Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
For those of you who aren't familiar with Tuesday Tales, this is a weekly blog comprised of some great romance writers. Every week we share snippets from our current WIP's or old serials that we penned. This year a few of us are doing something a little different for the holidays.
We're sharing some original short stories with our readers! Mine will center around the Wildcats' unofficial photographer, Oscar Larue Tiffany. Many of you know Oscar from my To Love a Wildcat hockey romance novels and he is perhaps one of my favorite secondary characters!
In Sleigh Bells Ring, we get to peek in at how life, and the holidays, is treating Oscar and his fiancé, Dr. Nilay Sengopta, the Wildcats team physician. I'll be posting one short chapter every day until the story ends. I'm going to try to keep each chapter between one thousand and fifteen hundred words so that the reads are quick. I know we all are super busy at this time of year. There will be four chapters with the last one being posted on Christmas day.
I hope my readers enjoy this little holiday gift from Oscar and me. This story has not been professionally edited, so you may find some errors even though I have self-edited it to the best of my ability. Please forgive any glaring errors that I may miss.
This story is about a gay couple. If this offends then you should move along to another blog. Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!
Sleigh Bells Ring
"Nilay, darling, love of my life, are you awake?"
The man didn't move. I placed my party-planning book aside, slithered down into the covers, and tapped him on his cute little nose. He swatted at his face then rolled over showing me his sexy tan back. I frowned then wiggled closer and kissed his ear.
"Nilay, are you awake now?"
"No," the sleepy lump grumbled as I cuddled up close.
"I need help," I whispered into his ear. The sound that came out of the man was a pained one. I ran my fingers along his bicep and smooched his ear once again.
"I've been saying that for months," Smarty Pants muttered then flopped to his back. His black hair was standing on end. It looked adorable. The dark bags under his sexy brown eyes did not though. "Oscar, I love you, truly I do." I beamed. "But honey, I just got back from a crushing road trip that ran through four Canadian cities in seven days. I've had about two hours sleep after some incredible sex." I beamed even more brightly. "If this isn't about the townhouse being on fire or zombies at the back door, I honestly do not want to talk about it right now."
"My party is in two days and I have nothing planned."
Nilay muttered something in Indian. I think it may have been a Hindu prayer. The name Brahman was in it. He did it quite often now that I thought about it. His tired brown eyes moved from the ceiling to me. He smiled. I smiled back.
"You worry too much about details," Nilay yawned, reached up to pat my scruffy cheek, and then fell instantly back to sleep.
"Well poop on you," I huffed and sat up to glare at our tastefully decorated bedroom. I glanced at the clock and saw it was only four in the morning. Then I slid out of bed, pushed my arms into a silky purple robe and matching slippers, picked up my holiday party-planning book, and slipper slapped my way through our Logan Square townhouse.
I just loved our home and the leafy little side street it sat on. There are museums nearby as well as lovely parks. It's also close to the Houseman, the large stadium where Nilay, the worlds sexiest sports physician, tends the Wildcats hockey team. It was about a ten-minute drive on 1-95 to the stadium for my husband-to-be. I had set up a darkroom in the basement and now did freelance photography work. Fashion mostly but I also did side jobs on occasion. Weddings were taking up a great deal of my time thanks to the images I took at the Aho wedding. It never hurts to be friends with the wives and/or girlfriends of rich and powerful athletes.
Speaking of such, I dropped my little green and red party book to the counter in our kitchen, pushed a mug into the Keurig, and unplugged my phone from the charger. As my coffee splashed into my favorite mug, I eyed my phone. Did I dare call Viviana at such an ungodly hour? I peeked out the little window over our kitchen sink. My Christmas cactus needed some water. It was a darker than my black head outside.
"Well sigh," I said to the night. I had over twenty people coming to this little townhouse in two days for a holiday extravaganza and not one single original thought. I was doomed. Doomed! My creative wellspring had dried up laying out the wedding plans, which were still not finalized because Nilay was never around and when he was, he just wanted to fiddle around in bed. I am not complaining, mind you, but fiddling around does not make a wedding happen, although it is darn fun. "Focus Oscar," I chided myself then took my cup of coffee and my festive but empty book out to the living room.
There I sat, feet tucked under my fanny, my book open on my lap and my first of several cups of coffee in hand, staring at the beautiful tree in the corner. Which I had decorated myself because Nilay had been in the land of the Mounties for a week. Did I sound snippy? Yes, I nodded then took a sip of delicious gingerbread coffee. Snippy was not good. I sipped and enjoyed our tree and began jotting down things to make my holiday soiree the highlight of the season for my friends. It must be the gingerbread flavoring lit up my mind like my fabulous tree, because come six o'clock that morning I had pages of amazing ideas!
Now I just needed someone to help me gather up all the things that I required. I took a fast shower, shaved my head and face, got dressed in something smashing and oozing cheer, kissed a sleepy Nilay on his soft lips, and then dashed out of the townhouse, my heart filled with Christmas joy as I headed off to rouse my chosen assistant for the gathering of festive party things.
Pity the woman did not share my ho-ho-ho spirit when she ripped open her front door fifteen minutes later.
"Oh dear," I mumbled when I laid eyes on Viviana. "Honey, you look like something my grandmother's dog brought in from the woods," I announced as I stood out in the cold listening to dogs barking inside Viviana's little love nest. Her white grape eyes narrowed and I was pulled into the Land/Lessard residence like a stinky stray cat coming back from a week of tomcatting. The door slammed behind me. I whispered one of Nilay's prayers to Krishna for protection from the ugliness about to be unleashed upon me.
You can get to know Oscar and the Wildcat gang even better by reading the To Love a Wildcat series starting with Pink Pucks & Power Plays: