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Catherine wrote: "Thanks Eugene. We will be very interested in reading the same."Thanks. In this passage from These Words Are True and Faithful, we see an unnamed old man get under the skin of Ernie, who is a police officer.
They walked hand in hand to one of the gayborhood’s restaurants best known for brunch. Ernie requested a table outside, telling the greeter, “I’m in the mood to be seen today.” He ordered the brunch buffet and coffee for both of them.
At the table next to them, an old man nursed a bloody Mary. After Ernie had gone inside for seconds from the buffet, the old man leaned over to Sam and said, “You’ve managed to find yourself a handsome boyfriend. He is your boyfriend, right?”
“Um, yes, he is,” said Sam, suddenly tongue-tied yet proud of his accomplishment.
“And he’s completely besotted with you. It’s written all over his face.” After a pause, the old man said, “I envy you young people, being able to be so free and open about your lives.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“We didn’t have all of this in my day,” said the old man, waving his hand toward the businesses lining 36th Street, many of them flying rainbow flags. “Back when this state had sodomy laws, which it did until 1979, if they thought your business catered to homosexuals, it’d be denied a license renewal on that basis alone, for promoting criminal activity. That was unless you greased the right palms, of course. There were only a few towns on the shore or in the western part of the state that did it differently. And even well after that, we certainly wouldn’t have walked down the street holding hands the way you and your beau did.”
Ernie returned with his seconds and sat down.
The old man continued, “Not unless we wanted our heads cracked open, anyway.”
“But surely,” Sam said, “there were police around in case such things happened, right?”
“Young man,” the old man responded, “you cannot be serious.”
Ernie shifted in his chair and scowled at the old man.
“If you got the police involved,” the old man said, “they’d let your attackers go and look for things to arrest you for, or just arrest you for inciting a riot or some such. That’s if they weren’t the ones attacking you, or if they weren’t all busy undercover at the local porn store or the park, which they often were. And if it did go to court—”
Ernie attacked a sausage with his fork and said, “Hey, gramps, thanks for the lesson in ancient history, but can you wrap it up now? I’d like to eat in peace.”
The old man responded, “I think it’s important to know where we came from. Not remembering the past, and all that.” Then he went back to staring into his bloody Mary.
After they were done eating and settled the check, Ernie told Sam, “We’re taking a little walk around the area. I’d like to show you off some more.” Ernie put his arm around Sam’s waist and guided him up the street. They stopped at the offbeat or gay-themed stores. Ernie delightedly pointed out to Sam whenever anyone seemed to check out either or both of them.
At the end of the commercial strip, Ernie said, “Stand over by that wall.”
“Why?” Sam asked.
“I want to take your picture. I need a good one of you to print out and put in a frame on my nightstand.”
“I thought you had one.”
“Yeah, I do, but it’s of you in a suit, and I want one like this.”
Sam went and stood by the wall.
“A little to the right,” Ernie said. “Turn just a bit. Just a bit more. Smile.” Ernie took out his cell phone, took several pictures of Sam, and showed them to Sam. “Which do you think is best?” he asked.
“I don’t like any of them,” said Sam.
“Why not? You look hot in all of them.”
“I don’t really look that young, do I? That’s not really how I see myself.”
“Yeah, you do, and that’s how you should see yourself. I think I like this one the best.”
On the way back, Ernie asked Sam in a suspicious tone, “So what were you and that old geezer at the restaurant talking about, anyway?”
“About how nice it was that we could be free and open about our lives and how much worse it was in his day.”
“And when was that, the sixties?”
“Actually, he made it sound as though a lot of it had gone on into the early eighties at least.”
“Um, Sam? I was a little kid in the early eighties, and you weren’t even born yet.”
Sam thought that it was suspicious that Ernie would address him by his first name. “Why are you so upset about it, anyway?” he asked.
“He just sounds like a complaining old crank who hates authority, just the sort of person who shouldn’t be listened to.”
“Well, what he said did get me thinking about—”
“That’s just it. Your problem is that you think through these things too much. Some things are just the way they are, and that’s that. Now I got 13 years of lived experience on you, so you might as well listen to me.”
“He must have more than that.”
Ernie sighed. “I certainly don’t doubt that, but are you gonna listen to me, or are you gonna listen to some bitter old rabble-rouser you just met, who probably had one too many bloody Marys?”
Sam figured that anything that he could possibly say would be wrong, so he decided not to argue further. “I guess you’re right,” he said; “we do live in different times.”
Mod
You're welcome, and thanks again. I picked a part that, in addition to being suitable for posting here, showed Sam's and Ernie's different personalities.
Jade ran to the container in the vehicle that the prisoner was being held in. “Come on, you’re going to have to run for it. Get over next to that girl behind the police vehicle,” Jade ordered as he planted some old explosives onto the convoy. He started to run as soon as he saw the VIP get to the vehicle. “Alright Ezra, time to destroy this convoy!” Jade yelled. Ezra pressed a little green button on a device that looked somewhat like an old TV remote. The whole thing burst up in red and yellow flames. “Well, now that’s over. Let’s go home.” Fiona said with relief. Suddenly something hit Jade and blood started pouring out of a hole in his back. The last thing he saw was Fiona firing her pistol rapidly at something and then once again it all went dark...A Future of Trouble and Chaos
Mod
Thanks Julian. Have marked as {To be read}
This was an interesting read as we traveled along with Amelia through her vision of her wedding, questioning why she would turn her head to be kissed on the cheek until we finish reading the excerpt
Great opportunity! Thank you.
Blazing pinpoints of brilliant light like searing sparks from a sparkler lit up her darkness. Nausea washed over her as she resisted the compulsion to be sick and her head throbbed in the claustrophobic stillness as she emerged from her anaesthetic induced slumber. Warily she began to assess her situation. The darkness was so complete it caused her to question whether or not she had been rendered blind. The icy fingers of panic clawed at her consciousness as the pounding of her heart filled her ears. It was as if all her thought processes were swimming in a sea of treacle. The foul air was suffocating as she struggled to think clearly while every muscle in her body cried out for oxygen. Powdery dust filled her nostrils and coated her throat choking her. She fought the urge to cry out for help or even cough and sneeze fearing that someone would hear and realize she was conscious before she had an opportunity to reconnoitre and formulate a plan for escape.
She lay on her back on a flabby, overstuffed mattress filled with lumps, some of which moved, on a sagging bed that creaked every time she made the slightest movement. She was acutely aware of things unseen gently landing on her and creeping over her. Groping about inch by inch in the blackness she found nothing but empty air within arm’s reach.
The pinwheels and nausea eased as she lay in the terrifying darkness. Listening intently she could hear subtle sounds of movement in the darkness. Cautiously re-positioning to an upright sitting position, bracing herself she swung her feet from the bed gingerly lowering them to the floor. A new fear suddenly gripping her as the floor beneath her feet began to stir and writhe causing her to recoil, retreating to the bed. She didn’t know which was worse being subjected to unidentified creepy-crawlies dropping on her and creeping all over her or the unknown horror that awaited her on the floor surrounding the bed. She remained motionless in her blindness as visions of Bartholomew exploding through the door to her prison, sweeping her up in his powerful arms and transporting her to a safe haven, manifested themselves in her fevered imagination.
Marsha’s reverie was rudely interrupted when something thumped down on her shoulder and proceeded to crawl up her neck. Reacting in terror she brushed frantically at the new horror sending it scuttling across the room. Marshalling all her resolve she lowered her feet once more to the living carpet below. Shuddering as once again the indescribable assault of creatures invisible in the utter darkness started immediately swarming over her feet and ankles, squirming and crunching like potato crisps with each disturbing step.
Taking two tentative steps with arms outstretched she encountered a wall. Sliding left she ran her hands over the surface searching for an opening, a crack or a weak spot, anything she could exploit in her quest for freedom. Within a few repulsive steps she reached the end of the wall and finding nothing made the turn to continue examining her prison. It was at that moment that something very big could be heard and felt moving on the other side of the wall. Sliding her fingers along the wall as she went she came upon a vertical edge and tracing its perimeter discovered it was a door and it was locked. Then the door began to throb with a deep, guttural rumbling sound as if something powerful and angry stood sentinel, waiting.
From: Be Careful What You Wish For by Solomon Knight
https://books2read.com/u/baz5gQ
https://www.amazon.com/Careful-What-P...
Blazing pinpoints of brilliant light like searing sparks from a sparkler lit up her darkness. Nausea washed over her as she resisted the compulsion to be sick and her head throbbed in the claustrophobic stillness as she emerged from her anaesthetic induced slumber. Warily she began to assess her situation. The darkness was so complete it caused her to question whether or not she had been rendered blind. The icy fingers of panic clawed at her consciousness as the pounding of her heart filled her ears. It was as if all her thought processes were swimming in a sea of treacle. The foul air was suffocating as she struggled to think clearly while every muscle in her body cried out for oxygen. Powdery dust filled her nostrils and coated her throat choking her. She fought the urge to cry out for help or even cough and sneeze fearing that someone would hear and realize she was conscious before she had an opportunity to reconnoitre and formulate a plan for escape.
She lay on her back on a flabby, overstuffed mattress filled with lumps, some of which moved, on a sagging bed that creaked every time she made the slightest movement. She was acutely aware of things unseen gently landing on her and creeping over her. Groping about inch by inch in the blackness she found nothing but empty air within arm’s reach.
The pinwheels and nausea eased as she lay in the terrifying darkness. Listening intently she could hear subtle sounds of movement in the darkness. Cautiously re-positioning to an upright sitting position, bracing herself she swung her feet from the bed gingerly lowering them to the floor. A new fear suddenly gripping her as the floor beneath her feet began to stir and writhe causing her to recoil, retreating to the bed. She didn’t know which was worse being subjected to unidentified creepy-crawlies dropping on her and creeping all over her or the unknown horror that awaited her on the floor surrounding the bed. She remained motionless in her blindness as visions of Bartholomew exploding through the door to her prison, sweeping her up in his powerful arms and transporting her to a safe haven, manifested themselves in her fevered imagination.
Marsha’s reverie was rudely interrupted when something thumped down on her shoulder and proceeded to crawl up her neck. Reacting in terror she brushed frantically at the new horror sending it scuttling across the room. Marshalling all her resolve she lowered her feet once more to the living carpet below. Shuddering as once again the indescribable assault of creatures invisible in the utter darkness started immediately swarming over her feet and ankles, squirming and crunching like potato crisps with each disturbing step.
Taking two tentative steps with arms outstretched she encountered a wall. Sliding left she ran her hands over the surface searching for an opening, a crack or a weak spot, anything she could exploit in her quest for freedom. Within a few repulsive steps she reached the end of the wall and finding nothing made the turn to continue examining her prison. It was at that moment that something very big could be heard and felt moving on the other side of the wall. Sliding her fingers along the wall as she went she came upon a vertical edge and tracing its perimeter discovered it was a door and it was locked. Then the door began to throb with a deep, guttural rumbling sound as if something powerful and angry stood sentinel, waiting.
From: Be Careful What You Wish For by Solomon Knight
https://books2read.com/u/baz5gQ
https://www.amazon.com/Careful-What-P...
Mod
Thank you for the opportunity. I'd love to get an honest review of my books.I have a contemporary romance series called The Bridesmaids Checklist. Here's an excerpt from book 1:
From Chapter 1
Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. I’d heard that saying more than once now. And I was about to hear it once again.
“Kassie! Kassie, wake up! I’m getting married,” a high-pitched voice squealed at me at 3:00 a.m.
Who the hell is this? I had picked up the phone without even looking at the caller ID. Oh, Laura. Great.
“Kassandra, are you listening? I’m engaged!” Laura screamed from the other side of the phone.
“Yeah, wow,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“I can’t believe you, Kassie. You should be more excited. You’ll get to be my bridesmaid!” The volume of her voice kept rising.
“I’m happy for you, Laura.” I really didn’t know at the moment how I felt. I was trying to look around to see exactly where I was. “Believe me. It’s just…it’s three o’clock, and I was sleeping.”
After looking at my surroundings, I remembered I was in my own house. I had a minor headache, probably from all the drinking the night before, and my body ached a bit. I looked beside me and found the reason for my hurt.
Next to me I found the silhouette of a beautiful man. The memories of the few hours before my abrupt awakening came back at me:
A bar. A blond. My home. Some sex...in that order.
“I know it’s late, but I had to give you the good news.”
“And news it is.” She was the last of my best friends who was single; not so long ago we roamed all the bars in town together, looking for men to hook up with, and suddenly she was engaged.
Thanks for the excerpt KT. It sounds like a lovely read. The title is very catchy ' The Bridesmaid's Checklist'. Am looking forward to reading it.
Grasshopper wrote: "Very interesting read Solomon. You have managed to create a very believable scene of terror, panic , anxiety., Entomophobia & Claustrophobia all rolled into one. Have marked as {To be read}✓"
Thank you very kindly Grasshopper.
Thank you very kindly Grasshopper.
Thanks for the opportunity to review. I have two literary creations you may find of interest; one is a memoir and the other is a self-help . . . both published by WriteLife Publishing. "Not a Blueprint It's the Shoe Prints that Matter / A Journey Through Toxic Relationships" in a short synopsis it is: a memoir, its raw, and it's real. “Not a Blueprint,” the story is a “powerful message of finding the beauty in relationships and how unhealthy relationships can destroy our lives. At best, its message peels off deadly relationships that speaks to finding self-love, touches on deception at its deepest level, and leaves behind a blazing trail of insights learned through the journey called life!” Also, this story has an audible version, narrated by Sara L. Morsey. The audible version received the "Crowned Heart of Excellence Award 2018" by InD'tale Magazine.
"Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall . . . Where Does My Self-Love Fall? A Success Guide to Replace Toxicity with Love," released on October 1, 2018.
"Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall . . ." an activity that helps in the development of "self." When you don’t love yourself, how can you expect another to love you?” It’s a simple question with a very complicated answer. Self-love should come naturally, but for many of us it doesn’t. Whether it stems from childhood abuses or toxic relationships along the journey of life, self-love can often be one of our greatest challenges. This guide helps us robe into our thoughts and emotions to uncover those self-concepts, gives us tools to reshape them, and in the process learn to fall in love with ourselves . . . the first step in living a fulfilling, happy life.
If you require the PDF or Word files for reviewing, let me know and will forward (box me with address where to send). After reading, looking forward to your online review. It is your feedback that helps us (author) in the process of our writing.
Mod
Thank you for reading this excerpt from MURDER IN THE ONE PERCENT.https://www.amazon.com/Murder-One-Per...
Preston brought his young wife to the party, not knowing he’d encounter his first love, the woman he jilted at the altar years ago. Margo’s timeless beauty tantalized him once again, making Nicole wonder, Is the honey-moon over?
Alone on the fourth floor, Mr. and Mrs. Preston Phillips were having a marital spat. Having no clue that he had behaved boorishly throughout the evening, Preston had climbed the three flights of stairs feeling good about him-self. He was sure Margo still had feelings for him, and he had to admit, he was still attracted to her. He had enjoyed the attention of Kitty Kelley, too. I’ve still got what it takes to attract a woman, he thought with a grin. And I rather enjoy aggravating the men, as well.
“What are you smiling at?” Nicole asked.
Her tone pierced Preston’s reverie. He had been expecting her to fall right into his arms. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, Preston. I’ve been watching you with your friends all night. Frankly, I think you’ve made a fool of yourself.”
“And how do you think I’ve made a fool of myself, Miss Expert? A few months of marriage, and you think you know me and my friends that well?”
“Totally. I know enough to know there’s something going on between you and that Margo, and the others either detest you or barely tolerate you. I may not have been around for the back story, but I’m not blind.”
Nicole sat at the dressing table and stared at her husband in the mirror.
Preston returned her stare in the mirror, aiming for sincerity. “There’s nothing going on with Margo and me. I haven’t seen her in forty years, for God’s sake.”
“Oh, yeah. Then what were you two doing for fifteen minutes when you both went upstairs?”
Preston turned away from the mirror, pacing. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come this weekend. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Answer my question. What were you and Margo doing?” Nicole’s voice rose in pitch, as if she were about to cry.
“Keep your voice down. We weren’t doing anything. We were talking. We are old friends.”
“You could talk to your old friends all night long, right in front of everyone. You didn’t have to leave the table to follow that old hag. I asked you not to leave me alone with these people, but I never dreamed you would go off pussy-chasing. I’m mortified.” She stood and paced around the room, brandishing her hairbrush.
“I’m not going to apologize to you, Nicole, because I didn’t do anything wrong. I love you, and I married you. End of story. Now let’s go to bed.”
“Don’t think this is the end of this discussion, Preston. If you do one more thing to upset me this weekend, you’ll live to regret it.”
Mod
Grasshopper wrote: "You are most welcome Nina. Have marked your book as {To be read}✓"Thank you Grasshopper on marking for read. If you'll need the PDF/Word files, just box me and let me know email address for sending.
Hello! Here's an excerpt from my latest release A Sultry Performance, a light romantic suspense set in a majestic theater in upstate NY:“I’m fine.” Victoria hid her eyes.
Chris tucked a disheveled wave behind her ear. “You don’t look fine. You’re trembling, and you look as though you’ve been crying.”
Victoria did her best to hold it together, like she always did. But seeing the compassion in Chris’s eyes, compassion that ran deeper than anything she had ever been on the receiving end of, the emotions welled inside of her. As the tears spilled down her face Chris took her into his arms. His strength surrounded her. He brought her inside of it, brushing one strong hand up and down her back.
“Victoria,” he whispered, “why are you marrying that man?”
Victoria tried, but couldn’t think of a single reason why she was. For years, she’d been telling herself that she was humoring Oakley, biding her time with him until she could approach him from a position of power. But the more time passed, the more she questioned whether that day would ever come. The night Oakley had asked her to marry him, there hadn’t been any question in her mind that she was going to say yes. Such had been the way of their disgusting farce of a relationship. She presented a hard-edged front to the world, but when it came to the man who’d been manipulating her for half her life, it was as though she had no power at all, as though she might just as well be nothing more than a mouse.
Avoiding Chris’s eyes, because she couldn’t possibly hide the truth from him if they were looking at each other head-on, Victoria simply said, “I love him.”
Chris’s arms stiffened and Victoria froze in turn, barely breathing as he took her by the shoulders, saying, “Victoria, that man just embarrassed you in front of two hundred people. He berated you, he manhandled you and he exploits you every night of your life. How could you possibly love a man like that?”
Victoria gnawed her lip, completely at a loss for words. She had no defense for the man in question and by aligning herself with him she was sacrificing more of her identity every day. Not that the life she’d led had made her crazy about relationships in general, but she wasn’t even opening herself to the possibility of another man’s companionship, to his soothing words and soft touch. Was it so wrong to want these things, so impossible to have them? Bringing Chris into the middle of her relationship with Oakley was liable to prove dangerous for both of them. But Chris was strong. He had to be, to have survived the loss he had.
Cautioning herself not to allow her thoughts to get away from her, knowing that Oakley would probably kill a man he perceived to be a serious enough threat to him, Victoria lifted her chin. “I know what it looks like, but I couldn’t count the things Oakley has done for me over the years. He’s protected me, and I sleep soundly at night knowing that no one is going to hurt me. He makes me feel safe.”
She realized right away that she shouldn’t have put things in those terms because the twinkle in Chris’s eyes told her exactly what his reply was going to be. She ought to run. He was giving her a chance to do just that, but her legs refused to stand. Instead, they eased sideways, leading the way like the smokestack on a train as her body leaned helplessly into that of the man sitting beside her.
“Tell me, Victoria—” Chris looked into her eyes, “does Oakley Sutherland make you feel like this?”
If you'd like a copy of A Sultry Performance (pdf/mobi/epub) in exchange for an honest review, please feel free to give me a shout!
http://jessicalauryn.com/contact/
Thanks Jessica. Shall enjoy reading this.
Mod
Hi there –I'm an author of travel memoirs, all published in 2017 and 2018. I've got some upcoming free Kindle downloads from Thursday to Monday repeating, viz:
21-25 March: A Maverick Himalayan Way (new edition)
( https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07M5VQPTJ ) It's possible to read as far as the end of the Introduction on "Look Inside," after which I get more into my travels!
28 March - 1 April: A Maverick Inuit Way and the Vikings
4 - 8 April: A Maverick Traveller Anthology
11 - 15 April: A Maverick Pilgrim Way
18 - 22 April: A Maverick USA Way
25 - 29 April: Una Viajera Disidente (A Maverick Traveller, Spanish translation)
Here's my blog too by the way: https://www.a-maverick.com/blog
Cheers, Mary Jane Walker
Mod
Could you post a bit more for our readers here?
It's been awhile since I've involved myself in any kind of author discussion, so forgive me if I'm doing this wrong (like commenting on something in the wrong spot) or if I come off like a dweeb. Actually, I'm gonna come off like a dweeb anyway.I'd love to have my latest horror novel "Coda" checked out by anyone who wants to check it out. I don't like taking up a lot of space with excerpts (and I never know what to pull, anyway), so below is the blurb and some links and what-have-you. Needless to say, I'm more than happy to send out PDFs to anyone who would like one; it's not as cool as the Kindle version or the paperback, but all the words are there. It's available on KU if you're so inclined. Happy Reading!
Coda
After a devastating earthquake hits Los Angeles, a group of survivors find themselves whisked away to a place known only as The Town. It is there that they will face their inner-most demons and relics of the past as they try to find a way out and back to reality.
But an evil presence awaits them there. It knows their fears, their sins and their lies and will do anything to keep them right where they are.
Mod
Hi everyone,My name is Kristin Pierce, and I have published a book called Your Inner Compass That Could. The book description is below.
Details on the book can be found on my website: www.innercompassbooks.com
Let me know if you are interested in reviewing it.
Thank you!
Kristin
“The spark in your eyes
will be proof you’ve discovered
Your passion, your purpose,
your best self being uncovered.”
Inspiring, whimsical, and brightly illustrated, Your Inner Compass That Could provides a fresh perspective on navigating the magical adventure of life. Simple rhymes encourage young readers to let their inner wisdom lead the way to true fulfillment, while imparting messages of self-empowerment, self-growth, and self-confidence. It is a book for anyone who has ever had a gut feeling, a strong knowing or felt a spark of passion deep inside. It is never too early for children, or too late for adults, to realize that they are truly magnificent, powerful beings with unlimited potential and are equipped with an unique internal compass to help guide their way.
Mod
Grasshopper wrote: "A lovely message Kristin. Have marked the book as {To be read}"Thank you so much!
Hi. I'm Ari Reavis and this is the first chapter from my book All The Pieces of You. It can be found on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MD9CJRDAnd on this site here: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4...
He has got to be a gift from God.
I almost check to make sure I’m not drooling as I watch this gorgeous man do pull-ups. Being that I can usually only make it here on an odd weekday, I wonder if he comes here often. But as for right now, here he is, all muscles and sweat, and I cannot find it in myself to move off the sit-up bench. It’s not like I’ve done more than ten crunches anyway. I haven’t been able to work out, other than a pull-up here and there, in a month and my stomach is not having it today.
Mr. Gorgeous finishes his set and drops down, turning his head so quickly I don’t have time to act like I wasn’t ogling him. He catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. Welp, I figure I’m already caught, so I smile and get up to walk towards him.
I hold my hand out. “Hi, I’m Cassidy. The Starer.”
“I’m Lucas. The Sweater, which is probably why you really don’t want to shake my hand right now,” he replies with a smirk.
I bring my hand back to my side and his dark-gray eyes sparkle with amusement.
“Well, Lucas, I was admiring your pull-ups. In a totally platonic way,” —he gives a sarcastic nod— “because I’ve been doing this pull-up challenge for two weeks but cannot seem to get past two pull-ups. Three, if I practically do the worm on the third.”
He chuckles and it makes me want to tell a million jokes to hear him do it again and again.
“Well, platonically speaking, chin-ups might be a little easier for you. Maybe I can stare—I mean, watch you do some and see if you’re doing anything incorrectly.”
“Yeah, I’m definitely not embarrassing myself like that in front of someone so sexy.”
He grins. “So, I’m sexy, am I?”
“Like you didn’t know that?”
“Doesn’t hurt to hear it every now and then.”
“Mmhmm. I’m sure you’re really hard up for compliments,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Well, let me take you out for dinner and you can compliment me all night.”
“Is that the best you can do? Honestly?”
He cringes a little. “It’s been a while since I asked a beautiful woman on a date,” he admits.
I find that really hard to believe, but I guess that’s something I can ask about over dinner. “I’ll give you a pass, I guess.” I shrug.
“Next time, I’ll make a much better effort.”
“Already planning a second date, huh? Aren’t we confident?” I grin.
He only smiles. “Give me your phone. I’ll call myself from it, so we’ll have each other’s numbers.”
I take my phone from my armband and hand it to him after putting in my passcode. My eyes can’t help but watch the muscles in his arms bunch as he types in his number before I get a hold of myself and look at his face. He has a small smile and I wonder what’s so funny. When he hands me my phone back, I figure out the smile. On my screen, I see an outgoing call to “The Sweater.”
I burst out laughing. Once I hear his phone ringing, I press the end button.
“Please tell me you’re not going to make my contact name ‘The Starer,’” I plead.
He chuckles that chuckle and shakes his head. “I have a much better name in mind for you.”
“Do tell.”
“I’ll tell you while we’re eating dinner.”
“Ah, making sure I show up, huh?”
“More like hoping,” he says, with sincerity in his eyes.
“At the risk of seeming desperate, I’ll text you tonight, so we can figure out the where and when.”
“At the risk of seeming even more desperate, I might text you first.”
“Oh, text away, Lucas.”
He grins and his face lights up. I figure this is a good time to make my exit, while I still seem like the cool and collected one. I put my phone back in my armband.
“Well, Lucas, my ‘work out’ is over, so I’m gonna go. But I fully expect us to be texting tonight.”
“Yeah, I’m done too. I can’t wait until tonight. Bye, Cassidy.”
“Bye, Lucas.”
I gather my towel from the sit-up bench and turn around to find Lucas gone. I look towards the exit, expecting to see him leaving. Instead, I see Lucas make a right. The only things that way are the daycare and the ladies’ locker room. Curious, I walk over to the exit to see where he’s going.
I watch him open the daycare door and not five seconds later, a bundle of curls and tutu comes bounding towards him. He barely has time to kneel before a beautiful little girl jumps into his arms. They hug each other so tightly I feel like I’m invading their privacy just by watching.
With that thought, I push the exit door open and leave the gym, all the while thinking, Holy shit, he has a kid.
Mod
Grasshopper wrote: "Very sensual piece Ari. Have marked it as { To be read}"Thank you and Yay
Thanks for the opportunity to post an excerpt, admins.This is from Flank Street, book one of The Sydney Quartet .
The Honey
We rolled into Sydney a few minutes before eleven the following morning. It had taken five hours from Coffs, with a breakfast stop on the way. Carol had been quiet, but not hostile or angry, and I’d tried to keep the peace for the duration of the journey. Things would tense up when we got to the bank.
‘What suburb is your bank in?’
‘It’s right in the middle of town. In Martin Place. I need to go home and get my keys first.’
‘Bullshit. Why wouldn't you have your keys with you?’
‘I just didn't bring them, that’s all. I didn't expect to need them.’
‘So you’re telling me you were going to return to Sydney? To live here amongst people who want you dead?’
She lit a cigarette and drew heavily. ‘I didn’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Yes you did. You’re a strategist. Some would say a cunning bitch.’
‘Nice.’
‘What’s the real reason for wanting to go home?’
She faced me, and said, ‘I want us to talk. I want to tell you what a huge mistake you’ll be making if you give that gun back to them. Micky, please listen to me.’
‘You've just had a thousand kilometres to tell me any bullshit like that. What’s different at home?’
She went quiet as if in thought, smoking her cigarette and staring out of the side window.
‘We can work something out, Micky. Something where we both come out all right.’
‘If you’re so sure, let’s get the gun first, then I’ll listen. I just don’t trust you, Carol. Are the keys at your place, or are you just jerking me around?’
She wound the window down, threw out the cigarette, closed it again, and then straightened her windblown hair. ‘They’re in my bag.’
‘I thought so.’
We were approaching the central Sydney where Martin Place and the bank were located. She pulled down the sun visor and touched up her lipstick. I parked in an underground about two-hundred meters from the bank, then we walked in silence.
It took ten minutes to get access to the safety deposit box. Two minutes later we were back on the street, walking toward the parking lot with the Makarov in my pack. It would have been easy to just walk away, give the gun to Mitchell, and tell them she was dead, but I drove to Turnbuckle instead. Not a word was said, and she didn't seem surprised that I knew where to go.
I followed her inside. She looked around, taking in the missing photograph and the glass fragments on the floor, but all she said was, ‘Drink?’
‘Sure.’
She poured Jameson into crystal tumblers, and handed me one. It was early for me, and I’d no intention of getting pissed and waking up on the wrong side of a .38. When I sat in an armchair, she sat opposite me with an expectant look on her face. I raised my hands palm-up. ‘So speak. I’m out of here after one drink.’
‘What’s the rush? You have the gun. You have me where you want me.’ When I didn’t answer she said, ‘Have you killed before?’
‘What do you want to say? What’s your great scheme where we both come out on top, and Kurt Reed, or Mitchell, don’t chop us into little pieces?’
‘There are ways, Micky, and you know it. We could get on your boat and both disappear.’
‘You’re not my type. Anything else?’
‘I know you don’t want to kill me.’
I sipped my drink and said, ‘What makes you so sure?’
‘I’m not saying you wouldn’t kill, you might, but not a woman in cold blood. You’re not the type.’ She tipped the whiskey back and got up to refill her glass.
‘You don’t know what type I am.’
She gave a short derisive snort. ‘I know men. That’s one thing I do know. And you, Micky Dewitt, are not a cold blooded killer.’
When she emptied the tumbler for a second time in five minutes, I guessed it was fear, not thirst. She’d just said that she knew men. She also knew men that I needed to know about, so I decided to loosen her tongue and see what I could find out. There were three days yet before I had to face Mitchell. I drained my glass and held it out for a refill. Time to play.
‘Do you know men that are? If you know I'm not, then you must be comparing me with someone else.’ I reached forward, took one of her cigarettes, lit up, and then leaned back waiting for her to speak. She had to play along. In her mind, keeping me entertained was all that was keeping her alive. A modern day Scheherazade.
‘Hanging around The Cross, you meet all sorts of people. People come and people go. Some are good, others scum. Sure, I knew of one guy had the reputation of being a cold-blooded killer. I didn't know him, but I’d seen him around. You know how the grapevine works with people like that. Must be the same where you’re from, wherever that is.’
‘London.’
‘Is Soho like The Cross?’
‘Not even close. What happened to the guy?’
‘He got whacked. I heard he'd crossed Brookes over money….’ Her words trailed off as she realised what she’d said. As she recognised the parallel, and how she was destined to end up getting whacked for the same reason.
‘He doesn't like to be duped over money, does he, Carol?’
She hung her head, her arms resting on her thighs. ‘Fuck.’
She sighed and stood wearily, looked down at me, and then walked into the kitchen returning a moment later with a bag of chips and a pack of cashew nuts. She poured herself another, and then held the bottle out offering me more. I accepted with a shrug. She poured until my tumbler was nearly full, and then stood the bottle between us. I could feel the alcohol, and guessed she could as well, which was why she’d gone for food. She tore open the pack of nuts, put a big handful in her mouth, and chewed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Find out more, and download free sample chapters by clicking here
A.J. Sendall
Mod
I have marked the book as {To be read}
Thanks for the opportunityHere's an excerpt from A More Perfect Love It's 1948 in the Catskills and forbidden love is in the mountain air:
With his arm through mine, he guided me along what was barely a path. More of a crossing for deer. I was hoping we were finding a secluded spot to share affections, but worried that the cold would prevent us from sharing enough.
Then the woods opened up and we were on Liberty Lake, only on the far side from Pine Breeze.
“Thomas,” I gasped. “Is this your land?”
“Yes, my love. You’re standing on the private property of Thomas William Cullen. And you are trespassing.”
My mouth opened to exclaim my excitement but I found Thomas’s lips on mine.
The passionate kiss melted the nipping air. I fell into his arms and let him guide me to the ground.
“Thomas. Not here in the winter?”
“You wanted to in the summer.” He continued to kiss along my neck, nudging aside my scarf.
“We’ll freeze.” My protest was halfhearted at best.
“You have so little faith in my lovemaking that I won’t keep you warm.” He took my hand and pulled me to my feet, and then we walked deep into the woods.
“What’s that?” I asked as a dilapidated shack came into view.
“That is why the Catskills are the Catskills. It’s an old stillhouse. During Prohibition, our Irish and Jewish gangster ancestors would hide their hooch in the wilderness of the mountains. Either smuggled in from Canada or distilled right here.”
The door still hung on the hinges, but the roof tilted. When we stepped in, I saw someone had cleared the floor and laid a new mattress on top of a tarp.
“It’s not our elegant digs, but I thought it would do.”
“Oh, Thomas.” And those were the last words I was able to utter for a good thirty minutes.
I would love to read your book Kate. Have marked it as 'Want to read'.
Grasshopper wrote: "Thanks for the excerpt AJ. However, I think it has crossed the 1k word limit.🤓 I have marked the book as {To be read}"
Apologies, I didn't see the 1k limit. I'll edit it down.
Catherine wrote: "I would love to read your book Kate. Have marked it as 'Want to read'."Thanks so much
Looking forward to your feedback
Mod
Have marked as {To be read}✓
Grasshopper wrote: "Gosh Kate! Do such men exist?? I want to place a large order for myself!😅Have marked as {To be read}✓" They do in romance novels (hee hee) Thanks so much.
Meet the Author of Small Town Kid and (soon to be released ) Devil In The Wind) at Wangaratta Library tonight (1830 hours)Frank will read and discuss his work with participants and will be available to personally inscribe books, as requested.
Want to hear his work? Check this out: https://frankprem.wordpress.com/2019/...
Mod
PS. Congratulations on your library event
Mens Sana in Corpore SanoA sound mind
In a sound body.
This is a condition
Which is greatly to be desired.
I have travelled the world around
Seen many a sight
Heard many a sound
And been, like Prometheus,
Unbound.
My body has supported me
Through all this.
So, is my mind sound?
On a good day, perhaps.
But in the darker recesses
There are dark thoughts
Tempting my will to act
And festering memories
Which cause anxieties
To ripple through my brain.
But perhaps this state
Is what flesh and blood
Creatures are heir to.
Mod
Very well penned Bernard. You must post this in the Poetry folder too!👍
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You are most welcome Eugene.