Monday, November 27, 2017

TUESDAY TALES - FROST IS THE WORD PROMPT - TWO OF HEARTS CONTINUES...


Welcome! This week the word prompt is "frost." The story "Two of Hearts" continues...scroll down to return to the excellent authors of Tuesday Tales. Thank you for stopping by.

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Jen pushed her wet hair off her face and pulled her soaked T-shirt away from her skin. She didn’t need to show strangers her boobs. Sure, April showers, but this was ridiculous. Yesterday had been the first dry day in a week. Stan had always done the morning and late-night walks with Willie. She took him in the afternoon. The poor pug was drenched. He shook off and panted, his long tongue lolling.
“Come on, boy,” she said, sprinting to the entryway of a large apartment building. She spied a man taking up most of the room. Screw him. She elbowed her way under the overhang, pulling Willie up close. Life was terrible. Everything was shit and she’d be damned if some greedy asshole was going to make her day worse.
“Willie?” The man asked, narrowing his eyes and staring first at her dog, then at her.
Instinctively she pushed at her hair, but it was too wet and matted for her to fix.
“Yeah. This is Willie. Who are you?”
“This is Queenie.”
Jen looked down. There stood an adorable pug about a third smaller than hers. The wet dog ginned up at her. She had to smile back.
“Queenie?”
“Your father usually walks Willie, doesn’t he?”
She bristled, frowning. “You mean my husband? Stan usually takes the morning and late- night walks.”
The man blushed. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“You should be.” She wasn’t putting up with anything today.
“We don’t usually talk. Just hello and let the dogs play. His name’s Stan?”
“That’s right.”
“Did he sleep in?”
“He’s in the hospital.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I hope it’s nothing serious,” he said, touching her arm.
She shot him a frosty look and he moved away as much as the limited space allowed.
“The dogs really seem to like each other,” he continued.
Obviously this obnoxious idiot didn’t know when to shut up. “Willie likes all dogs, especially other pugs.”
“Queenie is hot, I’m told,” he quipped.
Jen gave a half smile at his feeble joke.
“Sorry. I’m not usually out this early. My wife does the early morning walks. Guess I’m not awake yet.”
“Oh, did she sleep in?” Jen shot him a hostile glare.
“She’s in L.A.”
Jen nodded.
As fast as the sky had opened up, the rain tapered off. She watched the two dogs shake off again, then sniff each other, bark and play. Her heart and head hurt. She needed to get home.
 “As much as I’d like to let Willie play with, Queenie, was it?”
He nodded.

“I’ve gotta go.” Holding her shirt away from her body, she tugged gently on the leash and Willie drew his attention away from Queenie and followed Jen.  “Sorry, boy. I know that’s your girlfriend, but I’ve got to get home.”

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Monday, November 20, 2017

TUESDAY TALES - "TWO OF HEARTS" CONTINUES...



Welcome! The word prompt is "thank". Here's another snippet from "Two of Hearts" my NaNo writing project for the month of November. It's not a traditional romance, but rather women's fiction. Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales and the amazing authors there. 

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Two years ago.
Terry grumbled as he slipped on a wind breaker and harnessed the pug. A year ago, his wife, Clare had begged for a dog. Terry had a child in mind, but he gave in to her, as he always did. He’d wanted a lab, a big dog, a man’s dog. She’d had a friend volunteering in pug rescue. Clare had talked him into becoming a foster and little Queenie had done the rest.
Terry chuckled as he led the proud little dog down the hallway. No matter his mood, her pug strut made him smile. He locked the door to their elegant two-bedroom apartment and headed for the elevator. It was eight o’clock. Clare always did the early morning walk. But he’d put her on a plane to Los Angeles the day before.
He frowned as he thought about what she’d be doing there. An acquaintance of hers from the magazine she had freelanced for had hooked her up with some producer. There was going to be a six-month script-writing internship program and she could get in. Their conversation last month returned to him as he rode to the lobby.
“Aren’t you a little old for an internship?” He’d asked, refilling their wine glasses at dinner.
“It’s not for neophytes. Only for experienced writers.”
“Oh,” he had said, nodding.
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me to break into the movies.”
“Isn’t that a bit cliched?”
“Very funny.”
“Sorry.”
They’d finished the bottle. She’s cooked, so Terry had washed the dishes. Afterward, they’d made love. After great sex with Clare, Terry couldn’t deny her anything. He knew she knew that, but he didn’t care. He loved her with all his heart.
“How long is this program?” He’d asked, lying next to her, stroking her bare breast.
“Six months. That’s all. It’ll pass quickly.”
“And your freelancing?”
“Sarah said I could take a leave of absence of sorts.”
“And your job will be there when you get back?”
“Uh huh. That’s what she said. We already live on what you make. My dippy shit little salary won’t be missed.”
“It’s not about money. I’ll miss you.”
“You can come for weekends. Please, Terry? I may never get another chance.”
The soft feel of her skin and the pleasure from release still floating through his veins warned him he’d miss the sex and the cuddling. Clare had an amazing body. He claimed he’d never tire of looking at it.
“You’ll have Queenie,” Clare had said.
At the mention of her name, the pug had jumped up on the bed. Panting in his face, she circled and pushed her way between them, resting her chin on Clare’s leg. He admitted that Queenie had wrapped her little self around his heart, no matter how often he laughed at her antics.
“Okay. Six months. Only six months. Then you come home, right?”
“Right. Thank you. I love you madly, truly, dearly,” she’d said and then seduced him. 
He’d spent the next month looking for ways to back out of the deal. He’d never seen Clare happier. She sang in the morning, initiated lovemaking every night, and cooked dinner for him. How could he destroy her hopes? Did he believe she’d have a dazzling career as a scriptwriter? Terry had no doubt about her writing ability. But she seemed firmly locked into nonfiction. Smart enough to keep his misgivings to himself, Terry had swallowed his doubts and let her go. 

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Monday, November 13, 2017

TUESDAY TALES - PICTURE PROMPT




Welcome! We continue with my special November Women's Fiction work-in-progress, "Two of Hearts". Only 300 words allowed this week. Thanks for stopping by. 

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Two hours later, she opened her eyes. If only she could wake up and have it be yesterday. She’d tell Stan not to ride. She’d hide the keys, puncture the tires, if she had to. She yawned, shifting around, stretching her legs. She had to get to the hospital. 
   Jen stared at the bouquet of flowers Stan had bought for her. She had given in, agreed that he could take the bike out for a spin. The flowers had been the bribe. They lay on the counter, wilted, limp throwing her shallow behavior back in her face. Why hadn’t she held fast?   
   She flew out the door and into the first taxi she found. When she arrived at intensive care, Stan was lying in bed with tubes going into and coming out of all sorts of places, the same as when she had left him. His left leg and wrist were in casts. It was Monday and the reality of Stan’s motorcycle accident punctured her brain for a second time.
   She approached the bed.
   “Good morning, darling,” she whispered, leaning over to kiss him.
   He was unresponsive. Grabbing her purse, she padded down the hall to the coffee machine. She needed another jolt of caffeine. The coffee was terrible, but it was the only stuff available. Back by his beside, she pulled out a comb and ran it through her long hair. One glance in the mirror at home had told her she looked like hell. She added lipstick. It didn’t help much, but it was all she could do. Jen needed to look good when Stan woke up.
   Staring at her handsome husband, she longed to crawl into bed with him. If she could snuggle up under his arm, hear his deep voice, she’d know everything was going to be okay. 


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Monday, November 6, 2017

TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "PREPARED" TWO OF HEARTS




Welcome! Doing something different this week. I'm stepping out on a limb here. I'm interrupting Skip's story to post from my NaNo project. It's women's fiction, not romance, although there is much romance in the story. It's unedited, so please be kind. The story is called "Two of Hearts." Thanks for stopping by. 

This is Jen Hogan's story. Her husband, Stan, has been in a serious motorcycle accident. He's in a coma in intensive care. She's home to walk the dog, when she sees a picture of them together and remembers...


TWO OF HEARTS

   He’d been the aloof professor, totally unbending. She’d begged to no avail. He wouldn’t budge. If he had those expectations, she might as well drop the class before she failed. As she was leaving his office, her monumental self-control gave way and tears broke through. She tried to escape before he saw, but Stan was sharp.          
   He’d taken her by the elbow and drawn her back into his office and closed the door. Then he sat her down and guided her through the assignment with pertinent questions that forced her to drag out her innermost fears and put them on paper.
   
   After the session, she had felt ten pounds lighter. Stan instructed her to edit the piece, but assured her she would get a good grade on it. He lauded her imagination and told her she could have a good future in fiction, if she’d just stick with it. Looking back now, Jen realized that she had fallen in love with Stan right then and there. No one had ever shown confidence in her ability to do anything but look pretty.
   
   The fact that Stan didn’t make a pass at her had impressed her. Could he be telling the truth? Was his confidence genuine? Or did he simply want to get into her pants, like every other man she’d ever met? Working with him in his office quickly became a regular thing. Dinners followed. Serious about writing and teaching, Stan had not breached the teacher pupil barrier all semester. Jen had been head over heels for him, but took his lead and didn’t get overly familiar. After the semester, he made his move.
   
   As she recalled their first real date, a smile graced her face. He’d decorated the back deck with soft lights, burned candles and had prepared an elegant meal. Champagne had cooled in a bucket of ice, classical music played in the background. He’d ordered from the best Italian restaurant in the City.

   
   Jen had been swept off her feet, straight into his bedroom. Their affair had lasted all summer. In the fall, he asked her to move in. At Christmas, he’d presented her with an engagement ring. They were married on New Year’s Eve, for tax purposes. Stan was, and still is, the most romantic man she had ever known. Five years later she professed to be more in love with him than ever. So he had to get better. He simply had to.