For this first snippet we`ll be little flies on the rink wall when Viviana meets Alain Lessard for the first time.
Keep in mind that poor Viviana has just walked several miles in flip-flops after her car died. She and her
Busy Bee scouts are hot, tired, sore, and not at all prepared for the world that they`ve stumbled into.
I pulled myself along to climb 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 look. As my fingers skipped over my runaway blister-maker, the seven bells of hell erupted without warning. 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 as I withdrew myself from under the bleacher. The substance I had dragged my rather substantial boob through looked like it had been a chocolate milkshake. I slowly took off my sunglasses then looked over at a huge pair of stocking-covered feet. The feet led to legs that were long and muscular and lovingly hugged by 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 over-sized jersey that had some sort of wild looking cat on it and was done in shades of monarch orange 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 that fashion models paid for, and a mouth that was both strong as well as sensual with a plump bottom lip just right for suckling on.
He tipped his head to study me. 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. There was a trace of something in his voice. Something French, maybe? 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. The raucous rowdies down on the rink 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.
Have you ever met a man that stole your breath? Athlete or not I`d love to hear about it!
I hope you enjoyed that little peek at Pink Pucks & Power Plays. I`ll have another whistle whetter for you next Monday!