question obviously took Declan by surprise, as he started coughing.
“Roger!” Fran exclaimed.
I stared my best friend down, trying to decipher his intentions. But his face might as
well have been carved from stone, and as such, was unreadable.
“I assure you,” Declan said smoothly, or just as smoothly as he could when a
mouthful of food has gone down the wrong way, “that my intentions with Simon are
completely honourable.” He was trying to be casual and a little bit fun, but judging by
Roger’s sudden change in body language it wasn’t going to go down well. Like that
mouthful of food.
“Uh huh,” Roger said. “But you’re not out, right?”
Declan shook his head and laid down his fork, drawing his own battle line. “Only to
a few people. But publicly out? You’d already know that if I was.”
Roger nodded. “Well, Simon is.”
“I know.”
“Roger,” I said calmly, although my voice scraped like unsheathed steel.
“No,” Declan said gently. “He wants to ask some questions. Let him get them out.”
Fran didn’t look as amiable. She looked as if she was going to slash her husband’s
throat with the spatula. A dull one, crusted with melted cheese.
“So what does that mean?” Roger continued.
“What does what mean?” I asked dangerously.
“Well, it seems like Simon is sacrificing a hell of a lot,” Roger said, still speaking to
Declan rather than to all of us. “What about you?”
“I know he is,” Declan agreed.
“Do you really?” Roger asked. He had now finished his beer and was pouring
himself a glass of wine. Strangely enough, he started politely pouring everybody else a
glass as well.
“I know it’s hard for him—” Declan began.
I interrupted him, mad as hell and upset that he was being made to justify himself.
“It’s a decision I made. I’m not going into this blindly, Roger.”
“And it’s not something my own friends haven’t pointed out to me,” Declan said.
Now I turned on him. “What?”
“Abe and Lisa said—”
“I thought they liked me?”
“They do!”
“But they talked to you about this—”
“Of course they did! What, Roger and Fran have never said anything about this?”
I fell silent, as he was right, and felt the gentle pressure of Fran’s hand upon my
shoulder. Strange that she should be the one trying to comfort me in this emotional
shitstorm—shouldn’t it be Declan?
“See?” Declan asked.
“What you’re asking him to do is squeeze back into the closet with you,” Roger
said. “And he shouldn’t have to, not when it took him so much to come out himself. He
shouldn’t have to go back.”
“Rog, shut up,” I warned him.
“I’m your friend, so I get to say this!” he shot back. “We want to see you happy!
And this situation is only going to get harder and harder! I mean, how long can you go
on like this?”
“We’re taking it as it comes,” I said, sounding unconvincing to everyone in the
“Declan?” Roger asked, obviously trying to see if he could get more out of him.
“How long can it go on like this? You going to give a big speech on your retirement
day? Or just let it leak out gradually after that? You’re only twenty-seven. You could
still play professionally for at least another six or seven years. Does Simon get to wait
around for that long, hiding in the shadows, pretending he doesn’t exist to the outside

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