Tuesday Tales - Prepare

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from my NaNoWriMo MF hockey romance book, Blueline, Venom #6. In this excerpt Helen and her friends/fellow Venom players are discussing wedding plans, dresses, and a certain Wildcat captain.

Our word prompt today is “Prepare.”

This story may have erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

Morning skate was more like morning agony. The coaching staff was pushing us hard and while it was paying off in greater cohesion, overall, it was also kicking our asses. My left knee ached like a bad tooth. It had been iced immediately after skate, and now looked a bit swollen to me. The two previous sprains had weakened it, or so it felt. Maybe that was just my brain trying to get me to favor the twice torn MCL. Still, swelling or not, there was no way I was sitting out this run for the championship. I’d worked too hard, given up too much, to spend time on the bench with an ice bag on my leg.

“You up for something fun tomorrow?” Alicia asked after showers were completed.

“Like what?” I wiggled around trying to get my bra in place.

“Well, I was thinking maybe my bridesmaids could come out to the farm and we’d pick out patterns for your dresses. Since we don’t have a skate.”

Oh yeah. The wedding. I cringed a bit internally. I adore our captain and would lay down my body for her on the ice and off. I was also quite fond of my teammates. But it was a known fact that bridesmaid dresses were generally ugly. And I did not need yards of ugly hanging off me. It was hard enough finding clothes that fit me properly and were somewhat fashionable.

“That would be incredible!” Kate wiggled around me, beaming, hair still soaking wet. “I love your goats! Oh! Can I bring Bobby?”

“No,” I said but Kate just ran right over me.

“He loves goats too! And bees. Well, not so much bees. They kind of make him swell up and die, but he likes honey!” She paused. I tried to slip another ‘NO!” into the upcoming ramble but was too slow and bulky. Story of my life. “Maybe it was Mama who liked honey but not bee stings. Well, no matter! He can help Dale do farm work while we talk about dresses. I like geese too. They’re funny. One time I had this goose down pillow that was super soft, but sometimes the feathers escaped and would float around the room. Oh! There’s my phone. I bet it’s Bobby. I’ll tell him about tomorrow on the farm! Thanks for inviting us!”

Off she ran. Alicia smiled up at me. “I always feel like Dorothy Gale after her ride in the twister when I’m done talking with Kate.”

“That describes it pretty accurately. So, what color are these dresses going to be?” Please do not say pink. A woman my size in pink taffeta is not a pretty sight.

“Colors that will please the goddess,” Alicia dreamily replied then went off to meditate or align her chakras. That was helpful. Not at all. I was not prepared for this.

I went to the bus, wiggled myself across two seats, using one to keep my leg straight, plunked my ice bag onto my knee, and dug out my phone. Maybe I could get back into movie the on the way home. A sharp rap on the window behind me made me jump. I craned my head to look over my shoulder. There on the other side of the window, stood Bobby. Smiling and waving. Probably I should give him the cold shoulder, but that white rose in my bag had softened my brain or something. Instead of cutting him down as I normally did, I waved two fingers at him. His smile broke into a grin which kind of did odd and tingly things to my stomach.

“Aw, look at his love-sick face.”

I threw a dark look at Karrie peeking at me over the back of her seat. “Why aren’t you in the back stirring shit up?”

She gave me a sassy wink. “It’s more fun stirring you up.”

Copyright 2017 ©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.

Tuesday Tales

Tuesday Tales - Chain

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from a new MM hockey romance book, Lost in Indigo. In this excerpt, Mat shows off his bear imitation but Indigo seems impervious to the snapping and snarling.

Our word prompt today is “Chain”.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

“Who is driving?” I snapped, arms folded over my “Ride the Surge” t-shirt.

They all looked at each other as if they were leery of crawling into the cart with an angry golden bear.

“I’ll drive you up.” Indigo skipped around the back of the cart, tossed my bags into the back, then planted his ass behind the wheel, an impish smile playing on those rouged lips.

“Does that grumbly grizzly yanking on his chain act always work on people?”

“Not always.” Apparently Indigo Neu wasn’t scared of the big bad bruin. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “Usually not.” I grimaced as I tried to find a comfortable way to sit in the tiny cart. My legs were too long to stretch them out.

“We’ll be at the house soon.” Indigo slowed a bit, following the sharp curve with care. When we rounded the bend, my house stood before me, welcoming me.

“Wish I had a dog,” I mumbled as I wriggled around. My leg was paining me terribly now, that hit on the bumper flaring things up, I assumed. 

“Yeah? I’ve always wanted a bird. A pretty one the color of watermelon that would dance and say dirty things.”

I looked over at my driver. His profile was appealing. My whole leg hurt now, not just from the knee down. Even my toes were curled in protest.

“A watermelon bird?” Indigo nodded then gave me a quirky little inclination of his head as we rolled into the shade. Trees swayed in the strong wind, the rustling of the thick canopy music to my ears. 

“Christ, my damn leg hurts.”

“Sorry. I’m going as slow as I can.”

“No, it’s not you.”

We crawled to the front porch, the golf cart barely moving now. I groaned in misery viewing that ugly wheelchair ramp sprawled over the five steps on the side of the porch.

The cart rolled to a stop. “Just sit there and let me run inside to get the wheel—”

“I don’t need that chair.” I reached behind me, found the crutches, and got to my feet. I clumped up over the new boards, glaring at them and mumbling. “Fucking played half a period three years ago with a broken rib. Had my fingers busted from a slash and played. Had to pull out my own teeth a time or two. Never had no chair for any of that.”

Indigo appeared at my side, whistling a tune that tickled some old memory. I threw him a look as he walked at my pace, my bag over his lean shoulder, his hat riding at a jaunty angle.

“One time I took a header over the handlebars of my bike and tore all the skin off my chin.” He bounced around in front of me, tipped his head up, and showed me a delicate patch of pale skin under his chin. A few wispy whiskers coated his chin and jaw line. When he lowered his head, his dark eyes glittered with good humor. Did he not get that I was trying to be miserable?

Copyright 2017 ©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.

Tuesday Tales

Tuesday Tales - Crush

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from a new MM May-December hockey romance book, Lost in Indigo. In this excerpt, we have a small bit from the prologue of the book that sets up how Mathieu Beresford, captain of the Buffalo Surge, suffers a possible career ending injury.

Our word prompt today is “Crush”.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

“And the puck squibs free and goes behind the net. Beresford is on it like a dog on a pork chop.”

“I think that dog comparison is a good one, Drew. You can see how hungry the Surge captain is.”

“Beresford has some trouble corralling that puck. Looks like it’s on edge. And Heckerman is coming in hard. Got to love seeing two big defensemen on a collision course!”

“Yes, you sure do, Drew. Keep in mind that Beresford is probably looking at one of his last chances to win it all so he’s going to be one ravenous canine. The man is thirty-eight years old although he plays with the passion of a man half his age. He said once in an interview that I did with him back at the beginning of his long and illustrious career – Ouch! Holy blindsided! Heckerman came up behind Beresford and knocked the stuffing out of him!”

“I’m not sure if that wasn’t an illegal hit but there was no call on the ice and Heckerman takes the puck down to the – Oh boy, Andy, Beresford is having trouble getting up.”

“I see that. He seems to be in a lot of pain. That’s not good news for the Surge and their coach, Wally Tombs.”

“Let’s pull up the replay to see if that was a missed call. Looked to me like Heckerman’s skates may have left the ice but – wow, Beresford just tried to stand and went right back down. Come on, Mat, get up. This isn’t good, Andy.”

“No, no it isn’t. And now we have the whistle after that soft shot on the Surge goalie.”

“Oh, my God, you hate to see this. He did try to get up but collapsed back to the ice. That’s grit right there, Andy. That’s why he’s been such a force in the league. What mettle. You don’t teach that. This is why hockey is a man’s game. You get hurt you get up and continue your shift. Backbone. Look the word up you young players.”

“Okay, we have the replay here. We’ll give this a look as the Surge physician now begins to attend to Beresford.”

“Ah, okay, Heckerman’s skates didn’t leave the ice. It appears to me that Beresford may have lost an edge right before the moment of contact. What do you think, Andy?”

“I think you’re right. And then the contact with the boards. Oh. Oh, that is not good. Did you see the way that leg bent, Drew? Now we’ll have to hope and pray that whatever damage was done to the left leg is something that will heal quickly. Maybe a day or two of rest. This Surge team is going to be crippled without their captain on the ice.”

“Did you see Heckerman go over a second ago to check on Beresford? Looks like they’re calling for the stretcher. Oh dear. That’s not good. The Surge are going to be crushed to lose this man who has lead them to the finals. Pluck and determination, that’s always been how I’ve described Mathieu Beresford. Let’s look at the replay again...”

I’d watched that replay a hundred times over the past two weeks. I knew the words the play-by-play and color man said by heart. The pain in my leg was equal to the pain in my heart. Greedy pain it was. Greedy, envious, shallow pain. I was a bitter man. Sick to the core of my being over losing a chance to raise the Cup over my head, bring it home, and participate in the long-awaited victory parade. I’d missed it all. Twenty years in the league working for that moment and I’d missed it.

Copyright 2017 ©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.

Tuesday Tales

Tuesday Tales - Business

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from the third Cayuga Cougars MM hockey romance book, Coach’s Challenge. In this excerpt, we get a wee peek at how married life is treating Victor Kalinksi and Dan Arou.

Our word prompt today is “Business”.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

“You rock my world,” I confessed then nibbled a path from his lips to his neck. We tussled around a bit, tasting each other, touching while cooling down, whispering secret things that lovers do. I lay there in our bed, enjoying the way his chest rose and fell, and how each breath lifted my head. I dropped a kiss to his stomach, and laid my hand over his navel. My wedding band caught the light. “I can’t believe that you’re still married to me.”

“Me either,” he replied then chuckled, his belly rippling with laughter. Smiling to myself, I nipped at his stomach, getting a sharp hiss from the man who held my heart. Dan carded his fingers through my hair, the hazy tender moment making me feel sluggish and loved. So damn loved. Marriage rocked. I had the hottest man ever created from clay – if you back that particular creation story business – in my bed every night. “You know what day it is?”

“Mpfh.” Sleep was tiptoeing up my spine.

“It’s Thursday,” he said, his fingers still gliding through my hair, making it harder for me to keep my eyes open.

“Thursday night fucks are the best,” I replied, burrowed my face into his tight abs, and began to drift off.

“Thursday is trash night.” Soon as the words left his mouth, I knew what he was getting at. I pretended to be asleep. Fucker wasn’t falling for it. He pushed me off his tacky chest. I flopped to my back like a dead carp. “Go put out the trash.”

  “Are you kidding me with this shit now?”

Copyright 2017 ©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.

Tuesday Tales

Tuesday Tales - Box

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from the third Harrisburg Railers MM hockey romance book, Deep Edge, that I’m coauthoring with Rj Scott. In this excerpt, Trent is having some troubles trying to come to grips with this wild new passionate thing growing between himself and Deiter.

Our word prompt today is “Box”.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

“He sent me a text that said, ‘It’s done’. Just that. Just those two words. What the flying fuck does that mean? Is he in rehab? In the hospital? Hockey players,” I huffed and gave the ceiling of my rink a sour look as I kept talking. “So, I called Adler Lockhart who tells me that he’s having surgery. Which is good, he needs to attend to his knee, but what about the pain afterward? He looked sober when he was here yesterday but…well, yeah, but. And now I’m even more lost and confused because every damn fiber of my being is screaming at me to go to Harrisburg and see him, you know?”

The Tennant Rowe bobblehead Layton and the Railers had presented me with bobbled its head in reply. Wonderful. So helpful. I should shove it back into its box.

“Do you think I should?” I lifted the tiny resin figure from my lap and shook it. It just bobbled as any good bobblehead should. I sighed and set it down on the cold, plastic seat beside me, right next to the check I’d also gotten from the Harrisburg Railers in attendance. The players who’d come to this debacle of a training session/reality show had handed me a personal check for ten thousand dollars for the rink, the real Tennant Rowe trying to put the check into my palm just two hours ago, before they’d left to return to their lives for the rest of the summer.

“What you’re doing here is important,” he’d said as I tried to gracefully not take their money.

“Showing a bunch of orangutans how to shave a few milliseconds off their time?”

The group gathered around me had chuckled.

“No, what you’re doing with the kids. Giving them a haven, a place to train without being judged or hated on. That’s the important thing.” He pressed the check into my chest. And held it there, right over my fluttering heart. How had I gotten so attached to this pod of apes so quickly? They’d certainly showed me that not all hockey players were lumbering cretins bent on humiliating the little figure skater with the perfectly applied eyeliner and gloss. Imagine that. Giving people a chance and not judging on past experiences. What a novel concept.

“And turning us all onto Pilipino food,” Arvy chimed in.

“Good Pilipino food,” Stan enthused. Another round of laughter.

      “I’ll be happy to take this for the children. Thank you.” I hugged Tennant and Jared then went down the line, giving each of them a hug and a soft kiss on the lips. Not a sexual kiss just a friendly one. The sexual kisses were reserved for the Railer that wasn’t here.

Copyright 2017 ©by V.L. Locey & Rj Scott

*~*~*

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

Tuesday Tales

Tuesday Tales - Earth

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from the third Harrisburg Railers MM hockey romance book, Deep Edge, that I’m coauthoring with Rj Scott. In this excerpt, we get to meet one of the two leading men, Trent Hanson, a famous figure skater who has fallen on hard times.

Our word prompt today is “Earth”.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

Gayle sat down behind her desk, smiled at me yet again, and folded her hands in front of her. I raised a freshly plucked eyebrow. She was still trying to get a handle on me. Tobey & Troy was the largest athletic representation firm in Philly. They handled most of the Eagles, Sixers, and Flyers as well as several tennis players. And now they had me. Trent Lawrence Hanson. Famed gay figure skater and next in line to be a Dickens character in real life. Please, Sir, can I have more? Ugh. As if I’d eat gruel. What if I had too? What on earth would I do? The thought was too much to bear.

“I think that now that the legal issues with your father—”

“Stepfather,” I quickly reminded her.

“Yes, sorry, stepfather. Well, now that he’s been convicted and is serving his time I think it’s time we start working on marketing you in a positive light.” She smiled again, nervously, and leveled light blue eyes at me. “Where are you in terms of returning to competitive skating?”

I glanced out the windows at Ben Franklin standing atop City Hall. I began running my hands over the flaps of thin cotton lying over my thighs.

“I have no money, my professional reputation is shot, and my rink and my mother’s house are both two months away from foreclosure. Do you honestly think that I could find the mental clarity and focus to skate again?” As soon as I heard how bitchy I sounded I placed a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled into my fingers.

“It’s quite understandable,” she replied. She was far too nice to be saddled with a miserable cow bag like me. I wanted to cry but didn’t. I’d do that later when I visited Mom and Lola. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be lovely,” I coughed into my fingers. She rang her receptionist. “I’m better now. See.” I lowered my hand and smiled brilliantly at her.

Gayle nodded but melancholy lingered in her gaze. A tiny blonde hurried in with a bottle of water and handed it to me. I was about to ask if she could possibly find a cold one but I bit my tongue. Bitchy Trent had already escaped once today.

“Thank you.” She nodded and scurried out, closing the door behind her slim backside. Her shoes were terrible. Who wears black flats with a peach dress in late June? Honestly women, learn how to dress. I took tiny sips of the tepid water. Gayle waited. I capped the bottle and balanced it in my left hand so my coat didn’t get watermarked. I was a beggar now. I had to keep my wardrobe in good shape. Tears threatened again. Gayle broke into the building weep fest.

“I understand that you’re not mentally ready to return to figure skating. To that end, we need to find you something to do that will bring in good money so you can get your assets back in sound fiscal shape.”

“You mean pull my rink and my mother’s house out of the snapping jaws of foreclosure?”

“Well, I’d not have been quite that dramatic…”

“Few are,” I sighed as I returned to working out the crinkles in my duster.

“Right, well, I’ve been approached by GLBTQtv about a reality show with you as the star.”

My mouth dropped to my chest. “Get. Out.”

Copyright 2017 ©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.

Tuesday Tales

Tuesday Tales - Firecracker

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from my new MM contemporary nightclub book, The Bachelor & The Balladeer, Tales of the Scarlet Owl #1. In this excerpt, Cab discovers his balladeer, and the man who will win his heart. Le sigh...

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

“If I hear one more Beiber imitation, I’m going to physically assault someone,” I snarled as another fool exited stage left. “Do these idiots not know what a balladeer is? Did they not do any research before coming to the auditions?”

            “The music world is full of auto-tuned asswidgets,” Maurice mumbled while pillaging through the empty burger bag for something.

            “And you wonder why I left the recording business,” I huffed and threw a hand in the air as yet another twit in baggy jeans and skater shoes ambled onto the stage.  I stood up as Mr. Not-A-Clue tapped the old-style microphone, his expression that of a person coming face to face with a troglodyte in line for the bus. Maurice began shredding napkins then pushing the torn paper into his ears. Smart man. “Excuse me, young man on stage?”

            Blue-and-yellow hair looked directly at me, then smiled. “Dude, yo!”

            “God save me,” I whispered to the ceiling. “Did you bring sheet music for the band?”       

             He looked over his shoulder at Skip and the boys. A few wiggled their horns at the numpty.

            “So they’re a real band?”

            “NEXT!” I roared. Titters rose form the band. Numpty shuffled away hopefully never to be seen again. I flopped down next to Maurice and tugged a wad of napkin from his leaf ear. “I’m going to close my eyes and stick my fingers into my ears. If the next singer even looks like a Jonas Brother, shoot him and then me.”

            “I don’t have a gun but I could probably beat you to death with a clarinet.”

            “That’ll be fine.” I wiggled down into my seat, stuck my fingers into my ears, and closed my eyes. I could just hear Maurice yelling for the next singer to take the stage. That one was not any better than the previous one.

            “I’m going to the bathroom,” I abruptly announced as some fool on stage was trying to convince Maurice that Drake was a balladeer. “Before I hurt someone.”

I shot to my feet like a firecracker, climbed over my partner and stalked up the aisle, frustration broiling and bubbling inside me. How was it possible that singers today did not grasp what it was we were looking for? Where had all the professionalism gone? I threw the door to the men’s room open and nearly tripped over one of those large industrial yellow mop buckets. Why were there no signs warning incoming men of this possible danger to their - was that someone singing a song that Vic Damone was famed for?! The acoustics in here were lovely as was the voice of the man singing. He reminded me of a young Sinatra or Como, and that is not a comparison I would toss about lightly.

I raced around the corner anxious to find this man with the perfect voice. The singer was wearing a blue shirt and dark work trousers. The back of his shirt had the logo of a cleaning company. His head jerked up when I cleared my throat. To say he was beautiful would be a gross understatement. Yes, his nose was a little crooked compared to my ex-lovers, and his mouth wasn’t painted to entice. It didn’t need any enhancement. His lips were full. His nose perfect for his face. His eyes big and brown, his black hair loose and framing his face. He had a lean build that was lost in the baggy uniform. He appeared to be mid-twenties.

            “I just need a couple more minutes and I’ll be done in here,” he said. I shook my head. He arched a brow. “Uh, well, if you have to go that bad…”

            “No, I don’t have to go at all. You were singing a Vic Damone song, and doing it amazingly well,” I said then walked to him, hand out. He eyed my extended hand cautiously but shifted his mop to his left and shook. Up close he was even more attractive. “How would you like to audition?”

            His eyes flared and he pulled his hand from mine. “You mean like those guys out there?”

            “Yes, exactly like them only you actually know the genre of music that I’m looking for. And your voice is wonderful if a bit weak and in need of training.”

            “Who the hell are you?” Now I had his attention. I could see it in the way he was assessing me.

            “Cabriolet Vermet, owner of The Scarlet Owl. I need a singer, a balladeer, and you have a voice that’s perfect for the genre. What’s your name?”

            “Julian Baez,” he mumbled, his gaze darting from me to the bathroom door then back to me. “You really think I have a good voice?”

            “Julian, it’s like nothing that I’ve heard in years. Come and sing a song for me and my partner. Get the band behind you. You’ve nothing to lose, correct?” I wheedled a bit. I’d drop to my knees and polish his old work boots if he’d just leave the damn mop and sing me a full song with accompaniment.

Copyright 2017 ©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.

Tuesday Tales

Tuesday Tales - Strap

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from my new MM contemporary nightclub book, The Bachelor & The Balladeer, Tales of the Scarlet Owl #1. In this excerpt, Cab has had his epiphany about The Scarlet Owl and is telling his partner about his exciting news.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

Fifty minutes later, I was roaring into Maurice’s driveway out in Hidden Hills. I fairly leaped out of the Caddy, the safety strap never having been buckled, my bare feet slapping on the smooth driveway leading up to the stunning Santa Barbara style home. My partner was not exactly happy to see me at his door when he finally yanked it open. Small dogs barked madly upstairs.

“Cab, it’s six o’what-the-fuck in the morning,” he snapped while tugging his droopy boxers up a bit higher.

“Sorry about the early hour but I had a vision,” I told him as I pushed around him and stepped into the airy Spanish influenced foyer. Pale adobe walls, rounded archways, and a large brass and wood chandelier welcomed you warmly to the sprawling seven-thousand square foot mansion. Five beds, seven baths, Olympic sized pool, perfectly tended grounds, and a garage that housed a Bentley, a Lamborghini, a Rolls, and a Corvette from the early seventies. And those were just Maurice’s cars. Colette had a new Mercedes. Quite the step up from sleeping where you worked and naming the cockroaches that shared your abode.

“If you tell me you woke me up because you found God, I will kick your skinny black ass all the way back to Quebec,” he grumbled, what little hair he had left standing straight up.

“No, I did not find God, but I did find my destiny.” I grabbed his hands in mine. My gaze found his. “Maurice, I want to open a nightclub.” He stared at me, his face void of any emotion. “Did you hear me?”

“This is why I’m standing here in my underwear? A nightclub? Really? For fuck sake, Cab, go invest in a nightclub then.” He tried to pull free but I held onto his hands for dear life. 

“Non, I don’t want to just invest in a nightclub, I want to open one. Build it from scratch. Make it mine, fill it with the music that we love. Hire the best singers and entertainers and gear it towards the gay market. The staff will dress like they did in the forties. The music will be live, the singers real, and the drinks top shelf!”

“Okay, fine,” he said around a jaw-cracking yawn. “We can find a place somewhere in LA for this new gay club. Can I go back to bed now?” He jerked on his hands again. I tightened my grip. His thick eyebrows knotted. “You have something stuck in your mustache. Is that a pimento? Also, you don’t smell so good.”

I wiggled my nose to try to dislodge the pimento from my mustache. “Apologies for the smell and the pimento. I threw Mateo out last night and dove into some Glenfiddich.”

“Ah, that explains why you look like something one of Colette’s pug dogs left in the back yard.”

“Probably, yes.” I wished I had showered, but the rush of excitement had pushed me out the door so that I could share my news with my friend. “But, I don’t want to open my club here in LA. I want away from this city. Far away. I need to begin anew. So, with that in mind, I am going to sell you my share of Cabriolet Music, move to the east coast, and be a club owner. I think I’ll unload the beach house as well. I never go there. And I will need the twelve million that I paid for it for start-up costs and incidentals. Ah, well, I will also have the money you pay me for my half of the business, so I should be sound financially until the club grows popular. What do you think?!”

“I think you just crashed right into a fucking midlife crisis,” Maurice stated and jerked his hands out of mine. I shook my head. Maurice gave me a questioning once over.

“I know I look a little hungover.” He pinched some air between his thumb and forefinger. Colette’s dogs were losing their minds up on the second floor. “And I am, yes. But, this is not the booze talking. Maurice, I woke up and Holiday Inn was playing. It’s a sign.”

He slapped a hand over his face.

Copyright 2017 ©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.

Tuesday Tales