Riley Murphy's Blog, page 33

IN THE MOOD….

Well, someone was when we got into bed last night. Here’s the conversation,
Honey, “I’m so glad you’re finished your book video. Now you can relax and maybe take the day off tomorrow.”
I grunt because I’m too tired to speak.
“You’re so tense. The muscles in your neck feel like iron. Relax.”
I say nothing as his massaging feels pretty good. Besides I’m too tired to speak remember?
After a full minute he asks, “Are you relaxing? It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Yeah,” I mumble into the pillow.
“Good.”
After another full minute ticks by I’m sinking. So ready to drop off to sleep when he curls down to whisper, “Do you like when I do this?”
“Sometimes,” I whisper back.
*crickets* and then he asks, “Is this one of those times?”
And there’s me laughing my ass off. The guy freaking cracks me up. How could I say no? Hehehe.
Hey, did you hear, though? I finished the book video for STARE ME DOWN!!!! I’m just waiting for final approval from the higher ups a.k.a my children. Did I mention that they are both opinionated? Good thing they’re smart and have good taste otherwise I’d be really mad when I tell Honey I published the sucker and he says, did you run it by the kids first? Man, I get no respect around this place. Can’t wait for everyone to see it! Oh, and I also added it on goodreads. You can click on the cover if you would like to add it.

Riley  

NEW COVER LOVE!!!!! NEW COVER LOVE!!!! NEW COVER LOVE!!!!

*****THIS WILL BE RELEASED IN MAY****

 

I THINK IT’S TIME FOR A BOOK GIVEAWAY!!!!

To celebrate Required Surrender hitting Amazon’s Top 100 Best Seller’s list in not only the US but in Canada too – how awesome is that, eh? And me hitting two of Amazon’s Top 100 Best Selling Author’s lists as well – I’m going to be doing a eBook giveaway. Just leave a comment and I will be pulling a name out of a hat…actually it’s a beret in honor of my next heroine’s fashion sense. Anyway, just leave a comment and on Monday April 1st 2013, I’ll post the winner. Now the cool part about this is, the winner can choose any book from my back list or they can be the first to get my next release once it’s out in May. Click on the picture below to read an excerpt of that one.

 

Or click the cover below for a peek at my other books.

Thanks for playing!
Riley

 

Psst…YOU WANNA MEET MY NEW HERO AND HEROINE?

Stare Me Down, will be out in May.

 

 And guess what? I have been offered an original song to put to my book video. It is SO awesome (the song I mean) totally romantic and *sigh* what a great opportunity. To say that I’m thrill would be understating the matter completely. I can’t wait to share it with you guys! But until then, if you hop on the link below, I have two excerpts. One is fun and the other is a smexy one.
Boy, I can’t stop smiling. Oh…and humming. The song gave me chills when I heard her sing it. Goosebumps, yeah that was what I got. *SQUEE!
Click on the photo to meet my guys…

Golf…

I have brought this game up several times in my blog. There was this time, for instance here, You Know You Are Going To Hell when… and this time Uh Oh when Honey went out with his “golfing buddies” and stuck me with one of their wives who didn’t exactly approve of me. *insert hair flick here* Yeah, whatever. But most recently (last Saturday to be exact) I discovered why I’m usually treated as the pariah or, at the very least, with polite contempt when the “girls” and I are stuck hanging out together the odd time over the course of a year.
They make me feel less than welcomed because of Honey. Yep, I know I was shocked too. Not really. Well kind of. He’s usually so private about he and I and well…stuff.
Anyway, for three years he’s had this group he golfs with “occasionally” and less frequently than that the wives are brought together when the guys go out on the course. We usually do a big dinner. It’s great. Really. I get the silent, actually, it’s more like the “we barely tolerate you” treatment until the guys get back and then all of us eat and life is wonderful. I never say anything to Honey, because what’s the point? Quite simply, this is one time he enjoys himself and I don’t. I figure it’s a fair trade off as it’s the other way around the rest of the time in our lives. Poor guy.
Here’s the conversation on the way home.
Honey, “I can’t believe I lost by one stroke. (insert blah, blah, here as I tune out all the shite about how he laid-up and missed the chip shot. Or worse, how he got to the green in two on a par four and then three putted. *gasp* riveting) Now ( insert my ears perking up when I hear) The guys were laughing their asses off when we tallied, but they did offer to let me adjust my score card so I could claim my reward.”
“And how would they know about that?” I must pause here a moment to admit that I don’t think Honey has enough pressure going out onto the course with three guys who play golf semi-seriously, so I always come up with a special *reward*
“I told them.”
Hm. Him not tripping over that admittance assured me of many things, but the most important? “Do you always share my promised rewards with those guys?”
“Sure,” he chuckled.
He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Good thing, as he’d be burned to cinders from my glare and gee, he was needed behind the wheel at the moment. But when we got home…? *insert that annoying piano one note from Eyes Wide Shut, here* He was in deep doo.
 “And oh yeah, Tony won, so he said he’d be over at ten tonight to collect.”
Alrighty. He wanted to play this one casually, I could too. “I would have thought his own wife could manage, but if you insist.”
Now he laughed and it was the one that made it hard for me not to smile even though I was pissed. “You know I’d never let happen. And as to his wife managing? She gave up matching your kinds of rewards the second game out in ’09.”
The memory of a few of those “kinds” rewards came tripping back up memory lane. No wonder the wives treated me like a leper at a nudist colony. And they say women gossip? *shakes head* I was going to get mad at Honey the moment we got home, but I changed my mind. I decided he’ll be punished enough when the next time he goes out with those guys there are no added incentives to win forthcoming from me. I’ll just keep quiet and wish him luck. Wow, talk about stress. He’ll be sweating the whole game as this will be so unlike me. *Cracks knuckles* I think I just killed two clubs with one golf ball. The Strutting Rooster Club shall have nothing to chatter about on the course and The Glaring Hens Association shall have no one to disparage because now that I can blame their less-than-welcoming attitudes on Honey, there’s no need for me to tag along, right? *sigh* Maybe Honey should get that reward after all. He may not have won last Saturday, but now that I think about it? I do believe I did. Yay!
Riley

Life Comes Full Circle…

At least that was what I was thinking as I watched my mother’s deceased fish swirl around in the filter bubbles. But before I get to this very deep and complex epiphany I am going to share, you need to know a few things. First? The fish. His name is “Skipper” and he’s destined to be the oldest living Beta fish around once Honey buys the next one today to carry on the never ending life of Skip. Second? My mother needs glasses and a talking to about basic common sense because you gotta know a fish floating flat on top of the water in the same circle over and over again is dead. But nope, she’s still feeding him and wondering why he isn’t eating. Meh, she’s not complaining though as she has assured me this is the liveliest the poor guy’s been in a week.
Anyway, here’s the epiphany that came to me while I’m making plans on how to bury the body and host the resurrection with Grandma being none the wiser.
When my daughter was younger I tried so hard to shelter her from death because she had her whole life ahead of her and I didn’t want her scared by things dying. I figured everyday life was hard enough even for a six-year-old, so I kept up continually replacing Fred. (Why yes she watched the Flintstone’s) Then yesterday, whilst I was hypnotized by the churning corpse in my mom’s fish tank, the thought that this was no different came to me. Only with my mom I’m trying to shelter her from dying things because the majority of her life is behind her. A very sad but true fact.
So here’s the conversation I had with Honey a few minutes ago:
“Thanks for getting the fish. I don’t want mom upset.”
“Over the death of a fish? It isn’t even a good one.”
“This is SO not about the fish and you know it.”
“Are we back to that again? Your mother has lived a good long life.”
Me *blink, blink* then, “What does that have to do with the price of eggs?”
“Well, life is for the young so…?”
Imagine me gasping, no choking over that one. Because in terms of how the eggs related to all this? He and aren’t exactly spring chickens anymore. Wtf? The guy was—I’d say short sighted, but that didn’t even cut it in this instance. Stupid, yeah that’s what he was.
I stare right at him. “You better hope that when our time comes it’s me that goes first.”
He scowls as oddly enough he doesn’t like to talk about death and me in the same sentence. He does, however, love to expound upon the topic of his own demise and how I would spend the rest of my spinsterhood pining away for him. Hmm.
His tone is low and serious. “You know that better not happen.”
“I’m convinced it should. I mean, who else will stand at the gates and beg the divine one to let you in? Certainly not all the “old” people you deemed had lived long enough.”
Him *blink, blink* then, “Are you suggesting I’m going to hell because I’m honest?”
“No. I’m suggesting you’re going to hell for being an ass.”
*shakes head* Men!
Riley

 

 

SEX, LIES AND SOMEONE WHO JUST WON’T SHUT UP ABOUT IT!!!!

Again, seriously people? This is the title I have to post to get you to click? All right, pipe down. No judging. I promise. Where was I…?
Oh, yeah.
The one who won’t shut up. That would be that bird I blogged about here.
Now, the lies come in to play because Honey lied when he promised we wouldn’t be bothered at night when we were…well, you know, as birds are sleeping. Good thing, right? Don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be bothered when, well…you know. So, I’m like okay, I’ll deal with the annoying squawking bugger all day. I mean I love animals probably more than Honey and Honey has had Steven King to deal with. (I blogged about him here)
So here’s the progression of our hostage taking.
The bird known first as the “little guy” Actually I think Honey called him “cute little guy” at first, moved into our backyard and chirped most of the day. Every day. And I kid you not, there are only two things a guy sings so enthusiastically about. He’s either putting something into his woman or she’s pushing something of his out. Truthfully? I’m thinking how long can this last? If it’s sex not long and if it’s birth not too long either, right?
Wrong.
He is singing all day and half the night, most nights. We can’t keep the doors open, bad enough, but worse is the fact that you can still hear him and just two nights ago he discovered the hanging lantern on my bedroom patio. Now he perches there and sings, sings, sings. Seriously, I don’t know where he gets the energy.
He went from being called, “The cute little guy” to “Relentless” to “The Relentless little shit who has a mind of his own.”
And now? There’s no sugar coating it. He is “The Little *ucker”. But work with me here. The bird (which is no more than an inch and a half high) has to give up sometime right? This is what I say to Honey a 4 o’clock this morning when we’re both staring at the ceiling.
“Don’t they migrate, or something?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
He turns his head to look at me. “Should I go ask him?”
“Yes and while you’re out there shoo him away.”
“I’m not going outside at this hour. I’m naked.”
“So.”
“He’ll settle down in a minute.”
After a full three minutes goes by and he’s still chirping, honey throws off the duvet, “F%$# Hell!” He whips open the slider and disappears. I hear a couple of claps and some rustling before he comes back in. “There. Peace and quiet.”
Unfortunately his head barely hit the pillow when our Little effer started again. Only this time he was twice as loud.
Honey looks right at me and scowls, “Does he sound louder to you?”
Being that I was wide awake I stopped whispering and answered, “Yep.”
I was expecting him to get up again or at the very least be pissed, so when he chuckled I was curious. “What’s so funny?”
“He reminds me of the kids.”
I’m looking all over the place trying to connect those dots, but I come up empty. “How?”
“They always made me pay when I got mad at them. Do you remember the time…?”
So there we were, just like that other night the little guy woke us up, doing something unexpected at 4:15 in the morning. Honey and I played “can you top this” as we swapped amusing antidotes of how we tortured our children with our child rearing methods. (And, hey, by torture I don’t mean actual. I mean the kind of planned and plotted psychological mind-melding that’s impressive and…well, you get the idea) I was laughing so hard at one point I was crying. And after a while when we gave it much thought and deliberation Honey and I decided we should quit bitching about the Squawker and just adopt him. He’s such a stubborn pain in the ass it’s like he’s already one of our own.
I think I’ll call him Oscar.
Riley

 

BDSM IN A MARRIAGE CAN BE FUN

I’m often asked about this. I write about it. I blog about it. Well, mostly I blog about my honey, but it counts, right? So it got me to thinking. I usually share the broader side of our life with you guys because I’m such a private introverted person. *dodges massive lightning bolts* Anyway, I’m going to share a typical negotiation between Honey and I when he gets a smutastick idea. And trust me on this, he gets a lot of them. 0_o
To set the scene he has just pulled out the directions, diagrams, aerial photos complete with testimonials and the FBI surveillance tapes. Okay, I might be joking on the last because the Federal Bureau has a tendency to frown on leaked videos, ya know? So there I am peering down at the blanket of “educational material” through my suddenly steamed up readers and I’m wondering if he’s for real.
I wait for my glasses to defog and glare up at him over their rims, “You’re serious about this?”
“Yeah.”
The second that comes out I know he’s totally invested in getting me to agree as he didn’t so much say the word as he breezed it. He never breezes about the topic of sex. I do a double take at the materials and shake my head. “No.”
“Oh, don’t be so quick to shoot it down.”
Easy for him to say. “No.”
It’s at this point he starts pacing. I think he does this to distract me, but in this instance I’m focused in on the material so I’m basically ignoring him until he offers.
“We can do it in stages.”
“Nope.”
“On the bed.”
“No.”
“On the floor.”
“No.”
“Up against the door.”
Freaking hell. Now I have this Dr. Seuss erotic rhyme thing going on in my head and before I know it I’m mentally working out how I can parlay a sexy short poetic book into the marketplace, when I hear him.
“In the swimming pool.”
This is when I know he’s just making shit up. So I call his bluff.
“Okay.”
He stops pacing and nearly trips over the ottoman. “Okay?”
“Yeah, but…” I snatch up a Post It Note and write down three words. When I stood up I stuck the yellow square on his chest and patted it down saying, “You have to buy these three items at the triple X store first. No cheating by ordering online. I want to see the receipt—” my wheels are spinning a mile a minute here, “—with the manager’s signature on it. In fact I want you to get the manager to put a smiley face right beside the dotted line.” Meh, that last was the equivalent of a cherry-on-top.
“Done.”
I walked away thinking now he’s calling my bluff, but two days later when I found the three items on my dresser with that receipt, signed and stamped with not only a smiley face, but what I’m assuming was a sloppy thumbs up, all I could do was LMAO!
The silly man was so focused in on winning and getting his way I highly doubt he gave those three items a second thought. Because, HELLO! If he had he probably shouldn’t have bought them. *Dusts off palms with a sense of heady satisfaction* At least now I have a few things to use as leverage when we revisit his smutastick plans. Heheheh. Poor guy he has no idea what he’s in for. *twirls my invisible handlebar mustache before I get ready to tie him to the tracks* I’ll keep you Post It.
Riley

WHAT MAKES A GUY A MAN?

Valentine’s Day got me to thinking. For me it’s the little things, but before I get to those I wanted to share something else.
When I first started my blog, I always referred to Honey as The Boy. I did so because my dad was alive at the time, and well…from the first day Honey arrived at our door to pick me up for a date my dad called him ‘the boy’. It kind of stuck after hearing it over decades. In fact, even after we were married, had two children who grew up and went off to college, my dad would always ask, “When’s the boy going to be home?” He loved to shoot the breeze with the boy.
So when dad passed in 2011 I had a hard time calling Honey, The Boy. Doing so always reminded me of my dad. Which wasn’t such a bad thing, only that it was painful. I mention this and bring up my dad because in terms of what makes a guy a man, Honey being called ‘The Boy’ for most of a lifetime – immortalized even in my blog – has to qualify as one of the little things he did for me. Actually, it’s kind of big if you weren’t man enough to take it, you know what I mean? Never did Honey complain about the title. Not when dad said it and not when I wrote it over and over week after week on this site.
Other little things that make my guy a man to me? Well, he makes sure my car is all filled with gas. My tire pressure is always perfect. The car is backed into the garage so all I have to do is drive out. I suspect that last one is for both of us as it’s illegal to drive without taillights AND there wouldn’t be any. Heck there’d be no backend as I totally SUCK
Honey makes sure that the flowers I love in the garden always get watered. Yeah, I suck at remembering to sprinkle most days. He cuts himself nearly every week on the deadly thorns of the bougainvillea bush that has to be tamed and yet, I still insist we keep anyway, in the backyard. And speaking of our circle-of-life backyard, he’s saved our pain in the ass resident squirrel, Steven King, from death by hawk once and then secretly nursed him back to health. So yeah, I could continue to add the little’s that make my guy a man to me, but after yesterday even those things seemed insignificant in light of what he did. Again, it wasn’t big and it was only important to those I love. So yeah, for me this gesture trumped all the little’s he’s done for me over the years.
After spending a very hectic day with clients I was just wrapping up my work when Honey called me. Here’s the conversation.
How’s your Valentine’s day going?
Busy.
Okay, I’ll go to the store. Did you think of anything else we needed?
No, I’ll see you at home in an hour or so.
It was more an hour and half and when I got there Honey wasn’t home. I got changed, took the Red Devil out for a walk and started dinner when he came through the door. Of course he had beautiful gladiolus for me. They’re my favorites, but he also had a huge bouquet of Daylilies. Those are my mother’s favorites and when I saw them I blinked. In all the busy life stuff I had going on I’d forgotten that this was Valentine’s Day for her too.
Honey hadn’t forgotten. And when I heard him deliver those flowers to my mom and say, “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady” exactly the way my dad used to bring those lilies to mom on Valentine’s day? I knew then, that where ever daddy was at that moment The Boy was now The Man.
I can’t explain how much this meant to me. All I can say, is this was the best Valentine’s Day present, Honey ever got me! My mom was walking on air for the rest of the night and I know someone up there daddy was smiling because of it.
Riley

Awww…

Rawr…


Okay, before I get to the striped guy I have to say, thank you to the readers who reached out to me over the weekend when they couldn’t find Required Surrender on Amazon. It took a little longer to show up than expected, but it’s all good now. Made for a hectic weekend though and this would explain the guy above. Okay, here goes.
So there I am yesterday getting ready for the day. I do have other than writing work to do – I know, shocking isn’t it? Anyway, when I’m not doing that “other” work I’m sitting doing my writing, so in order to fit into my office chair I have to exercise at some point, right? With that in mind, Honey turned our son’s old room into a casual gym for me. Yay! I call it my torture chamber (but don’t tell him because he really worked hard on it, okay?) Anyway, yesterday I went in to do my run and there on the top of the treadmill Honey had left the stuffed animal with the caption, “Go get ‘em, tiger!” He’s very supportive of my writing career. In fact, I think he loves release days more than I do. There I was grinning from ear-to-ear reading the rest of his note (and no, I’m not going to tell you what he promised in it, but I will say he delivered on that promise last night! He delivered good! ) Erm, where was I again? Oh, yeah, reading the last of the not that said, “Squeeze him.” So I scooped up the tiger and when I squeezed, he roared. It was a really fake and totally lame kind of a growl that had me LMAO! I don’t know why, but a guy like Honey picking out such a silly thing for me at this stage in our lives really tickled my funny-bone. I just keep squeezing him to hear it. I just did it again. Crap, it’s addictive. But isn’t he cute? And I don’t mean the tiger. Although he’s cute too.


Riley