TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "CORN"

Welcome to Tuesday Tales. This week starts a new story, that of Sly "Bullhorn" Brodsky, offensive lineman for the Connecticut Kings. This will be the next book in my First & Ten series. I'm writing it now, so it's a work-in-progress, just like Maggie's Story and Unpredictable Love. I hope you enjoy the excerpts, which will continue until the book is published. Caution: locker room language.

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As he climbed the stairs with a box of books balanced on his shoulder, Bullhorn Brodsky shook his head slightly to remove the sexy, come-hither, naked fantasy of Samantha Drake in his brain. His blood pressure returned to normal when he dropped his burden on the bedroom floor. The pretty, dark-haired young woman wearing snug jeans and a T-shirt sank down on the new bed. As their gazes connected, his libido cranked up his temperature.  

“What’s next?” He wiped the sweat off his forehead on the bottom of his T-shirt. When he lowered it, he noticed she had been staring at his abs. A gentle flush stole into the apple of her cheeks. He smiled inwardly, gratified that all the hours he spent in the gym had paid off.

“I’m grubby, I need a shower,” she said pushing to her feet to glance in the mirror.

The next image to take over his mind was stepping into a steamy shower behind Samantha. He blinked a few times and took a deep breath.

“You okay? Were the boxes too much?” Her dark chocolate brown eyes held concern.

He laughed. “You kiddin’? That’s nothin’. I take down guys ten times that weight in every game. Geez. What do you think? I’m a pussy or something?”

She made a face.

“Sorry. I need to clean up my words.” He sensed color in his cheeks. He’d never had a girlfriend like Samantha Drake. She was smart, beautiful and nice –she did volunteer work at the New Life Shelter for battered women and kids. But she wasn’t his girlfriend, only a friend –with no benefits. He sighed.

“Devon talks like that, too. You’d think football players never went to college.” She handed him a cold bottle of water.

He downed the liquid. “What’s next?”

She turned around in the room and sucked her lower lip between her teeth.

“Bed. Books, clothes. Rocking chair. Hmm. How many boxes are still in the car?”

“Two.”

“Then that’s it. The place looks pretty empty.” She perched on the bed, tucking her feet under her.

“You’ll have it furnished before you know it. Come on. I’m gonna bring those boxes up, then take you out to dinner.”

“Thanks. Be right back.” Her thousand-watt smile turned his innards to jelly.

He sat in the rocking chair while Samantha washed the dirt off her luscious body –or what he assumed was luscious. Sylvester “Bullhorn” Brodsky, known to his teammates as “Bull” had the hots for Samantha Drake, and it was keeping him up nights. While he waited for her to want him back, his imagination ran through a half dozen things he’d like to do to her under the warming spray of hot water. She was a little slip of a thing and he was huge. Six foot three inches tall and two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle, the offensive lineman could lift her up with one hand.

Samantha joined him in the living room. She was wearing a red dress and red strappy sandals.

“Wow, you look awesome.”  Is that corny?

“Thanks.”

They headed for the stairs.

“My own key. Just for me,” she sighed, dangling the new key ring from her finger.

“Yep. Independent.”

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a new place in town called The Greenery. It’s vegetarian. Salads and shit. Wanna try it?”

“And shit? I don’t think I want to eat that. But a salad sounds good.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

She laughed. “I’m proud of you --going someplace that doesn’t have fries.”

“I didn’t say that. Their fries are organic. Sweet potato fries.” He grinned as he opened the car door for her. 

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Ramblings of a Road Tripper

Welcome! Thanks for joining me. This new column is one that has been baking in the back of my brain. I take a few trips a year to conferences around the country and a few country excursions just for fun. This is my first Ramblings of a Road Tripper column about my car trip to Pittsburgh. Thanks for coming on board. I hope you enjoy the journey.

PITTSBURGH HO!

I love the backroads of Pennsylvania, especially in the fall. 

I first became acquainted with them when my son, Steve, and I were in our third construction traffic jam on the highway. We were bringing him to Juniata College and the delays were making me crazy. I tossed the map to him and said, "Get us to Huntingdon" as I pulled off on an unfamiliar exit. 

   He did a beautiful job finding lovely roads that wound this way and that, through heavily wooded areas or small, quaint towns and farms abutting the hilly road. (Note: these are all stock photos, not taken by me.) 

   When he graduated, my excuse for exploring these road through the Allegheny mountains went away. I missed those trips. Then Steve moved to Pittsburgh. When we bought a car, hitting the back roads was on my mind. 
   His birthday, October 1, was the perfect excuse for a road trip. Roads like this make me want to stay behind the wheel all day. 
   There are many roads like this on my trip and I'm loving it. 

    As I drive by small farms, and houses, I wonder how the people there live. What do they do for fun? What kind of jobs do they have? How far do they have to drive to the grocery store? To school? 

Fall in the Alleghenies is breath-taking, beautiful beyond desccription. Even the rolls of hay add to the picture. 

How do the farmers fare in the winter? Is it too costly to maintain the barn? Who plows for them? Do they heat their houses with wood cut from their own land? 


   One memorable tiny town is Mifflinville, population 1253 at the last census.  I love to drive through the short stretch of road that passes through the tiny town. It's familiar, so I know I'm not lost. 

   I'm not much of a winter driver. Ice, snow, cold and a deserted road in freezing temperatures represent peril, not pleasure to me. So I'll be home. But you can bet I'll be planning a spring road trip. In fact, I'm working on a romance writer reading and signing at a cafe in Huntingdon. But more on that when the time draws near. 
   Next column will include Pittsburgh itself.  Until then, thanks for stopping by. Wishing you fun and safe travels.
   Please leave a comment. I love feedback.


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TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "BOX" UNPREDICTABLE LOVE

Welcome to Tuesday Tales. This week is the last installment of the book, Unpredictable Love. I'm sorry to yank the story, but any more and I would be giving away the plot. I'm currently working on the book, so it shouldn't be too long before you can read the whole story. 
This week the prompt is "box". Thank you for your loyal following of this story. I have come to depend on you. Next week, I will be sharing some of the fifth book in the First & Ten series that I'm writing now. I hope you'll be back for that. 

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As Pine Grove blossomed that spring, Jory’s heart still hung heavy. She’d been living a seriously huge lie with Trent for months and the weight seemed to increase with every letter she received. There was only one way out. She had to tell him the truth.

When she sat down to write a slight flutter in her chest made her hand tremble. Where to begin?

Dear Trent,

I know you’re falling for me, but I’m a liar and a phony.

She shook her head, balled up the paper and shot it at her waste paper basket. She missed.

Dear Trent,

Sometimes things aren’t what they seem. People, too.

She shook her head, again and discarded the paper.

Dear Trent,

It’s time I told you the truth. The real truth about who I am.

She took a deep breath and continued writing. This letter took her an hour and a half to pen. The sting of tears was so strong, she had to stop several times. Taking the gamble that he’d understand, by letter, and not toss her out on her butt made her heart hurt.

Always clinging to the safe side of life, this time, Jory had ventured out on a tightrope without a net. She’d chided herself a thousand times not to take it farther. Each time a letter arrived, she opened it eagerly, drinking in his words of friendship and love.

The letters had morphed. From discussions of birds and childhood experiences, their correspondence had taken a more intimate turn. Steamy scenarios exchanged on paper pulled her closer. Trent had declared his love for her in the last letter. It had pushed her over the edge. She had to come clean now. Although she hadn’t made her feelings clear, she knew she loved him, too, and it ate her up.

When she finished the letter, she cried herself to sleep. It sat on her dresser for several days. She agonized over whether to send it or not. Maybe she should take her chances when he got back? If you really love him, you have to do the right thing. You owe it to him.

Friday morning, Jory screwed up her courage. She handed the letter to Nan.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“This is it, Nan. The letter. Where I tell him the truth.”

Jory headed for the door and her walk to work. She passed a mailbox. It used to signify such hope for her. Now it only reminded her that a man she shouldn't love would soon be out of her life. 

She blinked back tears and continued on her way, dreading the day, the hour, the minute when she'd receive his angry reply. Or worse. No reply at all. 

TO BE CONTINUED....

Stay tuned for information on the release date for Unpredictable Love.  Thank you for hanging in with me on this one. 

Next week I will begin sharing Sly "Bullhorn" Brodsky, Offensive Line here. I hope you'll be back to check out that story, the fifth in the First & Ten series. 

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TUEDAY TALES, PICTURE PROMPT

This week we have a picture prompt and a limit of 300 words. Here's another installment in my new book, Unpredictable Love, co coming out soon.

Thanks for stopping by. Click the link below to return to the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.

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Jory lifted her fork, ready to dig into her Aunt’s beef stew pie, but stopped short.

“I wonder what Trent gets to eat?”  She dug her fork into the savory food.

“Probably shit on a shingle,” Tiffany said, taking a forkful of the heart meal.

“Meaning?” Jory cocked an eyebrow.

“Crappy stuff. Yucky, smelly, disgusting.” Tiffany made a face and shivered.

“You don’t know. Can’t feed them garbage if they have to fight.”

Later that night, driven by curiosity, the older sister wrote to her military friend. In two weeks, she had a reply.

On base we get hot meals. Not like home, but okay.

Even fast food sometimes. In the field, we get MRE’s.

Meals, ready to eat. They’re pretty bad. Some parts,

like the bread and peanut butter and cookies are okay.

But the main course stuff is brutal. I got hungry

visualizing your aunt’s meat pie. Would you make one

for me when I get home?

“Aunt Nan,” Jory called from her attic room. They met up in the kitchen.

“Can you teach me how to make beef stew pie?”

When her aunt stared at her with narrowed eyes, the young woman explained.

“Sure. I can teach you. But when he returns stateside, how are you going to explain to him that you’re not Tiffany? Or rather, Tiffany isn’t you?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet. Maybe we’d better forget it. I mean, when he returns, this charade’ll be over, right? He probably won’t speak to me again, so I don’t need to learn.”

Nan grabbed her niece’s elbow and steered her back into the room.

“If it’s not this man you’ll be cooking for, there’ll be another.”

“I don’t think so. But what the heck.” Jory donned an apron.

“You give up too easy.”

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TUESDAY TALES - UNPREDICTABLE LOVE

Welcome! Tuesday Tales is back with the word prompt "glass" this week. We're back with Jory and "Unpredictable Love." Thank you so much for coming. Click on the link below to return to the fabulous writers of Tuesday Tales.

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Jory was home first. She poured a vodka and tonic, added cubes and swirled the liquid to mix it, listening to the clink of  the ice against the glass. Her sister and her aunt were out living their lives. Both had dates. It was eight o’clock, Jory had just left the newspaper office. 

She stretched out on the sectional sofa and put her feet up. After a big swig, she plucked the skinny envelope out of her purse and eyed it with suspicion.  You’re still writing to me? Why? There must be a thousand women who’d write you sexier letters than mine.

She slipped her finger under the flap and tore it open. She extracted a thin piece of paper with scrawl on both sides. Another gulp of her drink gave her courage. She unfolded the paper.

                   Dear Jory,

     I shouldn’t be surprised to find there aren’t many birds here. Guess with all the shooting, they got scared away. But there’s one persistent one. I think he’s a hawk of some kind. Binocs here aren’t used for bird watching. You know what I mean. He’s not huge, but definitely a raptor. I watch him scan for rodents.

     Seems like we’re both doing the same thing. I don’t eat mine, though. I’ve seen him on and off for the past few days. I call him "Rocky”, cause he’s gotta swoop down pretty low to

see between the rocks sometimes. Anyway, he’s tough and Rocky is a tough name. I miss the birds at home. The little  finches. They’re tiny compared to Rocky and he’s not even big. But they are pretty. They come to my feeder and don’t mind if I watch them.

Wish I could be there with you on a stormy night. I’m not afraid of storms. Never have been. Here there’s too much else to scare the shit out of you. A little thunder would be a relief.

               Had a few other things in mind to do with you on a rainy night, but I’d better keep this clean. You know where my head’s at. Hope you don’t meet some normal guy who isn’t sleeping with a gun and naming birds.                   

               Please keep your letters coming. They give me hope.

                                                                             Yours,

                                                                             Trent

 

          Jory put her drink down long enough to wipe her eyes. Then she chugged the rest, tucked his letter away, sliding it under a red ribbon. She pulled out fresh paper and pen. 

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