Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

**The prompt this week: The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. This is what I came up with. Enjoy!**

It had been the kind of day that made a person long for a reset button. Everything had gone wrong, and I’d spent my entire day putting out fires and fixing disasters. But it was done, and I was home, and that was the best feeling. I pushed into the house, dropped my bag and toed off my shoes right there at the door, and then sighed in relief as the scent of warm, spicy soup permeated the air. My man was home, and he’d cooked his mother’s laksa. That was the best news after the day, hell the week, I’d had. It was my favorite dish.

I was so focused on that, for a minute I didn’t realize the lights were off and the flickering illumination came from dozens of candles lining the hallway.

“Kevin?” I called, not too loudly, as I walked further into the house.

As I turned the corner, I saw the easel holding a poster board. Even more curious, I walked closer. There was a picture of a bookstore, the one where Kevin and I had met three years ago, and underneath in his precise block lettering.

The first time ever I saw your face

on this day, exactly three years ago, we met by accident at the bookstore, and I knew I was looking at the man who would capture my heart.”

Speaking of hearts, mine thumped, and adrenaline rushed through my veins. I couldn’t stop the grin. We’d never celebrated anniversaries, but it was wonderful that he remembered.

The line of candles continued, and I followed them into the dining room, where another poster made my breath catch. This picture was of the Willamette River, and our favorite place to stop and enjoy the scenery along the river walk.

“The first time ever I kissed your mouth

the next night we went on our first date, and I couldn’t get enough of you. I knew I was falling in love, no matter how improbable that seemed.”

I’d known it that night too, but it took me a lot longer to even acknowledge it, let alone admit it out loud. Kevin had been better about that then me.

Eager now, I followed the candles into the living room and burst out laughing. This board was sitting righto on the couch, no picture attached.

“The first time ever I lay with you

right here on this couch, even though you made me wait until the third date, I knew I was making love to the last man I ever would.”

It had been magic, and for the first time, I knew what people meant when they said it was different with someone you were made to be with, with someone you loved.

Not stopping, the candles led me into the kitchen, where Kevin waited. On bended knee. With a rose in one hand, a huge smile on his face, and soup simmering on the stove. It was the perfect picture. It was the best thing I’d ever seen and what I wanted for the rest of my live.

“Marry me?”

I grinned, even wider, and nodded. I pulled him up and into my arms, clutching him to me. Kevin fit perfectly into my arms, always had. And always would.



How It Starts…

So after I get an idea I actually think might work, I spend a lot of time thinking about it. Like a lot. Like when I’m in the shower, or driving, or in those minutes before I fall asleep. Basically when my brain isn’t engaged in something necessary, the story is on my mind. Sometimes even when I’m supposed to be engaged with work or whatever, I’m actually staring off into space and thinking about my boys. I’m sure this comes as a surprise to no one.

At any rate, this is where I am right now. These guys are consuming my free moments, and I’m constantly thinking about them. At first it was the little things, like who they are and how they fit into the basic idea I had. But then it quickly evolved, and now I’m seeing scenes. I kind of love that stage, when I’m just seeing snippets of their lives and their interactions. It’s times like this that I wish I could write out of order, just so I could get those scenes on the page. Since I can’t (because oh my god, my brain doesn’t work that way) my usual mode is to think about it a lot, over and over, mentally tweaking those scenes until I basically have it memorized. And jotting down a rough description when I get to the point where I write my very rough outline thingies.

(When I actually get to writing it, it’s usually changed, either because I forgot something I wanted to wright (yes, I know) or because the story changed around it and what I originally envisioned not longer fits)

So I’m thinking lots, and I think this story is gonna stick. I know these guys’ names, I know their personalities, I know how they meet and how they get to the next level. The actual getting to the HEA is a little shakier, but I have confidence they’ll get there.

And pretty soon, I’ll be ready to start putting words on the page.

Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

**The prompt for both Ivan and me this week is simple. “Will you have sex with me?” Enjoy!**

“Ben! Beeeeeeeen!” Jesse flopped down on the couch beside me, making the whole thing shake. “Ben baby! Will you have sex with me?”

I rolled my head to the side, peering at him. “Are you drunk?”

He nodded happily, grin both goofy and kind of sexy at the same time. I didn’t know how he did it, but it never failed. I didn’t actually know if it was that way for other people, if they saw the sexy when they looked at him. I loved him, so it was probably different for me.

“Please tell me Carlos didn’t make sangria.”

Jesse popped up straight, grin growing wider, and then held out a hand to steady himself as he nearly slid right off the couch. “The white wine kind! It was sooooooo good.”

Heaven save me from childhood friends left to their own devices. I often went to “game night” right alongside my boyfriend, but not always. Sometimes I let them do their own thing, and I stayed home. But I should have known something was up when Danny picked Jesse up on his way through. Danny didn’t drink, but he sure loved to instigate his other friends.

“Did you do anything stupid?” I asked, indulgently. He was flushed and smiling, happy and relaxed. And if he wasn’t three sheets to the wind, I’d have pinned him beneath me. But he was just a little too far gone, and even though I knew I always had his consent, he’d probably fall asleep halfway through and that would be no fun for anyone.

Jesse squinted one eye at me, then shook his head so hard he slipped down a few inches. “Nope. Don’t think so. Drank. Gamed. Droved home.”

I chuckled, then stood up,holding out a hand for him. It took him two tries to get his fingers connected with mine. He purred, his eyes drifting half shut.”Sex time?”

I snorted out another laugh, pulling him up and into my arms. “Yeah, babe. If you can stay awake long enough, I’ll totally have sex with you.”

Water first, then a trip to the bathroom. I left him sitting on the bed so I could find him some sleep shorts and he could get out of the jeans. But when I turned back around, he was passed out face down, snoring into the pillows. I smiled, stripped him out of the jeans and T-shirt during which he didn’t even stir, and then crawled into bed behind him. He immediately snuggled back against me. I kissed the top of his head.

We’d have sex in the morning.


Cover Reveal!

Coming April 15th from JMS Books!

















Eli Brennan’s only joy comes from helping out the less fortunate. The rest of his life is less than satisfactory, and he certainly doesn’t believe in fairy tales. Until he meets Chase Prinsen, whose winning smile and gorgeous muscles embody Eli’s idea of Prince Charming.

Chase sweeps Eli off his feet after an enchanting meeting on the stairs. Eli isn’t used to being special to anyone, but Chase makes him feel it.

With a little persuading, can Chase convince Eli they go together like foot and slipper?

You can preorder it here:

Amazon   Kobo   BN   iBooks 

Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

**This week’s prompt is a car breaking down, a bickering couple, and a hot tow truck driver. Enjoy!**

“When the check engine light comes on, that means you’re supposed to check the engine.”

Clenching my jaw, I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead at the white smoke billowing from the hood of the car. I did not turn and look at the man who had shared my heart, bed, and body for the past nine years. If I did, I would probably claw his eyes out just for the patronizing tone. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, then closed my eyes as the smoke seemingly got thicker.

“This is not my fault.”

Sam snorted out a derisive laugh. “This is exactly your fault. Jeremy, you didn’t service your car when it told you it needed it.”

“Don’t snipe at me,” I ground out. “The light came on when I was driving home yesterday, but then it was gone this morning when I started the car. How was I to know the car would start belching steam half way to your parents house?”

“You should have called the garage as soon as–” Sam’s words were cut off when a flashing yellow light cut through the darkness. His parents lived twenty-five miles out of town, and we’d been stuck on a back road that only had intermittent lights.

Sam turned and looked behind us as the tow truck came into view, it’s huge headlights illuminating his face. I turned in time to see his scowl morph into one of relief. He’d called his father to come meet us after we’d called Triple A, and I knew he was worried about keeping his dad out in the cold. Now, once the man arrived, we’d already be in the process of getting the car taken care of.

A big bulk of muscle hopped down from the cab of the tow truck, and I exited the car at the same time as Sam. The moment the tow truck drive came into view, I sucked in a breath. He was gorgeous, all cut muscle and broad shoulders. His face was a study in carved perfection, and his grin was blinding even in the dark. I had to lean against my sedan as my knees went a little weak.

“Hey there,” he called in a jovial sort of voice. “Looks like you’ve got problems. Can you pop the hood for me?”

I leaned back in to do as he asked, but when I straightened, Sam was right there, standing between us. He’d crossed his arms over his chest, puffed up even, and he was glowering at the tow truck driver. I tried to peer around Sam as the man leaned over to look at the engine, but Sam stepped back into me, pushing me back a step. I jabbed at his shoulder, but he didn’t move. Sam was almost as big at the driver was, six foot tall and bulky. There was no moving him if he didn’t want to move.

“What is with you?” I hissed in his ear. But Sam didn’t respond.

The driver stood up, and gave us another grin. “Blown head gasket. You got a place you want me to tow her?”

Sam answered before I could, giving him the name of the garage, and then all but ordered me to get anything of value out of the car so that we didn’t have to worry about it when it was at the shop. I grumbled as I did it, constantly glancing at Sam and the way he stood glaring at the tow truck driver.

Fifteen minutes later, my car was hooked up to the tow truck, and Sam’s dad had arrived. I’d put all my belongings into his dad’s car trunk, and then turned to thank the driver, but saw he was already getting into his truck. A moment later, he trundled off, my sedan rolling along behind.

I whipped around to glare at Sam. “What the hell was that all about?”

Sam glared right back. “You’re mine. And he can’t have you.”

Possessiveness. My knees went weak again, but for an entirely different reason. Sam knew he had nothing to worry about where I was concerned. I’d never stray. But that didn’t stop Sam from staking his claim every now and again. And every time, it made my heart pound and my stomach swoop. I loved that he had to show the world I was his.

I grinned and threw my arms around his neck. Sam softened immediately.

“He wasn’t going to take me. Never would be able to.”

“Damn right.” Sam sounded smug.

My grin grew even wider. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Once we get home, I’ll show you just how much I’m yours.”


A Story’s Beginning

It’s funny, the things that stick in my head.

Sometimes, I go back and look at my previous posts to see if I’ve written about a particular something before or how long ago it was. I see the posts where I talk about how I’ve gotten this great new idea and I’m all gung ho to write it. And about most of them, I don’t have any idea what that plan was now. Absolutely none. A few of them, I remember, and I know exactly why they didn’t get written. I expect, in the case of the former, the story lost steam even before it began.

But some things….some things stick and stay, going round and round in my head. They bloom and grow, and actually seem like they are going to going to actually work. The one that’s in my brain now? I got the initial idea from something that actually happened to someone I know. Of course it was an immediate plot bunny. But the more I thought about it, the more it grew, and now there are scenes. And I know plot points. And I know characters and names. I want to write this one.

The thing is, though, that I only have the beginning parts. I only know how the story starts, the first four or five chapters. Of course I also know how it ends. But all the stuff in the middle? The meat of the falling in love and growing and learning? That’s where everything is hazy. So I’m putting off putting the words on the page yet. Though I’m all about the beginning, oh do I love the way this story starts, I don’t want to get too invested until I know how I’m going to get my boys from the meeting and initial attraction to their HEA.

Besides, I’m still taking it easy at the moment, and I’m not in any hurry to rush into a new story. Not when I’m still coming down from the last one. If these guys are, if this story is, meant to be, then the beginning I have will become more and I will have find those salient details to help the boys fall in love forever.

Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

**Today’s prompt: a diner after a Broadway audition. Enjoy!**

It had been a long, fucking day. Made to feel even longer by waiting for most of it, attempting to keep myself limber, while I watched group after group of dancers head in to audition. Waiting my turn. I’d been in one of the last groups to preform for the director and choreographer. This was both a good and bad thing. Waiting was terrible, and everyone was tired. Including the powers that be, the ones who made the decisions. But by then they also knew what they didn’t want, and they often grouped the better dancers toward the end of the day. I had a pretty good reputation, having just come off a successful two year run in the ensemble of Fiddler. This new show was supposed to be groundbreaking, and getting in on the first run would go a long way to prettying up my resume.

“I’m starving, Jj!” Leigh whined, slinging her dance bag over her shoulder, and putting on a huge pout. “Teddy and Marcus are too. Let’s go eat.”

“That diner on 45th?” I suggested picking up my own bag and looking at the other three. Teddy rolled his eyes, and Marcus’s got big.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” he asked.

Leigh rolled her eyes. “He always wants to go there. He’s likes staring at the big dude behind the counter.”

“I like it,” I protested mildly, “because the food is good and it’s usually pretty quiet in there.”

“And you like staring at the dude.”

I ignored Leigh and led the way out of the theater and into the cool night air. It was going on ten, but then temp was still pretty balmy. The city kept the heat in. So even though I was tired, I didn’t have a problem walking the three blocks over and two up to get to the diner. The moment I stepped inside, I felt better. Some nourishing carbs to build back up the calories I’d lost, and some eye candy to boot, while I ate with my friends. Because Leigh was right; I did like looking at the big man behind the counter.

He gave us a nod and a wave as we traipsed inside and headed for a booth in the corner. There were only a couple of other occupied tables, and the man made sure everyone else was doing fine before making his way to our table. He graced us with a grin.

“Waters all around?”

“Yes please,” I said with a smile. He smiled back.

“Seen you a lot lately,” he mentioned casually, passing around menus. His gaze kept straying back to me.

“I like the food.” I caught his gaze, made my smile a little bit wicked. “I wanted to bring my friends.”

“Just come from an audition?” He crossed to the counter and grabbed four glasses and a pitcher of water, and then came back.

Marcus was staring wide-eyed, and Leigh was practically gaping. I grinned. “How’d you know?”

The man shrugged, but his smile was adorable. “You have that hungry look that’s a combination of both actual hunger and metaphorical. Usually when it’s rehearsal, it’s just exhausted and physical hunger.”

I laughed, and the man grinned. He left us with the menus for a bit so that we could look over the menus, and I pointedly ignored my friends. When the man came back to take our orders, he made a point of talking to everyone else before focusing on me. I tried not to read too much into his smile as I ordered a patty melt. He wrote it down, but kept his gaze on me.

“My name’s Sam.”

“Jason. Everyone calls me Jj.”

Sam’s smile widened.  “Well, Jason. If you’re interested, maybe one day soon, you and I can get a meal together somewhere else.”

My heart pounded hard at the surge of adrenaline and arousal. I nodded, smiling. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” Sam rapped his knuckles on the table. “I’ll get your order in.”

I watched him walk away, the grin growing until my face hurt. I didn’t even care that my friends were teasing me. Despite the long day full of tense waiting, the audition had gone well and now I had a date with a pretty man.

I was going to call that a win.


What’s Next?

My writing for the past six months has been pretty concentrated. I’ve been writing to deadlines, and even though I wasn’t writing every day, or even every week, there was this constant pressure of what needed to get done. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, because I’ve produced a lot, and stuff I love, so it definitely worked. But now that I’ve gotten over that last hurdle of finishing Ghostwalker (and submitting it for consideration), I feel like I can breathe. And not just that shallow breathing you do to stay alive, but the deep, lung expanding breaths that give life.

It feels pretty good.

But now I have to decide what’s next.

What I know for certain is I will be taking it easy for a bit. How long? I’m not sure. A couple of weeks at least. Just to relax and let the ideas spark and play in my brain pan without any worry or pressure. I have a couple of ideas that I want to write. But I have some decisions to make and I’m waiting to hear on a couple things as well.

I feel like things are sort of up in the air at the moment. And, for once, I’m pretty okay with that. Just waiting to see how things shake out, and what idea grows the strongest legs. I am fairly certain I’m going to go with a contemporary next, because as much as I love writing paranormal, building a whole new world is a little daunting at the moment. I’m also about 87% certain it will be in first person (my first and true love), though depending on which story I go with, I might try my hand at alternating first. One story is particularly well suited to that POV.

At any rate, a little relaxing. Reading and yarning and thinking. And then diving into a new story, and new boys falling in love.

Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

**Today’s prompt: an argument after a game. I had to think about exactly how I wanted to do this one. Enjoy!**

I slammed through the front door, anger seething in my gut, and dropped my equipment in the mudroom. Behind me, Henri entered more sedately. I caught his wince out of the corner of my eye when I threw my stick into the corner. I should be more careful, but I was too angry to care. I stomped into the kitchen, then yanked open the refrigerator door. The bottles clanked and clinked dangerously. I grabbed a beer off the lower shelf, slammed the door shut, then banged the bottle down on the counter to pry off the top.

“Please stop banging around.” Henri’s voice was quiet as he followed me into the kitchen, his words slightly accented from his formative years spent in Quebec.

I pointed a finger at him, scowling. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

His answering scowl was adorable, but I wouldn’t let his pretty face sway me from my anger. I had every right be pissed off and I wasn’t going to stop just because he was pleading with me with his big brown eyes.

“What would you have me do, Christopher?”

Always my full name. Never Chris like everyone else in the world. Not for Henri. Not since the moment we met when I joined the team and certainly not since my apartment building collapsed and I moved in with him because I needed a place to stay. And his voice, saying my full name, caused shivers to roll down my spine. But I was angry, dammit!

“I was wide open! Half the night, standing there with a hand on my ass, while you fucking refused to pass me the puck!”

Henri’s eyes blazed, color rising high on his cheeks, and he straightened to his full six two height. “Their defensemen were twice your size. And gunned for you every time you did have the puck.”

“I can handle myself on the ice!” I threw up my hands, slopping beer out of the bottle in my hand. I slammed it down on the counter and rounded on Henri again, pushing into his space. “It’s not up to you to make those kind of decisions. You play the game!”

He reached out, almost too fast for me to track, and he grabbed my shoulders. He pulled me in, right up against him, and then slid his hands into my hair, tilting my head back so he could look down into my eyes. “I will not have you hurt.”

The ferocity in his voice, the utter conviction, made me catch my breath. What the hell? His grip softened, turned into holding on instead of gripping, and I licked my lips, watching him. His exhalation was explosive.

“You got something to tell me, Henri?” I whispered.

For a long moment, he was silent. And I was sure, for just a second, that he was going to pull away. Then he sagged against me, and I held on, wrapping my arms around his waist. Henri slid his fingers into my hair.

“Yes,” he said with conviction. “I want us to stop pretending we don’t love each other, stop being roommates, stop sleeping in separate rooms. I want you to come to bed with me right now, and stay there all night. I want you to be mine, not just my friend who lives in my house.”

I swallowed hard. He was offering me everything I’d been craving for months, the thing I only dared to acknowledge to myself in the dead of night. I’d hoped, sure. We’d been dancing around each other since the beginning, and we’d fallen into an easy rhythm of cohabitation. But I didn’t allow myself to give it solid thought, because I couldn’t be entirely sure.

But now he was staring at me, his eyes full of warmth and affection, desire and need, and a little bit of worry. I knew he was speaking the absolute truth. Henri never minced words.

The longer I was silent, the more the worry replaced the lust, and I couldn’t allow that. Not when I wanted him so much.

I lifted up onto my toes, closed the few inches between us, and kissed him.


In The Groove

I wrote 39k words in what, essentially, boils down to about 36 hours spread out over about five days.

I know that’s a record for me. One I’m extremely proud of. And in the process, I learned a couple of things.

The first thing was proof that, when I’m in the groove, when my mind is fixed in the story and interruptions are at a minimum, when I push myself, I can write a lot in a short amount of time. Words that I actually like. Most everything made it through the final pass. (Though I am still tweaking, editing, changing) I was taken over by the muse, and just focused and wrote. It was sort of liberating, and definitely awesome. And I really enjoyed that immersion, that absolute focus, and watching the story come to life.

The second thing is that I never want to do that again.

Yes, it was a great experience, but also stressful. I had that deadline constantly in the back of my mind. The worry that I wasn’t going to have enough words and that I wasn’t going to get it done in time. I’ve always written well under pressure, so having that riding me was a benefit. But oh my lord, was I stressed and worried. Especially because if I hadn’t managed all those words the weekend before last? I’d be in a very, very bad place right now. I think it’s better for my health if I don’t do such things again.

Get into the groove? Definitely. I’ve always liked to focus hard and write for ten hours on a day off, and I write better when I have a long uninterrupted stretch of time. Write three quarters of book in, basically, 2 and a half days? Nope. Consider that a lesson learned by yours truly, folks. I’m taking the next one at a much more leisurely pace.

Once I finish Ghostwalker and submit it, that is. 😀