You should have just visited the inimitable Jeanne St Jamesif you've landed here.
Thinking of Hot and Steamy Days and Nights, I was working on a little scene inspired by it----
Trina's day couldn't have gotten worse if she tried. Standing in the window in her skivvies for the neighborhood busybodies to see was the height of embarrassment. That circumstance immobilized her in this ignoble position made it even worse. Sweat trickled between her breasts, making the thin material of her undershirt adhere to her moist flesh, as her wrist smarted unbearably.
At 100 degrees, Trina couldn’t stand being fully clothed in her apartment. Her air conditioner had picked a hell of a time to stop working. And she had picked a hell of a time to start fiddling with the old window in the living room half sealed with paint, hoping for a scant breeze to flutter through. Yanking the stiff pane, she’d been so excited as the offending item finally gave way, which quickly turned to panic as it started crashing down. On her wrist.
She flexed it gingerly. Nothing appeared to be broken at least.
She’d been signaling to the elderly gentleman across the street her distress, until his furious wife closed their drapes. Her scandalized neighbors probably believed she stood there to give a free show. In truth, Trina stood utterly trapped and helpless.
SO....ripe with many possibilities, should Trina be rescued by :
A. A Roving Team of Hunky Firemen?
B. A Sexy Alien on a mission here to save his dying race?
C. Her Hot Ex who lives next door?
D. A Bad Ass cop?
Please let me know how you would like this scene finished!
Mace Walker can’t wait to get home.
Being buried deep undercover for the past two years, on the most complex case of his career, has torn him down physically and mentally. Now the FBI agent has come home to recover after having his leg badly injured from a gunshot wound. Arriving home late one night, his relief is short-lived as he’s faced with a stranger pointing a gun to his head, acting like he is the one who doesn’t belong there!
Colby Parks, a biochemist at the local university, had come to town a year earlier to escape an abusive relationship. She vows never to put herself in that situation again.
Then the perfect opportunity comes along: house-sitting for Mace’s sister while making the house she purchased habitable. But she couldn’t anticipate this big snag: the one wearing the tight Levi’s and worn leather jacket, looking like he had just escaped prison.
Being forced to share a house creates sparks between them in more ways than one. However, things take a turn when their pasts catch up to them, threatening to pull them apart forever.
Chapter One
Home.
Relief flooded over Mace Walker as he twisted the key in the lock, gave the front door a shove, and stepped over the threshold. Finally home. About time.
Time to heal.
The foyer was dark, but he didn’t need to hit the light switch. Even being gone for as long as he had been, he still knew the house well enough. He made his way to the stairs and set down his bags. Those two small duffels didn’t hold much evidence of his life for the past couple of years. Just some toiletries and a few basic items of clothing.
As he straightened, the foyer lit up, blinding him for a second. He blinked when a young voice rang out from the top of the steps. “Hold it right there! Put your arms up and back away from the stairs.”
What the fuck?
Mace had expected to see his sister bounding down the stairway of his two-story colonial, excited after not seeing her brother for the past two years. Actually, more like one year, eleven months and fifteen days. Not that he was counting. But instead, he stared up into the deadly eye of a Glock. And from his viewpoint it looked like a model 23, a .40 caliber. A compact but still a decent sized gun in a very small, very uneasy hand. Instantly, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
Damn. He’d dealt with crime bosses and their flunkies--from drug to porno rings--and had managed to survive. Now he was going to be killed by some measly punk he surprised while burglarizing his house? The cruel irony made him want to laugh. Instead, he did as he was instructed. With caution, he raised his hands above his head before stepping back toward the middle of the foyer. He avoided standing directly under the light, trying to get a better view of the top of the steps. But he didn’t have much success; the upstairs hallway and the upper section of the stairway were hidden in shadows.
If he played his cards right, this little situation would be under his control in no time at all. He just had to keep the kid calm and make the skinny punk believe he was the one in command. From experience, Mace knew the Glock didn’t have a conventional safety. All the kid had to do was pull the trigger and pull it again and again until all the rounds in the clip emptied into Mace’s body. And from what he could see in the limited light, the kid’s fingers were twitching from nervousness.
Not a good sign.
Where had a young punk gotten an expensive handgun like that? It certainly hadn’t been in the house. And if it had been, it would have been locked up in the gun safe.
If only he could see the boy’s face. He needed to see the eyes. Without seeing his eyes, Mace couldn’t even begin to predict what the kid would do.
“Don’t you dare move or I’ll blow your face off!” The kid’s voice raised an octave, making him sound more and more like ... a girl.
Tension ran through Mace’s body as the person started down the steps. At first he could see bare toes, a slim calf, then another. His gaze flicked to the gun, before returning to the shapely naked thighs which couldn’t belong to a kid--no way. Especially not a boy. Those smooth legs definitely belonged to a woman--and he couldn’t wait to see the rest of her. So far, the view almost made it worth being held at gunpoint. Almost.
He was disappointed when an oversized T-shirt--shit, was that Marmaduke on it?--blocked his view of creamy flesh. His arms were tired, his leg throbbed painfully, and his patience was wearing thin. But he still wasn’t going to move, since he had no idea who this woman descending the stairs was. His curiosity piqued when she stepped down into the light, which highlighted her long, curly red hair and made her wide, green--glaring--eyes sparkle and snap.
A twitch shot through his lower stomach and landed in his groin. Fear or pain didn’t make him suck in his breath. It was her unrestricted breasts bobbing under the cotton shirt with each step she took. Her nipples stood out like two beacons under the worn cotton. Jesus.
He had to clear his throat twice before he could ask her, “Are you robbing this house, dressed like that?”
5 diamonds at Got Erotic Romance!
"Banged Up is an action packed, erotic adventure that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page. The sexual tension starts building as soon as Mace and Colby lay eyes on one another, and their relationship just gets hotter and hotter until their passion explodes. The dialog is fast paced and evocative, leading their relationship along at a fast pace. There’s humor, drama, tragedy, and some really hot sex. This book has something for everyone and will keep you guessing about the ending right up to the last page. I couldn’t put it away and I plan to read it again. I definitely give this book 5 Heats and recommend you read it as soon as possible."
4.5 hearts at The Romance Studio!
"Ms. Jeanne St. James has written a great book full of explicit sexuality and overloaded with suspense. There was more than one problem facing these main characters and St. James has integrated the storyline into love/hate/fear in such a way that it was impossible to put down. These two people were both full of past problems which continued to invade their presents and futures. Again, the author has presented the conflicts, as well as the sexual exploitations, in a great way.
There were other characters that made the story complete. They enhanced the plot and kept the story fast-paced and interesting. The actions, both sexual as well as the suspense-filled pursuits were fascinating. This book is definitely not for the faint of heart. I recommend that you read this book. You will enjoy it, I’m sure."
4 blue ribbons at Romance Junkies!
"Jeanne St. James has written an exceptional high action drama. From page one you will be captured by BANGED UP.The dialogue is superbly written and the plot allows you to be kept on the edge of your seat. For those seeking an action packed thriller, I highly recommend to add this title to your must read list."
4 whips at Bella's Erotic Reviews!
"Jeanne St. James writes an exciting action packed romance drawing the reader in from page one and never letting go. I was hooked from the first page of this story. I loved Colby and her fierceness and how she overcame all that was done to her and of course Mace the brooding Alpha Male was a great character to. Even with all his macho pride he still had his doubts and insecurities. The bond that formed between these two was a beautiful thing to read. Both Mace and Colby must learn to trust each other before time runs out and it is to late. Full of action and hot romance Banged Up is a page-turner that is not to be missed."
4 heart review at Night Owl Romance Book Reviews!
"Banged up is an entertaining read..."
"... an enjoyable story."
Thanks Jeanne for sharing your work with us today.
Not content to just deliver what you may already know about these writers I have on here, I delve in DEEP to their inner most psyche and massage it, until I get a psychological profile Criminal Minds would be proud of….!
The world is ending in an hour, what do you do, and who do you do it with?
JSJ: Ok, I would have to say that I can’t say in public what my first answer would be. So, let’s see what I can share… hmm.
Oh you tease! If you were a cheese, what flavor would you be, and why?
JSJ: So funny, because I’m allergic to dairy. But I’d have to say I’d have to Mozzarella. I’m Italian and I can get warm and gooey. I’m very versatile too, like the cheese which can be used for pizza, Mozzarella sticks, lasagna, Calzones, etc.
You mean versatile like those hot men you write about? wink. Five things you can take to a desert island, what would they be?
JSJ: A flashlight, a boat, fishing rod, flint and my iPhone.
Finish this sentence: Love is like….
JSJ: A rock. No, I’m kidding. Love is like a necessary evil. It feels great to love and be loved but it also tends to cause pain and heartache. But as Lord Tennyson said: “'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
Finish this sentence: my stories are like….
JSJ: A blooming flower. I start with a bud of an idea and they just grow into something beautiful. Sometimes they need trimmed but hopefully in the end they make someone smile.
Favorite action figure or action hero and why?
JSJ: Ooooo. Batman. I love Batman. He is strong and dark and yummy. I loved all the movies.
Mata Hari or Mother Teresa?
JSJ: Mata Hari. Definitely. She was a “bad girl.” She was known for her sensuality and her eroticism
AND, Jeanne is known for her great, sexy books. Like this one!:
RIP CORD is getting great reviews AND was up to #3 on the All Romance Ebooks Top Ten Bestseller list! And is a #1 bestseller at Phaze for December!
From Seriously Reviewed:
"Well, I sat down to read and burned dinner! I couldn’t stop reading. The story is fast. Gil attends his high school reunion. And we all remember how enjoyable that is…not. But with a hot jock like Rip, at least he’ll have someone to stare at during dinner. But wait. This is hot gay erotic romance. So when boy sees hot football star, boy lusts for football star, and holy shit, the football star has game of his own. The sex was raw and brazen, the dialog refreshingly natural and the ending pleasantly simple and satisfying."
Blurb:
Gil Davis had hated high school. Ever the geek, he had no intentions of attending his 10th year class reunion. The last thing he wants is to relive the taunting and teasing he received during his teenage years. However there is one thing he missed from high school: the star Varsity football player. The one he had a crush on since the first day he laid his eyes on him. But the last thing he expects is the now pro football player to come back to their home town to attend a lame high school reunion. Known as the Bad Boy of the NFL, Ripley “Rip” Cord, not only shows up, but shows up without a date and an eye for Gil.
CHAPTER ONE
Gil Davis couldn’t believe it had been ten years since he’d last walked through these doors. Where had the time gone?
When the invitation to his class reunion had come, he almost tossed it out, just as he had with the notice of his fifth year reunion.
He was not into reliving his high school years.
No way, no how.
But something on the invitation had caught his eye… this time they were holding it at the school. So instead of immediately pitching it, he had thrown the invitation on his kitchen table. Unfortunately, Katie, his best friend and roommate, found it and hounded him relentlessly until he agreed to RSVP.
And, of course, Katie insisted on being his date.
Which thrilled him to no end… Not.
Now he wasn’t so sure if he wanted to go in.
He wasn’t sure he was ready for a night of teasing from his former schoolmates.
Yet, here he stood, just inside the double doors of his old high school staring at the registration table by the gymnasium doors.
Someone grabbed his elbow. Firmly.
“You’re not chickening out are you?”
Gil just shook his head and swallowed hard. “Did you find the restroom all right?”
“Fine,” Katie said in her little no-nonsense tone. “Let’s go.”
The harder she tugged on his arm, the more he dug in his heels. He didn’t want to leave his little corner of safety yet. “Hold on.”
“No, Gil. It’s not going to get any easier. You look fine. We’ve – okay, I’ve worked really hard to get you to this point.” She smoothed the hair back from his eyes. Gil was surprised she hadn’t spat on her fingers first like a hovering mother hen.
The problem was, he was still a nerd at heart.
“Now, get your shit together and let’s go!” She gave his arm one last hard yank and dragged him over to the table.
Sucking in a breath, he steeled himself for what was to come.
The two women sitting at the table wore big predatory smiles.
“Gilbert? Gilbert Davis is that you?” the toothy piranha on the right asked. “I swear I didn’t recognize you without your bottle-bottom glasses and pocket protector.”
Those glasses were long gone thanks to Katie dragging him years ago to the optometrist for contacts.
Gil leaned forward to read her name tag. Bonnie (Trusk) Smith.
Bonnie Trusk. He remembered her. She had been part of the Homecoming Court their senior year.
And had accidentally run over his foot one day in the parking lot with her Eddie Bauer Explorer. Why? Her excuse had been she hadn’t seen him. Yeah, he had been the invisible man, “invisible” to all of the popular kids.
“Just Gil,” he corrected her.
She laughed and waved a hand toward him, clearly dismissing him.
The other woman, Patti Petroski-Harrison, shoved a “Hello! My name is… Gilbert Davis” sticker at him. “And your hair! It looks…” Gil expected the next word out of her mouth to be “normal.” Her face showed her internal struggle. “Nice.”
He was a geek. He knew it. He had been one ever since he could remember. And his classmates had always teased him about it.
She sized up Katie. “Are you his wife?”
Katie laughed and patted Gil’s arm. “Oh, no.”
Gil gave her a quick warning look.
Katie just gave him a sugary smile and a noisy kiss on the cheek.
“Well then,” Patti said. “When you go through the doors, Gilbert, there will be a table with place settings. Find your name and that will tell you where you’re seated.”
“Just Gil,” he corrected again, but by then both women were flashing their beaming smiles at another couple who had come up behind them.
Katie tugged him to the side to avoid being crushed by the new arrivals’ hugging and squealing. Gil didn’t recognize the newcomers. But then they had probably been a part of the “in” group.
Gil had been a full-fledged member of the “out” group, but not the “out of the closet” group.
A woman’s shrill scream shot a bolt of pain through his head.
“Did you hear Rip Cord is going to be here? Can you believe it?” the one called Patti asked, her question ending in a squeal. She looked as if she would bust a vein.
Gil stumbled back a step from the table, barely avoiding Katie’s toes.
Holy hell, he never should have agreed to come to this thing. Especially if he’d known Rip would be here.
Gil had a crush on Rip since high school. Unfortunately, Rip was definitely of the heterosexual persuasion. Being captain of the football team, he’d had every girl in school chasing after him, one way or another.
So he’d admired the well-built, handsome jock from afar. Very afar.
Hearing Rip’s name brought all those old feelings back to the surface.
All the insecurities.
Gil certainly had never expected his secret crush to come back to town for a ten-year class reunion. Rip had become way too famous for that.
Gil grabbed Katie’s arm and, with her squeaky protest, dragged her through the double doors into the gym.
“Jesus, Gil. What’s going on?” she asked as he pushed her against the wall just inside the doors.
“Did you hear that?” He struggled not to hyperventilate.
“What?” Katie peeled the backing off of Gil’s name tag and slapped it onto his chest. Not so gently either.
“Rip is going to be here.”
“Rip?” She wrinkled her nose. “What the hell is rip?”
“Not what. Who!” Gil swallowed hard and blew out a long breath. He realized then he was squeezing her upper arms. Way too hard. He relaxed his fingers.
“Okay, okay. Calm down. And let up a little more please.”
He released her and wiped his sweaty palms along his slacks. He never should have worn slacks. Slacks were nerd-wear.
Why didn’t Katie talk him out of wearing them? He should have worn torn jeans or leather pants or --
“So is Rip a band? I would’ve thought they just would’ve hired a DJ. It’s cheaper.”
“Wait. What?” Gil shook his head. “First of all, why would they need music?”
Katie pointed a finger upwards. “Hear that, nerd-o? Music. You know, it creates atmosphere and gives you something to dance to.”
“Dance?” Gil swallowed hard. He cocked his head. He did hear music. He hadn’t noticed it because he’d been too panicked about Rip being there. “Okay, just don’t ask me to dance.”
“No can do, Gilly. We will be dancing. I didn’t come along to be a wallflower.”
“Katie, you know I can’t dance,” he hissed inches from her face.
She had the nerve to laugh. As if his lack of rhythm was something to laugh about. His coordination left something to be desired. Gil considered it a handicap – maybe not one recognized by the government. But no one should make fun of the handicapped!
Gil frowned. “I didn’t see anything on the invitation about dancing.”
Katie sighed. “Gilly, don’t worry, we’ll fake it.”
“Don’t call me Gilly here. It’s bad enough people will be calling me Gilbert.”
“Okay, Gil. So if Rip isn’t a band then who or what is it?”
A low murmur throughout the room behind him caused Gil to look up. Coming through the doors…
Gil pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself. His legs had suddenly lost all strength.
Coming through the doors was…
“Him,” was all Gil could get past the lump in his throat.
I thought you would enjoy a sexy excerpt from a great writing talent, the wonderful Jeanne St. James. Her release Rip Cordhas skyrocketed to acclaim, and I am tickled she is sharing a peek at her newest release here! Get ready to double your pleasure with Double Dare!
DOUBLE DARE Blurb:
What could be better than waking up next to a hot guy? Waking up sandwiched between two of them.
Quinn Preston, a financial analyst, is not happy when her friends dare her to pick up a handsome stranger at a wedding reception. What better reason to give up men when her previous long-term relationship had not only been lackluster in the bedroom but he had cheated.
Logan Reed, a successful business owner, can’t believe that he’s attracted to the woman in the ugly, Pepto-Bismol colored bridesmaid dress. And to boot, she’s more than tipsy. After turning down her invitation for a one-night stand, he finds her in the parking lot too impaired to drive. He rescues her and takes her home. His home.
The next morning Quinn’s conservative life turns on its ear when Logan introduces her to pleasures she never even considered before. And to make things more complicated, Logan already has a lover…
Tyson White, ex-pro football player, is completely in love with Logan. He has mixed emotions when Logan brings home Quinn. But the dares keep coming and things heat up with the three of them. Nevertheless Ty wonders: will adding Quinn to the mix end up enhancing or destroying Logan’s and his relationship?
Quinn Preston almost choked on her Alabama slammer when her friend elbowed her in the ribs. "Ooof."
She saved her drink before it could spill all over her ugly bridesmaid dress. Yeah, that would have been a shame: to ruin such a nice, frumpy, pukey pink taffeta dress. One the bride had said she would be able to wear in the future. Like to a cocktail party. Or maybe her own funeral. Yeah, right. No one in their right mind would want to get caught dead in this thing.
Ruining the dress wouldn't have been a loss, but losing her drink would have. She was drinking slammers for a reason -- to get good and drunk.
Lana nudged her again. "You see that?" She nodded her head toward the back of the room.
"What?" Quinn really didn't care what Lana was excited about. She just wanted to get this day over with. She was tired of watching the happy couple. She was tired of pasting on a plastic smile for the photographer. And she was really tired of listening to the sappy congratulations. All things she might never have -- the wedding, the husband, the bridal bliss. And something her parents never failed to remind her. Especially now that she was in her early thirties. And single. Again.
"Not what. Who."
"Huh?" She sucked on the dainty little straw the bartender had put in her drink. Hardly anything would come out of it. Maybe it was designed just for stirring. She pulled it out and threw it onto the bar. She really needed one of those big giant straws that came in those fancy frozen drinks.
"Him. Over there." Lana grabbed Quinn by the shoulders and turned her around to face whatever had caught her friend's attention.
"Oh, him." She took a deep draw of the punchlike drink, only there wasn't a bit of punch in it. Not the fruit kind anyway.
"Yeah, him." Lana dragged out him like she was sucking on a maraschino cherry and enjoying the sweetness on her tongue.
Quinn didn't even take a good look. Men were on her shit list at the moment. She didn't care how hot they were. The potent drink in her hands was all the company she needed. She smiled into her glass; it was the best date she'd had in a while.
Another pink taffeta blur whizzed up to them, out of breath.
"Jeez Louise. Did you see that hunk of man meat?" Paula, another victim of the wedding fashion nightmare, was flushed and had a bead of sweat running down her chipmunk-like cheeks. "Do you think he's single?"
Quinn raised one shoulder in a half shrug and turned back to the bar. It was bad enough when the three of them had to stand next to each other at the altar, then throughout the grueling pictures, followed by having to sit beside each other at the head table. All in that awful pink froth. But now that it was all over, and they had done their duty for their friend Gina, there was no reason they all had to stand there looking like someone threw up Pepto-Bismol.
She leaned into the bar and asked the semicute bartender the time. When he answered that it was six, she gritted her teeth. They had only been at the reception for an hour. It was way too early to bail.
Damn.
With a sigh, she turned back to her friends. They were still ogling the male eye candy across the room.
Paula's sigh drifted over her. "I wonder if he likes women with a little meat on their bones."
A little meat? She opened her mouth to correct Paula, but shut it quickly. Her friend didn't need to be on the receiving end of her miserable mood.
"Quinn, I bet he'd make you forget Peanut."
Quinn winced and took another long draw from her drink. She loved the flavor and the tanginess on her tongue. And she was trying to forget Peanut. She hated the nickname her friends had called her ex-boyfriend, Peter. Once they had actually called him Peanut in front of his face -- by accident, of course. Right. It had taken her a while to brush that one under the rug. He had never liked her friends after that.
On the other hand, her friends had never liked Peter from the beginning. Unlike her parents, who loved the bastard. Probably more than they loved her.
"Yeah, Quinn, he could probably fuck your brains out, and you'd never remember that douche again."
Quinn frowned at Paula. She noticed her friend's string of pearls hiding in the skin around her neck. Quinn's hands automatically went to her neck to finger a similar necklace -- a part of the stupid wedding costume. Ugh. She hated pearls!
She hated taffeta. She hated pink. She hated frilly dresses.
She took a long swig from her glass.
And she hated Peter. The asshole.
His gift to her last Valentine's Day wasn't an engagement ring. Oh no, after five long, wasted years of dating the shit, he couldn't have gotten her a ring. Nope. Instead he sent her a text message.
That was it.
A stupid little text message. One line.
We've grown apart and I've found someone new.
She deserved more than that. Something better. After all those years of loyalty, standing by his side, being the "good, proper" girlfriend. As Peter had expected. As her parents had expected. The girlfriend any decent man would want on his arm. Right?
Not even a sorry. Not even an explanation. Nothing.
And the next day, FedEx had delivered a box with all the things she had left over at his apartment during the last half decade.
Quinn emptied her glass and turned back to the bar, blocking out her friends' chattering over that man.
She needed another man like she needed a hole in the head.
She slid her glass over the bar top, and before she could ask for another, a deep voice washed over her.
"Put her next drink on me."
Dumb ass. The drinks are on the house. She turned to ream whoever it was, and stopped. Her mouth opened, but nothing escaped.
"You look like a fish out of water with your mouth hanging open like that." When he smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkled. He was tan, an outdoorsy tan, not a manmade one. And he had beautiful green eyes. Shit. She had never seen such beautiful eyes on a man. His nose was a little crooked, like it had been broken, and it made him even more beautiful. No. Not beautiful. He was. He was.
Quinn closed her mouth and swallowed hard. He was so unperfect, he was perfect. His hair was a dark brown with natural highlights, more proof he liked being outdoors. It was long and pulled back into a neat ponytail.
She hated long hair on men. But it was right on him.
He had a beard that wasn't a beard. It was like a longer five-o'clock shadow.
She hated facial hair.
He had a strong, corded neck that disappeared into a stiff dress shirt. The collar had been already released and one more button undone below that. The knot of his tie was loose and hung crookedly from around his neck.
The sleeves of his crispy white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms were tan covered in dark hair. His hands.
Oh. Damn.
His hands were large. They were working hands. They weren't soft and pampered. But calloused and thick and strong.
Capable. Capable of doing all kinds of things.
Quinn's nipples hardened under the scratchy taffeta.
His hands could do all kinds of dirty, nasty things.
Things Peter had never wanted to do.
Quinn ripped her gaze from him and spun back around to the bar, bracing herself against it for a second to catch her breath. She grabbed her fresh drink and took a gulp.
"Whoa. Slow down there."
She pressed the cold drink against her forehead in an attempt to cool herself off.
She needed to go change her panties, she was so freaking wet.
She could feel his heat next to her; his body was like a furnace. She wanted to plant her hands on his chest and feel how hot he really was. Her fingers convulsed around her glass.
"Are you okay?" The deep timbre of his voice sent a shot of lightning down her body, landing right in her pussy.
Quinn could only nod her answer.
He palmed her bare shoulder and turned her to him. He stared down into her eyes, his lips widening into a smile.
His lips. Oh man. Those lips probably could do all sorts of things to her, with her. Lips that were made for more than kissing.
"Yes." Oh my God, she thought. That was the kind of yes she blurted when she was in the midst of an orgasm. At least from what she could remember. It had been so long since she'd come.with a partner, anyway.
She felt the heat crawl up her neck, and she stepped back, breaking the contact.
"I.I'm fine." She cleared her throat. "Thank you for the drink." She took another sip before raising the glass to him in thanks.
"It was nothing." When he laughed, her knees almost buckled. "Enjoy it."
He stepped away and then paused. But it looked as though he thought better of whatever he was contemplating, and he continued on his way.
Quinn leaned back against the bar and let out a shaky breath.
She was suddenly flanked on either side by her friends. She had been so distracted, she hadn't even realized that they disappeared.
"Quinn --"
"Quinn!"
"Oh. My. God!"
"I told you he was hot!"
"Oh! I wish I weren't married already."
"I wish he liked chubby chicks."
Quinn couldn't take any more. She raised her palms in surrender. "Stop. Enough."
"But, Quinn --"
"But nothing," Quinn answered Paula.
"You're just going to let him walk away?"
"Paula, he isn't going anywhere. Unfortunately I'm not going anywhere. We have to be here for two more hours, at least."
Lana said, "Are you going to let Peter ruin the rest of your life? All men aren't assholes like him."
Quinn harrumphed and took another sip of her slammer.
"Why don't you at least dance with him?"
"No."
"Why not?" Lana asked.
Why not? Because if she did, she might come right on the dance floor? Because she might end up in a puddle of her own juices? The picture in her head shocked her: it was of her lying in a heap in the middle of the dance floor in the throes of an orgasm. Surrounded by all the wedding guests.
This drink was stronger than she thought.
"Because no one is dancing yet."
"Sure they are. Look."
Quinn glanced over at the area cleared for dancing, and sure enough, a crowd of people were out there shaking their groove thing. Quinn had been too busy trying to get her drink on to notice.
From the looks of the participants on the dance floor, a few of them had been partaking in the open bar also. Even the bride and her new husband were bouncing and shimmying in the crowd.
At least they were a happy couple.
Quinn took another drink.
Lana frowned at her. "Are you just going to drink tonight, or are you going to do something about your situation?"
"Situation? What situation?"
"Getting laid."
Quinn checked over her shoulder to see if the bartender was listening. He was. He had a big grin plastered on his face. Great.
The father of the bride came up and asked for a gin and tonic. While he was waiting, he turned to them. "Hi, girls. Enjoying yourselves? You look great in those dresses. My wife picked them out."
Oh joy. Quinn would have to remember to smack -- she meant thank -- her. She couldn't wait to rip the scratchy, ugly piece of shit off.
All three women gave him a smile but bit their tongues. Eventually he wandered away, and Lana and Paula jumped right back to harassing her. Good thing they were her friends.
"C'mon. It's not going to hurt to have a one-night stand. Look at him."
"I already saw him." Holy moley, she knew they meant well, but they were getting on her last nerve.
"Yeah, and we saw how you were drooling too."
She had not drooled. Her hand automatically went up to her mouth.
Paula said, "He probably isn't interested in you anyway."
"Yeah, you couldn't get someone like that. You attract losers like Peter," Lana said.
If they thought their reverse psychology was going to work, well, it wasn't.
"Looks like he's with Paige Reed, anyway."
Quinn's gaze shot over to the corner of the ballroom where the tall man stood next to the petite, dark-haired beauty. Paige Reed. Figures.
"I thought Paige was dating Connor Morgan," Quinn mumbled.
She must have mumbled loud enough, because Lana answered her. "She is. Connor had to fly to Australia for something to do with his job."
"So why is she with him?" Quinn asked. Why was she so curious all of a sudden? Why did she care?
She didn't. She nursed her drink. After one and a half Alabama slammers, she was starting to feel pretty tipsy. She wasn't used to drinking. And when she did drink, she usually had wine, not hard liquor, and especially not such a hard-hitting mix of liquors.
Paula leaned into the both of them and said in an exaggerated whisper, "Maybe he's an escort," like it was a scandal, and then laughed.
Maybe he was an escort.
He was probably worth every penny too.
His back was to them now, but that just gave Quinn the opportunity to study how broad those shoulders were in his dress shirt. When he moved, the fabric bunched and pulled with his muscles.
Lana gasped, jerking Quinn out of her thoughts. "He's not an escort! That's Logan Reed, Paige's brother. I haven't seen him since we were kids. Holy shit, did he grow up."
"I'll say." Paula agreed. "Quinn, I dare you to go ask him to dance."
"Not interested."
Lana joined in. "Yeah, I dare you too. Don't be a wuss."
If she were a wuss, she wouldn't have come out in public in this pink atrocity. And the matching shoes were killing her feet. The last thing she needed was to be dancing. She'd be crippled.
"That's a double dare, you know, with the two of us daring you.."
Oh, boy, a double dare. She would definitely do it now -- not. "You're crazy."
"No, you are, if you pass up this opportunity. "
"How do you know he's available?" Quinn asked them.
"You don't know until you ask him," Lana said. "But if I remember correctly, his wife left him a while ago. There had been some rumors."
There had been some rumors about her and Peter too, but rumors were just that: rumors. She didn't take any stock in them.
Paula suddenly shouted, "Truth or dare?" making Quinn jump. It was like they were teenagers all over again.
Lana quickly said, "Truth." And bounced on her toes like she was fifteen.
Jesus, would someone please put a bullet in my head? Quinn needed to be put out of her misery.
Paula asked Lana, "Do you shave or wax?"
"Shave. Okay, Quinn, your turn. Truth or dare?"
Quinn was not playing this juvenile game. It was stupid; she was not going to fall into what was clearly a trap.
"Truth."
"How bad was Peter in bed?" Lana asked.
Damn. She wasn't going to answer that one. Even as drunk as she was. She didn't want to relive their vanilla, boring lovemaking. And she definitely didn't want to admit it or talk about it.
A fellow writer, the wonderful Keta Diablo, asked me to participate in this harmless liar's game. I think it sounds like fun! I'll post seven items about me, only TWO of which are true. The others are "little white lies".
1. I live in Toronto Canada. The weather has changed a lot recently. I had to wear snow shoes to school growing up, but thanks to global warming it's not too bad up here anymore!
2. I have met many famous people, including Keanu Reeves, and different rock bands like Depeche Mode
3. I know woodworking and have made my own wildlife carvings to some local acclaim.
4. I was held up at knifepoint and gunpoint and lived to tell about it
5. I played Oboe in high school before switching to the pan pipes. I still play occasionally
6. I swallowed my engagement ring when my hubby-to-be hid it in some cake. I ended up in emergency but still married him
7. I am a psychic who's occasionally worked with the police to find missing people
I now hereby pass on the Liar’s Torch to these writers ( in no particular order!). Keep the liar's game going. Visit their sites and see if you can guess which of their statements are little white lies:
