Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F sports romance, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.
In today`s excerpt, Viviana discovers her secret has come out.
This week our word prompt is ‘Shoe’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
The farm house rose up to greet me like an old friend. Exiting my Honda I could feel the coolness the old oaks and pines afforded. My heart was thumping twice its normal rate as I took a moment to straighten my hair and smooth down my sun dress. Once I was presentable, I flounced up onto the front step, my eyes locking onto Alain`s as he sat on the swing with three dogs stretched out on well-used floorboards. I glanced down at Daisy slumbering at his side on the swing. Her eyes were open, and her tail was wiggling. None of the dogs had greeted me with their usual enthusiasm. Something was off.
I faltered for a second at the cold gaze he settled upon me. I worked up a smile, still resolute in my plans to tell him just how much he had come to mean to-
“I had a very interesting phone call from one of your fellow employees,” Alain said, his words so icy the fine hairs on my neck stood up. I wet my freshly lipsticked lips. He sat there, arms stretched across the back of the swing, staring at me. I reached up to scratch my cheek. A fat carpenter bee bumped along the porch. “Are you planning to ask which one?” he finally inquired. I shook my head dully. I had a damned good idea who had stabbed me in the back. He rolled a lip then threw my iPad at me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his face. I worked at making words but they wouldn`t form. The tablet bounced off my thigh, hit my shoe, and then landed beside a resting dog.
“I know this looks bad, but I can explain,” finally rolled out and even I grimaced at how terribly lame that was. Alain, he exploded upward from the swing. I stepped back instinctively although I knew Alain was not the sort of man that would hit a woman. Perhaps I just needed to step away from the cloud of rolling anger and agony that was moving with him. He lifted a finger and pointed it at my face.
“I don`t want to hear one word of denial come from such lying lips.”
That warm loverly feeling I had carried with me as I drove out here? It withered and died.
“It was Bert that called, wasn`t it?” I asked weakly. Alain threw up his hands then slammed into the house. None of the dogs moved. I stepped over them, my fingers balled tightly into fists at my side. I jumped when a duffel bag hit the wall beside the front door where I filled the jambs.
“What does it matter?!” he snarled. He was right, it didn`t matter, not really. But I wanted to know who to run over with my car when I got the chance.
“It matters to me.”
“Why, what does you care?! At least this Bert person was good enough to tell me what you are, what you do for a living! Each word from you - it was a lie. You are no paralegal, you are a reporter come to my bed to lure me into telling you things. Pute a cinq cennes!” he snarled. I drew back as if slapped even though I hadn`t a clue what he had called me. It didn`t need the translation; I could tell by the vehemence it was something terrible. “Get out. Take your things and leave. Do not come back.”
“I love you,” I said as I plotted to kill Bert Anderson. It was so weak and so meaningless in the onslaught of his pain and ire but I had to say it. He gaped at me.
“Get away from my house,” Alain said his voice so thick and deep it was as if another person had taken over his soul. “Go away and do not ever come near me again. You do not know love if it would spit in your eye! Go!” he rushed at where I seemed to be frozen. I began to cry. The duffel bag being thrust into my chest pushed me back a step. I clutched the stupid Wildcats bag as if it were a flotation device, which was apropos since I was drowning in a mire of my own doing. “You are free now to print your story. Go home and write about what a stupid ass I am. Tell them all how I said I loved you while you laughed!”
“I never laughed!” I shouted, the duffel a lumpy chest plate that emboldened me, I guess. “I never laughed! I would never do that to you.”
It was his sneer that did me in. My heart broke into so many tiny bits it would never be whole.
“You would do that and worse, Viviana. You did worse!” his accent becoming heavier with each word. “You sleep with me for months and writed down every word I ever told you for pillow talking!” the man spun from me and cleared a lamp from an end table. I began to tremble wildly.
“I did not. There is not one thing in that article about what you and I did in bed!”
Alain had stopped trashing his house. Now he stood staring at the broken glass and lop-sided lampshade at his feet. His head was down, his shoulders collapsed.
“I do love you, Alain.”
“Go away Viviana, please. You have gotten enough juicy tidbits for the paper. Go and leave me alone. I do not wish to hear your voice again,” he said with a motion of his hand in my general direction. I wanted to stay and argue, to make him see that, yes, I had started this under false pretenses, but that things had changed as we had fallen in love. I took a step. The floorboard screamed. His body tightened up.
I turned and left, tripping over dogs in my haste.
Copyright ©by V.L. Locey
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