Jean C. Joachim's Blog: Stories of Love and Passion, page 18

TUESDAY TALES - PROMPT "FLAVOR"

Welcome! We're continuing with Bullhorn Brodsky's book this week. The word prompt "flavor" fits perfectly into the story. This book will be released within the next two weeks. 
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He put his turn signal on and backed up, getting ready to make a u-turn when she put her hand on his arm.“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”“Do you want to be with me or not?” His eyes were hard. “Because I’m done fooling around with this bullshit.”“Do you want to be with me?” A deep breath didn’t keep her voice from shaking.“Of course. I thought I made that damn clear. How many different ways do I have to say it, show it?” He put the car in park.“I’m sorry, so sorry, Sly. I never meant to. I mean, I don’t want you to think I don't want you. I do.” Words failed her. She leaned over, placed her hand behind his head and guided his mouth to hers. Bull leaned in. She pressed her lips to his, holding him to her. She slipped her tongue in. As soon as they touched, he jumped to life, pulling her closer. He took over, hugging her chest to his, ravaging her mouth. Desire flew through her veins. Her body heated as his fingers combed through her hair. She wound her arms around his neck as best she could with the gearshift in the way. His hand slid up her ribcage to cover her breast. Samantha’s breathing increased and she tightened her grip. Need rose in her, erasing all thought, leaving only the feel, flavor and scent of Sly Brodsky. He pulled back and dropped his hand.            “I guess you do,” he croaked out, his voice dry, his gaze warm.Color seeped into her cheeks. Losing control with a man in the front seat of a car wasn’t her style.   “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take advantage, but I needed to know.”“Know?”“How much you want to be with me or if it was just lip service.”“And now you know, what, exactly?”“Our physical connection is mutual.”
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TUESDAY TALES - PICTURE PROMPT

Welcome! This week is picture prompt week. We can only write 300 words. I'm continuing with Sly "Bullhorn" Brodsky's story this week. Hope you enjoy it. Click on the link below to return to Tuesday Tales and the excellent stories that await you there. 


Strolling home from The Savage Beast, they chatted. “Don’t like virgins?” “I prefer my women experienced.”“Your women? I thought you weren’t a player?”“I’m not. I don’t mess with virgins. Too many regrets, too many girls thinking it means a marriage proposal. Too complicated.” “I’m glad we got that out of the way.”“So am I,” he chuckled, shooting her a sexy look.“I’m being sarcastic, Sly. How many things do you have like that?”“Like what?”“Things that disqualify a woman from dating you.”“None. I don’t have any.”“Not true! You just said virgins are out.”“What the hell’s going on, Sam?”“It’s just what you said about virgins.”“I said I’m choosy. I don’t go with just any girl. I’m picky. I don’t want to spend my free time with a girl just for sex. She’s got to be someone I want to talk to, go places with, bring to games. You’re right. I do have a list. Here it is. No virgins, no dumb chicks, no alcoholics, no druggies, no smokers, no animal haters, no kid haters, no prissy girls fooling with their makeup all the time, no girls who spend their days shopping, no mean girls, no gabby girls, no girls who hate football. There. That’s the list. Satisfied?”His eyes glazed over and his lips compressed into a tight frown. He knit his eyebrows. Samantha held her breath for a moment. She tried to make eye contact, but he appeared a million miles away. Sam picked at a nail. Her mouth got dry and her eyes watered.  
“We don’t have to do this. I can take you home if you don’t want to be with me. I understand. Devon’s done a number on me with you.  I get it. No hard feelings.”
*************
Thank you for coming. Look for more of Bull's story next week. 
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RAMBLINGS OF A ROAD TRIPPER

   Since I don't intend to be on the road, driving, in the winter weather, I'm adding a subgenre to my road trip posts: road tripping in New York City. Even though I'm a native --born and bred heree, there are so many places I haven't been. 
   I will be making forays into new places by subway. That's right, getting off at a stop that's brand new to me, poking around the neighborhood, eating lunch and reporting back on what I've found --complete with my own pictures. Here are some I've taken today, at the Museum of Natural History --down the block from me.
    To kick this off, this week I'm posting about those who are road-tripping TO New York City for the marathon. 
  I'm going to be checking out my block to find the car that's traveled the farthest. Today I did see a Delaware license plate and a Maryland one. But they're small potatoes. The winner is...drum roll please:

MONTANA! Parked right on my block.
   Tourists are clogging the city. Central Park was mobbed yesterday afternoon. It's impossible to walk down the sidewalk without making way for runners, preparing for the marathon. 

   I shouldn't complain. The marathon brings a ton of revenue to the city. So, yes, welcome, you out-of-towners, and don't forget your credit cards. 
   I won't be trying to get into my favorite restaurant. I'll be content to stay inside and hawk the street looking for the rarest license plate --one that's traveled farther than Montana. 
   And taking pictures of our glorious fall trees. 
  Watch for my post on Sunday with the final count on the car that came the longest way to my fair city. 

Thanks for stopping by.

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TUESDAY TALES - PROMPT "GOLD"

Welcome! This week I continue with Bullhorn Brodsky's story. Thanks for coming. Don't forget to check out the fantastic stories on Tuesday Tales, use the link below. 


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The waiter seated them at a table in the corner. The furniture was bamboo with green and white print tablecloths depicting all sorts of plants. There were huge potted palms and other flora decorating the restaurant. Bull like the atmosphere, almost like a tropical rain forest. They ordered raspberry iced tea and a plate of hearts of palm and olives as an appetizer.
Samantha picked up the dish with the gold sun design in the center. “I don’t have dishes. So much to buy. I forgot how expensive it is to set up an apartment.” She sighed.“Let me help you. I can give you whatever you need.”She took his hand. “I can’t do that Sly. The point of moving out of my brother’s house was to be independent.”“Okay, so call it a loan. You can pay me back, uh…never. How’s that?”She smiled at him. “That’s so sweet. I just can’t. The director at the shelter is having surgery She asked me to take over while she recuperates. It’s only part-time, but that extra income along with my job at the Kings should do it.”“You’ll be working all the time. When will we get a chance to hang out?”He raised her hand to his lips.“I’ll still have time for you.”He gazed into her eyes and caught a glimpse of something warm. Was it desire? His heart beat a little faster. “I’ve never been to a place like this. Do you know anything about this kind of food?” He asked, his brow furrowed as he read the menu.“A little. I see those sweet potato fries,” she said, arching her eyebrows as she studied the offerings. “I’ll have those. What else?”“A veggie burger?”“With enough catsup, you can eat anything,” he said, but his voice didn’t ring confident.Sam laughed. They placed their orders, two veggie burgers and two sweet potato fries. While they waited for their food, Sam sipped her drink. Bull took her small hand between his. “What did you do before you worked for The Kings?”
“I worked in a small fashion boutique.”“I can believe it.”“What does that mean?” She raised her eyebrows.“I mean, you dress real nice. Beautiful. I can see you working in fashion.”“Oh. Thanks.” She looked down at their hands entwined.He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “You don’t think I’d say something nasty, do you?”“I’m still wondering why my brother doesn’t like you.”Sly sensed his face heating. “It’s just guy crap. You know we say stuff. Stuff about women. It doesn’t mean anything. I mean I’d never say anything like that about you.”“Did you say stuff about old girlfriends?”He shook his head. “Most guys just make stuff up.”“So you’re saying you’re a liar?” The waiter arrived with their food, interrupting their conversation. Bull shifted in his seat, looking for a way to change the subject. When the waiter left, she raised her eyebrows at him. “So?”“It’s not lying, exactly. Guys exaggerate.” He loaded a third of the catsup jar onto his burger.“Devon doesn’t do that, does he?”Sly laughed. “Oh yeah? If he doesn’t, then he’s been dating a couple of female gymnasts,” he chuckled. Samantha’s face reddened as she turned her attention to her food. They ate in silence for a while. He wolfed down the fries, then attacked the burger. Change the subject, muscle head.“Movie tonight?”

Thank you for coming. Come back next week for another installment. Back to Tuesday Tales
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TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "CORN"

Welcome to Tuesday Tales. This week starts a new story, that of Sly "Bullhorn" Brodsky, offensive lineman for the Connecticut Kings. This will be the next book in my First & Ten series. I'm writing it now, so it's a work-in-progress, just like Maggie's Story and Unpredictable Love. I hope you enjoy the excerpts, which will continue until the book is published. Caution: locker room language.


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As he climbed the stairs with a box of books balanced on his shoulder, Bullhorn Brodsky shook his head slightly to remove the sexy, come-hither, naked fantasy of Samantha Drake in his brain. His blood pressure returned to normal when he dropped his burden on the bedroom floor. The pretty, dark-haired young woman wearing snug jeans and a T-shirt sank down on the new bed. As their gazes connected, his libido cranked up his temperature.  “What’s next?” He wiped the sweat off his forehead on the bottom of his T-shirt. When he lowered it, he noticed she had been staring at his abs. A gentle flush stole into the apple of her cheeks. He smiled inwardly, gratified that all the hours he spent in the gym had paid off. “I’m grubby, I need a shower,” she said pushing to her feet to glance in the mirror. The next image to take over his mind was stepping into a steamy shower behind Samantha. He blinked a few times and took a deep breath.“You okay? Were the boxes too much?” Her dark chocolate brown eyes held concern.He laughed. “You kiddin’? That’s nothin’. I take down guys ten times that weight in every game. Geez. What do you think? I’m a pussy or something?”She made a face.“Sorry. I need to clean up my words.” He sensed color in his cheeks. He’d never had a girlfriend like Samantha Drake. She was smart, beautiful and nice –she did volunteer work at the New Life Shelter for battered women and kids. But she wasn’t his girlfriend, only a friend –with no benefits. He sighed. “Devon talks like that, too. You’d think football players never went to college.” She handed him a cold bottle of water. He downed the liquid. “What’s next?”She turned around in the room and sucked her lower lip between her teeth.“Bed. Books, clothes. Rocking chair. Hmm. How many boxes are still in the car?”“Two.”“Then that’s it. The place looks pretty empty.” She perched on the bed, tucking her feet under her.“You’ll have it furnished before you know it. Come on. I’m gonna bring those boxes up, then take you out to dinner.”“Thanks. Be right back.” Her thousand-watt smile turned his innards to jelly.He sat in the rocking chair while Samantha washed the dirt off her luscious body –or what he assumed was luscious. Sylvester “Bullhorn” Brodsky, known to his teammates as “Bull” had the hots for Samantha Drake, and it was keeping him up nights. While he waited for her to want him back, his imagination ran through a half dozen things he’d like to do to her under the warming spray of hot water. She was a little slip of a thing and he was huge. Six foot three inches tall and two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle, the offensive lineman could lift her up with one hand. Samantha joined him in the living room. She was wearing a red dress and red strappy sandals. “Wow, you look awesome.”  Is that corny?“Thanks.” They headed for the stairs. “My own key. Just for me,” she sighed, dangling the new key ring from her finger. “Yep. Independent.”“Where are we going?”“There’s a new place in town called The Greenery. It’s vegetarian. Salads and shit. Wanna try it?”“And shit? I don’t think I want to eat that. But a salad sounds good.”“Sorry, sorry.”She laughed. “I’m proud of you --going someplace that doesn’t have fries.”“I didn’t say that. Their fries are organic. Sweet potato fries.” He grinned as he opened the car door for her. *************Thanks for stopping by. Back to Tuesday Tales HERE . And click THIS to go to my website.

Ramblings of a Road Tripper

Welcome! Thanks for joining me. This new column is one that has been baking in the back of my brain. I take a few trips a year to conferences around the country and a few country excursions just for fun. This is my first Ramblings of a Road Tripper column about my car trip to Pittsburgh. Thanks for coming on board. I hope you enjoy the journey.


PITTSBURGH HO!
I love the backroads of Pennsylvania, especially in the fall. 
I first became acquainted with them when my son, Steve, and I were in our third construction traffic jam on the highway. We were bringing him to Juniata College and the delays were making me crazy. I tossed the map to him and said, "Get us to Huntingdon" as I pulled off on an unfamiliar exit.    He did a beautiful job finding lovely roads that wound this way and that, through heavily wooded areas or small, quaint towns and farms abutting the hilly road. (Note: these are all stock photos, not taken by me.)    When he graduated, my excuse for exploring these road through the Allegheny mountains went away. I missed those trips. Then Steve moved to Pittsburgh. When we bought a car, hitting the back roads was on my mind. 
   His birthday, October 1, was the perfect excuse for a road trip. Roads like this make me want to stay behind the wheel all day. 
   There are many roads like this on my trip and I'm loving it. 











    As I drive by small farms, and houses, I wonder how the people there live. What do they do for fun? What kind of jobs do they have? How far do they have to drive to the grocery store? To school? 




Fall in the Alleghenies is breath-taking, beautiful beyond desccription. Even the rolls of hay add to the picture. 






How do the farmers fare in the winter? Is it too costly to maintain the barn? Who plows for them? Do they heat their houses with wood cut from their own land? 


   One memorable tiny town is Mifflinville, population 1253 at the last census.  I love to drive through the short stretch of road that passes through the tiny town. It's familiar, so I know I'm not lost. 

   I'm not much of a winter driver. Ice, snow, cold and a deserted road in freezing temperatures represent peril, not pleasure to me. So I'll be home. But you can bet I'll be planning a spring road trip. In fact, I'm working on a romance writer reading and signing at a cafe in Huntingdon. But more on that when the time draws near. 
   Next column will include Pittsburgh itself.  Until then, thanks for stopping by. Wishing you fun and safe travels.
   Please leave a comment. I love feedback.


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TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "BOX" UNPREDICTABLE LOVE

Welcome to Tuesday Tales. This week is the last installment of the book, Unpredictable Love. I'm sorry to yank the story, but any further and I would be giving away the plot. I'm currently working on the book, so it shouldn't be too long before you can read the whole story. 
This week the prompt is "box". Thank you for your loyal following of this story. I have come to depend on you. Next week, I will be sharing some of the fifth book in the First & Ten series that I'm writing now. I hope you'll be back for that. 


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As Pine Grove blossomed that spring, Jory’s heart still hung heavy. She’d been living a seriously huge lie with Trent for months and the weight seemed to increase with every letter she received. There was only one way out. She had to tell him the truth.When she sat down to write a slight flutter in her chest made her hand shake. Where to begin?
Dear Trent,I know you’re falling for me, but I’m a liar and a phony.
She shook her head, balled up the paper and shot it at her waste paper basket. She missed.
Dear Trent,Sometimes things aren’t what they seem. People, too.
She shook her head, again and discarded the paper.
Dear Trent,It’s time I told you the truth. The real truth about who I am.
She took a deep breath and continued writing. This letter took her an hour and a half to pen. The sting of tears was so strong, she had to stop several times. Taking the gamble that he’d understand, by letter, and not toss her out on her butt made her heart hurt. Always clinging to the safe side of life, this time, Jory had ventured out on a tightrope without a net. She’d chided herself a thousand times not to take it farther. Each time a letter arrived, she opened it eagerly, drinking in his words of friendship and love. The letters had morphed. From discussions of birds and childhood experiences, their correspondence had taken a more intimate turn. Steamy scenarios exchanged on paper pulled her closer. Trent had declared his love for her in the last letter. It had pushed her over the edge. She had to come clean now. Although she hadn’t made her feelings clear, she knew she loved him, too, and it ate her up.When she finished the letter, she cried herself to sleep. It sat on her dresser for several days. She agonized over whether to send it or not. Maybe she should take her chances when he got back? If you really love him, you have to do the right thing. You owe it to him. Friday morning, Jory screwed up her courage. She handed the letter to Nan. “What’s wrong, honey?”“This is it, Nan. The letter. Where I tell him the truth.”Jory headed for the door and her walk to work. She passed a mailbox. It used to signify such hope for her. Now it only reminded her that a man she shouldn't love would soon be out of her life. She blinked back tears and continued on her way, dreading the day, the hour, the minute when she'd receive his angry reply. Or worse. No reply at all. 
TO BE CONTINUED....This is the last Tuesday Tales post on this story. If I continue, I'll give away the whole book. Stay tuned for information on the release date for Unpredictable Love.  Thank you for hanging in with me on this one. 

Next week I will begin sharing Sly "Bullhorn" Brodsky, Offensive Line here. I hope you'll be back to check out that story, the fifth in the First & Ten series. 
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TUEDAY TALES, PICTURE PROMPT

This week we have a picture prompt and a limit of 300 words. Here's another installment in my new book, Unpredictable Love, co coming out soon.Thanks for stopping by. Click the link below to return to the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
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Jory lifted her fork, ready to dig into her Aunt’s beef stew pie, but stopped short.“I wonder what Trent gets to eat?”  She dug her fork into the savory food.“Probably shit on a shingle,” Tiffany said, taking a forkful of the heart meal.“Meaning?” Jory cocked an eyebrow.“Crappy stuff. Yucky, smelly, disgusting.” Tiffany made a face and shivered.“You don’t know. Can’t feed them garbage if they have to fight.”Later that night, driven by curiosity, the older sister wrote to her military friend. In two weeks, she had a reply.
On base we get hot meals. Not like home, but okay. Even fast food sometimes. In the field, we get MRE’s. Meals, ready to eat. They’re pretty bad. Some parts, like the bread and peanut butter and cookies are okay. But the main course stuff is brutal. I got hungry visualizing your aunt’s meat pie. Would you make one for me when I get home?
“Aunt Nan,” Jory called from her attic room. They met up in the kitchen.“Can you teach me how to make beef stew pie?”When her aunt stared at her with narrowed eyes, the young woman explained.“Sure. I can teach you. But when he returns stateside, how are you going to explain to him that you’re not Tiffany? Or rather, Tiffany isn’t you?”“I haven’t figured that out yet. Maybe we’d better forget it. I mean, when he returns, this charade’ll be over, right? He probably won’t speak to me again, so I don’t need to learn.”Nan grabbed her niece’s elbow and steered her back into the room.“If it’s not this man you’ll be cooking for, there’ll be another.”“I don’t think so. But what the heck.” Jory donned an apron.“You give up too easy.”

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TUESDAY TALES - UNPREDICTABLE LOVE

Welcome! Tuesday Tales is back with the word prompt "glass" this week. We're back with Jory and "Unpredictable Love." Thank you so much for coming. Click on the link below to return to the fabulous writers of Tuesday Tales.
*************Jory was home first. She mixed a vodka and tonic, added cubes and swirled the liquid to mix it, listening to the clink of  the ice against the glass. Her sister and her aunt were out living their lives. Both had dates. It was eight o’clock, Jory had just left the newspaper office. She stretched out on the sectional sofa and put her feet up. After a big swig, she plucked the skinny envelope out of her purse and eyed it with suspicion.  You’re still writing to me? Why? There must be a thousand women who’d write you sexier letters than mine. She slipped her finger under the flap and tore it open. She extracted a thin piece of paper with scrawl on both sides. Another gulp of her drink gave her courage. She unfolded the paper.
                   Dear Jory,      I shouldn’t be surprised to find there aren’t many birds here. Guess with all the shooting, they got scared away. But there’s one persistent one. I think he’s a hawk of some kind. Binocs here aren’t used for bird watching. You know what I mean. He’s not big, but definitely a raptor. I watch him scan for rodents.      Seems like we’re both doing the same thing. I don’t eat mine, though. I’ve seen him on and off for the past few days. I call him as “Rocky”, cause he’s gotta swoop down pretty low to see between the rocks sometimes. Anyway, he’s tough and Rocky is a tough name. I miss the birds at home. The little  finches. They’re tiny compared to Rocky and he’s not even big. But they are pretty. They come to my feeder and don’t mind if I watch them.
Wish I could be there with you on a stormy night. I’m not afraid of storms. Never have been. Here’s there’s too much else to scare the shit out of you. A little thunder would be a relief.               Had a few other things in mind to do with you on a rainy night, but I’d better keep this clean. You know where my head’s at. Hope you don’t meetsome normal guy who isn’t sleeping with a gun and naming birds.                                  Please keep your letters coming. They give me hope.                                                                              Yours,                                                                             Trent  

          Jory put her drink down long enough to wipe her eyes. Then she chugged the rest, tucked his letter away, sliding it under a red ribbon. She pulled out fresh paper and pen. 
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TUESDAY TALES - UNPREDICTABLE LOVE CONTINUES - PROMPT "GRIM"

Welcome! The word prompt today is "grim". We're back with PREDICTABLE LOVE, an evolving story. Return to the glorious Tuesday Tales writers with the link below. Thank you for stopping by. 


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   Archie Baldwin strolled by Jory’s desk at the newspaper and stopped. He leaned on the corner.    “After that piece on the soldier, I suppose you don’t want to go out with tame old me anymore,” he said, making eye contact for a few seconds before lowering his gaze.   “I’m simply writing him letters, Archie. I wouldn’t know him if I fell over him.” She turned her attention back to her computer and continued typing.    “Does that mean you’ll go to the concert with me?”She looked up, her lips compressed into a grim frown, and nodded. Archie leaned over to whisper in her ear. “And spend the night?”   “Nope,” she replied, turning her attention back to her work. “What’s the point?” He face flushed. “I spend all this money on you and you won’t sleep with me.”“Keep your voice down.”“It’s the truth. I’m the one who should be ashamed, not you.”“So it’s about money? Doesn’t that make me a hooker if I sleep with you?” She drew her gaze from the keyboard to meet his and cocked and eyebrow. “You twist everything I say. Forget the concert. I’m done, Jory. I like you well enough, but this celibacy thing. It’s not for me.”   Wounded by his words, she sat back. “Just out for sex, eh? Forget it, Archie. Goodbye.” She made a shooing gesture with her hand.    “You don’t get it. Fine. We’re done.” He stormed off in a huff.    Gladys in the advertising department peered over the smoky glass partition at Jory. A sharp glance from the journalist sent the nosy older woman back to her computer.    Jory sat back and sighed. Thanks for breaking up Archie and me, Trent. Now I’ll have to spend every night alone. She pulled her pen from its perch, shoved into the bun on the top of her head. She gnawed on the end, then threw it on the desk.   She chuckled to herself. “Actually a night spent with Archie is the same as being alone,” she mumbled.    He walked by, stopped and retraced his steps. “I can’t fire you. Sexual harassment and all. Besides, you’re good. But watch your step.  You give me one good reason and you’re outta here.” He sported a smug grin she’d never seen before as he headed for the front door.    Can he fire me? Maybe. Screw him. Her brow furrowed as she returned to typing. 
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