Monday, October 24, 2016

Tuesday Tales - Ghost



Hello and Happy Halloween! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.





 Welcome back! I recently started a novella called Playmaker, which is a Venom book and will center on Whitney Beaupr√©, one of the women we’ve come to know in the Venom books. In today’s snippet, Whitney is sitting down to confess something big to her friend, Jovan, a hockey player on the New Jersey men’s team and the arch-enemy of Philadelphia Wildcat team captain, Bobby Fovea.

Since I completed Whitney’s novella, this will be the last snippet from it and next week we’ll have excerpts from my NaNoWriMo novel, Breakout, which is book #2 in my upcoming Brighton Wood Blades M/M hockey series.

This is an LGBTQ romance, so there may be some same-sex frolicking taking place. If that offends, now is the time to skedaddle along to another Tuesday Tales offering.

Our word prompt for this week is “Ghost”.







"Ignore him," Jovan said as he slid off the stationary bike. "Give me thirty to shower and we can do coffee. Want to wait or meet me?" He asked them scrubbed at his face with a towel that hung around his tattooed neck.
            "I'll meet you at Clem's," I said as I eyed the other Sharks ambling around looking like they all had moronic things they wanted to say.
            "That'll work." Jovan strolled off, his back coated with sweat. The man was seriously built for sports and breaking poor little puck bunny hearts. Out of all the men on the New Jersey Sharks, I had formed a bond with the biggest asshole. Guess that backed up that birds of a feather flocking together bullshit. I left the stadium and drove for a couple blocks, enjoying the ambiance of Trenton. I kind of missed the old neighborhood. Not enough to move back over the river though, but Jovan, Trenton and me kind of fit together.
            Clem's Bar and Grill sat on the corner like an old man who was too tired to realize he was dying and just give up the ghost. The old pub had seen better days, but they had the best rippers-or deep-fried hot dogs-in a hundred-mile radius of the barn. I slid into a booth that hadn't seen a washcloth since I was a kid, and shouted to Clem to bring me two drafts and two rippers.
He muttered something that I didn't catch over the Bruce Springsteen song rolling out of the old jukebox. You didn't find a jukebox, or any other kind of musical device, in Jersey that was not loaded with “The Boss”. I sipped my cosmo as "Thunder Road" played. Jovan arrived about twenty minutes after I did. Clem shouted a greeting at the Shark. I shoved his mug of beer and his hot dog to him after he deposited his ass into the bench across from me.    
            "Thanks," Jovan grunted then dove into the ripper like a, well, like a hungry shark.
            "No problem." I watched him wolf down his food, his dark eyes staying on me as he chewed. "So I guess you're wondering why I came looking for you."
            "Yeah, sort of," he confessed then wiped his mouth with a crinkled-up paper napkin. "Thunder Road" ended and Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer" took over. Yep, we were in Jersey all right.


 Copyright 2016 ©by V.L. Locey

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3 comments:

Susanne Matthews said...

This really made me laugh. Around here, rippers are strippers! Who knew they were some kind of hot dog? Great snippet. Well done.

V.L. Locey said...

How about that! Funny how in different parts of the country a word can have a completely different meaning.

Flossie Benton Rogers said...

Interesting! Great excerpt.