Monday, February 29, 2016

Tuesday Tales - Hip



Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.



Today we the next issue in my historical M/M romance, Dear Jon, which is set in 1945. Every issue of this serial will be under 1500 words so they're quick reads.  Our word prompt today is 'Hip'. This story contains mature language and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales offering. 

Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!




That evening was one of those nights that you never forget. Andrew and I had snuck over to see Ross after my day at work. What we found was Charlotte brazenly parked where I parked, as well as several other cars. I glanced down at my nephew. He shrugged a shoulder. Pulling off the road, I backed up to the last large pine lining the drive. Laughter greeted Andy and I as we walked past the partygoers jitney`s all lined up neat as pins.
            The pond was filled with people I had never met. Ross was engaged in a rather lively conversation with Charlotte, who had changed into a swimsuit. Charlotte`s legs put Betty Grable`s to shame. The redhead waved her martini at me as she lounged on a chaise beside a record player that sat on the picnic table. Ross got to his feet, his cheeks turning pink when Charlotte patted his rump as he moved past.
            “Looks like you two are getting along well,” I hissed like a doused cat. Andrew stood at my side, his fingers linked in mine. Ross began to speak but was overshadowed by the redhead in the bright blue swimsuit.
            “Now, Jon darling, let`s not be priggish about things,” Charlotte called out from her chaise. “After all if you can dally behind my back, I can dally behind yours. Ross, would you fetch me another drink? This one seems to have evaporated in the heat.”
            “Why don`t you come with me and tell me how your ex- lover likes her martini?”
            I gaped at the man openly. Andrew shook free. I watched him run to Charlotte then stand beside her, staring at her like a love struck cottage cheese curd. We passed through hip folks milling around with cocktails. By the time Ross had steered me into the kitchen, I was stunned too stupid to talk.
            “Before you start, this was her idea and I for one think it`s a fabulous one.”
            “What idea?” I forced out, pulling my tie free then shoving it into my trouser pocket. Ross looked from the martini prep to me.
            “Charlotte seems to think we can pass her off as my lover now, which will get the local squares off my back, while making you seem even more tragic thus giving you the excuse to never love again since you`ve lost her.”
            “That sounds just like her,” I chuckled. Ross lowered the bottle of vermouth. Someone outside changed the record. Benny Goodman filled the airwaves.
            “So you`re okay with this little farce until she leaves?” he asked, dropping three olives into Charlotte`s drink. I nodded with a smile.
            “As long as you and she aren`t doing more than acting, hell yeah, I`m fine with it,” I told him, reaching over to pluck out an olive then eat it. He eyed me dryly, leaned in to steal a kiss, and then dug into the olive jar with his long, skilled fingers to find me another treat to eat.
            “No one gets into my bed but you,” he assured me, placing the olive onto my tongue. “Now, let`s go celebrate.” And celebrate we did! By the time night fell, I was three sheets to the wind, and had lindy hopped until my hopper was exhausted. I had forgotten how great a dancer Charlotte was. That woman could cut the rug like nobody`s business! Ross declined to engage in the jitterbuggery that went on and on until we were all splayed in the grass, laughing and panting, our clothes wet with sweat and our hearts light as the glow bugs flittering past.
            Sometime after three am Charlotte pronounced several of us too soused to drive. She lay down on the chaise, her long legs spread in a very unladylike manner, and then she dropped off instantly, snoring like a lumberjack. I scooped Andrew up off the picnic table where he had fallen asleep. Ross appeared at my side, took the sleeping boy, and then led us both inside. I went to his bedroom, bouncing off the walls then giggling behind my hand at my silliness. I felt the bed dipping when Ross slid into it, but my head was resistant to leaving the pillow.
            “Love you, Boodles,” I grumbled then passed out.
*~*~*

When dawn came, so did my nephew. Andrew arrived with a hearty shout followed by a knee in the middle of my back. I yelped. Ross came in then chided the boy for waking up the lush.
            “What`s a lush?” I heard the lad ask. My gut began rolling. I did not recall being on a ship.
            “That`s what you call a man who knows his limits but exceeds them,” Ross explained as they left the seafaring lush to his misery. It took me thirty minutes to be able to extricate myself from the bedding, piss, and find the kitchen. Charlotte was draped over the round kitchen table, her long legs at weird angles and her head resting on her breakfast plate. That the plate had eggs and bacon on it seemed of no concern to the drag queen.
            “Shhh,” Andrew warned me as I tenderly sat down beside him, “Aunt Charlotte is so lushed she lost her hair.”
            I glanced at the woman. Yep, her wig had left her skull, revealing the short, flat, dark hair beneath. My head was pounding. I felt slightly nauseous.
            “When did . . . did she become ‘Aunt Charlotte’?” I asked then smiled up at my lover when he placed two aspirin in my trembling hand followed by a fresh cup of joe.
            “Last night, right before that Jed fellow fell into the pond,” Ross said as he took his seat across from me.
            “Please, stop talking or I`ll be . . . forced to vomit in my shoe again,” Charlotte croaked, never lifting her head from the table.
            “Uncle Ross said that after breakfast we`re going searching for Aunt Charlotte`s hair! Whoever finds it gets to wear it all the way back to the house!” Andrew bubbled. I nodded, winced, sighed, and sipped at a cup of coffee.
            “I don`t recall much after talking about a wedding ceremony,” I told the guys.
            “Did someone catch . . . the. . .  the bouquet?” Charlotte asked. Ross informed her that yes, the goldenrod bouquet had been caught, by the daughter of the mayor of Hannity Hills, who in turn spun around and kissed the Negro man she had brought to the impromptu party.
            “Bless her heart,” Charlotte groaned then slithered from the chair to the floor, where she resumed snoring.
            “Who was it that tied the knot?” I inquired, my eyes drifting shut as hot coffee trickled down my throat.
            “You and Uncle Ross,” Andy informed me between bites of egg. Once the sip of coffee had been pounded out of my lung, Ross bent down, kissed my cheek, called me sugar-cakes then winked at Andrew, who howled at our antics. If only he knew that this was how I dreamed my life could be.
            Well, minus the drunken drag queen sleeping on my foot.


Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.


See you next week!




Sunday, February 28, 2016

Snippet Sunday




Howdy! 

Today I'm sharing the last snippet from the fourth Venom novel, Angle Play.  I typed The End on this book a few days ago so next week we'll have a peek into my next book--as soon as I decide what I'm working on! My muse has two projects that she's anxious to begin so it will be a surprise for all of us which one she chooses. 

In Angle Play we get to know the Venom goaltender, Stephanie Huschuk, better. While Stephanie struggles to carry the burden of being the starting goalie, her attraction to Greg Blue Blanket, her goalie coach's divorced twin brother, is only adding to the weight the young woman carries.

For this week's snippet we get to enjoy some dialog between Stephanie and Alice. This book primarily deals with a lovely May/December romance but it also shows the changing relationship between two women - lover and sister - who love Greg Blue Blanket a great deal. 

This excerpt is hot off the presses and has not been professionally edited. I've done my best to make it as tidy as I could but there may be some misplaced commas or other mistakes. Please be kind about any flubs you may find. When you're done reading today's snippet, skate on over to Cathy Brockman, Misty Harvey and Ellie Mack's blog to see what they've been up to recently. 

~~*~~


"You're here early, Huschuk."

"Yes Ma'am, Greg had a class at seven so I thought I'd come in and do some work."

Coach glanced up from placing those orange cones where she wanted them. She looked pinched. Well, more pinched than usual which is pretty damn pinched.

"I like to see that kind of dedication. Aab should be back on her skates by tomorrow."

"Glad to hear it," I said and meant it. Judith and I might be competing for that starter's spot but I wouldn't ever wish a teammate ill. Not even Whitney who, now that I had roomed with her, didn't seem to be a total bitch. Maybe just three quarters bitch or something. "I like afternoon games," I called out as I plunked my mask down onto my head.

"At least we had a day or two to recover from that road trip. Since you're here, let's work on some rebound control."

"Sure thing," I said as I shoved my hand into my blocker. Coach tossed some pucks out onto the ice and started taking low shots. She would remind me about visual attachment or steering the puck away from the net with my stick. I lost count of how many times I deflected shots into the corners. We hardly ever talked about personal stuff during our one-on-one time. Usually it was strictly hockey.

"Looking good. Your right knee tends to float a little. You need to get that connected to the ice. Let's work on that," Coach called and I gave her a brisk nod. More shots, more deflections by leg pad or stick. Finally, Coach decided we needed a break. I tugged off my mask and reached for my water bottle. Every time I grabbed my water bottle now I remembered that note from Veikko and always got a little jumpstart of self-esteem. I turned with my water bottle in hand and found Coach sitting on the Venom bench fiddling with something. My skates just kind of led me over. She looked up from her phone then pushed the door to the bench open. I opted to go over the boards instead of squeezing my padded self through that narrow gate.

"Bruno's lost his keys again," she told me as I sat down beside her.

"He does that a lot," I commented and offered her my water bottle.

"Yeah, he does. Thanks but no, I'll jinx it."

"No, you're good as long as you don't touch lips to it. The germs will jinx it, not the sharing of water."

Coach snickered as she texted. "See, I always refused to let anyone even touch my bottle."

"Yeah, I read about that in that book you were in." I squirted some water into my mouth.

"You read that?"

I met her surprised look then pushed the bottle into her hand. "Yeah, like fifteen times. It was a bible to me when things got bad at home, or I was trying to make a team. I read about you, Dolores Chapel and Ivana Petrovich the most. I think because you all come from poor backgrounds and yet made it big in women's hockey."

"If you're a fan of Petrovich, go talk to Coach Shevenko. She and Petrovich played on the same team for years. She can give you some insight that you'll never find in a book about female goalies."

"Thanks, Coach, I'll for sure do that." I tapped my stick against my skate and Coach returned to texting her Bruno.

"Is the fact that Greg is financially secure part of the draw for you?"

I stopped skate tapping and pondered the question for a second or two. "Yeah, probably it's part of it. Growing up without a dime to rub against a penny you look for men who aren't stupid with money. It's not the only reason. I'd still love him even if he were poor."

"So it's love now, is it?" She lowered her phone to stare at my profile. I gave her a quick glance then bobbed my head.

"Yeah, it is."

"I figured that would be the case soon. I could see it in his eyes. The man is crazy about you."My insides glowed like a toaster oven. "Thanks for being honest with me about all this. I think if you were some flighty little twit who was only after him for his money I'd be having some trouble with you two."

"Some trouble?" I asked with a snort. Coach made a gruff sound.

"More trouble then," she corrected. I tapped her skate with my stick to say it was cool. "I'm still not one hundred percent behind this relationship but I guess there's nothing I can do to stop you two. If I push him too much he'll turn away from me. I can't have that, Huschuk. He's my twin. He and I grew up sleeping in the same skinny bed by a window with cracked glass that leaked when it rained. Greg was the one who kept me sane when my son died. Shit, he's the biggest reason that I'm still in Philadelphia."

"What about Bruno?" I asked. She smashed her phone between her hands as if she were praying. "Isn't he special and keeping you here?"

"Bruno and I are not giddy goodness like you and Greg are. It's complicated with him. There are days that I wonder why I pursued him like I did."

"And then there are days that you're glad you chased him around, huh?" I prodded and she gave me a stern look. "Or not," I hurried to say. "Sorry if I stepped over the coach/player line."

"It's okay, Huschuk. I guess we're more than just coach/player now, although digging into me and Bruno is off limits. I do reserve the right to grill you about your relationship with my brother. It's the twin clause and it's in effect until one of us dies."

"Wow, that's a tough clause," I said while tapping away at my skate.

"Toughest one in existence following marriage vows," she commented dryly. "Now get back to your crease while I get Bruno situated. We're going to do some paddle work."


"Got it, thanks Coach." I pushed to my skates and left her to situate Bruno. 











Don't forget to drop by Cathy, Misty and Ellie's blogs-






Thursday, February 25, 2016

Win a Copy of Clean Sweep!





To celebrate the release of Twirly Girl, #2 of the Venom Series, releasing next week, I'm giving away a print copy of Clean Sweep! That's right, a free print copy for your book shelf. You can preorder your copy of Twirly Girl by clicking on the cover on the right sidebar.

Now is the perfect time to read the first book in the Venom series. If you love erotic romance, strong realistic women athletes, and on-ice hockey action the Venom are for you. This pro women's team is taking Philly by storm and you can get in right at the beginning!

Skate on over to Amazon now to enter. Good luck!

Amazon Clean Sweep Giveaway




Throwback Thursday Tune



To wrap up this month of love, I'm all sorts of giddy to be able to slip in Sir Elton John to supply the E in LOVE. This song has special meaning as it was a pivotal song in my hockey romance, A Most Unlikely Countess. *sighs dreamily*

Monday, February 22, 2016

Tuesday Tales - Mixed




Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.




Today we the next issue in my historical M/M romance, Dear Jon, which is set in 1945. Every issue of this serial will be under 1500 words so they're quick reads.  Our word prompt today is 'Mixed'. This story contains mature language and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales offering. 

Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!




            The night was hot. Summer had blown in early ahead of a cripplingly hot air mass. The air was thick as maple syrup. Moisture clung to skin tenaciously. No air moved the curtains of Ross`s bedroom window. I was still lying on the bed, my face buried in pillows that wore their cases with a damp miasma.
Ross had kicked the sheets to the floor during our frenzied lovemaking. My fingers were just now relaxing their fevered grip on the mattress; my body still tingled from my lovers repeated claiming of it. A moan escaped from me when Ross slid from the bed. His hand moved over my thigh gently. My leg muscles twitched.
            “How goes the relationship with Miss Abigail?” I heard Ross ask. I rolled to my back. He stood beside the open window, his back shimmering with sweat, his shoulders tensed. “It was my idea and yet I find myself sickened by the thought of what you have to endure.”
            He didn`t seem capable of saying more. I went to him. I pressed my sodden skin to his, chest to back. My arms went around him as I lay my cheek to his sweaty spine.
            “She`s agreeable, if not a bit of a lush,” I told him. He chuckled sadly then turned in my arms. “I would date Eva Braun if it meant being able to stay here with you.” I saw in the dim light of a small bedside lamp that he thought to argue. I placed my hands on his face. “I will never leave you. Something will break soon. We`re entitled to some good news.” I pulled a moue. “See what you`ve done to me? Now I`m spouting optimistic drivel,” I teased then kissed him with all I possessed.
We feasted on each other’s mouths then tripped back to the bed. This time it was me claiming his body with punishing thrusts that he begged for with a voice thick with smoky desire. There would be no holding back this night. I planned to show him just how true my love, and new found sunny-side-of-life outlook, was.
            The following morning I woke up beside Ross. It was brazen, I know, but I just had to give the world a giant middle finger and damn, did it feel good. Then I went home, dressed, dropped Andrew off at the sitters, and ran into that bit of good news waiting impatiently outside the tax collectors office. I stumbled over my feet when I first saw her.
I mean a redhead in a bright green dress, slim belt, and fashionable green hat with a yellow bow festooned artfully on the brim, leaning against a brilliantly red nineteen-forty convertible Cadillac seemed to stand out. Shit, Charlotte stood out in Manhattan. In Hannity Hills she was like a million watt bulb of simmering sexuality. The milkman ran up over the curb as he rubbernecked the beauty lazily smoking a cigarette with a long silver holder.
            “I`m put out with you,” she said as we bussed cheeks. I think I said something apologetic. “You left two months ago and not one phone call?”
            “I don`t have a phone where I live,” I told her. She took my arm, glanced at me as if I had said I was hiding Mussolini`s body in my closet, and then allowed me the pleasure of escorting her out of the blistering early morning sun. The treasurer’s office never looked so good.
            “Stop teasing me,” Charlotte purred, crossed one shapely gam over the other, and then arranged her skirt to cover her knee. God, it was good to hear her throaty voice again. “Everyone has a phone.”
            “Not out here they don`t,” I told her as I buzzed around opening windows.
            “And you`re still out here why? I`d like you to know that I have had to turn down at least twenty offers on that oil of the Hudson in your front window. And the show? People are climbing up my skirt to know when you`ll be back for your show,” she said as she fiddled with her hat.
            “About that,” I said, my hand rubbing the back of my neck. Her grey eyes left her perfectly painted green nails. I felt my face grow rosy. Charlotte leaned forward an inch, her eyes narrowed, the ash from her smoke dropped to the floor. She flipped the holder to the ashtray on my desk.
            “You`ve found someone! How in the world did a flaming fag like you ever find someone to suck your dick way out here in the-”
            “Be quiet!” I spat. Charlotte`s plump red lips puckered. The front door opened. We both turned to look at Miss Abigail Jenkins. The librarian was quite windblown. I started to say something, but the brunette stalking up to, and then slapping Charlotte across the face, kind of blew me out of the water mentally. I was still standing beside a window that refused to open when Charlotte rose to her rather imposing six-foot tall height. Her left cheek was bright red. Miss Jenkins then stormed over to me, slapped me as well, and called me a flighty, dirty, two-timing mixed up bastard then left with her chin held high.
            Charlotte said nothing, merely stood there looking stunning and rubbing her offended cheek.
            “That`s not the person that I – I mean, she is sort of involved but only as a misdirection tool of sorts,” I said meekly, my face stinging terribly. Charlotte cocked one thin eyebrow. The door blew open again. This time my lover stood in the doorway, his thunderous eyes darting to Charlotte then me then back to Charlotte.
            “Wait!” Charlotte cried out with rising good humor. “This dreamboat is the person that has swiped Greenwich so neatly from your mind, isn`t it?”
            I nodded silently.
            “Jon, I think I deserve an explanation here,” Ross snarled. Charlotte, ever the stage presence, sashayed over to Ross, took his hand in hers, and then placed it between her legs. “Ah, I see,” Ross said. Charlotte snickered sinfully, ran a hand down over the bulge in her skirt, and then informed me that she was staying for a few days.
            “Just to make sure you`re happy here, darling,” she added as my coworkers began to arrive. Charlotte winked at the brittle women I worked with, slid her arm through Ross`s, and then led him outside giggling madly.
            “And here all these years I thought he was . . . you know,” Mrs. Dillwhittle said then made her right hand drop down floppily.
            “You can`t judge a woodworker by his whittling,” I replied jovially. It seemed that we just got one big stroke of luck in the form of one knockout female impersonator. Hannity Hills would never be the same.


Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.


See you next week!




Sunday, February 21, 2016

Snippet Sunday





Today I've got more from the fourth Venom novel, Angle Play.  In this book we get to know the Venom goaltender, Stephanie Huschuk, better. While Stephanie struggles to carry the burden of being the starting goalie, her attraction to Greg Blue Blanket, her goalie coach's divorced twin brother, is only adding to the weight the young woman carries.

In this week's snippet we get to see a wee bit of a heart-to-heart between Stephanie and Isabelle Lancourt, the women who owns the Venom and Wildcats. 

This excerpt is hot off the presses and has not been professionally edited. I've done my best to make it as tidy as I could but there may be some misplaced commas or other mistakes. Please be kind about any flubs you may find. When you're done reading today's snippet, skate on over to Cathy Brockman, Misty Harvey and Ellie Mack's blog to see what they've been up to recently. 

~~*~~

"I am resting," the beautiful woman said then opened her arms for her new babe. Philip placed the child in her arms, pecked her cheek, and cleared the room of everyone but me then left us to our talk. "Have a seat." Mrs. Lancourt nodded at one of several plush chairs resting along a wall.

"He's just perfect," I told her after I pulled a chair closer to her large bed. "Do you have a name picked out yet?"

"There's some discussion going on about what to name him," she said with a smile. "I'm just thankful that I made it this close to term." I smiled as she pressed a kiss to her son's cheek. The boy napped comfortably in his mother's arms. "So, I've heard through the grape vine that there's some contention between you and Alice Dunlop."

The serene smile fell from my face.

"Oh, well, not really," I lied. I didn't want to get Coach Dunlop into any kind of trouble. That would not help our tricky situation at all.

"That's not what I've heard. What I hear is that Alice is having some major difficulty with you and her brother seeing each other. Does that sound about right?"

I fiddled with the hem of my over-sized sweater while I worked on how to reply.

"There might be a teensy bit of difficulty, but we're not letting it slop over onto hockey."

"That's good to know. Stephanie, look up at me child." I raised my gaze from my sweater. Mrs. Lancourt wore a soft, understanding look. "When I began dating Colton I met with plenty of difficulty. People disliked the fact that I was seeing a white man."

"It's so stupid."

"Yes, yes it is. Sadly there are still people milling around today that look down on an interracial couple, I see it all the time. Of course, now that I have money and power the asshats tend to keep their ignorance well buried, but on occasion one of them will slip up. I take great pleasure in knocking any bigot who crosses my path down several notches." The evil glint in her eye made me giggle. "I suspect that you're dealing with much the same thing now that you're dating Professor Blue Blanket?"

"Sort of," I confessed and stared at her slumbering son. "Not so much the race thing, although I guess people give us looks about that, but mostly the age thing."

She bobbed her head in understanding then shifted her son from one arm to the other.

"People are always going to judge others. I won't even bother to repeat some of the things that were said to me about my daughter when she was young. I suspect this one will hear many of the same kind of slurs," she whispered as her sad eyes lifted from the little boy to me. "All we can do is work tirelessly to show those who doubt or cast stones that we're not going to let them run our lives."











Don't forget to drop by Cathy, Misty and Ellie's blogs-



Friday, February 19, 2016

Let's Hear It For The (Common) Boy



The other day the first review for Twirly Girl came in and it just tickled me to bits! Not only because it was 5 stars, but because the reviewer had this to say about Dale, the leading man--

"Dale is a free thinker. He lives on a farm with his father and daughter that he has been raising in his own. Their farm is pretty much self contained. No tv's, no computers, just good clean living. I guess the best word to describe him would be unique. Maybe quirky, but only because he is so different that what we normally read about. He was a nice refreshing change that I enjoyed learning more about. I would have loved to have had his pov throughout this book. He wasn't your typical 6' 4" stud muffin with a 9" willie who slept with half of the state that we normally see in books. "




Thank you Sassy Beta Reading & Reviews for such a great review. It's always so darn exciting when someone gets it! 


 Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy a big, strong stud just as much as the next woman. I've been known to pen an alpha or two myself, but let's be honest, after awhile all that macho posturing begins to get a little tedious, at least for me as an author. I like to mix things up in my books, touch on people who have faults, foibles and quirks.

In the Venom books, you'll discover that the leading men are not going to be cookie cutter romance heroes. Much like the leading ladies in my To Love a Wildcat and Venom books, the men that the Venom players and coaches will be romancing will not all be hot, blond, twenty-four year old macho men with loose morals and a rakish smile. We're going to meet real men.

Some will be in their forties or fifties. There will be liberal musicians, brash radio talk show hosts, professors, carpenters, and hockey players who run the gamut to downright adorable to downright hard-to-handle. The Venom women will romance husbands, fiancee's, new lovers and ex-spouses. Some women will fall for older men and some for younger, while one won't fall for a man at all.

They'll tumble for lovers who are white, black, Native American, Asian, and biracial. Each couple will face unique obstacles and struggles as the Venom work to forge a winning team. I hope you come to appreciate the men and women of the Venom for being realistic, passionate, and one of a kind characters.



Thursday, February 18, 2016

Throwback Thursday Tune



You country fans are in luck! This week our singer supplying the V for LOVE is Vince Gill. Enjoy this lovely ballad from one of the big names in country music.

Monday, February 15, 2016

Tuesday Tales - Beat




Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.



Today we the next issue in my historical M/M romance, Dear Jon, which is set in 1945. Every issue of this serial will be under 1500 words so they're quick reads.  Our word prompt today is 'Beat'. This story contains mature language and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales offering. 

Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!



            “I`m really mad at you about this whole librarian dating scheme,” I said. The man folded his thick arms over his chest. One dark eyebrow went up.
            “I would have never guessed.”
            “Don`t be snide," I snapped softly, trying to keep our discussion muted. “You know damned well that this would become something I couldn`t maintain. I had to kiss her, Ross.”
            “Did you like it?” he asked nonchalantly. I stopped circling the bed and blinked at him dully. He asked again. “Did you like kissing her?”
            “Of course not,” I said then sat down beside him, his question throwing me off my tirade neatly. I placed my palm over his heart. Dark curly hairs circled my fingers. I glanced from the sight of my hand on his chest to his eyes.
            “Then stop worrying about it. She's only your beard. This is where you`ll always belong,” he whispered, reaching up to pull me down for a long, searching kiss. I forgot just about everything as his lips worked their magic. Sure enough, within minutes I was writhing under him as he moved inside of me with strong, sure strokes.
            Cradling Andrew to my chest as we walked to my car an hour later, I paused to look at Ross in the doorway of his cabin. He lifted a hand to wave. I did as well. He was right. I would always return to him. As it turned out, Ross was right about quite a few things and seriously wrong about others.

***

One week after my first date with the lovely librarian, I was taking her to the cinema in town. Ross, in all his wisdom, felt enough time had passed to ask her out on my own. I did, one day after work with a cranky young man hanging from my neck. Forcing each word out, I smiled and shushed my nephew. Abigail agreed readily. I escaped quickly, my burden feeling heavier with each step.
Saturday nights were the date night in Hannity Hills. After I dropped Andrew off at Mrs. Lincoln`s home, I drove around to fetch Abigail. Andrew hadn`t been happy to be foisted off on the lady who watches him while I work, but we had to keep up appearances. I`d have much rather been sitting beside the pond with Ross while a million fireflies pirouetted over the water’s surface myself.
            Instead, I was hustling around to open the door for my date. And didn`t she look spiffy in a blue dress with white piping? I tossed the guy seventy cents for our two tickets, gave the lady my arm, and escorted her into the theater. All the young and available were there. I doffed my hat a few dozen times, chatted up a couple of friends of Abigail`s and smiled widely as we made our way into the main theater.
            “I just adore comedies, don`t you?” Abigail asked as we got settled in the back row. I nodded and placed my hat on my knee. We started off with a Donald Duck cartoon. The patrons chuckled at the animated silliness. By the time we were halfway through Blithe Spirit, I began to realize that nothing was tickling my funny bone tonight. Abigail laughed and laughed at Rex Harrison as he tried to figure out how to handle a second wife while dealing with the ghost of the first.
            We left the movies and met up with some of Abigail`s friends at a bar on the outskirts of town. Those guys and dolls then proceeded to knock back the booze like prohibition had just been lifted. I nursed my gin and tonic. Last call was made. I had all I could handle with Miss Jenkins. She was not a pretty drunk but she was friendly. Real friendly if you get my drift. She whispered things in my ear that I would not have believed a librarian would ever say.
            Life is real funny at times. Most guys would have been struggling with their conscious upon taking a drunken amorous lady home. Good thing our lovely lush of a librarian picked the one hidden queer out of the randy bunch. After peeling her fingers from the back of my neck, I removed her shoes, tucked her into her bed, and beat a path out of her house. Man alive, the look Mrs. Lincoln gave me when I rumbled up at a quarter past midnight was lethal. I paid her double her daytime rate. Andrew was sleeping beside me on the front seat as we made our escape from the “normal people”.
                The following Monday I got dour looks from the ladies in the tax collectors office. I checked my breath several times. I even changed my tie due to a spot on my blue one. When the local barber came in to buy a dog license, I finally found out why the older women had been tacking me with the hairy eyeball all day.
            “Word has it that you and Miz Jenkins got real friendly after the social,” Stewart Monaghan said. I glanced up from typing his dog`s information on a tiny paper envelope that would hold a metal tag inside it.
            “I`m sorry?” I said. The man in the white smock snickered and waggled an eyebrow that was as thick as a mustache.
            “Don`t got to play coy, lad! Cora Lincoln said you come for your boy way after midnight.”
            “Oh yeah, after midnight. I`m a real active duty kind of guy.” I winked as salaciously as possible. Stewart guffawed, slapped his knee loudly, and then took off with a leer and a new license for his rabbit dog, Rumpkin.
            Much as I hated to admit it, Ross and his repulsive idea seemed to be working. For the first time since I got that Western Union telegram, I began to feel optimistic. I should have maintained my blah attitude for just a little while longer it would turn out.

Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

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Sunday, February 14, 2016

Snippet Sunday





Happy Valentine's Day!


 Today I've got more from the fourth Venom novel, Angle Play.  In this book we get to know the Venom goaltender, Stephanie Huschuk, better. While Stephanie struggles to carry the burden of being the starting goalie, her attraction to Greg Blue Blanket, her goalie coach's divorced twin brother, is only adding to the weight the young woman carries. 

In this week's snippet Stephanie and Greg do something that I find terribly romantic: cook together! 

This excerpt is hot off the presses and has not been professionally edited. I've done my best to make it as tidy as I could but there may be some misplaced commas or other mistakes. Please be kind about any flubs you may find. When you're done reading today's snippet, skate on over to Cathy Brockman, Misty Harvey and Ellie Mack's blog to see what they've been up to recently. 


**~**

 "No, you have to tuck the ends in."


Greg looked down at the stuffed cabbage roll in his hand then held it out to me.

"My fingers are too clumsy for such delicate work. How about I stuff and you tuck?"

"You didn't say that last night." I bumped his hip with mine as I took the halupki from him.

"What would your pastor say about you talking so shamefully?"

"I'm Catholic so it would be my priest," I corrected him as we worked on the food for the party. Maybe party wasn't the right word. Death over dinner? Showdown over supper?

"Ah, well, what would your priest say if he heard you talking so shamefully?"

I gave the man I had woken up next to another nudge with my hip. "Probably he would have made me say ten thousand Hail Mary's, but since I don't go to church anymore I guess I can avoid that punishment. What religion are you?"

"I'm an atheist." He gently lifted a cooked cabbage leaf from a platter then placed a handful of meat and rice into the center of the leaf.

"Don't let Alicia's boyfriend hear you say that. He'll try to bring you into the path of the divine spark, or whatever it is he preaches." I tucked cabbage ends then placed the roll into a large roasting pan.

"Is he an ordained minister of some sort?" Greg handed me another halupki. I pushed my finger into one end, neatly tucking the roll.

"No, not really," I said as I paused in roll tucking to concentrate. "I think he's new age religion, like Toltec or something?"

"The Toltec civilization flourished around the tenth to twelfth centuries if memory serves, so if this Toltec religion or shamanism Dale practices is based on those Toltec's it's not new age at all." He plunked another cabbage roll that needed tucked into my left hand.

"You're getting ahead of me," I told him then handed the one roll back so I could tuck the one I already had. "How did you get so smart?"

"You know all those books you helped me unpack?" This time he bumped my hip with his. I gave him a look. He grabbed a quick kiss. Making halupki with Greg was fun. "Besides, it's my job to be super smart so my students tremble in fear when I speak."

"I'd like to hear you lecture some time. I bet you're a great speaker."

"Meh, I'm okay. You probably heard better lectures when you were in college," he nonchalantly said.

"I never went to college," I flatly informed him then took the cabbage roll from his hand. "My mom barely managed to feed us. How could she send us to college?"

"I am sorry, but if you wanted to go it's not too late." All the playfulness had disappeared. I hated that. I hated how stupid I felt at times. It seemed that everyone had gone to college and gotten a degree in something, even something that they would never use. And then there was stupid Stephanie who barely passed high school.

"I have a job now."

"Then take an online course," he said then bounced his elbow off mine. I glanced up from the roaster full of halupki. His gaze moved over my face, his eyes filled with something tender. "Keep taking courses until you have enough credits for a degree. What would you like to study, if you could?"

"Classical music." It tumbled out of me without a thought. Greg smiled down at me. I wished I could hug him but raw ground beef covered my hands. "I mean, I can't play an instrument or anything but if I could study something it would be that."

"Hmm, some kind of music major then? You should visit the Performing and Cinematic Arts center on campus and speak to some of the professors there about possible career choices you may have."

"But I don't play an instrument," I pointed out again.

"How do you know you can't play? Have you ever tried or taken lessons?"

"No, no money or time. I started working when I was fourteen."

"I'm sure even if you don't play there's career choices, perhaps something in music education?"

"You mean like me teaching kids about music?"

"Possibly, I'm just tossing out scenarios. I'm not familiar with the music department's curriculum. Maybe it's something you could think of trying now that you're a famous sports star who's rolling in cash."

"Rolling in cash, yeah right," I muttered as the memory of all those checks I wrote to John every week flipped past in my mind. Now that I had a contract with the Venom, the paychecks were lots bigger so maybe if I did stash a little aside for Stephanie…

"Whether you play or not is neither here nor there. You have an amazing retention for the classical masters. Why don't you look into it? Check into the online courses Temple offers, and if they don't have what you want then branch out to other universities. I'm sure you'll find a major that you would love."

"I really like you," I told him then rose to my toes to press my lips to his. "You always make me feel so fluffy."

"I'm thrilled to be your fluff master. Now, shall we get back to work? I'd hate for Alice to walk in and find us stuffing meat."

I snorted so loudly it hurt my sinuses and fell for him just a little bit more. 




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