Saturday - Snippets
Sunday - Reviews
Monday - 5 Fast Facts (about all sorts of things)
Tuesday - Tuesday Tales
Wednesday - Art Gallery - Covers & Other Pictures
Thursday - From My Library - Book recommendations
Friday - News (Including coming attractions)
I hope you'll stop by every day. Please leave me feedback. This isn't set in stone and I can change topics and rearrange days. So let's begin with today's topic.
Today, let's eavesdrop on a late night conversation between star pitcher, Dan Alexander and his best friend, catcher, Matt Jackson as they down a beer at Freddie's bar...straight from DAN ALEXANDER, PITCHER, the first in the Bottom of the Ninth baseball romance series.
Dan tipped back in his chair.
“What happened? Valerie give you the boot?”
Dan shook his head.
“On the rag?”
Dan laughed. “Just not up for her usual stuff. I’m tired of the same women all the time. Just interested in clothes, money, and what a guy can give ’em. Valerie’s never even been to a game. She doesn’t know shit about baseball.”
“She has other skills.” Matt snickered, his eyes glowing.
Dan chuckled. “Yeah, but even that gets boring, when it’s all there is.”
“You’re bragging! Bore me, baby. Bore my balls off!”
“Your problem is that you have no finesse. You’re too blunt. Right out there. Trying to get the chick in bed in the first thirty seconds.”
“Okay, I’ll try to wait two or three minutes. Think that’d help?”
“Asshole.” Dan smirked. “Woman are people too, you know. They have other parts, like brains.”
“Yeah? Really? I never noticed. Can’t get past the tits.”
“So you say.”
“Don’t you ever want to talk to a woman?”
“There are much better things she can do with her mouth.”
“You’re a sexist pig, know that?”
Matt grinned. “Yeah. And the babes love it.”
“Really? Is that why you’re at Freddie’s by yourself on a Saturday night?”
Matt frowned. “I’m between chicks, that’s all.”
“You’ll be between chicks for the next twenty years if you don’t change your routine.”
Tommy plopped two draft beers in front of the men. “How many did you have before you got here?” the bartender asked Dan.
“This is your limit, then. Cal Crowley told me two’s it for you guys.”
“Since when does the manager of the Nighthawks get off telling a barkeep how many beers to serve?” a man with a pot belly and thinning hair asked, closing his fingers around a glass of whiskey.
“Since he invested in this place, buddy,” Tommy responded.
“Okay, okay. We got it,” Dan said, sliding twenty bucks across the bar. “This one’s on me, Matt.”
“Yeah? How come?”
“I may be a pitcher, but you’re the strike out king,” he said, before raising the stein to his lips.
His buddy punched him in the arm. “Very funny.”
If you want more, find it in ebook and paperback, and soon to be on audio:
Thank you for stopping by!