Archive for September 2013 | Monthly archive page
Thank goodness for My Sexy Saturday. Without its weekly posts, this blog would get none of my attention at all.
Does it matter that I’m waist-deep in the first draft of my third Love and Baseball story? It’s still untitled for now, but I’m falling for Anne Marie Becker‘s suggestion, SLIDING INTO HOME. It works on more than one level:
- The hero, Greg, who’s always done all he can to distance himself from his famous father, has to make peace with dear ol’ dad. He must find his way home—both figuratively and literally.
- And then there’s the obvious baseball analogy involving Greg and his heroine, Jenn. Will he score with her? (Would he be the hero of a sexy romance if he didn’t?)
What do you think? Do I have a winner with SLIDING INTO HOME?
I just got word from Turquoise Morning Press that they’ve slated my next two stories, BEAUTY AND THE BALLPLAYER and the untitled masterpiece I’m currently writing madly, for March 2014 and April 2014, respectively. That’s just in time for a new baseball season …
But for now, I want to focus on my October release, DIVA IN THE DUGOUT*. For this week’s sexy seven, I’m returning to that deleted opening scene. After Dave and Mel had their fun, here’s how the morning after plays out.
***
She tiptoed around the room, gathering up her clothes. She found her skirt on the bathroom doorknob and her shirt on the floor beside the bed. Her bra dangled from the corner of the mirror. Her panties —
Where were her panties? She didn’t see them anywhere. They weren’t on the floor, or the chair or even the bathroom door. Wait — there they were, tangled in the sheet at Muscles’ feet. It looked like they were wrapped around his big toe.
Well, hell. She’d never get them back without disturbing his slumber.
Stifling a sigh, Mel slipped into the rest of her clothes and made her way to the door. Sans panties, she’d have to watch every step of the long walk home.
As she quietly closed the door behind her, she made a mental note to herself: Next time you’re having anonymous sex with a hot stranger, be more careful where you throw your clothes.
Or wear pants.
This time, Mel didn’t scoff at her conscience. Pants sounded like an excellent idea. If she ever wanted to have revenge sex with another hot, nameless stranger, she’d do it in denim.
DIVA IN THE DUGOUT, coming in October 2013 from Turquoise Morning Press.
*Scene not included in book.
Er … don’t get the wrong idea. There’s only one Wild Boy, actually.
I just couldn’t resist the chance to misappropriate another ’80s song title for a blog post. (Like The Escape Club, I’m living in the ’80s— just not headed for the ’90s. We’re smack-dab in the middle of 2013. Yikes. How did that happen?)
It’s Saturday again, and I’m sure you haven’t stopped by my blog to listen to me wax nostalgic for ’80s music. You’re here to check out this week’s My Sexy Saturday offering, right?
The rules, for those of you playing for the first time:
Post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. The choice is yours. It can be from a WIP or something you already have published. Your post should be live by 9 am US Pacific Time on Saturday. Put those lucky 7s to work for you!
A while back, I treated you to seven paragraphs of deleted material from DIVA IN THE DUGOUT. With DIVA coming out in less than a month*, I thought I’d give you another seven deleted paragraphs, this time from Dave’s point of view—hence the Wild Boy in the title.
Five years ago, when he and Mel first met, Dave was as wild as they come. Now, his challenge is to shed that bad boy image once and for all and step into the toughest role of his life: Fatherhood.
Keep in mind, this is from the first chapter that I decided was really a prologue before ruthlessly slashing it from the finished manuscript. (A hero and heroine both behaving badly made neither look sympathetic.)
***
Arizona Condors shortstop Dave Reynolds cocked his head as he considered the perky blonde’s question. He was always up for a little off-the-field action.
“What do you have?”
Her smile widened as she brushed her breasts against his chest again. God, she was beautiful. The short, spiky haircut emphasized her green eyes and full, pouty lips — classic beauty queen looks some women would kill for. “You mean I’m not enough?”
When she seemed ready to pull away, Dave held her fast. Hard nipples contrasted with soft, full tits. The concierge at his team’s hotel had said the locals were friendly, but this woman’s greeting went beyond friendly. She’d plopped into his lap and kissed him “hello.” Now she wanted to party.
The party in his pants was already in full swing, due in large part to her enthusiasm. Not that he was surprised. Women loved athletes, and he took full advantage of the Condors’ road trips to get his share of tail. It wasn’t usually quite this easy, though. Apparently everything — including desire — was bigger in Texas.
“You never answered my question.” The blonde watched him expectantly.
He noted the freckles dusting her nose. Despite her objection to being called young, she couldn’t be much more than 18 years old. But at 24, it wasn’t like he was over the hill. And if this barely legal Texas babe wanted to party, who was he to say no?
Dave swallowed again. “I think you’ll be more than enough.”
DIVA IN THE DUGOUT, coming from Turquoise Morning Press the week of Oct. 15. (*Scene not included.)
Yes, I went there. Again. If you forgave me the first time, you can do it again, right?
It’s time for another My Sexy Saturday blog hop. For those of you playing along for the first time, here are the rules:
Post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. The choice is yours. It can be from a WIP or something you already have published. Your post should be live by 9 am US Pacific Time on Saturday. Put those lucky 7s to work for you!
This week, I promised a hot scene between Erin and Brad. They’re the heroine and hero of the first manuscript I completed, the one that wouldn’t recognize itself if it bumped into its first draft in a dark alley — or in a brightly lit corridor, for that matter.
Erin is an education reporter for the Willow’s Grove Journal-Times; Brad is a social studies teacher at the school she’s investigating (with sportswriter/male stripper Mike James) for giving athletes inflated grades. Erin prides herself on not being superstitious — she goes so far as to go out of her way to walk under ladders. But she wonders if she’s jinxed herself to be perpetually unlucky in love.
In this scene, toward the end of the book, Brad has just learned about Erin’s investigation and asks to see her notes — a request she denies, citing freedom of the press.
Sometimes, there’s nothing hotter than a good argument …
***
“I’m familiar with freedom of the press.” Brad’s hand waved impatiently. “I teach government, remember?”
Erin spoke through clenched teeth. Why did he insist on being so obtuse? “Then you should understand why I can’t share my findings. I shouldn’t be discussing the story with you at all before it goes to press.”
He buried his face in his hands. Seconds ticked by, and when he looked up, all traces of warmth in his eyes had vanished. “Just tell me one thing: Are you sleeping with anyone else to get access to their grade book, or just me?”
The question hit her like a punch to the stomach, flattening her hard-won self esteem with one blow. As her surroundings dimmed, all the breath whooshed from her body. “You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack. You’ve obviously been cozying up to me so you can snoop through my stuff.”
No. He didn’t — couldn’t — mean it. She refused to believe he could even consider such a thing.
But the look in his eyes told her he clearly did. She ran her tongue over her lips as she gathered what was left of her self-respect, pulling it close as if it could keep her heart from splintering. “If that’s how you feel, maybe you should go.”
I’ve never liked the number 13.
And I’m not alone. According to Wikipedia, the Stress Management Center and Phobia Institute in Asheville, N.C., estimates that 17 to 21 million Americans are affected by a fear of this day, making it the most feared day and date in history.
“Some people are so paralyzed by fear that they avoid their normal routines in doing business, taking flights or even getting out of bed.”
I’m not THAT bad. But I am superstitious enough to avoid the number 13 whenever possible. At work, our computer system used to create a new version of a page every time you hit “save.” I’d keep close watch on that number, and when it hit “13,” I’d hurry up and do something else — even something as small as add a space to something — and save again. I was secretly convinced my computer would freeze up if I tried to work in the 13th version.
Same thing with photos. When I adjust them in Photoshop, I never set the brightness/contrast level at 13, for fear it’ll crash my computer. (Our system is old and slow, and has gone down for less.)
I secretly do a happy dance when a high-rise building doesn’t have a 13th floor. (I hate elevators enough without having to stare at a “13” button during the ride — unless they’re glass elevators. Strangely enough, those I handle much more easily. Maybe it’s because they feel airier?)
With my aversion to the number 13, you can imagine how thrilled I was when the calendar turned the page to 2013. I feared I was in for an entire year of terrible luck.
Now that nearly nine months of 2013 are in the can, I might have to change my tune.
Why? ’13 is turning out to be my lucky year — at least on the publishing front.
I made this Instaframe photo to commemorate the day I signed my first publishing contract.
I’ve sold not one but three manuscripts, and will make my Turquoise Morning Press debut with DIVA IN THE DUGOUT the week of Oct. 15.
Sounds like triskaidekaphobia will have to join the dislike/distrust of black cats in my book of superstitions debunked. The photo above is of my baby, Destiny, who crosses my path all the time and hasn’t brought me any bad luck. (In fact, she was the inspiration for both Bree and Mike’s cats in OVEREXPOSED.) Don’t ask my why she looks stoned in that picture. I snapped it just last night, and she had no access to catnip.
For more about superstitions, check out today’s post at the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood.
And come back tomorrow for a My Sexy Saturday post featuring my most superstitious heroine, Erin Mannering, and her hero, Brad Kingston, who — please forgive me — puts the “stud” in social studies.
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