Monday, April 23, 2018


Howdy! This week the word prompt is "wash." And we return with another snippet of "No Regrets." Scroll down to return to the awesome authors of Tuesday Tales. Thanks for stopping by. 


She took a deep shuddering breath.
“You’re gonna be around all those brains. Those Yale guys. All wanting to get laid.”
“Hey, now you’re doing it.”
“I know. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about it all week. It sucks.”
“I get why you can’t come to Nebraska with me. Sort of.”
“We’ve been over this,” she said.
“I know, I know.”
“Graduating from Yale is as big a deal in the writing world as you graduating from Nebraska is in the football world. You’ll be playing with the best of the best. And I’ll be competing with the best of the best.”
“I get it. Don’t have to like it though.”
“Besides, our parents would kill us.”
“We’re eighteen. We can do what we want.”
“My parents would never pay the tuition at Nebraska.”
“If we got married, maybe you could get a scholarship, too,” he said.
“Nick. I love you. I’d marry you in a heartbeat. But I don’t want to go to Nebraska. All my life I’ve been working my butt off to get into Yale. And I made it.”
“It’s great. I know. But, well. You know.”
“Yeah. I know.”
They clung together, sharing body warmth, awash in moonlight until almost daylight.



Monday, April 16, 2018


   Howdy! This week is picture prompt week. Posts have to be 300 words or less. I've got another installment of "No Regrets." Scroll down to return to the great writers of Tuesday Tales. Thanks for stopping by. 


Nick tossed her a towel then wrapped one around his waist. They padded out to the end of the dock and sat, legs dangling into the water. The moon threw shadows everywhere and gleamed off the still surface of the lake. Lizzie huddled closer. Nick put his arm around her shoulders.
She smiled. That was her favorite thing, when he drew her close. It was like he threw a protective cape, blanket, or shield around her. She couldn’t fathom why that was important. Lizzie had nothing to be afraid of, except a couple of bullies at school. Still, when she was under his wing, all was right with the world, and she wasn’t an odd duck, awkward, uncomfortable who didn’t fit in.
She snaked her arm around his waist.
“You did it,” he said.
“College. You got me into college.”
“No, I didn’t. You did it yourself.”
“If I couldn’t pass English with a decent grade, I never would have gotten into Nebraska.”
“It’s true,” he said, facing her. “Why don’t you just accept it and say ‘thank you’.”
“Thank you. Happy?” she quirked an eyebrow.
He hugged her and kissed her head. “You’re cute, for a squirt.”
“You keep saying that. I’m not a squirt.”
“You’re not a two-hundred pound linebacker, either.”
“You wouldn’t love me if I was.”
Lizzie rested her hand on his thigh, feeling the power of his muscle. He reached over, pushing aside the terry cloth to fondle her breast. “I’m gonna miss these.”
“You’ll have a new pair at your disposal within five minutes.”
“Hey, hey. We weren’t going to talk about that tonight, remember.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”
But she couldn’t help but talk about it. For two weeks, she’d been suppressing thoughts about his leaving for Nebraska tomorrow for football training.



Monday, April 9, 2018


Welcome! This week's word prompt is "cart". I have a short excerpt from "No Regrets." Thanks for stopping by. Scroll down to return to the excellent authors at Tuesday Tales.


Lizzie had been curious about sex. She’d been ready for some time before Nick came along. But nerds like her never hung out with the cool guys, the ones who knew how to do it. The only guys who paid her any attention were the science nerds. And they knew squat about sex. Just say the word and watch them turn bright red.
But Nick. God, Nick was sex on legs. The first time he showed up at her door, all embarrassed that he needed a tutor, and pissed off about missing video game time, she’d been speechless.
He was gorgeous. Tall, broad-shouldered, so masculine, she could smell it. His presence turned her on. She could hardly string words together. After ushering him into the kitchen, he downed a carton of chocolate milk. Struggling to focus and stop staring at his chest, she set to teaching him how to diagram a sentence.
Hardest thing she’d ever done, keeping her attention on English when all she wanted to do was kiss and touch him. As he caught on to the work, something sparked between them. She remembered what he’d said.
“I thought smart girls were ugly. Nasty. But you’re kinda cute.”
She had blushed and lowered her eyes. That’s when he’d kissed her, and the rest is history. They’d been together ever since.



Monday, April 2, 2018


Welcome! This week we're starting a new story, "No Regrets." It's a second-chance romance that will be appearing in my new second-chance romance anthology, "Echoes of the Heart." Don't forget to scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales and read all the wonderful stories. Thanks for coming. 


The Senior Prom, ten years ago
Nick and Lizzie clung to each other even after the music stopped. He whispered in her ear.
“Let’s go.”
“But it’s not the last dance.”
“Don’t be a dork. Break the rules. Just this once,” he said, furrowing his brows.
“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”
He took her hand. They threaded their way through the crowd floor. Slipping out of the gym into the hall, they made a beeline for a side door. Once outside, they leaned against it. Liz took a deep breath.
“Free!” Nick said, with a laugh.
Liz chuckled and fell into his embrace. The air was warm, heavy, and sweet with the scent of June blossoms.
“Come on,” he said, leading her to the parking lot. They hopped into his jalopy and headed for Cedar Lake. Nick pulled the old car into a shadowy lane and parked. He reached in the backseat and grabbed two towels.
Liz opened the door. Hiking up her emerald green long gown, she swung her legs over and pushed to her feet. Her spiked heels sunk into the soft earth, making her trek slow.
“Those damn shoes. Thought you didn’t believe in that fancy ass shit?”                                                                                                         “It’s prom, Nick. Prom.”
“Once a girl, always a girl,” he said, laughing.
She swiped at him but missed.
“This is too slow for me,” he said, picking her up in his arms. Nick Jameson, star defenseman of the Pine Grove Eagles, had arms of steel. He tossed her in the air, then caught her as if she were made of balsa wood. 
Elizabeth Wenner, five four and slender, giggled as Nick strode down to the water. She leaned against his chest. The polyester fabric of his tuxedo rubbed her cheek. The scent of his aftershave, usually overpowering, but not tonight, mixed with Nick’s masculine scent. He smelled great.
The sound of his heavy footfall on the weathered wood mixed with the soft song of crickets. When he put her down, Liz toed off her shoes. Hiking up her skirt, she peeled off her pantyhose and heaved a sigh.
“Really? You girls wear too many clothes,” Nick said, shaking his head.
“Oh, and that stupid cummerbund, and those little thingies instead of buttons make sense?”
“Okay. We’re even. Last one naked is a rotten egg.”
Nick stripped off his complicated suit in record time.
“No fair! You have more experience getting naked,” Liz objected.
“Tough. I win. I get to throw you in.” He approached her.
She squealed in mock fear. Nick relieved her struggling and unzipped the back of her dress. She shed the green jersey, while he unhooked her strapless bra. Liz slid her panties down and stepped out of them. Nick scooped her up and ran to the edge. He tossed her in first, then jumped in after her.

The night water cooled her body. She surfaced, looking for Nick. Like a whale breaching, he popped up, shaking water off his head. Moonlight kissed his hair, turning it silver. Lizzie treaded water, waiting for him to meet her. 



Friday, March 30, 2018


WELCOME!! Come check out the first book in my baseball series, Bottom of the Ninth. It's Dan Alexander, Pitcher -- only $.99, for a limited time! Here's a bit about the book:

Fed up with cheating women, Dan Alexander, star pitcher for the New York Nighthawks, grew restless. Searching for something more than a bar babe, he zeroed in on a girl in the stands. He never expected to see a beautiful chick pushing frankfurters. But the hot dog girl looked as smokin’ as the food she was selling.
Holly Merrill found a place to hide in plain sight, as a vendor at Nighthawks’ stadium. Keeping her secret safe and simply happy to stay alive, she never considered finding love an option. After all, a bad girl doesn’t deserve a decent guy, does she?
Coming off his best season ever, Dan went into the playoffs, hell bent on winning the pennant and playing in the World Series. But could he maintain his focus on the field, where everything was going right, when off the field everything was falling apart?  


“Why do they hire pretty girls to sell hot dogs?” Dan asked his teammate, Jake Lawrence, in the next shower stall.
“Guess they sell more dogs,” Jake said, lathering up his hair.
“That must be it. The new one I just met is fine.”
“Yeah? What about what’s-her-name?”
“That’s it. What about her?”
“This girl sells hot dogs, Jake. Get real. You don’t think Mr. All Star Pitcher would hook up with a Hot Dog Girl, do you?” Matt Jackson piped up from the other room.
“If she’s hot, and he’s a horndog, sure. Why not?” Jake said, rinsing off.
“She didn’t look like a Hot Dog Girl,” Dan said, wrapping a towel around his hips.
“Probably one of Bud’s charity cases,” Jake said.
“Yeah, a hooker or a drug addict.” Matt stripped off his clothes.
“She didn’t look like either. Kind of classy.” Dan headed for his locker.

Get Dan's book for only 99 cents here: 
(special low price for audio book if you buy the ebook on Amazon.)


Monday, March 26, 2018


Howdy. Welcome. This week, I've posted the second, and alas, last, piece from "The One that got Away." This piece is almost finished and will be published soon, so it's got to go. I apologize for leaving with a bit of a cliff-hanger. You'll simply have to wait until it's published to find out what happens. 
Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales and the excellent writers there. Thanks for coming! 


Still, Mike had planned to move into Amy’s apartment. In three days strong men were coming to stuff his belongings into a storage locker. His place was pretty well packed up. He couldn’t move in with her without at least the promise of marriage, could he? A lot of men did, but not Mike. He didn’t roll that way. Still, marriage meant giving up his dream of Heather. Was he ready to do that? He pushed Heather out of his mind and crossed the street.
When he arrived, he had about a half hour wait. Her hair had to be perfect. Everything about Amy had to be perfect; her clothes, her house, he hesitated to put down a glass, even on a coaster, on the coffee table. So God damn perfect it made him nervous. That was about to come to an end, once he moved in. “Messy Mike” she’d nicknamed him. He hated it, but she was right.
Heather popped into his mind. Her shoulder-length light brown hair hadn’t been perfect. Wind-blown from the ocean breezes, it had whipped around her face before settling on her shoulders in loose, messy curls. She’d worn no makeup, except a little lipstick. Pages of articles and stories had littered her beach house. There had been nothing perfect about Heather, except that she’d been perfect for him.
Sitting back, he rummaged through the magazines until he found his favorite, Esquire. Glancing over the cover, he spied a small headline for an essay inside. It was titled, The One that Got Away. And it was written by a best-selling author named Heather Stone. He searched his brain, but couldn’t recall Heather’s last name, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t Stone.
Heather had been an aspiring writer when he knew her. But this couldn’t be her. Still, he thumbed through to the article, just to make sure. He read the opening sentence, and his mouth went dry.
“Mike, where are you?”
His eyes widened. No, this couldn’t be, she must be talking about someone else. But he read on anyway.



Monday, March 19, 2018


New York City, Upper East Side of Manhattan
Thrusting his hand in his pocket, Mike Sullivan made sure the little box from the jewelers was there. Of course, Amy might prefer to pick out her own ring, but she’d been hinting around about marriage for so long he guessed any ring would be welcomed.
On his way to the hair salon to pick up his girl, his phone dinged. It was a text saying they had been backed up and she was behind schedule. Already halfway there, he kept going.
His stomach became queasy. Was proposing to Amy a good idea? Good, old reliable Amy. Bill, his buddy, had made a case for her. He’d pointed out how dependable she was, how down to Earth, rock solid, predictable. She’d never surprise him with something unpleasant, like screwing around. Mike gave a short laugh. Nope, Amy would never cheat on him because he doubted anyone would ask.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t a beauty, though she put out a lot of effort and came damn close. The woman had no sexual heat, but she was dependable as hell. He knew, when he got home from work, dinner would be on the table fifteen minutes later –every single night. As he stood waiting for a red light to change, Bill’s words echoed in his head.
“What do you expect? Marriage is about give and take. You want someone who’s gonna be there to raise your kids. Pick ‘em up from school every day. Cook dinner. Amy’s an excellent cook.”
He was right about that. Amy could cook like a gourmet chef. Mike frowned.
“You’re not still mooning over that flaky chick from Fire Island, are you?” Bill had asked.
“You mean Heather?”
“Yeah. That’s the one. It’s fuckin’ five years already. You’ve looked everywhere for her. She’s gone, buddy. You need a dependable girl, like Amy. Get married. Have a couple of kids.”
“What about happiness?” Mike had asked.
“Much overrated,” Bill had said and shook his head.
Mike paled.