Monday, April 29, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Yellow


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 romantic-comedy, 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 reveals to her EIC and the Green Hill Gazette staff that she has met the reclusive Alain Lessard. There is adult language in this excerpt so those who may be offended you have been warned.

This week our word prompt is ‘Yellow’. 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!






“So like, what did you do this weekend?” Liz asked, taking a sip of coffee and leaving that miserable black lipstick stain on the mug. I tried to smile but I`m sure it was a grimace.

“Oh the same old,” I waved my hand around airily, trying to overhear what Frank Bowers, the editor in chief, was saying to whoever he was talking to on the phone. Oscar`s flippant comments made eavesdropping difficult. I crossed one leg over the other, leaned towards our staff photographer, and pretended to pluck a thread from my thistle-colored skirt. “I went to the Botanical Society Spring Fling as you saw in yesterdays Life section. “

“Sounds like fun,” Elizabeth moaned into her mug.

“It was tripe,” I said, pushing against Oscar so he would lean back slightly. “Then I took my sister`s daughter and part of her scout troop for a nightmarish ride through the country. We ended up breaking down and having to walk for miles to get to this frumpy little ice rink.” I stopped nudging Oscar in his side when that playful smile of Alain Lessard`s appeared in my mind’s eye. “I did meet the most adorable man there though. His name is Alain Lessard and . . .”

All talk stopped instantly. Even Oscar turned to look at me. I looked from one stunned face to the other.

“Did I say something offensive?” I asked. Oscar squealed when Frank shoved the photographer`s rolling chair out of the way and zoomed across the empty space in his own wheeled office seat. Bert Anderson was choking on his coffee. No one was slapping his back. I drew back from Frank`s wide grey gaze. Our head honcho was a living testament to stress-related hair loss and dyspepsia. Frank was built like Lou Grant, talked like a toad with terminal laryngitis, and always seemed to be one upset away from a stroke.

“Did you just say you met Alain Lessard?” Frank croaked. I nodded, noting the droplets of sweat on his very high brow. Frank threw a look at Bert, who had stopped hacking although his pale skin was still blotchy. Elizabeth was trying to pat down Bert`s rumpled brown hair with a wet finger but he kept swatting the tomb dweller`s hand away. His comb-over looked out of place. “Did you hear that, Bert? The fucking society page broad scoops you with Lessard!”

“If I can interject,” I cut in snappily, “I am not a broad, I did not ‘scoop’ Bert, and I wish you would stop blustering in my face!” I reached out to shove my editor back a bit but his chair stayed firmly planted. Oscar came wheeling back up on my right mumbling angrily.

“How the hell did you get into see Lessard? I`ve been trying to grab a minute with him ever since he announced he`d be staying in state after the playoff`s to volunteer as a coach. Shit, I even tried tailing him in the grocery store! That fucking bulldog assistant or whatever the hell Bonbano is keeps Lessard so far from the press you`d think the kid was a gilded pussy with no chastity belt in sight!” Even the Goth queen gasped at Bert`s crudity.

“I am taking offense to all of this!” I snapped and shot to my feet. “Can we please speak as if this were not a locker room?!” I railed.

                “You tell them honey,” Oscar piped up while adjusting the raspberry beret perched atop his shimmering head.

“Land`s right, we can`t talk about pussy in front of the girls and Oscar,” Frank said, leaning back in his chair to cross his arms over his rather large Scotch belly. My eyes rolled to the ceiling. Oscar snorted in merriment. “Can you get back in to talk to Lessard?” my editor asked as I sat back down primly. I glanced at Bert. He looked ready to pop a tart and not the hussy women sort either.

“I`m afraid I don`t know what all the commotion is about,” I admitted, tugging my grey scoop-necked tank down to cover the waist band of my purple skirt. Every eye in the staff room widened aside from mine.

“Land, don`t you ever read the sports section?” Bert asked, tugging his previously nicely knotted blue tie with a yellow and red buffalo from his ironed collar. Bert only wore officially licensed sports ties.

“Do you ever read the society section?” I fired across the round table. Bert rolled a lip.

“Look, Land,” Frank spoke up gruffly, “Alain Lessard is notorious for staying away from the media. He hates the press with a passion.”

“Can you blame him?” Elizabeth interjected her voice small and timid as a wee mouse amid a room filled with howling cats. “When his parents were killed in that plane crash last year the media crush was terrible,” she explained to me, her dark brown eyes hooded and filled with melancholy. “They were flying down from Quebec to watch their only son playing in the championship series,” she told the only one here not up on the happenings of the jock strap set. 
“The fire was barely out and the news crews were digging through the smoking bits of that Cessna just like dogs looking for carrion on some Roman battle field of yore,” she sighed and swept her jet-black hair from an ashen cheek. “Alain was crushed and revolted at how the tragedy was handled by the press corp. I mean, who goes to a plane crash site in hopes of finding some sort of memento a mother was taking to her son? It`s just beyond sick,” the frail young woman hissed then withdrew into herself once more.

I looked at my boss. He blinked at me.

“So, can you get back in touch with Lessard? I`ll give you a front page sports run if you can bring me something hot about the pup.”



Copyright ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.


See you next week for from Viviana and Alain!




Saturday, April 27, 2013

Wind in White Birch # 17




It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 


I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.


Storytime Trysts

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Of Heroes & Hay Bales Excerpt!






Since the second book in my Gods & Goats series released a few weeks ago, I thought it would be spiffy to share an excerpt! Of Heroes & Hay Bales continues the story of our lovely widowed maker of goat milk soap Libby Simons, and her leading man, the eternally handsome and hunky Ares, Greek god of war and manly courage. 

Ares and Libby are caught up in a battle against the god of the dead, Hades, and are valiantly trying to save the world and the Greek pantheon. Not an easy task while you try to hide the fact that gods do exist from your rural neighbors and friends! 


In this excerpt Libby and Ares are having a romantic moment beside a lake on a lovely 4th of July evening, when suddenly . . .well, I`ll let you read what happens.




                                     *~*~*





I scowled and crossed my arms over my breasts petulantly. Fifteen minutes passed as Ares and the mayor talked. When I could jerk the jerk from the conversation, I did so. I stomped along the small path leading away from the hundreds of nosy campers and politicians.

“Why are you so belligerent of a sudden?” the man behind me asked. I let the pine bough I was holding snap back and smiled devilishly when I heard it impact his face. My caboose stopped so quickly I thought my arm might dislocate. I was tugged back, spun around and enveloped in a pair of arms that felt like steel bands. “Speak to me of what ails you, Bunting. Has your monthly female course come upon you?”

“Why is it that men always think that when a woman`s mad it`s because of her friend?” I snapped upward. It was hard to make out his face in the dark but his massive shoulders rose and fell, the motion lifting my arms up and down as he held me.

“I did not ask if Lora-Mae were upsetting you. I asked if `twas your menses that has you in such a foul mood.”

My mouth opened. Then closed silently. A smile replaced the frown I had been wearing. I shook my head and rose up to my toes, snaking my arms free so I could run my fingers over his beard.

“No, it`s not my menses that has me so riled. I haven`t gotten it yet,” I whispered, moving my hands to the back of his block head. I tugged and he lowered his forehead to mine. Wood-smoke from the many campsites blew across us, as did the wet, earthy smell of Lake Ironbottom. “I just want a little time with you alone.”

“Ah,” he replied. “Aye, I too would like some time alone with you. I still carry the passion of this morning.”

When his pelvis crushed against mine I could feel he was still carrying passion. I wet my lips.

“Let`s get a little further from the campers, shall we?”




He was all up for that. And a few other things as well. Off we went, skipping through Penn`s Woods like a couple of nymphs, until all we could hear was the sound of bullfrogs and the first set of fireworks whizzing into the night sky. I squinted and peered through the thick copse beside the lake. Only a few fires could be seen. Then I turned and launched myself at Ares. His mouth came down over mine roughly. It didn`t take long for us to get into a froth. 

I was now hanging from him, my head back and my left leg riding up his side. His teeth and tongue were moving up and down my neck. I watched an explosion of red and green illuminate the sky. I made a sound of appreciation but rest assured, it wasn`t because of the gunpowder light show overhead. My sandal slid from my foot when Ares grabbed my thigh and hiked my leg higher on his side. Something then hit Ares in the back with so much force the man flew forward. I was summarily dropped and landed on my ass.

I heard the war god collide with a tree and his breath rush from him. I got to my feet right before whatever the hell it was backhanded me into the lake. I came up sputtering and madder than a wet goatherder, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of me. Another volley of sound and light erupted and I caught a glimpse of what Ares was now wrestling with on the shore. For most normal caprine raisers, the sight of a winged person/deity/monster with three human bodies from the waist up, all clad in silver armor might put you off your oatmeal. I, it is well known, am not normal. 

All I felt was anger for having what was promising to be one hell of a tumble beside the lake interrupted. That and some deep pain across my chest. Whatever the hell that creature was, and I had a damned good notion hell was the right word to use; it was giving Ares all he could handle and then some. The fireworks fizzled out. Darkness engulfed the lake once more.

I pushed from the warm water, my curls hanging down over my face and my pretty striped dress stuck to me. The two behemoths were in full battle mode. The sound of their fists meeting each other’s flesh was chilling. As I slogged to the edge of the muddy shore, the sky lit up once again. Blue and red light fell over the combatants. 

I saw dark leathery wings open up. My mind was working to place this hellion as a carp nibbled at my bare toes. I kicked at the bottom feeder. I was drawing a blank as to who it was Ares was getting all Hulk Hogan with. So I quit worrying about who it was and concentrated on helping my main god. Grunts and curses in Greek bounced off the lapping edge of the lake. I slipped and slewed across the clay mud, falling down a few times. The last time I went to my knees, my hand fell on a long piece of driftwood. I wrapped my fingers around it and crawled to the high grass edging the water.

“Ares, I need you to give me a shot!” I shouted, palming my soggy Louisville slugger like I was waiting for a curveball to come over home plate. For once, the man actually listened. Sort of. When he went flying through the woods I drew back and clobbered the beast across one of its heads. It turned. A parade of fireworks raced upwards. “How`d that feel?!” asked the Queen of Witty Repartee.

“You dare strike Geryon?” the head in the middle inquired. Its wings snapped in anger as it reached out for me. I ducked and swatted Geryon in the kneecap. He did not like that and his roar would have sent every camper nearby running in a fit of horror if the explosions over our heads hadn`t drowned it out. I stared up at the trio of male faces, each one bearded as most ancient warriors were. None of them looked happy. So I took the advantage and waffled the heck out of him again. Now that he had said his name, I knew who he was. 

Supposedly this grandson of Medusa had some cattle he was quite fond of. Old Heracles came along, ready to kick ass and chew Bazooka for his tenth labor, and battled Geryon. Herc finally did him in with a very well placed arrow dipped in the venomous blood of the Learaean Hydra. Apparently the F.D.A. now has a cure for hydra venom shot into a forehead with Herculean strength. Or the ugly son-of-a-gun just healed as immortals do. Heck, maybe Hades played Marcus Welby M.D. just to send him up here to do…what, exactly? I had a sneaking suspicion I already knew. 


*~*~*


Talk about terrible timing! If you`d like to read more you can grab a print copy here-

From My Shelf Books & Gifts

Or for those looking for a digital copy you can find one here-

Smashwords

I hope you enjoyed that snippet from my latest novel. Remember, we`re all heroes inside.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Love Amid the Azalea - Issue #4







As a special spring treat, I`ll be sharing the last of my new M/M mini-series with my fans and friends today over at Storytime Trysts. I hope you enjoyed Love Amid the Azalea.



Storytime Trysts


Monday, April 22, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Travel



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 romantic-comedy, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.


Today Viviana is chatting with her sister on the phone while soaking her feet in a foot bath. This scene takes place after the walk to the ice rink and meeting the oh-so handsome Alain.

This week our word prompt is ‘Travel’. 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!


*~*~*






A pair of headlights roamed through the vertical blinds on my sliding glass door. The beams rolled across the oils on my pristine walls then semi-darkness enveloped my home again. Probably the neighbors coming home after a long night of doing whatever it is they did. I didn`t keep up with them. They were young yuppie types that . . .

“Violet, is the term ‘Yuppie’ in use anymore?” I asked right in the middle of some lengthy explanation about Queen Bees being selective about projects and how the girls needed to learn erstwhile things that would further their understanding of blah, blah, and blah. “Is there really the word ‘erstwhile’ in this outmoded handbook of yours? Okay, fine! Land sakes, you don`t have to resort to name calling!” I sneered at my phone. “She is your daughter after all, I just don`t see what the problem is if they wish to not weave baskets and play hockey instead. Isn`t being athletic toted as commendable?”

I ran my left hand over my rather voluptuous curves. The satin of my robe slid sinfully over my hip. I closed my eyes and let my head rest on the sofa`s generously padded back. My sister`s droning voice faded off as an image of a young man with wavy black hair and blue/green eyes slammed into my mind. He was kneeling in front of me, his fingers sliding between my toes in lieu of bubbling hot gusts of water. He said nothing, just dropped kisses to my bare knees and massaged my feet.

“Do you like curvy women, Mister Lessard?” I whispered seductively, palming my aching breast.

“I love your body, Viviana. It is round and soft and white as virgin snow,” he crooned then ran his tongue over my kneecap, his wet palm now traveling sinfully up the back of my calf. A spasm washed over me. My phone bounced off the thick carpet and I sat up sharply with my hand still kneading my breast. I glanced down between my legs and mourned the fact that it had all been a lurid fantasy.

“Holy shit,” I panted, using my naughty hand to find my still bitching sister lying somewhere under the coffee table. My downstairs yuppie neighbor’s voices could just be heard struggling through my plush carpeting.

“Violet, you`re going to have to continue this later,” I said when I got the phone back to my ear. “Yes, you did choose me. If you don`t like the way I am being Queen Bee then I will gladly give that hideous costume back to you to – Hasty? Me? Perish the thought. Night, love,” I cooed then disconnected quickly. I gazed down at my puckered feet in the sauna. A tremble of wickedness ran through me.



Copyright ©by V.L. Locey



*~*~*



Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.

Tuesday Tales

See you next week for from Viviana and Alain!







Saturday, April 20, 2013

Wind in White Birch - Issue # 16







It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch.


I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.

Storytime Trysts

Thursday, April 18, 2013

In Search of Ares - A Non-Traditional Review



Today you`re in for a treat! Michele Strangis Stefanides has gone in search of Ares, and takes you along for a tour of Libby`s farm! Many thanks for this wonderful non-traditional review Michele. ♥




Life is Short-Write It All Down

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Love Amid the Azalea - Issue # 3




As a special spring treat, I`ll be sharing a new M/M mini-series with my fans and friends every Wednesday over at Storytime Trysts for a short time. I hope you enjoy Love Amid the Azalea.




Storytime Trysts

Monday, April 15, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Chocolate

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 romantic-comedy, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.


Today you – and Viviana - get to meet Alain, my sexy and much younger leading man for this hockey-filled romance. Viv and her Busy Bee Scouts walk to a nearby ice rink after her car overheats on the way to a basket weaving class.

This week our word prompt is ‘Chocolate’. 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!






“Busy Bees, your Queen needs you!” I called. The shouts of youthful men and the slap of many someone`s hitting something with a stick overpowered my plea. It`s so hard to find fitting drones. I pulled myself along; climbed ten stairs which was ghastly let me tell you, and then tripped into an open area with bleachers that looked down on an ice rink.

I glanced around looking for my girls but they were not sitting on the bleachers like good little bees. Nope, they were down with their faces smashed against some wall of glass. I gasped when I saw how filthy the glass was. Limping down the cement steps that broke up the lines of blue plastic bleachers I hissed at the girls to remove their fingers and faces from that glass instantly.

“Who knows what’s been smeared on that!” I scolded as I bumbled down the steps before losing a flip-flop in my haste. I stopped to find my footwear. It was lying under a bleacher next to a discarded soda can and a half-eaten hot dog. “Wonderful,” I huffed then wriggled my top half under the bench.

My breast dragged through something wet. I didn`t dare to pull out to look. My fingers skipped over my runaway blister-maker and then the seven bells of hell erupted. A loud buzzer filled the rink. I screamed and started violently, my head slamming into the bench. The exuberant shouts of young boys bounced off the plain concrete walls. Someone tapped my ass.

I grabbed my flip-flop then withdrew myself from under the bleacher with haste. The substance I had dragged my rather substantial boob through looked like it had been a chocolate milkshake.

I slowly took off my sunglasses and looked over at a huge pair of stocking-covered feet. The feet led to legs that were long and muscular and hugged by lovingly worn denim. I tipped my head back while holding the wet spot on my left breast out with two fingers.

The jeans waistband was covered with an oversized jersey that had some sort of wild looking cat on it and was done in shades of emerald and black. It was a rather fetching color scheme that set off the man`s wavy black hair and stunning hazel eyes to perfection. His face was a chiseled masterpiece, something an ancient Grecian sculptor could have carved from marble to show us what a god might look like. A perfect straight nose placed between huge blue/green eyes surrounded with thick dark lashes, cheekbones fashion models paid for, and a mouth that was both strong and sensual with a plump bottom lip just right for suckling on.

He tipped his head to study me and a lock of black hair slid down over his forehead. If he were over twenty-five I would eat my flip-flop. Something very warm unfurled inside me as a tiny smile tweaked at the corners of his tempting mouth.

“Did you lose something?” he shouted over the youthful exuberance of the young men on the ice. I nodded dully and held up my flip-flop. One expressive dark (Oh my God was that a scar dissecting his eyebrow like Jason Momoa has?!) eyebrow climbed up his brow as the lights overhead caught the sequins.

“My shoe,” I squeaked then glanced down to see that the hem of my atrocious costume was nearly at my waist. Heat exploded under my skin and raced up my neck.

“Ah well, I am glad you have found it,” he said. Someone on the ice blew on a whistle and the raucous rowdies quieted instantly. “There are strange things spilled on the floor. I would not suggest you go without shoes in case you squish a French fry between your toes.”

All my bees giggled like the school girls they are. He smiled at them. They sighed. I had a mini-gasm at the white teeth his smile exposed. I wriggled my hem down to hide any possible flushing on my inner thighs then bumbled to my feet. His hand on my elbow made my breasts feel even more constricted. He was a towering man Madame Munchkin here couldn`t help but notice. I also had to mentally note just how enormous the Reebok skates hanging over his shoulder were. You know what they say about men with big feet. Another sizzling rush of heat ran to my extremities.



Copyright ©by V.L. Locey



*~*~*



Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.

Tuesday Tales

See you next week for some sizzle!





Saturday, April 13, 2013

Wind in White Birch- Issue # 15





It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch.


I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.


Storytime Trysts

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Love Amid the Azalea - Issue # 2







As a special spring treat, I`ll be sharing a new M/M mini-series with my fans and friends every Wednesday over at Storytime Trysts for a short time. I hope you enjoy Love Amid the Azalea.



Storytime Trysts


Saturday, April 6, 2013

Storytime Trysts - Wind in White Birch Issue # 14



It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch.


I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.



Storytime Trysts

Friday, April 5, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Noisy



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 romantic-comedy, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.


Today you get to meet Viv and her younger sister Violet. This scene takes place at the very start of the book, after Violet has broken into a spontaneous crying jag.

This week our word prompt is ‘Noisy’. 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!


*~*~*



“Violet, are you okay?” I asked after a nice gust of freshly cut June lawn blew the stink of dirty diaper away. She nodded, tears quietly coursing down her cheeks. I walked over to her, my heels making a lovely staccato on her hardwood floors until I stepped on a pile of spilled Toasty-O`s cereal, then the staccato turned into a soft-shoe. “Yes, you look just fine standing there weeping into your son`s formula,” I said, thinking of leaning on the counter then deciding against it when I saw the grape jam booby-trap someone had set for a woman in an crème skirt.

“I think I need some coffee,” she hiccupped. I brushed a wet strand of long, light brown hair from her damp cheek, removed the whisk from the frothy formula, and then led my baby sister to a seat. She fell into it with a weak sniffle," I`m so sorry, Viv, I don`t know what came over me!”

“I do,” I said over the shoulder of my ebony blazer. “It`s called being a mother.”

“Our mother never cried like this,” she pointed out then gave her nose a noisy blow on a paper napkin decorated with lime slices.

“Maybe she did,” I said adding some sugar and two percent, “Lord knows what went through her mind at times.”

I wasn`t being cruel. Our family is blessed with what we term 'eccentricities'. Those on the outside call it being crazy as a shit-house rat. Mom was a glorious woman, a brilliant painter, and a severe eccentric who ended up leaving Violet and me with our two aunts so that she could move in with a Portuguese woman that made macramé owls for a living. She and the woman broke up but she stayed in Portugal to paint and discover what it was that would make her happy. Obviously it hadn`t been motherhood. She was still searching at age sixty.

We never knew our father but apparently he was a brunette with light green eyes the color of white grapes. Both we girls look like our mystery father while mom looks like Debbie Reynolds in How the West Was Won - minus the gingham of course - with her golden hair and sparkly blue eyes. It had been a lively childhood to say the least living with Penny and Patty, my mother`s sister`s. Lively is a term we use in front of Violet`s kids in place of nuttier than a cashew plantation.

“Well if she did, I can understand why,” Violet murmured as she took the mug of coffee from me with trembling hands. I sat down beside her after removing a small truck smeared with peanut butter from the chair. “There are some days I think I`m losing my mind, Viv.”

“You`re fine,” I calmly reassured her, crossing one leg over the other. “You`ve just got four kids under ten in a six hundred by seven hundred bungalow. My condo has more space and lots less people,” I began rubbing her upper arm. She smiled at the gesture then slurped loudly.

“You know we`re only renting this place while we save for a down payment on a bigger house.”

“I know,” I said. Personally, I didn`t think they would ever get the money saved, despite Chris working two jobs unless my sister had her husband neutered.

“I just need a hand,” she said into her mug, “Someone to help out with just one of the little things the kids are involved in. Could you help?” she asked, turning those lovely light green eyes on me. I faltered in my arm rubbing and glanced down at the dark rose camisole under my blazer.

“Uhm- what did you have in mind?” I asked warily when I finally looked back up from my breasts. “I do have a fulltime job and a fish.”

I know how pathetic that sounded compared to what Violet was dealing with, but we both had made our choices. She got pregnant as soon as her and Chris got married nine years ago and hasn`t stopped getting pregnant. I, on the other hand, chose to give birth to stories for the local newspaper weekly. Society events are far less messy than caesarian sections and episiotomies.

“Could you serve as Clara`s Queen Bee over the summer?” she asked, lashes spiked with tears, eyes watery, lower lip trembling just a small bit. If she thought that would work now like it did when we were kids, she was in for one rude awakening. I flicked a fast look down at my black pump, looked at my slim gold watch, and then stood up while telling Violet I would be happy to be a Queen Bee for the summer.

I`m such a miserable push-over at times.

“Thank you!” she glowed so brightly I feared the varnish on the beaten cabinets might be blasted off by the solar light. Violet leaped to her feet, hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek.” You are a real life saver, Viviana! Be here tomorrow at eight to pick the girls up.”

“I do hope you mean eight at night, not eight in the morning.” I drew back from the woman who smelled strongly of dog, baby vomit, and dollar store strawberry shampoo. Oh but did she laugh merrily at my statement while leading me to the front door, her arm around my waist after she set her mug of calming juice on her kitchen table beside a robot that turns into a car.





Copyright ©by V.L. Locey



*~*~*



Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.

Tuesday Tales

See you next week when we meet our leading man.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Love Amid the Azalea



As a special spring treat, I`ll be sharing a new M/M mini-series with my fans and friends every Wednesday over at Storytime Trysts for a short time. I hope you enjoy Love Amid the Azalea.


Storytime Trysts

Monday, April 1, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Funny

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) All I Want for Christmas, a holiday themed M/M romantic comedy that was born from a previous picture prompt here on Tuesday Tales. This story is completed and is now in the final round of editing.


This week our word prompt is ‘Funny’. 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!

*~*~*



I jogged back into the center, already having decided to do my paperwork tomorrow morning before heading over to my folks place. Gert was filling the sink with soapy hot water for coffee mug and glass washing. She did not believe in putting glasses and mugs into a dishwasher. Spots, you know. I hurried to close the back door then gently nudged her away from the sink.

“Finish getting the dishwasher filled, I`ll do these.” I pulled on some rubber gloves, turned off the steaming hot water, and began scrubbing the mugs. After a few moments I felt her assessment. Glancing from a particularly sugar-crusted mug I found her brown eyes staring holes through me. “What?”

“You plan on telling me what exactly happened during the storm?” she inquired while she lined plates up like Corelle soldiers. I quickly went back to the mug in my hand.

“I already told you what happened,” I countered without raising my voice. You never raise your voice to Gert in her kitchen. She will roll you like one of her delicious meatballs.

“You told me the generic version, the story you told the others, “I caught her straightening up in my peripheral. I kept scrubbing at the hardened sugar on the rim of the mug. “I know you better. You and this painter fellow, something went on between you, didn`t it?”

I inhaled to refute the claim. Her palm in front of my nose silenced me.

“Don`t lie,” she warned, nudging the dishwasher closed with a substantial hip. “Now, tell me what went on with this artist. Don`t think to try to cover up or feed me some funny line because I`ll know.”

“You`re really gifted aren`t you?” I had to ask. Obviously the woman could peer into a man`s eyes and decipher his soul and the secrets within it.

“No, you just can`t lie for shit,” she countered, folding her arms over her large bosom. I thought to try to argue that as well but didn`t. So, I inhaled through my nose and let every detail of my time spent with Cooper bumble out. The woman next to me in a red skirt and festive green and red sweater said nothing until I ran out of story to tell. Then she walked over to the fridge and poured us two paper cups of Egg Nog.

“So he just left you with the tow truck driver?”

“Yeah,” I said, stacking steaming mugs into the dish drainer. “We had just shared this incredible, passionate experience that knocked my world off its axis. Then he went into Jekyll/Hyde mode and called his mechanic. Within half an hour I was driving back home wondering that the hell had just happened.”

“Maybe he was overwhelmed.”

I snorted. “Overwhelmed? You`ve never met Cooper Robinson. I don`t think he is ever out of control or in a situation that he doesn`t have well in hand. No, he just decided I was too emotional for him and his plans to avoid anything that may skirt close to the shores of Lake Commitment.”

“Huh?”

“Oh yeah, he was quite clear about his disdain about getting involved with someone. He feels that no one is capable of being faithful over the long term.”

“Sounds to me like the man got his heart ripped out and is terrified of being hurt again. I`m betting that what you two shared scared him to his core, so he panicked and pushed you out the door, literally and figuratively.”

“Hmm, that`s possible I suppose,” I said, deep in thought. “So what do I do about it?” I asked, leaning my hip against the counter. Gert sipped her eggnog and pondered the situation.

“Well as I see it, you don`t have too many options. He`s obviously not emotionally ready for anything other than sex. Knowing you, I don`t think that`s going to satisfy you.”

“It would be very satisfactory for a few sweaty hours, but no, I want more. I want something special with someone special. I was kind of hoping it would be this man. We had such chemistry and the sex . . .” I sighed forlornly then finished my cup of Egg Nog.

“Well, then you either have to lower your standards, which I don`t suggest, or move on.” Gert finished her drink, patted my shoulder, tossed her cup into the trash and went to get her coat. I remained in the kitchen, listening to the whirring hum of the dishwasher and sipping at my holiday drink. “Or you could try calling him and seeing if he`ll meet you somewhere in the middle to talk,” she called in as she passed the doorway.

“I don`t know, it`s awfully chilly along the state border.”



Copyright ©by V.L. Locey



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I hope you enjoyed getting to know Alex and Cooper a little. To find out if these two have a happy-ever-after you`ll have to grab a copy of the All I Want for Christmas when it comes out around the holidays.

Next we`ll have excerpts from my newest WIP, Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F romantic comedy where you`ll meet Viviana Land and Alain Lessard. Viviana is a reporter at a small town paper who finds herself suddenly thrust into the rough and tumble world of ice hockey. Viv, and her unique pee-wee hockey team, meet one tall, dark, and handsome professional defenseman volunteering his time to coach during the summer. Will love blossom amid hockey sticks, merit badges, and penalty boxes?



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See you next week!