Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney's Blog, page 102

Breakaway by A.M. Johnson

Title: Breakaway Author: A.M. JohnsonGenre: Sports RomanceCover Design: Bex Harper Designs Release Date: March 15, 2018


Blurb
As Tampa Bay's star center, Mark Carmelo's life was hockey, and after a bitter and public break up, all he wanted to do was focus on the game.  Until he saw her. The one that got away. The one he thought he'd never see again.
For thirteen years, Stevie West drowned in her lackluster life. Recently divorced from her “roommate” with passionless benefits, she was ready to start over. On her own.Until she ran into him.  The same man she'd met one year ago. The temptation that had finally given her the courage to find herself again.  
When lightning strikes twice, there’s no way to deny the chemistry it creates. But with both of them still nursing old wounds, Mark and Stevie will have to find a way around the other's defenses, a way to breakaway and score the one thing they never expected… love.

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Author Bio
Amanda lives in Utah with her family where she moonlights as a nurse on the weekends.
If she’s not busy with her three munchkins, you’ll find her buried in a book or behind the keyboard where she explores the human experience through the written word.
She's obsessed with all things Austen and Oreos, and loves to connect with readers!

Stay up to date by signing up for her newsletter here: http://bit.ly/NewsLetterAMJBooks 


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Lost Ones by Nicole French

Title: Lost OnesSeries: Bad Idea Series #2Author: Nicole FrenchGenre: New Adult Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Raglan DesignsRelease Date: March 14, 2018


Blurb
Six months ago, I gave my heart to a girl. 
Beautiful, kind, and sexy as sin, she's the only person who saw past my record or the color of my skin. Who ever saw me for me. 
She loved me enough to let me go, let me leave this city to find my own path. 
But without her, I drift, lost without direction. Without me, she spirals, desperate for connection. 
I gave my heart to a girl, and she gave hers to me. 
But love shouldn't hurt this much. 

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Author Bio

Nicole French is an East Coast/West Coast hybrid creature, Springsteen fanatic, hopeless romantic, and complete and total bookworm. When not writing or teaching about writing, she is hanging out with her family, playing soccer with the rest of the thirty-plus crowd in Seattle, or going on dates with her husband. In her spare time, she likes to go running with her dog, Greta, or practice the piano, but never seems to do either one of these things as much as she should.

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HEADS WILL ROLL by Joanie Chevalier

HEADS WILL ROLLA Medical Thriller
by Joanie ChevalierPublication Date: May 21, 2017
Genre: Medical Thriller/Horror


What if, in the near future, we could choose the body we wanted? We could visit a store front, much like a neighborhood mom-and-pop shop, and we’d see all the available bodies lined up in a glass-enclosed case. We’d be able to choose the body we wanted, purchase it, have an operation, and wham bam! wake up with our new body.

Dr. Farkis begins his head transplant operations in secret in Oakland, California and Tokyo, Japan. When news filters out about his revolutionary surgery, individuals from all walks of life come forward, desperate for a new body and an improved life that only Dr. Farkis can offer. We meet: Barry, so frantic for a new body, he stalks the doctor and bargains with a menacing ultimatum; Aiko, father of 19-year-old Kaneko, who demands that she undergo the operation to become more attractive to snag a husband; and finally, Baby, who finds out the hard way that demanding a new body may end up being fatal.

Choosing the perfect physique from a smorgasbord of available bodies may seem like a dream . . . until it becomes a nightmare.


“I’m saying that you can’t leave.” Farkis shrugged nonchalant. “Not now that you’ve heard about our little operation here. You see, once you have the surgery, we erase your memory of the pre-consultation. Instead, you’ll think you were on a fat farm for six weeks.” The doctor looked proud. He leaned in towards them. “That was my idea, by the way. The fake memory,” he whispered. “Clever, eh?” 

“Of course,” he added, “you can leave after you recover from the operation, since you won’t remember anything. And if you see anyone with a faint scar around their neck in the future, because this is sure to catch on, you know, you’ll be conditioned to ignore it.” 

Denny stopped pacing. “Is this a joke?” His eyes looked wild, like a caged animal’s. 

“If it’s a joke, it’s not funny,” Baby added. Her voice trembled and she hiccupped. 

“Oh, believe me. It’s not a joke.” 

Farkis stood up from the desk and walked over to the wall adjacent the door. He pressed a fist-sized red button. The wall behind the chalkboard slid open. A cold blast of air swept into the room as if a freezer door had been left open. 

“Follow me,” the doctor commanded. “I’ll show you the available bodies. You can choose the one you like.” He grinned, directing his comment to Baby. 

“Well, as long as I don’t have any long-lasting scars…” Baby commented in a soft, distant voice. 

The crazy doctor then turned to Denny. “Of course, I’ll need a $1.2 million deposit from you, dear Mr. Denny. Don’t worry,” he added when he noticed Denny’s face became flushed with astonishment. “Baby’s already given me a few of your account details…” 

Before Denny could protest and insist that the doctor show them out ASAP, they’d stepped inside the cold room. That’s when he saw frozen, naked bodies stacked up on a Ferris wheel-like contraption. Denny promptly fainted. 

Baby stepped over him and followed the doctor. She couldn’t wait to pick out her new body.

March 4, 5, & 6

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Joanie Chevalier works full-time in beautiful San Francisco as a legal assistant. She also freelances as a content editor for indie authors. She loves camping in her teardrop trailer and she thinks her two Chihuahuas are adorable.

Her writing is a blend of everything she likes to read: Suspense, horror, crime, psychological, non-fiction, and a good short story. She's had several of her shorts in anthologies and she's always on the lookout for more ideas.


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Hard Crush by Mira Lyn Kelly

Title: Hard CrushAuthor: Mira Lyn KellyGenre: Contemporary RomanceRelease Date: March 6, 2018


Blurb
HARD CRUSH is a sizzling standalone romance from USA TODAY Bestselling author Mira Lyn Kelly.
A jaded billionaire.The girl who got away.A second chance has never been so sexy.
ABBYTechnology has it out for me. And I’m not talking about my ever-ailing phone or the temperamental Smart Board in my classroom. I’m talking about the internationally hailed “Tech Genius” formerly known as the boy I used to love.
It was bad enough seeing that cocky smile staring back at me from my newsfeeds, the gossip sites, and—fine—the scorchingly hot men’s fitness magazine I bought in a moment of weakness. But now he’s back home, teasing me with the memories I’ve tried to leave behind, crowding into my space and taunting me with the kiss I can’t resist. I know it’s only a matter of time before I lose him again. He’s already told me he isn’t staying, warned me he’s changed. I know better than to let him get too close, so why can’t I push him away?
HANKThey call me a visionary. An innovator. Hell, last week a headline touted me as the billion-dollar geek keeping Silicon Valley’s panties wet. Try living that down. Strip away the media BS, and I’m just a tech-minded guy with my eyes on the future and no time for a past I can't change. So what am I doing following the sweet sound of its laugh back to the woman who passed on our chance at forever?
I tell myself all I want is to say hello. To see her smile. Just a few minutes to pretend we’re still the “us” I thought would never end. But once I've had a taste of the too tempting woman she's become, a few minutes isn’t enough.
The man I am today is used to getting what he wants, and I want her.The problem? She wants the guy I used to be.
Ten years later, all that’s changed is… everything.

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Excerpt

I take her hand and remember the thousands of times I’ve done it before. “I’m glad we got to talk. It’s been too long.”A few strands of her hair catch in the breeze and I tuck them behind her ear. Only just like with hearing my name and holding her hand, the tactile sensation from the soft strands between my fingers stirs up memories I thought safely put to bed. It gives me ideas I shouldn’t be considering.“Hank?” Abby whispers, quiet and confused. “What are you doing?”Losing my mind. “Giving us a better goodbye.”My fingers curl in so the backs of my knuckles stroke her soft cheek. This is so messed up. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but she’s looking up into my eyes.I kiss her.By adult standards, it isn’t much of a kiss. A single brush of my mouth against hers and a lingering contact I’m not quite ready to give up. And yet that barely-there kiss has my heart slamming against my ribs and fire racing through my veins.It’s like I’m fifteen again. Except instead of this being my first kiss with Abby, it’s our last, and I don’t want it to end.I’m not talking about not wanting it to end like I didn’t want all the other Abby stuff to end before.No, this is different.I. Don’t. Want. This. To. End.But too soon, that soft clinging contact is gone, leaving only the warmth of her breath against my lips.One breath.Two.Three.I open my eyes, realizing I’m not the only one still holding on. Abby’s free hand, the one that isn’t still trapped in mine, is wrapped around my tie.She hasn’t let go.A shadow passes over her eyes. “You’re not in Chicago for good.”She isn’t really asking, but she wants to hear me say it anyway. She wants to remind us both that fundamentally nothing has changed. That we need to stop this before it goes too far, and hell, I know she’s right.“I’m not. Tomorrow’s just a business trip, but all indications are I’ll be out of Chicago in a few months if this deal goes through.” And even if it doesn’t, there will be something else. There’s always something else.It’s the deal breaker that lost me this woman ten years ago. After the way Abby grew up, she couldn’t watch me leave and she wouldn’t wait for me to come back. I didn’t understand until it was too late the first time around, but now I do.And with her in my arms, it’s good that neither of us loses sight of the fact that this fundamental difference between us hasn’t changed.She nods her understanding, and I wait for her to take a step back, for the shake of her head and quiet laugh. Only it doesn’t come. Instead, her eyes drop back to my mouth and the world around us starts to slow. Because I know that look. I fucking love that look.But this has to be a mistake. We aren’t teenagers. We aren’t starting something new.So what am I doing, uncurling my fist to sift my fingers into the dark silk behind her ear? Using that hold to tip her head back? Waiting until her heavy-lidded stare finds mine again?What am I doing?Only it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, because then Abby is the one tugging at my tie to bring me closer. She’s the one murmuring her agreement that this is a much better goodbye a scant inch from my mouth.She’s the one short-circuiting my brain, and now the only thing I’m thinking is that I can do much, much better.This time when my lips meet hers, there’s nothing barely-there about it. I kiss her hard, gathering her close, then closer still as she opens beneath me with a shuddering gasp I feel all the way through me.Her fingers knot in my hair, then race over my shoulders and neck. Christ, her touch is electric, building the charge in my chest by the second.We’re breathless and frantic. Devouring each other with a hot need that edges the line of control.Just another minute and we’ll stop.Just another taste.My hand wraps in her hair and she moans around the thrust of my tongue.Yes.The part of my brain that’s still functioning is rolling through the data… We’re in a parking lot.The press is camped out on the other side of the school.I don’t do serious, and this is the girl I learned how to love with.We should stop. No maybe about it.But Abby’s breasts are pressing into my chest as she wraps her arms around my neck, and now there’s another part of my brain speaking up… and this is the part I know better than to listen to. It’s the part that dirty-talked me into climbing up the old oak outside Abby’s bedroom window… when her parents were home. It’s the part that swore up and down security wouldn’t notice if I let myself back into the lab at MIT after hours just to finish my experiment. And right now, it’s casually noting the parking lot is empty.It’s asking me why, if the press knew we were back here, they aren’t calling my name to score a frontal face shot.“Hank,” she gasps, and there’s no more mental chatter. I press her against the car, pinning her with the weight of my body.




Author Bio

Hard core romantic, stress baker, and housekeeper non-extraordinaire, Mira Lyn Kelly is the USA TODAY bestselling author of more than a dozen sizzly love stories with over a million readers worldwide. Growing up in the Chicago area, she earned her degree in Fine Arts from Loyola University and met the love of her life while studying abroad in Rome, Italy… only to discover he’d been living right around the corner from her back home. Having spent her twenties working and playing in the Windy City, she’s now settled with her husband in rural Minnesota, where their four amazing children and two ridiculous dogs provide an excess of action and entertainment. When she isn’t reading, writing, or running the kids around, she loves watching the Chicago Blackhawks and action/adventure movies, blabbing with the girls, and cooking with her family and friends.

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Whiskey River By Theresa Oliver

Title: Whiskey RiverAuthor: Theresa OliverGenre: Historical RomanceRelease Date: February 10, 2018Publisher: Hot Tree PublishingCover Designer: RMGraphX

 AVAILABLE NOW! Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2yASsK9All other links: books2read.com/whiskey-river

Within a tough city girl beats the untamed heart of a wild spirit...

Ella Raines may not have the best reputation in New York, but she’s determined to have respect. Knowing she will achieve this in high society, Ella answers an advertisement for a mail-order bride in an up-and-coming Western town, Whiskey River, Wyoming.

Colton Hill is a wandering gunslinger seeking new horizons and is tired of being challenged because he’s the fastest gun around. When he meets Ella, he’s amused by her unusual ambition and agrees to tag along to Whiskey River.

Together, they travel Westward in search of happiness, purpose, and destiny. What they find instead is the spark of something they cannot control.



 AVAILABLE NOW! Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2yASsK9All other links: books2read.com/whiskey-river

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An educator, writer, mother, and free spirit, Theresa Oliver’s love affair with the written word has spanned decades. An Indiana native, Theresa began the foundation of her writing career as a child. Her love of reading, writing, and creative expression guided her to seek a Bachelor’s Degree in Communications, News Editorial sequence, from the University of Tennessee at Martin; and then continued on to earn a Master of Arts in Teaching degree, Early Childhood Education sequence, from Armstrong Atlantic State University. 
Her foundational experiences in childhood led her to want to create meaningful, positive experiences with reading and writing for future generations, and inspire the same love of creative expression that has been such a rewarding force behind her career and life. 
Theresa has dedicated her life to the world of writing and the creation of novels that span all levels and genres. First and foremost a mother, her greatest loves are her three beautiful boys, to whom she dedicates the success and longevity of her prolific career. Theresa currently resides in Kissimmee, Florida with her beloved husband and children.
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Crossing the Goal Line By Kim Findlay

Title: Crossing the Goal Line Author: Kim Findlay Genre: Romance - Contemporary, Harlequin, Heartwarming Release Date: March 1, 2018Cover Designer: Harlequin Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC. 


Icebreaker or endgame? Can two devoted athletes make room in their lives for love?Mike Reimer knows from experience that hockey and relationships don’t mix. And hot-tempered swim coach Bridget O’Reilly couldn’t be more wrong for the widowed pro goalie, aka the Iceman. As the playoffs approach, Mike’s growing feelings for her could melt the hardest heart. But what if being with Bridget means letting down his team…and, worst of all, himself?
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Mike had heard of love at first sight, but this was the first time he’d seen it happen, right in front of him. Bridget had come out, checking her phone, not even noticing him. Then when she’d looked up, she seemed annoyed. But as he’d waited, her expression softened, a small smile turned up the corners of her mouth and she moved forward as if drawn by an irresistible force. Mike watched as she closed in on him...and then passed him...staring at his car. She brought one hand up, as if to touch it, then dropped it again. She shook her head, and looked back at him. “A P1?” Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yes.” He watched as she completed her circuit of his car. Not everyone would recognize a McLaren, or know which one he had. He’d impressed people with this car, mostly when they realized what it cost, but he’d never been ignored for it. He didn’t like that. It was a nice car, even a beautiful one, but still it was just a car.







Kim Findlay lives in Toronto, Canada, with her very handsome husband, two strapping sons, and possibly the world's cutest spaniel. When she can get time away from her accounting business, Kim can be found traveling, sailing, reading, or writing, depending on the season, time of day, and her energy level. You can find her at kimfindlay.ca, @missheyer74, or on Facebook.





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TWIN SACRIFICE by JENNIFER LANE

Twin Sacrifice by Jennifer Lane Genre: Psychological ThrillerRelease Date: February 28, 2018


My twin brother is determined to kill himself, but I won’t let him. 

I just discovered the sacrifice he made for me when we were young.

Now it’s time I return the favor. This time I’ll be the one with the secret.

Psychologist Matthew Durante’s twin brother, Justin, has struggled with mental illness since their parents died in a house fire. After Justin is accused of setting off a bomb that killed an innocent woman, he lands in a maximum-security psychiatric hospital.

In the face of Justin’s unrelenting suicide attempts, Matthew grows frantic to keep him alive. And as the pieces of their past fall into place, Matthew decides bold action is his only choice, no matter the cost.

Set against the backdrop of weapons manufacturing, terrorism, and a dark family secret, Matthew and Justin fight for survival, redemption, and most of all, for each other.





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Psychologist/author (psycho author) Jennifer Lane invites you to her world of romance, sports, and suspense! By day she’s a therapist, and by night she’s a writer. She can’t decide which is more fun.

Jen’s first psychological thriller launches in 2018: Twin Sacrifice. Psychologist Matthew Durante risks his own life to save his twin brother’s as their foster father tries to take them down.

Jen loves to create sporty heroines and hot heroes in her college sport romances. Volleyball wonder Lucia Ramirez finds her love match in Blocked despite the glaring political spotlight aimed on her family. In Aced, the second book in the Blocked series, it’s her brother Alejandro’s turn to get lucky in love. Spiked (Blocked #3) completes the series and features Lucia’s younger brother Mateo.

A swimmer and volleyball player in college, Jen writes swimming-based romances as well: Streamline, a military mystery, and the free New Adult novella Swim Recruit.

Stories of redemption interest Jen the most, especially the healing power of love. She is also the author of The Conduct Series, a romantic-suspense trilogy that includes With Good Behavior, Bad Behavior, and On Best Behavior.

Whether writing or reading, Jen loves stories that make her laugh and cry. In her spare time she enjoys exercising, attending book club, and visiting her sisters in Chicago and Hilton Head.


Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Pinterest ~ InstagramAmazon ~ Goodreads ~ Website ~ Blog ~ NewsletterEmail:  jenniferlanebooks@gmail.com


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The Sapphire Song

Coming of Age, Spiritual FictionPublisher: Balboa Press


The time and the place are universal. Metaxaeus, a youthful yet visionary sculptor, will embark on an odyssey in which he will at last meet face to face with Akasha, a talented storyteller from a distant township. Set in a simple landscape of mountains and rivers, The Sapphire Song is a meditation on the possibilities of love, when seen in the light of the spirit. Underscoring a fidelity to the sacred dimension of life, that so often reveals itself to us in the inmost presence of our dreams, and written with the poignancy of a parable, this timeless story is an evocation of the spiritual power, and the lasting truth, inherent in our quest for an enduring love.


Praise for The Sapphire Song:
"Pedersen's work is considerably more esoteric than your average teen-geared supernatural romance. The Sapphire Song is a subtle religious allegory in a gently fantastical wrapping, echoing works from Tolkien to Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha."  -  Foreword Reviews








Excerpt


From Book One:


In a different town far away from the village of Metaxaeus, a young girl, Akasha, spins her tales. Like the most skilled weaver, she has a gift for storytelling that is as preternatural in the world as anyone’s gift for doing anything, as anybody’s gift for doing anything at all.
For the tales she tells cause even the most wizened of hearts to belong to her as she unfolds her breathless stories. Young and old alike smile and laugh and weep and finally joy at the spirit and romance of these on-spinning motifs of love and trials and perseverance and even the ways of God and now and then ultimately even the ways of the greatest mystery of all, that of the source of creation itself. See in her thought, then, in her speech, and in her stories, questions encircling questions, and riddles answering to riddles. Akasha is gifted like none other.
The question arises, then, in the minds of her hearers, whence always this fountain of inner peace and wisdom and joy and creativity arising from the soul of such a youngster, and one apparently virgin in the ways of the world? The almighty taleteller-girl Akasha has, in her town and its environs, gotten to be quite the spectacle. Yet what of her own mind?
In one of her most popular stories she spins the tale of a youth with gifted hands who can sculpt any image from any stone, but who cannot figure out how to leave from his home. In this story told by Akasha endings vary and at times the boy makes his fortune and lives happily, in love with a girl from a distant city, but at others it ends badly and the boy at the last finds himself both broke and heartbroken, alone and darkly arthritic, bereft of the great and wonderful gift of his holy craft.
Let us not forget, however, that Akasha, away down in her heart, knows more than we do; and perhaps that is why in her thoughts she sometimes dreams of meeting just this youth sculptor wandered away from his very distant village, and his very distant home.
* * * *
From Book Two:
Akasha awakes. Rises from bed; greets the day. Finishes her morning chores, and begins listening for the music, the music within, the music generally escaping her way, at this selfsame hour of the day. Her own orison of play…. She had once been up and away into the mountains, this when she was still but just a little girl. Lost for a moment, she bumped into a strange looking elderly man who claimed to be a magician. When he smiled at her, her feeling of uneasiness vanished, and she found she could not help but smile, too. He is the one who first talked to Akasha about the mystery of spirit, but up until a certain age she had always considered it far more important the moment when he touched with his hand her forehead, for that is when she felt dizzy for a minute, and afterwards when the feeling she always carried inside of her when telling her stories, began.
Now in the mornings and sitting still awaiting the music that comes floating its way into her room, into her heart, into her mind, she thinks often of that afternoon when she encountered the magician. Strange man. Strange things to say to one so young. What did he know? He spoke of the spirit as invisible, as everywhere, as continually aware of everything and everyone, including itself, and he spoke of its connection to the Maker of the World, and to each one of us. He laughed, then, and went on to say only that if you wanted to be in its presence, you would have to learn to sit very still, and to go all the way within yourself. This all he did say, and then he winked slyly and right at that moment must have handed to her a token, pressed into her open palm, although she was not aware of it at the moment that it happened. All she knew was that when she looked down at her hand she held in it a tiny figurine, and when she looked up again the old man was nowhere to be seen. As far as she could tell, the thing he had presumably pressed into the palm of her hand was nothing but the tiny statue of a boy, a boy who himself held something out in the palm of his own hand, but what it was, was far too small to make out. Since then, though, she had always kept the tiny statue in a place special to her, and that where no one else would be likely to find it. Until one day she realized that it had become precious to her, and she even imagined that when she was feeling cloudy or distressed, she could take up into her hands this trinket and begin to recover her calm or her clarity. She was beginning to get very superstitious.


About the Author

Todd Erick Pedersen is a poet-essayist and novelist whose writing strives to evoke the cross-section between our dreams and the spirit, with a natural sense of wonder and the turning seasons of the Earth. Thus, his poems, his essays, and his stories are an invitation to any reader to explore this timeless terrain for oneself. His home is in the beautiful Bitterroot Valley, in Stevensville, Montana.



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Mister Big

Sports FictionDate Published: March 1, 2018Publisher: Lulu Publishing


In this novel, DeShawn Biggs is as formidable as his name suggests. At 6-feet-5-inches and 300 pounds, DeShawn seems headed for the NFL. Indeed, a football career is regarded as an inevitability for the young man in his native Albany. While most NFL–bound seniors head off to play college ball after they leave high school, DeShawn’s abysmal math grades—and the fact that his parents can literally no longer afford to feed him—result in the giant lineman attending an elite Connecticut prep school for “grade thirteen.” After an emotional farewell to his parents, who are purposefully removing themselves from his life for good—“You’ve got to use your God-given talents to make a life for yourself,” says his father, “and you cannot do that with your mother and me in the way of that life”—DeShawn is left alone among the white, wealthy student body. Sticking out like a large sore thumb, DeShawn attempts to walk the fine line between what is expected of him and what will not be tolerated. A cheating scandal gets him expelled but not before he secures a place at Montgomery Southern A&M, a football power that will set him up to advance to the NFL. DeShawn eventually gets his shot at the big leagues, but his trusting nature and penchant for making bad decisions dog him throughout his career. Each time, the stakes get higher. DeShawn has always been a pawn in a game controlled by other people, but how much of his own integrity can he compromise in order to get ahead?

Excerpt
Prologue
 It’s physical despair, and if you want to try it, be prepared to bang other people up as well as yourself.  No worries, though, because this stuff is legal.  Maybe they change the rules every now and then.  Maybe people hit too hard and send someone away in a stretcher.  Perhaps you go for it all, a carpe diem kind of thing, a Hail Mary kind of thing, and the tragedy of sickness or injury emerges like a mad, socially mobile demon penetrating the acre you’re playing on.  Again, all of it is legit.  In fact, people support you, because you are the star and the legend on the field, but no one ever really talks about physical despair while you lift the weights, run the suicide sprints, take laps every few minutes so the coaches can decide what to do until the end of practice.  Maybe you make a sack from behind the line of scrimmage.  Maybe you protect your quarterback who finds his receivers in the dangerous territories of zone coverage.  The receiver then heads into daylight and catches a precisely thrown ball.  Maybe you win.As a lineman you are getting bigger, leaner, meaner, and yet you get no credit whatsoever.  The only time the TV shows aim their cameras in your direction is when you are castigated by unruly fans who see the flying yellow flag pulled from the waist of an old referee, pointing at you for holding, roughing the passer, off-sides, mistaking the play for a pass instead of a run, or missing a critical block.  You dream the opposite of these things, because you want to be one of these elites.  You will be the one who actually does some of the work on the team.  You're willing to work on a muddy field that has seen its share of torrential downpours and winter ice storms.  And yet, there is no credit.  Just a paycheck, more gym time, more time with the trainer, more time with the dummy sleds...Yes, you should have been the one they clapped for, the one getting the media’s attention, the guy who gets the prom queen before the handsome quarterback.  Even a drone with laser sighting can’t throw the ball that well.  The ball falls into the receiver's belly like a newborn pot-bellied pig.  Their hides will go towards making more footballs for the other professional games.  If your team wins that week, you go with them to the bars and drink with your fellow players.  No matter how late or how drunk you are, your significant other allows you to sleep with your mistress who magically stands naked in front of you.  If you lose the game, you return to a gaggle of disappointed housewives who tell you to work harder on the field or else she’ll leave you for the better player she’s sleeping with now.  We're talking reality television that nets them even more money for very little reason.  The housewives of the NFL.  But you are too blind to see these things, especially when the season is on the cusp of a new beginning.  You have the ability to arrive at game day after a string of practice sessions, so that you can continue being the gladiator in a country that resembles the strength, the excesses, and the eventual implosion of Rome.  Yes, these are the contemporary gladiators on the playing field.  All we need are chariots, hungry tigers, and a young Ben Hur.  This is God’s game, a gift to mankind with a few knowing female reporters on the field and even in the locker rooms.  It’s all available, anything you want, just to keep you playing, just to avoid the physical despair from ruining your entire career.  Yes, the game of football is that physical.  Even suiting up for a game is physical – miles of nylon athletic tape – the type that begs its players to have well-shaven ankles and legs.  Padding on the thighs and the knees, shoulder pads made of hardened plastic, the all-seeing-always-talking helmet with a remote link for the coach to talk to his quarterback while on the field, the cleats that can’t stick properly to artificial turf, and the new mouth-guard that the trainer boiled and fit into your teeth a couple of nights ago -  you have been waiting and wanting this.But the gladiator wasn’t home for dinner.  The two parents ate in silence.  They ate whatever leftovers their son didn’t eat.  They had pork chops with apple sauce, boiled red-skin potatoes, and buttered string beans.  The father looked at his wife across the table, and with his smile and eyes staring straight into hers, he didn’t have to say thank you for the wonderful dinner.  He simply had to look at her in this special way – the vibes of thanks passing between their eye contact.  The mother, however, didn’t smile with him.  While it was his favorite dinner, she still could not talk to him as they did when their son was there.  They didn’t discuss their plans when their son ate with them.  Instead, they made small talk and told him nothing.  On a night like tonight, their son, DeShawn Biggs, was out with his school friends.  He was old enough to be graduating from high school, but where he would end up, only his parents knew, and they wouldn’t tell their son anything yet.  They would wait until they were both comfortable with the idea first.  They would then break the news to him upon his return.  They believed he was headed to the mall with his friends after football practice.  DeShawn loved his friends, or at least this was what his parents surmised.  DeShawn and his friends vowed that they would never lose touch no matter where they went after graduation.  DeShawn headed to college, but his Math grades needed immediate help if he were to be accepted at one of the Southern universities that would position him well enough to join the NFL after a couple of years of eligibility.  Already, his mother, especially, hated the NFL and all that it stood for.  Nothing was ever good enough for her DeShawn, and even though his father steered his son’s future like a captain guiding a ship, he too realized that his son’s gifts in size and athletic ability were also a curse and not just a blessing to get all excited about.  He didn’t want to lose him either, and he reminded his wife of this every night before they went to bed.  But somehow, he was the bad guy in all of this.  He was the one who supported having their talented son leave the family.  He reasoned that they could no longer afford him.  They couldn’t even feed him properly.  Just like children who had to be abandoned by their parents to ensure better lives for them, such was DeShawn’s situation.  Only his mother was reluctant, as his father already made up his mind that his son would leave and never contact them again while heading to the next level of his professional career.  They had to sacrifice their son in order to ensure a better life for him rather than the one they had in the ghettos of Albany, New York.He put down his fork after polishing off the string beans and said, “okay, Didi, what’s wrong?”“Why should I even have to say it?  It’s not like you don’t know.”“I know.”He brought his fork and knife together and pushed it to the rim of the plate.  One of the reasons why Didi loved him so much was because of his manners.  Her husband’s mother had been very strict with him on dinner etiquette when a child.“Do we have to go over this again?” asked the father, Crosby Biggs his name.“Every night,” she said, “because what we’re doing is something that’s going to affect him and us.”Didi took her dissatisfaction with the plan into the kitchen.  She returned with a warm apple pie and vanilla ice cream.“It’s a better life for him, Didi.  You know that.”“I’m not letting my boy stay with anyone else.  I don’t care if he makes it to the NFL or not, but we can’t just drop him off at college and leave him there.  It’s wrong, and he’s my baby, and no one will take that away from me.”Crosby Biggs cut a large slice of apple pie and scooped up a spoonful of ice cream and plopped it on top.“There must be another way,” she said.“Like what?” said Crosby, sectioning off the large piece of pie with his fork.“You’ll find one.”“Me?”“Yes, you.  This is your idea, isn’t it?”“It must be done.  We can’t afford to feed him anymore.  I make about forty grand a year at the agency, and our big and tall son commands at least half of it with his eating.  The two of us can hardly live here, Didi.  You have to consider that.  I can hardly feed the both of us.  And the college recruiters said that this type of thing has been done many times before.”“So we’re leaving DeShawn on the footsteps of a football college?  No one does that, Crosby.”“Honey, it’s done all the time.  We can’t just keep him here.  We both don’t make enough.”“I’ll get a second job.”“Doing what?  Cleaning another welfare motel?  We can’t live like that anymore.  And you have to get it out of your head that you’ll work until age eighty.  You don’t need to do that.  I’m sure you can do that, but you don’t need to do that.  We don’t have any money as it is.  We can’t afford his clothing either.  Luckily the recruiters are stepping up to the plate.  “Don’t ruin his chance to shine, Didi.  We’ll always regret it if we keep him with us.  He’s not made for these streets like we once were.  And that’s exactly where he’d be headed – right to the streets with all of them crack-heads and heroin addicts who graduate from that so-called high school of his.”“We also went there, y’know,” she said.“And where did it get us?  I’m cleaning toilets, and you’re cleaning out motel rooms full of used condoms, crack pipes, and beer bottles.  That’s where this neighborhood has gotten us.  It’s terrible, Didi.  I’d rather see DeShawn on television with a lot of money to his name, sacking quarterbacks and all, than having him spend one more year in this place.  Think about it.”“Oh, I’ve thought about it,” she said, clearing the dishes and silverware away from the table.“There’s no other alternative.”“There must be.  How am I supposed to live without my son?  Tell me that, Crosby?”“We both have to live without him.  And it’s not like I want my son to go away either.  I hope you don’t think that.”When she returned from the kitchen, she hovered above the table in thought.  She finally said, “of course not, Crosby.  I know you’ll miss him just as much as I’ll miss him.”“But it’s for the best,” he said.  “It’s the best for our son.  I mean, we’ll then move into a smaller place.  We won’t need to be renting such a big house anymore.  A one bedroom apartment will do.  We can also get out of this crime-infested neighborhood.  You’d like that, wouldn’t you?  And at the same time, we’ll see that our son is well-taken care of.”“Are you sure about this?  You’re boss says we’re headed in the right direction?”“Our son will be a college graduate one day.  And he’ll be in the pros with his new degree.  What can be better than that?”After dinner, Crosby Biggs waited up for DeShawn.  Didi adjourned upstairs for some much needed sleep.  She had to work the next morning.  Crosby also had to work, but he was on the night shift for the coming weekend.  Both parents had one day off a week.  They worked hard, but at the same time, they both didn’t want to end up regretting their decision.Crosby fell asleep on the living room couch waiting for his son to return.  Crosby awoke with a start in the early hours of the morning and made sure that DeShawn had arrived safe and sound.  His boy slumbered on his king-sized bed in a room filled with trophies, pictures, and posters of famous NFL stars.  When Crosby went to work the next day, he approached the head of his janitorial company before he set about cleaning the next office building further uptown.  He sat in front of him at his big desk.  The head of the company and Crosby always got along.  The company head was a big supporter of the high school team.  A booster, he liked to call himself.  Crosby, in his uniform with the company’s name embroidered on his chest, sat there as the company head took a phone call.  Once his boss hung up, Crosby was free and clear to speak his mind on the issue.  Even though it was his boss, he didn’t mind expressing how he truly felt in front of him.“Didi hates the idea,” said Crosby, “but she also knows that it’s the best for him.”The head of his company twirled a cigar in his hand and lit it up after cutting off the back tip.  The smoke was rich, thick, and sweet-smelling.“You’re son is gifted,” he said.  “With a gift like his to play ball, you and Didi should both know that we’re doing the right thing.  Of course, I want him to play for Rutgers, but I would say let the South East Conference have him.  Down there, they don’t care about anything but football.  They’ll ram him into shape, much like the Army.”“Didi’s worried.”“She’s the son’s mother, Crosby.  Of course she’s worried.”“What was that alternative we were talking about?”“Maybe you can have him be a post-graduate for a year at an elite school before he heads south.”“What’s a post-graduate?”“Basically, your son gets an athletic scholarship for one year at one of these elite boarding schools.  They keep him for an extra year past high school.  They make sure his grades are good so that he can get into the college of his choice.  I mean, Crosby, his grades are not great, right?  He still failing Math?”Crosby hated to admit it, but there was something about his boss’ pressed suit and silk tie that made the man superior to him and hinted at an income way beyond the paychecks he had been receiving from his entire life cleaning offices.  Crosby relied on his advice, ever since his boss spotted DeShawn for a Division One school.  Rutgers, though, was out of the question.  The South would have him learn and compete like nothing both parents had seen before.  Crosby almost loved the man for his help.  He loved all white people.  They were always so eager to help even though their bank accounts loomed miles above his.  It wasn’t that Crosby envied whites.  He just always listened to their advice, as though wealth and success were a part of their genetic makeup.“He’s failing Math, alright,” said Crosby dourly.“Maybe a ‘grade thirteen’ at a boarding school is the answer.  It would surely help Didi get used to the fact that her son has moved on.  In case she gets too sad about it, you guys could always take him back.”“But that’s the whole point.  If DeShawn were to come home after the boarding school, it would be a huge emotional setback for him.  We’d have to be out of the picture totally.  We’d have to move on so that he couldn’t find us if he ever wants to know where we went.  We’re putting him totally on his own.  He’ll grow up and become a self-reliant man.”“You’re a brave man, Crosby.  Letting your son succeed like that.  Let me put you in touch with my prep school in Connecticut.  Maybe I could arrange a post-graduate year for him?  What do you think about that?”“If you say so.”“You can trust me, Crosby.  An amazing life for your son awaits.  He’ll learn from the best, and after his football career is over, he’ll be ready for the working world with any job he damn-well wants.  I know you want that for him, especially considering your present circumstances.  Your son will command triple that amount at any entry-level position they throw him.  Imagine that?  And this after playing for the NFL?”“If you could make that happen,” said Crosby, “I’d forever be in debt to you.”“Actually, I’d be in debt to you too.  If he goes to my Alma Mater, I’ll definitely be in debt to you.  You’re son is headed for the NFL for Chrissakes.  Whatever he does, he’s definitely headed there.  All he has to do is pass Math.  He’s amazing on the football field.  His attitude is so good that he’s the coach’s favorite player, and that asshole is tough to please.”“I’d be grateful, sir.  A grade thirteen would help us a great deal.”“I’ll work on it.  Give me a week, and we’ll arrange it.  Now get back to work!”“Yessir,” said Crosby.The head of the company smiled graciously as he fielded another phone call.  Crosby left his office ready for work.  They would do it all for DeShawn.  Crosby was well-certain of their decision as never before.  His son at the elite school would make contacts - a group of better, wealthy, white friends.  His son would eat better than ever before.  DeShawn loved his mother’s cooking, but an elite school like the one the head of the company described that morning would double his amount of quality food, so that his son could go to bed every night well-rested and ready for practice the next day.  Crosby felt that DeShawn was always starving for more food for his large body.  What a relief an elite school would be in this regard.  Didi would like it much better as well, because if they ever regretted the decision, they could always have him back.Crosby had to clean an office floor at an uptown location.  He took his 1988 Cadillac Coup Deville to work that afternoon.  He had huge respect for the Cadillac brand.  He kept his car vacuumed, fresh-smelling, and always in tip-top shape.  Granted that it was a very old model, but he kept it running as new with frequent trips to his brother-in-law’s garage in Arbor Hill.  And then he thought that maybe he’d leave his prized automobile for DeShawn.  It would be a token for him to remember his father by.  He suddenly choked up a bit.  The Cadillac was the only prized possession he had.  The car meant so much that it was the only item of real value that he could give to his son.  Other than his prized car, Crosby had nothing else to give.  With this realization, a few tears leaked from his eyes.  He would have given his son the world if it were at his disposal.  Instead he drove in the old-school luxury of his Cadillac - leather seats, automatic lights, power windows, power steering, climate control, and a bus for a body - as he drove up from the downtown state government work zone, passed the bipolar points of the wealthy Pine Hills neighborhood and a crumbling Arbor Hill, the social segregation so apparent that it called out for some kind of protest against the government, and into the parking lot of a faceless corporate complex across from a crowdless shopping mall whose stores were going out of business.  He had already been used to driving a luxury car while wearing his janitor’s uniform.  He used to think it an embarrassment, especially when other drivers peered in, curious to know how a janitor could afford such a car, despite how old it was.He returned home after ten hours of waxing, polishing, vacuuming, and mopping.  He was dead tired.  Luckily, Didi had stayed awake to make him another dinner, but this time it wasn’t as special.  Meatloaf, crinkle-cut French fries, and salted peas.  He always admired her cooking, though.  And as far as Didi was concerned, she knew that if you took care of a man’s stomach and his dick, a man would never leave her.  After so many years of being a wife to an exhausted janitor, she was still right on point.  And once again, DeShawn had a team meeting that night, so he was out with his friends late all over again.  He was never home.  Always football and his friends, and rarely did he do any homework.  His primary subject was football.  Math was a priority, but a close second.  The subject became a stubborn problem that his coaches wanted to quell.  But it was useless.  Crosby Biggs would send him to grade thirteen, and when he mentioned it to Didi, who by this time had been riding the peaks and valleys of her own maternal emotions, she liked the idea better than sending her son to a Southern football factory right after graduation.  They also realized that DeShawn would never pass Math otherwise.  And what if he did pass Math at an elite prep school?  The college and university football establishment would fall begging at his feet.  He was that good on the gridiron and that poor with his Math skills.  As far as his other courses were concerned, both faculty and staff exempted him from further responsibility.“I like the idea,” said Didi.  “At least if something happens to him, he’ll be much closer to us.”“What might happen?” asked Crosby.“He could get sick.  He could get injured - ”“Why do I think you’d like it that way,” he asked with a smirk.“Y’know, Crosby, I wouldn’t mind it at all.  Let’s say to hell with it and keep him here.”“Why don’t you go turn on some music.”“It’s late.  Won’t we disturb the neighbors?”“Nah.  Turn it on.”Didi went to their obsolete stereo system and had it drop an old forty-five onto its turntable.  She played Same Cooke and turned the volume up slightly.  Crosby abandoned the dinner she made and joined her in the living room.  Together they embraced in a slow dance.  Didi hung onto his collar and wept.  There was no mistake that they were both getting older and more fragile.  The stereo struck a groove of their favorite song in high school, and together they clung to each other, still having doubts about letting their son go.  Crosby was determined to see it happen.  He wanted to see him on television on Super Bowl Sunday one day.  Didi, however, still felt vacant, as though her womb had never held such a talented young boy.  That’s what it must have felt like for a mother to give up her baby - an intense emptiness that sucked the life out of them both, even though Crosby kept a stiff upper lip about it.  He held his wife in the glow of the stereo.  The track had finished, and for a few minutes more he held her close as she wept into his collar.  They made love that night as best they could.In the morning, Didi made a stack of warm, fluffy pancakes along with five eggs, ten strips of bacon, and a half-pound of hashbrowns.  The two men in her life, both Crosby and DeShawn, barreled down the stairs at roughly the same time.  Most of the food went to DeShawn.  His large frame and size had him eating plates of food that Didi kept cooking for him.  Crosby ate very little, and Didi had a cup of coffee, as she had eaten earlier that morning.  They waited for DeShawn to finish his gigantic meal before they talked to him seriously about his future.“When’d you get home last night?” asked Crosby.“Late, Dad,” said DeShawn.  “We saw a late movie.”“You haven’t been hanging around those losers, have you?”“What losers?”“Those crack addicts, those pot smokers, that Malt liquor crowd?”“No, Dad.  I went out with Marshall and a couple of girls from the High School.”“You wear a condom?”“Dad?”“Hush, now, Crosby,” said Didi, stirring her cup of coffee.“Just checking,” said Crosby.  “Because those guys are going nowhere.  They’ve been raised by the streets, and we don’t want anything to do with them.  Isn’t that right, DeShawn?”“Yes, sir.  I don’t smoke no crack, and I don’t drink no liquor.”“And why is that so important?”“Because I don’t want to wreck my future.”“That’s what I like to hear, son.  You keep that attitude around here, and you’ll finally get out and live a great life.  You understand?”“Yes, sir.”“Good.”“DeShawn,” said his mother, “we have some things we want to go over with you, now that the school is almost over.  Now I know you’ve been having a good time with your school friends, and I know you want to go to college right away, and become your full potential and all, but son, there have been a few things we want to talk to you about.”“What did I do now?”“Nothing, son,” said Crosby.  “You’re doing just fine.”“That’s a relief,” said DeShawn.  “I know I’ve been coming home late and all, but me and Marshall, we want to make sure we’re tight even after college.”“He’s off to Morehouse, right?”“And Johnny off’s to Fisk.”“Well, that’s a relief,” said Crosby.  “At least they’re not in jail.”“Crosby, please?”“Sorry, hon.”“DeShawn,” began Didi, “we’ve heard that your recruiter is coming today from the college.  You need to improve your Math scores much more than where they are now.”“I’m trying, Mom.  I’m even being tutored in it.”“Who’s tutoring you?  Hopefully it’s not that Melissa?”“Yeah.  She’s really good at Math.”“Don’t forget that condom, son.”“Crosby!  Not at the table.”“Sorry, hon.  Please go on.”“Well, DeShawn, They want you to do what is called a ‘post-graduate’ year of schooling.”“What’s that supposed to mean?  I’m all set to go for football practice this summer.”“Basically, son,” said Crosby, “they want you to go through another year of high school, so that you can pass Math an get recruited by even better college programs.”“Who me?  Another year of high school?  But, Dad, I - ”“Now just hold on, son.  Not here at our school.  Let your Mom explain.”“We want you to go to a Connecticut boarding school, so that you can pass Math.  You’re options will be many more, and you’ll have a stronger hand to bargain with to get into Montgomery Southern as a student.”“But, Mom, I don’t need another year.  I asked Coach, and he said that I can go straight to many colleges if I want.”“We want you to do another year.  The school we want you to go to is in Connecticut.”“Connecticut?”“You’re going,” said Crosby, “and that’s their final decision, both theirs and ours.  This is the last group of decisions we’re ever gonna make for you.”  “That’s a relief.”“The recruiter from Montgomery-Southern A&M is coming tomorrow.  She intends to announce their decision that you must go to a post-graduate school.  Your Math has to improve, and I’m thinking that the recruiter will agree that a post-graduate year is necessary at this time.  An educated man is a good man, DeShawn.  Most of the time in life, you’ll live with a degree and not a football in your hand.  Get my meaning?”“But, son, my baby, there’s another decision we’re making that you should be aware of.”“Son,” said Crosby, “you need to be on your own from now on.  We are no longer going to interfere with your life from here on in.  That’s the way it has to be.”“That’s a step in the right direction?” said DeShawn.“I don’t think you know what we mean,” said Crosby.“In other words, son,” said Didi, almost in tears, “we can’t afford to take care of you anymore.  Once we take you to Connecticut, you are on your own.  You will not see us again.”DeShawn looked up from his lap, as he had been in deep thought listening to what his parents said.  And after a brief silence where words could no longer be expressed due to the difficult decision they made, Deshawn said, “what do you mean by that?”“I think you know,” said Didi.  “You’re also a smart kid, if you study more.”“Son, we have to leave you off into the hands of those who can give you a better future.”“So what are you trying to say?” asked DeShawn.“We can’t afford to be a part of your life anymore,” said Didi, her eyes moist. “Once you go to the Connecticut school, we are not going to contact you anymore.  And I’m so very sorry, my baby boy.  So sorry that we cannot take care of you anymore, but those who will soon guide you into the NFL will do all of your care-taking from now on.  We’ll be out of the picture.”“You guys make it sound like I’ll never see you again.”The table fell silent, and Didi wiped away her tears with a napkin.“Son,” said Crosby.  “This is your life.  It is not ours.  It is all about you from here on in.”“But don’t you love me?  I’m your only son.  Are you mad at me?  Did I do something wrong?”At this point Didi began to sob at the table.  She ran upstairs in tears, leaving both Crosby and DeShawn at their seats.“Mom, I’m sorry!  For whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry!”Crosby put his hand upon his, and said, “stop right there, son.  You have done nothing wrong, and we love you more than life itself, but you have to listen to us.  You’ve got to be a man out there.  You’ve got to use your God-given talents to make a life for yourself, and you cannot do that with your mother and me in the way of that life.  This is going to be your life, and it will be your career, and it will be your money at the end of the day.  Your mother and I have already decided on this.  Once you go on to that nice prep school, you are on your own.  We will be totally out of the picture.”“I don’t get it.”“You don’t get it yet, my son.  Not yet.  But once you are in the pros, you will understand that decision we’ve made, because we love you, my son.  And you don’t have to apologize for anything.  This is a tough world, and you will have stand like a man through it.  You’ll have to feel the joys and pains of it just like most folk have to.  But from now on, you’ll be doing that without us.”They sat in silence for some time.  Didi didn’t return to the table that morning.  Both father and son sat together for a little while longer, until the father adjourned upstairs to check on his wife.  DeShawn, shocked by their decision, went out with his friend Marshall to the shopping mall along a busy Western Avenue.  They bought a few tee-shirts and even a New York Giants sports jersey.  And yet, through it all, DeShawn could not hide his tears for very long.  He too wept on Marshall’s shoulder by the time they left the mall and waited patiently for their bus.  Losing his friends was one thing, but he never before thought that he’d lose his family over talents such as his.  In a way, he regretted being a football player for the first time.  A talent so grand held no other option than to travel up to the New England prep school and at the same time, abandon the failed family that he loved so fully.  Yes, he regretted it, but he figured that his father and mother would never guide him wrongly.  And while they said that they loved him more than life itself, rarely do parents ever hear their own children whispering to themselves, ‘Mom and Dad, you’re wrong.  It is I who love you more than life itself.  It is I who love you more than life itself...’The college recruiter soon knocked on their door.  She was a woman of refined tastes, high fashion, and perfect style.  She was also shrewd and yet tried to be honest with the Biggs family at the same time.  She reeked of success at an early age, but this never defined her as incompetent.  On the other hand, she may have been too competent to be corrupted by old ideas of what college recruitment was once like.  She sold the school to the Biggs family in a professional fashion, and she sold it well, not by surrendering to the desires of young recruits, but by giving them a picture of the life on campus for a Montgomery-Southern A&M college student.  Yes, college had beautiful girls, but this female was everything about being a woman and not a girl.  Maybe she had grown up too quickly?  Probably not.  Her young age concealed an experienced mind and a wizened intellect.  Her defenses were even stronger.They all sat at the Biggs’ kitchen table, and Didi gave her some apple pie.  She figured DeShawn’s stomach was her stomach as well.  Of course, DeShawn already committed to Montgomery-Southern, but this recruiter made sure that DeShawn headed in the right direction and not just to another southern football program.“We want him to go post-graduate,” said the recruiter,  “That’s what my boss at work says too.  Do you think it’s that necessary?  He doesn’t have to be a perfect student.  We already know his Math scores and as well as his test scores are low, but do you think another year in school is a good idea?”“We want an education for your son as well,” said the recruiter, “and we need that for him.  Academics is very important at our school.  It has to be important for DeShawn too.  We have a strong Math department.  We can have tutors in place to boost his Math scores, and while it’s true that most students need a very strong background in Math to enter the college, DeShawn is in different boat.  He is a very talented young man, and all colleges and universities would love to have him, but we need better Math scores for him to be accepted into the university.  How high, though, is a matter of interpretation.  Also, we have very strong connections to the NFL, probably the strongest connections out of any other college or university.  We train our football players to succeed.  There is nothing more important to us.”“I see,” said Crosby.  “And also maybe it’d be better to have him close by for one year, just in case his Math doesn’t work out, and if our separation from him doesn’t work out.”“Yes.  But we need to de-commit here as well.  What if he goes on the post-graduate school and still doesn’t do well in Math.  What then?”“Then we take him back.”“Okay, then.  If that’s what’s best for him, it’s best for us too.”Didi poured them both some more coffee.“We still need to de-commit, though, Crosby,” said the recruiter.  “You have seen what we have to offer, and we can’t continue to delay his entry into college sports or the NFL.  We want a letter of intent, even though he’s moving on to a private school for post-grad.  As long as you agree that he can do a post-graduate year, then of course, we’ll have DeShawn playing for the NFL in no time.  If not, we can’t take him.  His scores have to improve.  Those are the requirements.  He has to be accepted first.”“Okay,” said Crosby.  “I guess that’s it.  Let’s put it together.  A post-graduate year it is, but you will carry him next.  Do we have an understanding?”“Yes,” said the recruiter.  “Consider it done.”“Okay.  Where are the papers?”

About the Author
Harvey Havel is a short-story writer and novelist. His first novel, Noble McCloud, A Novel, was published in November of 1999. His second novel, The Imam, A Novel, was published in 2000.
In 2006, Havel published his third novel, Freedom of Association.  He has published his eighth novel, Charlie Zero’s Last-Ditch Attempt, and his ninth, The Orphan of Mecca, Book One, which was released last year.  His new novel, The Thruway Killers is his latest work.
The Orphan of Mecca, Books Two and Three, has just been released next year as well as a book, An Adjunct Down, which he just completed.  His work in progress is called Mister Big, about a Black American football player.
He is formerly a writing instructor at Bergen Community College in Paramus, New Jersey.  He also taught writing and literature at the College of St. Rose in Albany as well as SUNY Albany.
Copies of his books and short stories, both new and used, may be purchased at www.barnesandnoble.com, www.amazon.com, and by special order at other fine bookstores.


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Thrills Ten Places by Kariss Stone

   Title: Thrills Ten PlacesSeries: Sexy Ten #2By: Kariss StonePublication Date: January 13, 2018Genre: Erotica#thrillstenplacestour Can love break through the walls? Intimacy in a grocery store, on the back of a bus, in the surf, a nightclub, a cable car. Just for starters! Businessman Eric Madison takes his and Charlotte’s ‘thrills’ sex to an all new high. But Charlotte Castle’s feelings for him grow to the point where a casual affair is no longer enough. Even though she risks losing him, she has to let him know how she feels. Will Eric overcome his fear of love and commitment or will Charlotte have to walk away from the only man she’s ever loved?
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AMAZON US: http://amzn.to/2k6tkbLAMAZON AU: https://goo.gl/F3uqzE Chapter OneCharlotte CastleHe trailed a slow path of kisses over my stomach. My muscles clenched in toe-curling anticipation until he was there, massaging my slick, aching cleft with his hot tongue. “Come for me, angel,” he murmured against my flesh, his words uttered in that soft, lilting Brazilian accent that got me every time. I gripped his hair as he sent me to the brink of ecstasy with every slide and twirl he made. I inhaled sharply, arched into him, wanting more, needing more. He glided his tongue around the lips of my sex, lapping at my clit until my body trembled. His tongue went deeper into my slit, lapping and sucking and swirling while I moaned louder. My grip on his hair tightened, my body melted as I reached the pinnacle, about to soar― A deep voice sliced through my erotic dream. I blinked hard trying to recall where I was and realizing through the lust haze in my brain, I’d been asked a question. Paul, my colleague in the Physics faculty readjusted his too-big spectacles as he stared at me, silent, waiting for my response. “Sorry, what was that?” I didn’t know why I was having this daydream in the staff room.“I asked if you wish you were overseas again.” Clearing my throat, I sat up straighter in my chair, hoping the heat in my cheeks and my no doubt dreamy look wouldn’t give me away. “Yeah, it would be great to travel again.” “And sailing around the Greek Isles. Lucky you.” Paul turned his attention to their other colleague. “When are you going overseas again, Harold?”While the men conversed, I thought about the amazing time I’d shared with businessman Eric Madison. It had been a whirlwind two months of mind-blowing sexual experiences with desserts in Australia and exotic locations around the world. But our affair had ended three weeks ago, after our last tryst―an orgy in a spa bath filled with jelly. Eric had promised to call the following week, keen to begin a new fantasy adventure. But he hadn’t called, and hurt swamped me. “What do you think Charlotte?”Paul again. It was nice he always included me in his conversations. “Sorry, what do I think about what?” I hadn’t meant to be distracted, usually I’m good at listening to people.   Harold’s piercing grey gaze met mine before he grinned, as though he could see inside my head and was enjoying the show. “It seems your mind is a million miles away today. We wanted to know what you thought of that Fluid Dynamics article.” Oh yes, I’d read that. “The results are remarkable. It’s certainly caught the attention of the public eye.” I rose from my place at the lunch table. “Will you excuse me for a moment, gentlemen?” Tightness coiled in my chest. I needed fresh air.Once outside the Physics building, I let out a deep breath. Eric Madison. Thinking about him had caused me to flee the suddenly claustrophobic lunchroom. The radio silence was probably his way of giving me the hint he’d changed his mind, no longer keen to meet up for the next sexual adventure he had in mind. Well, I got the hint. Unless he’s been busy and hasn’t had time to see you the rational part of my brain reasoned. Don’t forget he runs a successful renewable energy company, not to mention his BDSM clubs. And there was that embezzlement drama.Of course, but not even a quick text to say Hi. I’ve been crazy busy but will call you very soon? Maybe I was asking too much. Hurt bloomed within me. I was taking it harder than usual because I’d fallen in love with him, despite knowing he wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship. His fear of commitment hung between us like an impenetrable metal sheet, yet I had no idea why. His heart remained a closed book. I could only assume he’d been betrayed by a woman he loved. Or was there another reason to explain his commitment phobia?Frustrated and angry, I decided as hard as it would be, I’d have to close that chapter of my life, even though a part of me would always love him. I didn’t like these feelings. Experiencing sadness and disillusionment when my ex boyfriend broke my heart a couple of years ago had been enough. I needed to protect my heart and not fall deeper. I would send Eric a text tomorrow and leave it at that, getting the closure I needed. Hopefully. I wouldn’t send a text now, choosing to wait until I was in a better head space. I didn’t want to lash out and be a total bitch, out of respect for all the wonderful things he’d done for me, all those amazing experiences…not to mention the fact he’d saved my life…  ***Eric Madison I switched off my computer after a fourteen hour day overseeing the production of a new type of solar panel, the first of its kind in Australia. It would revolutionize the energy industry. Rolling my head and shoulders, I rose to my feet, exhausted and in need of a good sleep. I hopped into my Audi and drove off into the busy Sydney traffic, thankful it was only a short trip to my apartment down by Circular Quay.Twenty minutes later I slumped on the leather lounge with a beer in hand, switched on the TV and placed my feet on the coffee table, that same laid-back position I always adopted when not in my office. Yep. The bachelor life was great, no woman to tell me to get my shoes off the table.  I flipped channels. The Simpsons. Charlotte laughing at one of Homer’s funny reactions. Memories of her flooded my mind―times we’d watched the show together. I’d been comfortable with her from the moment we’d met, but falling in love, being in a committed relationship were things I avoided, thanks to my parents. Even though she’d agreed to casual, never asking for anything more, I suspected Charlotte’s feelings for me ran deeper than she admitted to. But there was no way I was getting caught up in a serious relationship.  As I got ready for bed, a text message sounded on my mobile phone. It was from Charlotte. ‘Hi Eric, hope you’re doing okay. I just wanted to say thanks for everything and I wish you all the best.’I jerked up straight, my heart skipped a beat. This sounded like she was ending things with me. ‘Where’s this coming from?’ I texted back.‘Now that we’re back in the real world and busy with our lives a new sexual adventure is probably not on the cards.Okay, I didn’t know women that well, but was this veiled anger? ‘Do you want me to call you?’ She texted her reply. ‘No. There’s nothing to discuss. I just wanted to say thanks again for the amazing time we shared, and I wish you well. I hope you got that embezzlement drama sorted out and found the guy. All the best with everything. Bye.’I surged to my feet, off-kilter, in unfamiliar emotional territory. Frustrated, I slumped back down on the sofa and shoved a hand through my hair.  A big void opened in my chest. Loss swamped me like a tidal wave. I was the one who did the dumping. What do I do about this?    A part of me knew if I’d called her I would have been tempted to see her straight away. I’d be vulnerable, and my control over my emotions could slip. I was always planning on calling her though. But I’d needed more time to deal with the various work issues. Still…I twisted my lips together. I could have at least sent her a text, even a quick ‘hi, am really busy but will contact you as soon as I can’.Now she was saying goodbye. Something I wasn’t expecting. Would it be better if I let her go? Could I let her go?Okay. I could do two things. Call her and try to get us back on the same page, but I’d have to keep my deeper emotions in check. Or I could accept her wishes and let her walk out of my life. But God, I didn’t want that. She was too special to me. Don’t make a decision now. Sleep on it. Just then my mobile rang. My best mate Martin who was always there for me. “Hey, mate, you still up?” Martin never worried about what time he called.“Yeah.”“So I ended up asking Liz out, and she said yes.”Liz. Martin’s personal trainer. “That’s great. She seems really nice.”“Yeah she is. But I’d like you to meet her for more than a minute. Can you come to the pub Friday night?”“Um … yeah … yeah I guess…”“Are you okay? You sound flat.”Rubbing my tired eyes, I pondered how I should reply, not wanting to dwell on my emotions at ten-thirty at night. “Nothing’s wrong. Sorry, just tired.” Well that was true. “But I’m happy for you, Martin. I’d love to meet her, too.” Even though Martin’s ex-fiancée, Priscilla, had broken his heart six months ago, he still believed in love. I meant it when I said I was happy for him.“You’ve heard from her, haven’t you?” Martin asked bluntly.I knew he was referring to Charlotte. Were guys meant to be this perceptive?“And I bet she’s not happy you haven’t called her.” Exactly what I’d thought. I couldn’t lie to my best mate. “Yeah I heard from her. She sent me a text saying ‘thanks, it was nice knowing you, have a good life’, words to that effect.”“Yep, she’s pissed. You should have called her by now, like I said.”“Man, I’m too buggered to get into this with you. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” I disconnected the call and switched off my phone. Lying awake in bed, I wasn’t able to get Charlotte out of my mind and heart despite the wall I’d built. But that didn’t mean anything. I simply missed her because I enjoyed her company. She’d become special to me, but past experiences prevented me from being in a committed relationship. I couldn’t open up to her. She wouldn’t get it. I only had to remember that night a year ago. I’d been drinking at the pub with my brother and his girlfriend and after a few beers told her why I’d sworn off love and serious relationships, thinking she’d understand. She’d been that type of person. Instead she’d given me this weird, puzzled look like I had rocks in my head, before laughing. ‘That’s a ridiculous reason. It makes no sense. You’ve got issues, man.’ If she could make me feel like a loser then any woman could, even Charlotte. No. I couldn’t give my heart to any woman. It was better to keep things fun and light with her and while I didn’t do commitment and love, I wanted to keep being around her. I loved her energy, and her personality. But I’d understand if she still wanted to walk out of my life because I couldn’t give her promises and roses and the happily ever after. And with her text she’d pretty well done just that. Simone Cooper, writing as Kariss Stone for her erotica books, has always been a romantic and knew from an early age creative writing was her passion, and that she wanted to be a writer. She loves everything about love and writing and romance in all its glorious forms, and has a natural passion for erotica, because as she says it’s fun and exciting to ‘live out’ any sexual fantasy you want! Simone lives on the Central Coast of NSW in a small flat with her beautiful man and their adorable but cheeky cat Ralph, who is the apple of their eye. When she’s not writing herself, she loves immersing herself in romance and erotica books and is addicted to any romance reality show on TV. Saddened by all the animal cruelty in the world, she donates regularly to many animal charities. Her dream is to set up an animal rescue refuge when she retires. Her first published book was an erotica short story called ‘Lust to the Night’, which describes in detail the first night of sex between the hero and heroine of ‘Dessert Ten Ways’ which is the first book in her ‘Sexy Ten’ series. Simone has also written a sweet romance called ‘The Ghost of his Past’ which is part of the Bindarra Creek Romance series: 13 books by 13 authors over 13 months. Set in the picturesque tablelands of New England, Australia, Bindarra Creek is a fictional, often drought-stricken community full of intrigue, adventure, drama and romance. Life and love in a small country town has never been more challenging. Social Media Links Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kariss.stone
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