Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Early to Rise Release Day!

Yee-haw! Grab your eReader and do-si-do to your favorite eBook retailer for your copy! This M/M rom-com is pulling in rave reviews from advance reader copies sent out to reviewers. Don`t miss out on the romance and rural humor that spurred Becky at Bike Book Reviews to give it 5 stars and say this--

"Long story short, you have to read this "little good time" and I promise you will love it, and fall for both of these lovely boys, and of course you will love the coffee addicted swine also (messed ya up didn't I :p). Thanks V.L., for giving us a heartfelt entree of a read with a healthy side of giggles!"


There are few things worse than being left at the altar by the man you thought loved you. Just ask Simon Wilder. He knows all about it. He also knows a thing or two about getting fired. It`s been a rotten week for Simon and making major life decisions during such turmoil may not be the wisest thing Simon has ever done. Or is it?

Packing up his clothes, his collection of Tony Orlando CD`s, and his cat, Sambuca, Simon leaves the hustle and bustle of Philadelphia behind and heads out to live on his uncle Tiberius` farm in the mountains of Pennsylvania. Starting over on the farm where he vacationed once as a child is a going to be just what the doctor ordered, as long as that doctor is the good-looking large animal veterinarian, Gentry Martin. Is a sexy country vet the cure for a love-sick city boy?

Thank you so much for your continued support! My readers are the best readers in the world and I love each and every one of you. 


Monday, March 30, 2015

Tuesday Tales - Mug

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

 Today we have the next chapter for Wind in White Birch and our word prompt is "Mug". Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!

Wind in White Birch

           Sharing a man with his dream sucks. I spent the next twenty-seven days having a text message/phone contact relationship. While hearing his voice a few times a week was nice, it did not replace being in his arms or feeling his mouth on mine. I cursed at not only the physical distance between Jonah and I, I also placed a few hexes on that damned lodge. As soon as I would cuss the log cabin, I would feel terrible. Jonah was beside himself with anticipation.
He had managed to scrape together enough money for the down payment with some financial assistance from the government, a rather substantial small business grant from the Seneca tribal council, and his own hard-earned savings. The grant from his tribe came with one small stipulation: He must hire capable and certified guides from the Seneca nation once he was in the position to expand his guide services. A wise addendum to their cash I had thought when Jonah and I had been talking on the phone one night.  Jonah was certainly behind offering his tribesmen good paying jobs. He just had to get the clientele to be able to do so.
February was a dismal, grey, cold month in Pittsburgh. I was at work and feeling frumpy. My pants were all too tight due to water weight gain, so I was stuck in what I term my ‘Menstrual Clothes’ which encompassed anything with an elastic waistband. Cramps rolled through my lower belly, my back ached and some jackass was arguing with me about the price of a civil war anthology. The man glaring at me had no idea of just how close he was coming to having his face ripped off by the cranky cougar.
“….saying is that I can buy this for my eReader for half of what you`re charging. I think you should meet or beat the price that the online store is charging.”
I glowered at the squat man with the bulbous nose and pockmarks. He raised his eyebrows triumphantly.
            “Sir,” I said through clenched teeth. “We are not that super online store. We`re a brick and mortar business that has to charge more, but what we offer in return cannot be found in any cold, computer run-“
“What you offer? What is that? A miserable clerk that can`t even smile when I come in to plunk down my hard earned cash? Keep it." He slammed the book to the counter, making Bongo Cat lift his head from his nap as well as making my mug of tea jump. “I`ll buy it online.”
The bells over the door tingled angrily as he exited. I flipped the ass off then buried my head in my hands before my forehead hit the counter. The store phone rang. I whimpered but pawed blindly about, wondering why the hell it was taking the Midol tablets so long to work.
“Tomes A ‘Plenty, your fiction is our addiction,” I mumbled, staring through the glass counter top at the assortment of local authors books we were pushing. Do the big super online stores do that? Do they back indie authors and small presses? Do they hold book events, writers groups, or book clubs like we do monthly? Do they donate books to charities, daycare centers, or spend time promoting library book sales?
“Dana, is there a parking spot outside your store? Never mind, I see one.”
I moaned then heard the horns blaring as my grandmother cut across traffic to dive into a parking slot. The phone slid from my fingers to the floor, my grandmother`s voice asking if I knew anyone that drove a green Audi.
“Stop futzing Mary, I just bumped it with the Caddy,” Grandma `s voice rose from the dangling receiver. I contemplated making a run for it. I could slip out into the alley in back then hide in Peggy`s Fabric Hut next door. The old women could not find me and lecture me if I was hidden among the taffeta. Yes!  My mind cried for freedom much like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. I lifted my kilt (It was a skirt but the Scottish theme was prevalent in my mind) for the mad dash. Then I recalled that they knew I was here. So I waited, head on counter, for the arrival. It came a few moments later with a gust of winter wind, a yipping dachshund, and the aroma of mentholated rub. 
            “….you should have left your name and number, Helen. That`s the Christian thing to do.”
            “No, that`s the stupid thing to do. And who are you to preach to me about Christian attitude, Mary Shevchenko? Wasn`t it you that charged the Presbyterian minister a dollar more per nut roll than you charged Father Wikowski?” my grandmother fired back.
Come on Midol, please?
            “That was only because nuts had jumped from one batch to the next!” Mary argued. I spotted a long dog wriggling about by my feet. Herr Poopbottom was convulsing with unbridled elation.
            “You sure did nudge the Presbyterian preacher’s nuts, Mary,” Jo-Jo snickered.
            “I`m allergic to nuts,” Aunt Elizabeth chimed in. Sighing resolutely, I picked up my head. Aunt Josephine`s dog began leaping into the air, barking wildly. I peeked upward. Bongo Cat was perched above us with flattened ears and wide eyes.
            “Josephine! It is not proper to be discussing the man parts of an ordained minister or any other men of God,” Aunt Anne gasped. Fighting the smile I slid from the stool, scooped up Herr Poopbottom, got my face washed, and then made my rounds of greeting kisses. Aunt Mary`s wrinkled cheek was hot with embarrassment when I bussed it. I hugged the sweet old thing close.
            “They`re just teasing, Aunt Mary,” I whispered past the huge gold earring clasped to her earlobe. She smiled and patted my hand tenderly. “So, did I sleep through Valentine`s Day or are we celebrating St. Patrick`s Day a month early?” I asked, eying the Jolly Green Hobbit that was my grandmother. She was emerald from her eye shadow to her plastic green Crocs.
            My grandmother carefully removed the green scarf from her flaming red beehive. “Don`t be flip, Dana Marie,” she snipped, draping the gossamer scarf around her neck.
            “We went to the mall and bought Mary beads!” Aunt Zizzy announced as I got her seated on a folding chair used for book club nights.
            “Then we went to the bulk food place so Anne could buy four cases of canned cherries. Who the hell buys four cases of cherries?” Jo-Jo asked, waddling over to the soda machine for a Mountain Dew.
            “I use them for pies,” Anne sniffed, lowering herself onto the stool I had vacated. “If you ever took the time to do something besides play bingo, shake your leg at truckers, or watch those damned dirty daytime serials you`d know what women do with canned cherries!”
            “So, is that Jonah man coming down this weekend?” my grandmother asked. I tensed. This was rapidly becoming a sore spot between her and me. “If not, why don`t you come to the Moose on Saturday night? They`re having a Valentine`s Day dance. Albert Robinson`s son from McKeesport will be there with his band.”
            “I`m sure Jonah will make it down for Valentine`s Day,” I said, moving  among the Clairton Corp, each one with wrinkled brows, bitten lips, or pinching the loose skin of their necks.
            “They play slow dance music,” Aunt Elizabeth offered, remarkably clear and lucid today. “He has red hair,” she added as an incentive. Her husband Robert had been a ginger and she was partial.
            “Don`t let her talk you into nothing!” Aunt Jo spat, glaring at my grandmother, “You just hold tight for Jonah. The man`s busy trying to get his future lined up, Helen. You want Dana here to turn her back on a man that`s working to be his own boss?” Jo-Jo hugged me sideways, my arm pinned to her ample chest.
            “No, I want Dana to find a man that will give her the time and attention she deserves,” Madame Leprechaun responded. Sadly, I was beginning to feel like maybe – just maybe – my grandmother was right. I certainly felt like I deserved more than text messages and hurried phone calls where nothing but business and loans were discussed.
 I rolled my head to the left to rest it atop Aunt Jo-Jo`s wiry silver curls. Sharing a man with his dreams sucks.

Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey


Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.

See you next week!

Amanda J Ward`s Viva Pan Vegas: The Misadventures of Pann Haggerty

I'm thrilled to have Amanda here as her new book, Viva Pann Vegas, releases today!


Getting plastered at a wedding is the sign a good time has been had, but not when it’s the bride!


The fun and games continue as Pann Haggerty travels around America with her ‘average’ Joe on their way to Las Vegas.  This time, Joe thinks he’s the one in charge, and able to handle his beloved quirky English rose.  
Apparently not.  Surprises, secrets and wedding bells are in store.  Has Pann given Joe the answer to his big question? Read on in the second MisAdventure of Pann Haggerty.
Laugh at Pann’s antics, thrill to the romance, indulge in copious mugs of tea and try out the delicious recipes! Above all…enjoy.


“You know, Pann, this hand would look so much nicer with…”
“Don’t go down that route, Joe,” Pann scolded him. “I said I would give you an answer when I knew what it was. Why, are you feeling insecure, Joe?”
The waitress came back, pouring Joe his thick, syrup-like coffee and placing a tall frosted glass of pink milkshake, topped with whipped cream and a fresh strawberry, on the table.
Pann chuckled. What was this, a drink or dessert?
“Yes, I am,” Joe replied eventually, after taking a sip from his mug. “You are the only woman I’ve asked to marry me, and you won’t give me a definite yes or no. It feels like I’m being led around by the short and curlies.”
“Joe,” Pann admonished through gritted teeth. He sounded rather like her, and one certainly did not mention pubic hair in a dining establishment.
“Well what do you expect, Pann? I love you, and you say you love me. I can’t understand why you are dragging this on.”
“Dragging this on?” Her lips thinned with annoyance. “Joel. We are at a diner surrounded by others eating. This isn’t really the place to have this conversation.” She was trying to no avail to keep her voice calm.
“Shall we go back to the van and talk there?” Joe suggested. “I’ll make tea?”
“Sounds better than shivering in the sunshine, I guess.”
As they walked toward the van, Joe placed his arm around her shoulders. Instinctively she snuggled into his warmth, breathing in his fragrant masculine scent.  Pann placed her arm around his waist, and on impulse, her hand covered his jean clad bottom.  As she squeezed it, Pann smiled an impish grin.
“Wrong pocket, Pann.”
“I beg your pardon?” She tilted her head back to look at Joe.
“If you are after my wallet, it’s in the other pocket,” Joe quipped.  


Pandora Haggerty, sorry…Harper sat in the back of the ambulance in a wheelchair all forlorn and feeling decidedly sorry for herself. Her plastered right leg was elevated, and despite Joe’s hand resting on hers comforting her, Pann’s spirits were low. She was jostled several times, wincing as the vehicle rode over several mountains in the road. Perhaps the pain medication was wearing off. Avoiding looking out the window, Pann kept her gaze on Joe’s steadfast one and the gleaming rings of gold that adorned her left hand. Beside her on the floor lay several packages, and from what she could make out, there was a Zimmer frame ready to be constructed.
“A zimmer frame, my arse,” Pann grumbled.
“What was that, darlin’?”
“Just talking out loud,” she murmured.
“Are you in any pain, honey?”
Pann shook her head. “Actually I’m starting to feel like a total prat,” she told him bluntly. “I cannot believe I managed to break my sodding ankle, and now I’m totally reliant on someone else to help me do everything. And I am not using a sodding Zimmer frame. What do they think I am, an elderly geriatric?” Then, turning her head…she noticed a chair behind her.
“That’s not a commode is it?” She asked incredulously in a high squeak. Joe nodded.
“You have to be taking the royal piss,” she exclaimed.
“No, that’s what the commode is for. So that you can—” Joe’s voice broke off.
“No chuffing way am I using a commode.”
“The doctor said you had to stay off that leg. This way you can use the toilet by simply lifting yourself from one chair to another,” he said soothingly.
Pann’s temper finally got the better of her. Humiliation, frustration and that nagging ache from her leg took over her usually sane-ish temperament. She squeezed Joe’s hand digging her nails in, almost breaking the skin. At this point, she really didn’t care if she hurt him or not. She was hurting. Why couldn’t he sympathize? It really wasn’t fair.
Pann sat complacently as Joe wheeled her into the now widened doorway of their motorhome. A strange smell assailed her nostrils. What on earth…could she smell?
“There’s a cat in here,” Pann announced, her eyes darting around the kitchen area. It had been widened for accessibility. As Joe closed the door, she caught a glimpse of a tray.
“What makes you think that?” Joe murmured, putting the brake on. He busied himself by putting the kettle on and preparing a drink for them.
“The litter tray behind me, and the two bowls on a mat just over there,” Pann pointed out. “You do know I still have a cat back in England, even if it is living with Mum now.” She sniffed again, wafting her hand in front of her nose. Several pots of fragrant violets lined the middle of the dining table. She hoped Joe had secured them with Velcro strips.
“Interesting and beautiful flowers, but no matter how many pots of violets you use, there is no cure for the niff of a farting feline,” she told him with a grin, using as many English terms as she could fit in. It was ridiculous, but in a way Joe had diffused her temper by diverting her attention onto something else. “So where is it?”
Joe put two steaming mugs on the table, fetched a plate of digestive biscuits and sat down next to her on the seat.
“Look up,” he suggested.
Pann’s head tilted back. On what had been her bed, two white fluffy paws and a nose with two black splotches were all she could see. All those awful feel sorry for herself feelings disappeared. Joe handed her the tea mug.
“So how did we end up with whats-his-face up there?”
“I have no idea. I picked up the van yesterday after the refit, and well, there he was,” Joe explained.
Joe nodded. “I took him to the vet with every intention of handing him to a rescue center, but, I don’t know. There was something about him. It turns out he is a pedigree Ragdoll.”
Pann melted. “The ones that go limp in your arms. They are so soft and fluffy…Oh, Joe. Look at the splotches on his cute little nosey. Bloody hell. Is that the cat?” Her nose wrinkled. “Oh God, that’s foul,” she breathed.
“There is nothing wrong with that cat’s stomach. Apparently, some cats are prone to gas and this is one of them I’m afraid.” Joe chuckled. “So are we gonna keep him? I had him vaccinated, micro chipped and everything.”
“What have you called him?”
“I thought I’d let you name him,” Joe replied with a smile. “It’s taken you out of your bad mood hasn’t it?”
“Yes, you rat, it has.” Pann couldn’t take her eyes off the two fluffy paws and now emerging face over the edge of what had been her bed. “I’m still not using that commode, you know.”



Amanda Ward lives in Bedfordshire, England with her husband, three children and two insane cats. The expression ‘What you see is what you get’, sums her up perfectly.
She is the author of the novel Without Saying A Word with Books To Go Now and The MisAdventures of Pann Haggerty with Secret Cravings Publishing.  She is a member of the Romance Novelists Association
(RNA).  There is always some moment waiting around the corner to be written into a novel.

Her interests include a passion for history and the royal families of Europe, romance novels, cooking, and science fiction including Doctor Who.  Of course not forgetting the great and wonderful Doris Day musicals and English costume dramas.

A perfect afternoon for Amanda would be a pot of tea, plenty of biscuits with a Doris Day film on the telly. Shared with great friends and her amazingly tolerant mother in law. 

Find out more about Amanda and her manic life at
Contact Links:


Sunday, March 29, 2015

Life on the Farm - Processing Beef

Author. Rangers Fan. Wife. Mother. Hobby farmer. Butcher? Well, sometimes.

For those of you who only know me from my writing, you`re now going to get a peek at what I do when I'm not writing scorching hot erotic stories. My hubby and I raise and butcher our own meat here on what we call "The Hillside Farm". Over the years we have processed everything from meat chickens to a Hereford steer.

It's been a busy couple of days here. Mister took Friday off to begin the long process of butchering our oldest steer, a brown Swiss. Now I know that folks aren`t into seeing the gruesome stuff, and none of that is going to be shown. What I thought I would share is how we processed the meat after it was off the bone. There shouldn`t be anything that upsets anyone, but if you are of a tender nature or don`t like to see beef before it`s all packaged up in the grocery store keep on truckin'.

Let`s kick things off my explaining that the steer was humanely dispatched and hung for a week. On Friday, Mister and my brother-in-law Dave spent 13 hours cutting all the meat off the bone. Hubby said to pass along to any who are thinking of trying to butcher a steer at home to allot at least 25 hours for the job. It is a time-consuming project to say the least, but the results are well worth the time spent, at least we think so.

We'll pick up on Saturday. Hubby and I started around nine. The guys had cut the roasts, cubes, and steaks out on Friday. We're guessing about 50 pounds worth. Saturday was grinding day. We are huge fans of the Food Saver vacuum sealers. They really do keep meat fresh in the freezer for much longer than butcher paper.

We started out with two totes filled with cubed meat. Mister would carry in a dishpan full at a time then grind it.

Then it came to me to bag and seal. We generally put about a pound or so into each bag, which works well for just three people. I sealed and dated each bag then I placed them into my old laundry basket to be carried out to the freezers by Mister.

Hubby and I spent about 7 hours grinding and bagging 290 pounds of ground beef yesterday. Yes, you read right. 290 pounds! Our freezers are now packed solid with homegrown beef. Yes, it is a big undertaking but the knowledge that you know exactly what has been put into the meat you're eating makes it all worthwhile for us. Talk about a tasty reward for all that hard work:  medium rare filet mignon with a lovely baked potato. Beef. It's what`s for dinner on this farm!

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Throwback Thursday Tune

This song was something special back in the day.  I also quite liked the variety show that Mr. Orlando and Dawn had. Yep, aged myself nicely on that one didn`t I? ;)

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Final Shifts Release Day!

You can grab your copy of the last To Love a Wildcat book today! 

It has been a wonderful ride with this team and the characters. Each and every couple is special to me and I hope to you as well. This series has taught me so much that to list everything I have learned would take hours. I will say that I have grown in my craft and that is in direct correlation to writing the Wildcats. 

Thank you for all embracing the `Cats as you have. I hope you stick around because some great stories are headed your way when The Venom debut in August! 

Skate hard and love deeply,


The only constant in life is that things will change when you least expect it. On the day of Derrick Andersson`s retirement ceremony, a late-season tropical storm parks itself over the City of Brotherly Love. The women who love the Wildcats will not only have to deal with the deluge outside, they will have to struggle through some of the greatest personal storms they will ever weather. 

Liz and Veikko receive devastating news, Maggie and Derrick face a shocking announcement, and Isabelle and Philip receive the verdict of Philip's court battle. Can Viviana and Alain work out the problems that have torn them apart? What has life dealt young lovers Petro and Margarite? The answers to those questions, as well as a surprise that will rock the Houseman, are revealed in this final book of the To Love a Wildcat series.


B & N

All Romance eBooks


Monday, March 23, 2015

Tuesday Tales - Catch

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have the next chapter for Wind in White Birch and our word prompt is "Catch". Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!

Wind in White Birch

           Sunday dawned bright and cold. By eleven AM I was huddled beside a barrel stove in Andy`s garage, my toes frozen inside my boots, watching Jonah and Rhett tinkering with a snowmobile. I could not believe how cold it was, even with the stove throwing out heat. The sides were close to cherry red but step a foot away from the barrel and the temperature dropped like a rock. In all honesty, even if the guys did get the sled running, I doubted I could manage to take a ride. Sitting on the back of that snowmobile going however fast they go? No thanks, I`ll pass. Of course, the alternative would be to be locked up with Julia who would be coming to gather her sons after church. Good thing my grandmother didn`t know Rhett and I had skipped services or her eyebrows would be permanently knotted.
“This isn`t looking good,” Jonah said, lifting a wad of what looked like cotton batting from somewhere inside the engine. Rhett sat on the sled, a toolbox beside him. He was the official tool-hander. My son studied the mass of stuffing and seeds intently. “Mice have packed every nook and cranny full of bedding. I hate mice,” Jonah sneered then threw the nest at the stove. I watched it float to the cement floor gracefully. Suddenly there arose a clatter from the sled. I glanced up in time to see my son, the toolbox, and Jonah all leap into the air. I screamed and headed for the nearest exit when the mouse raced over Rhett`s lap, fell from the Ski-Doo, and made a beeline for its old nest on the floor.
Out into the snow I went and I didn`t stop to admire the snow-frosted pines or the cardinals flittering from Andy`s feeders to the trees. Nope. I ran straight to the double-wide and slammed the sliding doors soundly. Whipping around to plaster my shoulder blades to the door I smiled at Andy who had been pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Sasquatch?” he asked.
“Mouse,” I panted.
“Ah,” he smiled then poked around inside the box of doughnuts Jonah had picked up for another dunker. “Nearly as bad,” he teased then shoved a powdered doughnut into his mug. A gentle rap on the glass door behind me startled me terribly. I peeked over my shoulder. Rhett and Jonah were on the other side, trying to look composed. I sniffed then moved aside so they could enter.
“Mom, I never saw you move that fast!” Rhett exclaimed with pride. Jonah patted my back comfortingly but wore a sly smile.
“I can run. I just choose not to unless something`s chasing me. Like a mouse.”
“So I guess sledding is out. How about we find some skates and play some hockey. What do you think, little man?” Jonah asked while chewing on a chocolate-coated. I was in awe really. The man ate like a horse yet was in perfect shape. I look at a doughnut and my ass swells.
“AWESOME!” my child shouted.
“Indoor voices please,” I chided gently, moving from the door to the doughnut box. “We don`t have skates and he`s never played hockey.”
“You live in Pittsburgh and don`t play hockey?” Jonah was quite incredulous.
“I don`t play football either,” I countered quickly.
“You know what I meant. Isn`t it like some sort of law that if you live in Pittsburgh you have to have your kid enrolled in a hockey program by the time they`re six months old?” Jonah teased.
“He`s never expressed any interest so….”
“Rhett, go round up the others and tell them to grab the skates out of the garage,” Jonah said. Rhett ran off. The thunder of young boys on a mission enveloped us. Within ten minutes we were inside Jonah`s truck with sticks, skates, a puck, and some very exuberant young men. The boys were chattering like magpie`s in the crew seat. Even Rhett, who had never held a hockey stick in his life, was keyed up.
We pulled into the spot where the carnival had been. Nothing remained of the festivities but the snow sculptures. The guys piled out and ran to the pond. I slid to the ground and wrapped a scarf around my neck and head, pulled some thick mittens on, and was trying to locate some tissues in the glove box. Rhett would need them as cold as it was. A hand on my rump brought me up and around in a hurry. Jonah grinned down at me like a loon then tipped his head to the side. That long fall of ebony hair slid over his shoulder. I love it when his hair is unbound.
“Are you in there?” he asked, gently plucking the scarf away from my lips to catch a quick kiss. “You`re playing, right?” he asked then pulled a pink pair of skates off his wide shoulder. I stared at the things as if they were spitting cobras.
“Have you been drinking?” I asked incredulously. Had he lost his mind? Did I look like a hockey playing kind of girl?
“Don`t you even want to try?” He shoved the skates at me. I drew back.”If you make one pass around the lake I`ll take you out for a fancy dinner next time I`m down.”
I leaned back and stroked my scarf-covered chin. He huffed and rolled his eyes.
“I`ll wear a suit and tie.”
“Deal.” I took the skates and proudly strolled to the pond. I won`t say how long it took just to get the skates on, tied, and me upright. Jonah gently pulled me along, skating in reverse, the damned showoff. The boys were impressed. Rhett took a few tumbles but picked it up with speed and what looked to me like natural grace. Of course, anyone not lying on the ice with a towering Seneca man over them trying to make them get on their feet looked graceful to me. The last time I went down, I went down hard. My legs flew out and my ass hit the ice jarringly. My teeth clacked together. I whimpered as the kids raced around me with sticks slapping at the puck.
“Okay, I think we now know your skill set and it is not ice skating” Jonah said while heaving me, once again, to my skates.
“I tried to tell you,” I moaned, rubbing my rump as we tripped and slid to the edge of the pond. I fell to my knees when I stepped off the ice.
“Man, you`re just as bad on soil as you are ice,” Jonah chuckled, slid his arm around my waist and hoisted me upward. He got me to the truck, unlaced my skates, fished in the back for the thermos of hot cocoa, kissed me long and hard, and then left me for a rousing game of hockey. I sipped hot chocolate, listened to the radio, and thanked God for nicely padded seats. If I had brought a book, I would have been perfectly content.
The guys played for a good hour or so. When they came back, their faces were wind-chapped. I passed the cocoa around. The truck was warm from me running it periodically. Rhett was blabbering about some awesome shot he made. Jonah`s nephew`s were also telling me about the game and each play they were involved in. I smiled and nodded. I was genuinely happy that Rhett was fitting in with the boys so well, and that he had someone like Jonah to take him out to do sporty stuff. Lord knows Rhick was too busy humping his new wife and snapping photos to spend time with his son. Gracious, someone was bitter.
“Bad swig of chocolate?” Jonah asked.
“No, just thinking of the ex,” I said tartly.
“That`ll do it.”
“Indeed. So thank you. For this,” I waved at the boys crammed into the back, “And for the weekend. For everything I guess.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said, glancing from the road to me. I sorely wanted to kiss him. Instead, I gave his knee a sharp squeeze. I was scared seventeen shades of shitless and my words were weak.
“I`m willing to try sharing you with your dream,” I whispered. Jonah`s smile warmed me better than any cocoa ever could. The whole way back to Andy`s house I prayed my heart wouldn`t get broken again.

Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey


Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.

See you next week!