Friday, February 14, 2014

A Gift From the Heart



         




Happy Valentine`s Day! This holiday is akin to a high holy day for romance writers. It`s the day that we celebrate love, and all that entails. I knew I wanted to celebrate Cupid`s favorite day, but was stymied as to just how to go about it.

When I asked my friends over on my Facebook author page what they wished to see I got mixed replies. And one superb idea! Thanks Kimberly! We have a great time over at Facebook, and I truly treasure all the friends I`ve made there. Feel free to drop in, give the page a 'Like', and then join in the fun!




So, without further ado, here is a peek into the most romantic of holidays as seen through the eyes of a certain handsome offensive defenseman. I hope you enjoy this little tale told from Alain`s point of view.


*~*~*
 Sometimes I think we men try too hard. 

I love women, do not think me wrong. Truly they are the most wonderful, yet maddening creatures on this planet. And hints are nice, in a way. Valentine`s Day? I have to wonder about such a holiday. I think it is made just to drive men crazy. For two weeks my Viviana has been dropping hints. If you know her, you will know that her hints are as subtle as a Zamboni being dropped onto your head.

 First it was big red circles around lacy things in catalogs. She knows I am fond of seeing her big breasts spilling out of a bustier, or running my hands over her lovely legs when they are in sensual stockings held up with pretty garter belts. I put the shopping aside, as there had still been time. Then, I wake up today to find it is Valentine`s Day, and I have nothing for my Viviana. I decide to spend the morning at the gym, as that is a daily must, then go out after lunch for the things I want to get.

 I am filled with good feelings as the day begins. With my plans in mind I do as any man would. I find the red circle in the magazine that is now in the bathroom. I shove the magazine inside my jacket, then I meet Viviana in the kitchen while I pretend that today is just another day.  We both hear an ad on the radio. I say nothing. Viviana leaves for work, her pretty brows furrowed. She thinks I forgot, I can tell. I smile at my wicked ways then I head out to face this special day.

After working out followed by lunch at the Black Boar with Derrick, Veikko, and Maurice Oliver, our back-up goalie, I drive to the nearest mall. I find the  lingerie shop on the second floor. I am appalled at what I find. Not one of the sexy lady things hanging off scented, padded hangers will fit my woman. When I ask why this is so, I am told that they do not carry plus sizes. For those, I must look online. I am mad when I leave. Do these people not think that women with curves wish to find something locally to wear to please their men?! I go to four malls. Each one tells me the same thing. I go home after stopping at a corner store for ingredients for dinner. I am still angry about the lack of lingerie for Viviana, and the underlying message from those stores.

I greet the dogs then take them out for quick pee time. When we return home what do I find lying on our kitchen table? Another magazine with yet another gift circled! This time it is chocolates. Since I have no lingerie for Viviana, I decide to purchase her the biggest box of chocolates I can find. I head out in a hurry to find a chocolatier in Philadelphia. Only the best for my Viviana. I locate one on my cell that is across town. The traffic is bad. It takes me over an hour to arrive at the shop. The name is spelled out on the windows in fancy letters with many curls. It is in French. I smile.

Un Blush de Sinful Bonbons

A Blush of Sinful Sweets. Yes, that is my Viviana. Sweet, sinful, addictive.



I pull on the door. It does not open. I knock. I knock again. I begin pummeling the glass door, calling the door, as well as the owner who closes promptly at five on Valentine`s Day, a horrid curse word. Another hour it takes me to fight the five o`clock quitting time. When I enter our apartment, Viviana is not home from work yet. I am pleased. That gives me time to shower, shave, and dress after I make dinner for her. I want this Valentine`s Day to be special. It is our first. I have already bungled the candy and lingerie. Will she grow mad that I do not have sweets or sexy under-things? Damn. I wish I could know how she will react. I hurry to get the dogs out for another walk.

They take forever! Each dog smells and fiddles about. I tell them to find a place quickly. The small park across from our apartment building is empty aside from a puck pusher with his dogs. Snow flurries are in the air. The dogs finally find the proper spot. I clean up after them, then hurry across the street, dragging dogs by their leashes as I wave at the cars stopping to let us pass. I wonder if they are so polite because they recognize me, or if they can tell I am becoming anxious. This night is to be perfect, and I am so late already. Next year, I will shop earlier I vow.

Once back in our home, I dash into the kitchen to wash my hands. I am going to make a special dish. It is one my mother always made for me to celebrate special days like my birthday, the day I was drafted into the NHL, things of that nature. I wish my mother could meet Viviana. I think she would like her.

 The dogs are under my feet as I work on preparing the Reveillon Tourtiere, a delicious meat pie filled with pork, mushrooms, garlic, and spices. I open my mother`s tattered recipe book. I brown the pork. The kitchen is soon filled with the mouthwatering aromas of onions, peppers, and cloves. I put the meat filling off the fire then work on making a pie crust. This I struggle with, but after a few attempts, I have the crust rolled out. It looks nothing like Maman`s pie when I am done, but it smells good, so that is something, yes? Into the oven it goes to cook for forty-five minutes. I turn the radio on then search for love songs. I find a station playing only romantic music, both old and new. Maybe I can salvage things yet!

I see that it is after six now. Viviana will be home within thirty minutes. Panic sets in. I run around, setting the round table in the dining room. The dogs follow me back and forth, wondering what is my problem. I light the candles then stand back to admire the table. It is romantic. The plates are my mother`s china. They have tiny roses along the edge of the . . .

Mon Dieu! I forgot the flowers! I run out the door then skid into the elevator. My neighbor smiles, making chit chat as we ride down. I bounce from one foot to the other as we crawl down to the lobby.

"You Canadian`s are a tough breed," he says then points out that I have no coat. I agree to save face. Out into the bitter cold I go. I jump into my car, glad for the heat that finally blows in my face when I pull up in front of the florist. I leave the Porsche idling along the curb. That is how stupid upset I am. Into the flower shop I run. I can barely elbow my way in there are so many men buying flowers last minute. I swear in French under my breath. When it is finally my turn to be waited on, there are no roses left. Not one. I end up with a stupid bouquet of yellow tulips with some green leafy stuff. Next year, I shop for this day in December! Thankfully no one stole my Porsche. Things are looking upward now!

When I get back home, I realize that the smoke I smell when I open the front door is not a sign of looking upward. I lunge for the kitchen. Daisy, my tiny white dog is dancing on her back legs. I nearly step on her I`m in such a hurry.

My eyes are watering. I call the dogs many bad names as I push through the smoke billowing out of the kitchen. When I trip into the kitchen I find Viviana standing by the sink, still in her long purple winter coat, tossing what remains of my dinner into the sink. She turns to find me in the doorway. Her bottom lip is caught in her teeth. I exhale deeply. The radio is playing that Huey Lewis song about how much power love has. 

"I thought the house was on fire," she says. I can see the look of pity in her lovely eyes. "It`s okay, Alain," she hurries to say. I shake my head then hold the yellow flowers out to her. Her plump lips curl up into a smile. "They`re lovely."

"No, they are not. They are tulips, not roses. I am so sorry, Viviana," I say as she takes the battered bouquet from me. She lifts the dumb tulips to her nose to smell them. "I had planned to have a nice dinner with Maman`s Reveillon Tourtiere, two dozen roses on the table, and . . . I put off the shopping. I promise next year our Valentine`s night will be good."

She places the flowers on the counter, eyes full with promise, the tiny card from the ugly tulips between her fingers. 

"I kind of forgot to get you anything as well," she says. I do not believe her. This is the woman who was circling gifts. I suspect she came in, found the catastrophe and hid her presents for me to make me feel less the ass. It is a kind gesture. I love her even more for it. She hands me the little card then begins to unbutton her coat. She takes a long time. I grow more interested with each button she undoes. When the coat slips off her shoulders I see that she wears one of my Wildcat sweaters. I wet my lips. She does the same. "I hope you`re not too disappointed?" 


She lifts the side of my jersey a few inches, to show me that she has removed her underwear. All I see is bare, pale hip. My mouth begins to grow moist. I shake my head as the fan over the stove helps to clear the smoke from the room.

"No, I am not disappointed at all," I tell her as she walks over to me, her breasts jiggling with each step. Her nipples are hard already. I am as well. "You didn`t read your card," I say as she steps into my arms. She reaches up to swipe her finger under my eye. I see what looks like a glob of butter on her fingertip.

"You`re a mess," Viviana purrs then licks the butter from her finger. I pull her closer. I want her to feel how much I want her. Her green eyes darken slightly when I grind my desire against her hipbone. "Maybe we should go get you cleaned up?"

"A shower sounds nice." I tap the end of her nose with the florist card."Read this first."

"Okay," she smiles, her eyes smoky green. My fingers are now cupping her bare buttocks tightly. Viviana moans softly then tugs the tiny card from the envelope. "It`s in French," she whispers, my fingers slipping down between her legs to find a hot, wet, moist treat better than anything I could have found at the chocolatier. "Can you translate?"

"Two love birds are we," I say then pick her up from the floor. One high heel then the other falls from her tiny feet as we weave among dogs, my aim the bathroom . . . or perhaps the bedroom? 

"Huey`s right," she says on a hot whisper that floats over my neck. The little card with the two lovebirds flutters to the carpet. "Who needs gifts? All I need is you in our bed."

That I can give her.







Interested in getting to know Alain and Viviana better? You can grab a copy of Pink Pucks & Power Plays at the Secret Cravings Publishing store, or any other major retailer.

Pink Pucks & Power Plays - SCP Store

4 comments:

Ellie Mack said...

WOW! Just wow! What a wonderfully delightful Valentine's treat. I certainly hope you will share more in the future. LOVE IT!

V.L. Locey said...

Thank you so much, Ellie. I hope to keep up with all the leading ladies and men of the Wildcats!

Cathy Brockman said...

I loved it so much fun!!

V.L. Locey said...

Thanks, Catniss! It was fun to write.