TUESDAY TALES - SKIP QUINCY'S STORY CONTINUES - "COAT"

Welcome! The word prompt this week is "coat." Don't forget to scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales and read everyone's story. Thanks for stopping  by.

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“Hey, engaged men first. We’ve got women waiting,” Matt Jackson, the catcher, said, giving Skip a playful shove.“Hey! You’ve already got someone. Doesn’t matter if you stink to high Hell. I’ve got a date.” Skip elbowed his way ahead toward the shower.

Jake and Bobby blocked his path.“Who’s the hot chick?” Jake asked.

“None of your business,” Skip replied.

“Oh ho! Wait a minute. If you won’t tell, then I must know her, right? Who is it?” Jake backed Skip to the wall.

“I said, none of your business.”

“It’s my business,” said Nat Owen, first baseman.

“Fuck off. All of you.”

“Come on. Tell us. We won’t give you a hard time,” Matt said, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, right. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Skip tried to dodge his teammates.“We’re keeping you here until you tell us,” Jake said.

“Aw, leave him alone,” Bobby piped up.All heads turned to the second baseman.

“Wait a minute. We don’t need Skip to tell us. I bet Bobby knows,” Nat said.Bobby Hernandez backed away, his palms up. 

“No, no, I don’t. Honest. I don’t have a clue.”

“Yes, you do. Dickwad over here tells you everything,” Matt said, narrowing his eyes.

“Mimi Banner! Okay! Jesus Christ! Can’t a guy keep anything to himself?” Skip threw a towel in the dirty towel bin.

The men turned their gazes on him, but none said a word.“What are you looking at?”

“You’re dating Banner’s widow?” Matt asked.

“So?”

Matt shook his head. “Banner’ll come right up out of Hell and cut your balls off.”

Skip laughed, along with his teammates.

“Aren’t you, like, intimidated? Even a little bit?” Nat asked.

“He’s dead. Maybe he was a stud, maybe not. But he’s gone and she’s probably missing it. I can fix that.”

Bobby shook his head. “Playing with fire.”

“Why do you say that?”

Jake Lawrence, the third baseman, shrugged. “Don’t know. I heard he beat her up a couple of times. She might not be real interested in getting involved with another athlete.”

“I’d never do that. Besides, he took steroids. Maybe that had something to do with it,” Skip replied.

“I dunno.” Jake shrugged. “Seems there are plenty of other fish in the sea without messing with that hornet’s nest.”

"Don't sugarcoat it, Jake. Tell me how you really feel." 

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TUESDAY TALES - "CRUSH"

Howdy! Welcome. This week the word prompt is "crush." I am posting another, unedited excerpt from Skip Quincy, Shortstop -- a new book in the Bottom of the Ninth series. 
A little background...
In this excerpt, the New York Nighthawks are getting ready to meet the Washington Wolverines in the best of five playoff series. They've just finished their workout and are chowing down before the game. This scene takes place in the dining room. 

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Sweat soaked Skip’s T-shirt. He stopped to down a bottle of water, then got on the bike for some cardio. Feeling his body perform, work, stretch, grow stronger stoked his fires. Each session readied him more and more for the contest with the Washington, D.C., Wolverines. Play-offs were next week. He’d be ready, as always.

The men took a break. There was a buffet spread for lunch in their dining room. Bobby got behind Skip in line.

“What happened to that Banner chick? You didn’t bring her last night.”

“Right. I’m taking her out tonight.”

“Big night?” Bobby nudged him in the ribs and wiggled his eyebrows.

“None of your beeswax, jerkoff.”

“Just thinkin’ it might be nice if you got a little, for a change.”

“I’m gettin’ plenty.”

“Yeah? From who?” Bobby picked up a plate.

“None of your damn business.”

“Not from Francie?” Bobby’s voice rose.

“No way. She’s like my little sister.” Skip speared a piece of ham and put it on his dish.

“Good. Leave her alone.”

“Says you?”

“Yeah. She’s too nice for you.”

“Fuck off. I’ll go out with whoever I want.”

“She’s get enough problems, without you messing up her head with your dick.”

“That’s weird, buddy. Very weird.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Okay, okay. But if she wants me, who am I to say ‘no’?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, asshole.”

“She was comin’ on pretty strong last night.”

“School girl crush.”

“She may be goin’ to school, but she’s no schoolgirl.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hell, she’s twenty-six.”

“So?”

“Back off, Bobby. She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”

“As long as you stay away from her brother, I’m good.”

“It’s none of your business.”

The two men had filled their plates to overflowing with ham, roast beef, baked potatoes, brussel sprouts and salad. They took their places at the table.

“If you think I’m such a bad guy, why don’t you sit somewhere else?” Skip scowled at his friend.

“I don’t think you’re a bad guy. But Francie is Elena’s best friend.”

“Hey, I’m not about to hurt her. She’s fun. We have a good time, kidding around and stuff.”

“She flirts with you.”

“So do a lot of women. Doesn’t mean anything,” Skip said, slicing his meat. 

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TUESDAY TALES - PICTURE PROMPT - SKIP QUINCY, SHORTSTOP

      

It's picture prompt week! I'm only allowed 300 words. Here's the pic I selected. We're back with Skip Quincy, Shortstop for the NY Nighthawks', again this week. 

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Walking down Fifth Avenue, Skip stopped in front of a fancy-schmancy ice cream parlor. Looking in, he saw pink walls and wrought iron chairs. They looked uncomfortable. In the window was a giant banana split. He licked his lips. Memories of trying to eat one on his birthday popped into his head. The sundae had been bigger than he had been.

    His father had pledged to help him finish and the two dug into the sweet confection with enthusiasm. Of course, Skip, only nine, crapped out first. His father polished off the rest, then groaned and rubbed his stomach all the way home.

   Sadness at their passing fluttered through his heart. They had been the  most wonderful parents. Of course, he realized that the nostalgia of looking back at them probably colored his memory some. Still, compared to the couple who adopted him, his birth parents were royalty.

   He stared at the ice cream, longing springing up in him. He turned and continued his stroll, denying himself the huge treat. Hell, he had playoff games in a couple of weeks. He couldn’t be loading his trim body down with all those wasted calories. Still it called to him.

   He promised himself he’d come back off season and down one of those – in his father’s honor. After checking his watch, he turned around to head for home. This had simply been another way to exercise. With all the interesting shop windows, he didn’t even notice how far he’d walked.

   On the way back, he stopped in the ice cream shop and had one scoop in a sugar cone, in honor of his dad. Mint chip had been his father’s favorite and Skip’s, too. He slurped on the cone all the way to the subway, finishing it just before the train arrived.

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TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "BONE" - SKIP QUINCY, SHORT STOP

This week, we start a new story. I'll be sharing some of my next baseball romance book, "Skip Quincy, Short Stop". Here's the beginning of the first chapter. 
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It was too cold, on a particular September night, to be running around naked on a baseball diamond. With a towel tucked around his waist, Skip Quincy, ace shortstop for the New York Nighthawks, padded barefoot out to the field. Since there was no game, the stadium was dark. Mimi Banner, photographer, had bright lights set up on the grass.

Skip gripped the towel with both hands, keeping it in place. Too cold to worry about popping a boner in front of this lady.   

“How many women have you slept with, Skip?” Mimi asked, as she examined her camera.

“I don’t know. Enough.”

“Then being naked in front of me shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’ve never posed for pictures. You’re not gonna take a picture of my dick, are you?”

“Nope. Art becomes porn if I’m not careful.”

“What are you going to do with these?”

“Exhibit them. In a gallery.”

“Why me?”

“I told you. Your body has just the shape I’m looking for.”

“What about the rest of the team?”

“I took their photos for Nelson Hingus. He’s paying me a mint. Those portraits are going to hang in the stadium.”

“I mean what about some of them, uh, naked?”

“Nope. You’re the only one who’s got what I’m looking for.”

Ordinarily, those words would be music to his ears, and he’d move right in on her. But not this time. He shook his head. “Let’s get this over with. It’s damn cold out here.”

“Don’t worry. I told you I’m not shooting your, uh, private parts. Let’s get started.”

He stepped in front of the lights and dropped his towel. “Did Rowley know you did this? Take shots of naked men?”

 “I didn’t do it when he was alive. He’d have killed me.”

“Can’t blame him. Where should I stand?”

Mimi instructed him, then adjusted the lights, looked through her lens, readjusted the lights and took a couple of shots. He diverted himself by memorizing her body. His gaze scanned her curves again, and again, settling in the most inappropriate places when she wasn’t looking. Finally, the chill wind got to him.

“Got enough? I’m freezing.”

“I know. It’s showing.”

“Hey, nothing I can do about that. Besides you said my dick was off limits.”

“Not that, your skin, your arms, belly. Goosebumps are visible.”

“That means we quit?”

She nodded. “I guess so. Can we do this again?”

“Nope,” he said, heading back to the locker room.

“Okay, okay. You’ve been pretty good about it.”

“Damn right. Now how about I take you to dinner Saturday?”

“Okay.” Her lips formed a half-smile.

“Well, don’t fall all over yourself with enthusiasm.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been dating since Rowley passed.”

He shrugged his shirt over his impressive shoulders and hugged her. “I’m sorry. Of course. If it’s too soon…”

“It isn’t. Everybody’s been telling me I need to get back up on the horse,” she said, then stopped, blushing. “I mean start dating again.”

“And I’m just the horse for you.” He shot her a grin. 

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