Plenty of Fish in the Ocean State - Chapter 1
Here's part of the first chapter of my new rom-com Plenty of Fish in the Ocean State
CHAPTER 1
I awoke to the sound of my TV downstairs, murmuring sounds like Charlie Brown’s schoolteacher. I must have left it on last night when I went to bed. The girls and I had a great time last night at Wickenden Pub. Ebony, Jenna, and Valeria--Val for short--joined me at our favorite dive bar. I drew the short straw as the designated driver. My name is Reese--yes, like the peanut butter cup--and I live in Providence, Rhode Island.
As I dragged myself out of bed to start a crisp August Saturday morning, my head throbbed. But why? I didn’t have any alcohol. I was sure of it. Val and Jenna downed the local favorite lager, Narragansett, while Ebony stuck to her usual drink, Buffalo Trace Bourbon. Neat, because she’s cool like that. I had some seltzer and a lime--something more appealing than plain water so the barmaid didn’t give me the stink eye for wasting her time. If I only had seltzer last night, why did my head hurt like I won a shot drinking contest? Which I had done a year after I graduated from Villanova, but that’s a story for another day.
I dropped back down on my bed and massaged my throbbing temples. This was not going to be a good day if I couldn’t even get out of bed.
A clomp clomp clomp of feet shuffling on the first floor echoed from my kitchen. The sound traveled up the stairs and down the hallway to my bedroom. My shaking fingers curled around my blanket in fear.
Someone was downstairs in my house! My menacing headache immediately transformed to a Category 1 hurricane while I frantically searched for my phone. It wasn’t on my dresser where I normally put it when I went to bed. As I burrowed through my pillows and covers like a groundhog, my heart raced. Where was my freaking phone? I needed to call 911!
Clomp clomp clomp again.
I gasped, standing perfectly still willing the intruder not to come into my bedroom. But I couldn’t stay cornered in my bedroom. Jumping out the bedroom window would result in a few broken bones. I weighed my options carefully and decided to take action. Snatching a wire hairbrush from my dresser, I clutched it close to my chest and slowly opened my bedroom door. The intruder was in for a fight.
As I tip-toed down the hall, a squeaky floorboard betrayed my stealth mode. I froze and held my breath. When I didn’t hear anyone coming up the steps, I continued on soft feet. As I approached the top of the stairs, I considered my choices. I could gradually descend and hope that I didn’t encounter any more squeaky floorboards, or bolt down. But I needed some extra time to plan my attack. I opted for the former. The burglar could be six-foot-eight and weigh 300 pounds. At five-foot-three and 123 pounds, I’d be a bantamweight fighter up against a heavyweight. Someone like that could easily lift me and toss me around. Having run track in high school, I could dart out of the house but wasn’t sure how far I’d get in bare feet.
Why was someone in my house on a Saturday morning anyway? To steal my dust-filled waffle iron? Have at it. I had never felt scared about being a single woman living alone in an old house. Until now.
After I crept down the stairs without making a sound, I reached the bottom and exhaled. More shuffling sounds came from my kitchen. A cabinet opened and closed. Dishes clanged together. What the hell? Take everything you want, just get out of my house!
As I squeezed the hairbrush in my white-knuckled fingers, I inched my way through the living room. Saturday morning news blared on the TV. The intruder was watching the news and pillaging my kitchen? What kind of burglar was this?
Hiding at the entrance to my kitchen, I studied my surroundings to plan my attack. Unfortunately, I could only see one side of the room and the intruder was out of my line of sight. He or she was in the blind corner, where the fridge was. Was the intruder now stealing my eggs?
I spied my phone on the counter a few steps in front of me. Why did I leave it downstairs? If I could get the phone without making a sound, I could call 911 and the police could do their thing. They would arrest a news-watching, waffle-iron-and-egg-stealing burglar. The intruder would be a laughingstock at the Providence City Jail, but at least the trespasser would be out of my house.
I took one step, paused, and stared at the intruder who was now looting my fridge. His back to me, he was undressed from the waist up and had bare feet. His toned, mocha skin dipped into a pair of black shorts, but I couldn’t see his face. His ass could cloud a girl’s thoughts. Confused by his appearance, I couldn’t take another step. At least I had found the intruder and he seemed harmless. My heart rate slowed.
Who was this twin-of-Adonis man in my kitchen? And why was he taking food out of my fridge? He didn’t act like a dangerous intruder. Maybe he was lost? From the back, he seemed familiar, but I was still hesitant to make myself known. My headache prevented me from focusing. Slowly, I lowered my hairbrush and cocked my head to the side. I didn’t pick up a guy at Wickenden Pub and bring him home last night. I was sure of it.
Suddenly, the man turned around and grinned at me with a blazing white smile. My initial fear turned to awe. Tension left my body in an instant.
“‘Morning, Reese. I was wondering when you were getting up.”
Mateo.
To find out what happens between Reese and Mateo, you can purchase the book at your favorite retailer!
CHAPTER 1
I awoke to the sound of my TV downstairs, murmuring sounds like Charlie Brown’s schoolteacher. I must have left it on last night when I went to bed. The girls and I had a great time last night at Wickenden Pub. Ebony, Jenna, and Valeria--Val for short--joined me at our favorite dive bar. I drew the short straw as the designated driver. My name is Reese--yes, like the peanut butter cup--and I live in Providence, Rhode Island.
As I dragged myself out of bed to start a crisp August Saturday morning, my head throbbed. But why? I didn’t have any alcohol. I was sure of it. Val and Jenna downed the local favorite lager, Narragansett, while Ebony stuck to her usual drink, Buffalo Trace Bourbon. Neat, because she’s cool like that. I had some seltzer and a lime--something more appealing than plain water so the barmaid didn’t give me the stink eye for wasting her time. If I only had seltzer last night, why did my head hurt like I won a shot drinking contest? Which I had done a year after I graduated from Villanova, but that’s a story for another day.
I dropped back down on my bed and massaged my throbbing temples. This was not going to be a good day if I couldn’t even get out of bed.
A clomp clomp clomp of feet shuffling on the first floor echoed from my kitchen. The sound traveled up the stairs and down the hallway to my bedroom. My shaking fingers curled around my blanket in fear.
Someone was downstairs in my house! My menacing headache immediately transformed to a Category 1 hurricane while I frantically searched for my phone. It wasn’t on my dresser where I normally put it when I went to bed. As I burrowed through my pillows and covers like a groundhog, my heart raced. Where was my freaking phone? I needed to call 911!
Clomp clomp clomp again.
I gasped, standing perfectly still willing the intruder not to come into my bedroom. But I couldn’t stay cornered in my bedroom. Jumping out the bedroom window would result in a few broken bones. I weighed my options carefully and decided to take action. Snatching a wire hairbrush from my dresser, I clutched it close to my chest and slowly opened my bedroom door. The intruder was in for a fight.
As I tip-toed down the hall, a squeaky floorboard betrayed my stealth mode. I froze and held my breath. When I didn’t hear anyone coming up the steps, I continued on soft feet. As I approached the top of the stairs, I considered my choices. I could gradually descend and hope that I didn’t encounter any more squeaky floorboards, or bolt down. But I needed some extra time to plan my attack. I opted for the former. The burglar could be six-foot-eight and weigh 300 pounds. At five-foot-three and 123 pounds, I’d be a bantamweight fighter up against a heavyweight. Someone like that could easily lift me and toss me around. Having run track in high school, I could dart out of the house but wasn’t sure how far I’d get in bare feet.
Why was someone in my house on a Saturday morning anyway? To steal my dust-filled waffle iron? Have at it. I had never felt scared about being a single woman living alone in an old house. Until now.
After I crept down the stairs without making a sound, I reached the bottom and exhaled. More shuffling sounds came from my kitchen. A cabinet opened and closed. Dishes clanged together. What the hell? Take everything you want, just get out of my house!
As I squeezed the hairbrush in my white-knuckled fingers, I inched my way through the living room. Saturday morning news blared on the TV. The intruder was watching the news and pillaging my kitchen? What kind of burglar was this?
Hiding at the entrance to my kitchen, I studied my surroundings to plan my attack. Unfortunately, I could only see one side of the room and the intruder was out of my line of sight. He or she was in the blind corner, where the fridge was. Was the intruder now stealing my eggs?
I spied my phone on the counter a few steps in front of me. Why did I leave it downstairs? If I could get the phone without making a sound, I could call 911 and the police could do their thing. They would arrest a news-watching, waffle-iron-and-egg-stealing burglar. The intruder would be a laughingstock at the Providence City Jail, but at least the trespasser would be out of my house.
I took one step, paused, and stared at the intruder who was now looting my fridge. His back to me, he was undressed from the waist up and had bare feet. His toned, mocha skin dipped into a pair of black shorts, but I couldn’t see his face. His ass could cloud a girl’s thoughts. Confused by his appearance, I couldn’t take another step. At least I had found the intruder and he seemed harmless. My heart rate slowed.
Who was this twin-of-Adonis man in my kitchen? And why was he taking food out of my fridge? He didn’t act like a dangerous intruder. Maybe he was lost? From the back, he seemed familiar, but I was still hesitant to make myself known. My headache prevented me from focusing. Slowly, I lowered my hairbrush and cocked my head to the side. I didn’t pick up a guy at Wickenden Pub and bring him home last night. I was sure of it.
Suddenly, the man turned around and grinned at me with a blazing white smile. My initial fear turned to awe. Tension left my body in an instant.
“‘Morning, Reese. I was wondering when you were getting up.”
Mateo.
To find out what happens between Reese and Mateo, you can purchase the book at your favorite retailer!
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