Love Me or Leave Me by Kristine Mason @KristineMason7

Chapter 2

BRYNN CHANGED OUT of her summer suit and slipped into a pair of comfy, cotton shorts. After putting on a tank top, she threw her hair into a ponytail and padded barefoot into the kitchenette. Before Julia’s pregnancy, they’d usually go back to whatever suite Derek had rented for Brynn, crack open a bottle of wine and work on design schematics. Fortunately for Julia, the Milanos’ home wasn’t far from the one she shared with her husband. Unfortunately for Brynn, Julia pooped out early. Her pregnancy had been taking its toll lately, leaving Julia exhausted and irritable. Leaving Brynn on her own.

While she had the new layout designed for the split-level, she still needed to work on color schemes, carpet swatches, flooring and cabinetry. She rubbed her temple where a throb began to build. There was so much to do before meeting with Grant. 

Rather than waste time thinking about what needed to be accomplished, she pulled out her design plans and laid them on the small couch. Deciding to start with the main level, she rummaged through her canvas tote and set the paint, flooring and carpet swatches on the coffee table. Or maybe she should start with the kitchen. She retrieved the counter top, back splash and cabinet samples. 

As she sorted through the pile of samples, mixing and matching different ideas, her mind strayed. To what she’d do if she was booted from the show. To her debt. To Carter.

How would he feel if she were let go? And if she were to leave, who would be her replacement? The two of them had great chemistry and not just on camera. While they competed for a cash bonus, their competition was friendly. As much as she needed the money, she also knew Carter could use it, too. Although he had a healthy income outside of the show, he couldn’t afford to continue to help his parents pay for his autistic brother’s living expenses and treatments. 

Still.

If she did lose her job, she wasn’t sure she could find another. Well, she could, but she doubted it would offer her the lucrative income she’d become accustomed to. She didn’t want to have to start over again. Working from the bottom to the top of a design firm was something she’d done before and could certainly do again. 

At this point in her career, she shouldn’t be starting at the bottom, not with her resume, not with the clientele she’d designed for and definitely not after having been part of a hit television show. But after they’d broken up, Trevor had trashed her reputation just as badly as he’d trashed their relationship. Her past clientele had been his friends, his colleagues, not hers. Those people had chosen Trevor’s word over hers, and she understood. He’d been born into money and thanks to his family name, had power and influence in a number of different social and political circles. She, on the other hand, had grown up in a lower middleclass, blue-collar family. She had no power or influence, but had been proud of what she’d accomplished on her own. Even before she’d met Trevor, she’d made a small name for herself and had the portfolio and bank account to prove it. Well, she might no longer have the bank account, but she still had the portfolio. Would it be enough to help her land on her feet if she were replaced? 

She stared at the four layouts she’d put together for the Milanos’ kitchen. Considering what four sets of grubby hands could do to white cabinetry, she pushed that layout aside. “What would you like, Gina?” She reached behind her and adjusted the lamp to increase the lighting. Kneeling, she rested her rear on her heels and hovered over the samples. “Cherry, dark maple or espresso?” 

She jerked upright when a knock rattled the cheap hotel door. Hoping Julia ended up with a second wind and was here to help, she quickly moved to the door and checked the peephole.

Carter.

Her stomach danced with butterflies, which, to her surprise, had been happening more and more over the past few months. She’d always been aware of Carter. Aware of his looks, his muscular body, how good he smelled. Lately she was thinking about him in ways that went beyond friendship. Which wasn’t good, especially with the anvil hanging over her head, ready to drop should the Milanos decide to move. Her focus needed to be on the show, not her love life or Carter.

He knocked again and she opened the door. Her mouth instantly watered. “I smell Chinese food.”

Holding up a brown paper bag, he gave her a devilish smile. “Tell me you didn’t eat.”

“Nope. But even if I did, I wouldn’t pass up Chinese.”

He brushed past her and went straight to the small kitchen. “I wasn’t sure if Julia would be here, so I bought extra. I take it she bailed on you.”

She took a seat at the island while he brought out a couple of plates. “She’s tired and grouchy. When we were at the flooring store I thought she was going to rip the sales guy a new one.”

“What’d he do?”

She grinned. “Said hello.”

He chuckled and set a plate in front of her. “That bastard. He had a lot of nerve.”

“Right. The poor guy didn’t know what to do with her. I didn’t either. Her mood swings have been off the charts.” She looked down at her full plate and remembered the bottle of wine in the fridge. “How about some wine?”

“Sounds good. Don’t get up, I’ve got it.”

Trevor would have made her take care of the wine. He also would have never brought her Chinese food or even dished up a plate for her. At one point in their relationship, he used to cater to her needs, but after her success on the show, that had all changed. He’d become cold, distant…jealous. “Thanks. I think there are some glasses in the corner cupboard.”

“Your suite is identical to mine. Got it.” He retrieved the wine, then the glasses. “Quite a mess you’ve got going over there,” he said and nodded to the samples sprawled all over the small living room. “Making any progress.”

“I see how it is. Ply me with food so you can check up on what I’m doing, huh?” She knew that wasn’t the case. Carter had made it a habit to pop into her suite during a renovation, mostly just to BS. Not necessarily about the homeowners they were working with, but about life in general. 

“Damn. You’re on to me.” He poured the chardonnay into her glass, filled his own and raised his glass. “To the last episode of the season. May the best woman win.”

“You just called yourself a woman,” she said with a smile as she gently knocked his glass against hers.

He frowned, then laughed. “Let me rephrase. May the best designer I know win.”

She made sure her smile didn’t falter as she nodded and took a sip. Derek said Carter didn’t know she was in trouble, but Jim knew. Had their director already blabbed? “Ready to give up so easy?”

“Are you kidding?” He set his plate next to hers and moved around the island. “I’ve already found a dozen listings that’ll work for the Milanos. But I know what you’re capable of, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you nail this one. You’re due.”

After he sat on the stool next to hers, she dug into the General Tso’s chicken. “Speaking of due, Julia’s awfully close to having that baby.”

“I thought she wasn’t due until the end of August?”

“She isn’t, but I can’t imagine her lasting through the entire two week reno. That baby is sucking her energy and sense of humor dry. Normally I’d have her looking for furniture and fixtures, but after today, I think I’ll end up taking care of those things. She’s liable to scar the sales people.”

“You mean scare.”

She grinned. “No, I meant scar. I swear some of the things that come out of her mouth. I think she might be possessed.”

Laughing, he picked up an egg roll. “Thanks for the warning.” After wiping his hands on his napkin, he reached for his wine. “I’ll be honest, the Milanos’ split-level is in great shape. I might have a dozen listings for them to look at, but those listings don’t have what they already have in their current house.”

“What’s that?”

“History. When you and Julia were inside working magic with your designs, Mario told me that he and his wife brought all four kids straight from the hospital to their home. That’s a lot of holidays and birthdays, a lot of memories.”

“True.” She set her fork down and snagged an egg roll from the carryout container. “You’re being awfully generous this evening. What gives?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well, then thank you. I have been in a slump lately and could use a little positive reinforcement.” She looked to the mess on the couch, coffee table and floor. “I could also use an opinion.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Interesting. Designer of the stars wants my humble opinion.”

Laughing, she gathered her utensils, plate and napkin. “One aging pop star and a C-list actor does not make me a designer of the stars.” She put the plate and utensils in the mini dishwasher. “But I have to admit, I do like that title. Finished?” she asked and pointed to his empty plate.

He nodded and after thanking her, rose and headed into the living room. “Good call on leaving out the white kitchen cabinets.”

“No kidding.” She dried her hands with a paper towel. “Once I pictured dirty handprints, I nixed the white. Which is also why I’m not going to do stainless steel appliances.”

He knelt on the floor. “People love the stainless.” 

“So do I, but I need to be practical with my budget. The Milanos’ appliances are fairly new. I’m going to keep them and make them work.”

“That’s not going to make the sponsors happy.”

“Unless the sponsors are giving me brand new appliances for free, I’m sticking to my plan. I need to watch every penny.” Since her split from Trevor, she’d been battling down her debt and had become quite adept at being a tightwad and making sure every cent counted. She’d do the same for the Milanos. If she needed to repurpose their furniture or reuse their appliances to keep within her forty thousand dollar budget, she’d do it. Despite what the sponsors and Derek wanted, she needed this family to stay in their home.

“Fair enough. So, what did you want to show me?”

An hour later, she topped his glass with the remainder of the wine. “Thanks for your help.”

“I wasn’t much help. You had everything there.” 

What she had all over the living room had been a hot mess in need of containing and direction. During past renovations, Julia had always kept her grounded and focused. Between Julia’s absence and Derek’s threat, Brynn had second-guessed herself multiple times this evening. She’d needed a second opinion and Carter had been inside hundreds of homes. He might not be a designer, but he knew what worked. “Yeah, but without Julia—”

“Julia isn’t the one who got you on this show. You did that by yourself.” He finished his wine and stood. “Don’t forget that, Brynn.”

“I know,” she said on a groan. “It’s just…I have a lot on my mind and I want this family to love what I do for them.”

“Trevor,” he said, disgust lacing his tone and making his dark eyes darker.

The handful of times they’d all been together at network functions, Carter had made it clear he didn’t think much of Trevor even before she’d broken things off with him. After a year of dealing with Trevor’s crap, she didn’t think much of her ex, either. “He’s been fine,” she lied. Carter was her friend, but she didn’t want to burden him with her problems. She pictured his brother, Evan. Yeah, he had enough of his own.

His lips tilted in a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t sound very convincing.”

She plastered on a smile. “Convincing enough? I’m good. Trevor’s been good. I should finally be able to get him out of my life.”

His eyes widened. “Find a magic lamp at a rummage sale?”

Chuckling, she shook her head. “I wish.” When she caught the concern and disbelief in his eyes, she caved. “Okay. Truth? The harassment has stopped. Sorta.”

“Sorta meaning?”

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Genre – Contemporary Romance

Rating – PG-13

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Through the Glass by Lisa J. Hobman @LivingScottishD

Once inside Polly and Matt’s three-story Georgian town house, she heaved a sigh of relief and dropped her case by the coat stand. Polly came through from the kitchen, took one look at her, and opened her arms. Felicity fell into her friend’s warm embrace and began to sob yet again.

“Oh, sweetheart. What on earth happened up there? I’ve been so worried.” Felicity didn’t answer right away. She just poured out all of the raw emotion that she had left inside her, soaking Polly’s cashmere sweater through with warm, salty tears. “Come on, let’s go through to the lounge… Matt, bring Flick a glass of wine darling!” she called to her husband.

Matt brought the glass, squeezed Felicity’s shoulder, and left the girls to talk. Polly handed a rather pretty tissue box to Felicity and waited for her to calm down enough to speak.

“Oh, Polly…what have I done to him?” She sobbed. Polly held Felicity’s hand and gently stroked the back of it.

“Sweetie, that’s all in the past. Surely he wasn’t still holding a grudge, was he?”

“No…no…he was lovely, for the most part. Distant and guarded, but lovely. He let me stay when I got stranded because of the snow. He cooked for me. He even borrowed painting supplies from his friends so that I wouldn’t be bored.” She sighed. “But he clearly has a visceral fear of getting hurt again. There’s been no one serious since me. He met someone lovely by the sound of it, but she apparently lived a fair distance away and he used that as an excuse to not take things further. He won’t allow anyone to get close and it’s my fault entirely.”

“I…don’t understand. What went wrong?” Polly tucked a stray strand of hair behind Felicity’s ear. “You only went to tell him about your dad.”

“Oh, Polly…things were going so well. I felt like I was making amends. I apologised. We talked so much…about everything…and then last night…last night we made love.” She covered her face with her hands.

“You did what?!” Polly didn’t attempt to hide her shock, sitting bolt upright as she spoke. “Oh no, sweetie. But…but…how come?”

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Genre – Contemporary Romance

Rating – PG-17

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Website www.lisajhobman.co.uk

Space Dude by Jann Jeter @Hasty_Post

Nadine was leaning over Thipp saying, “Thipp. Can you hear me?” and softly shaking him. Thipp only groaned, but Dude thought ‘Damn, she does know our names!’ Nadine turned to the crowd and snapped, “I know everybody here, and if I hear anything about you jerks spreading this tale, you’ll all be cut off from every bar in the sector as well. Reggie – go get your car and take Brit Boy here to the Doc.”

Someone in the crowd must have left because a minute later Dude heard a motor start up across the parking pad and rumble over towards the crowd. Dude noticed it was a ’77 Pontiac – nice looking with a new-ish paint job in a sort of turquoise color. Several people picked Thipp up smoothly and put him in the back seat, although Thipp would say later they tossed him in like a sack of plasticrete. Dude very slowly and gingerly climbed in the front seat of the car and shut the door. Nadine gave two knocks on the roof and Reggie drove off.

Dude looked over at Reggie and saw a pretty pleasant looking fella – maybe a dockworker over at the plant?  Dark ebony skin and black eyes that twinkled. Pretty well muscled, messy jeans and a tight tee-shirt Dude would never be caught in; but basically Reggie looked like an all right kinda guy, which was a big relief after the run-in with Troy.

“Uh, where are you taking us, dude?” Dude asked.

“Oh, just over to the Doc’s place.”  He turned to look at Dude. “And I have to ask, how open-minded are you?”

The question threw Dude and all he could say was “Why?”

Reggie shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, Doc ain’t like most medicos you know. As a matter of fact, I’d be willin’ to bet you never met anybody like our Doc.” He smiled slightly. “You just need to be a little open-minded s’all I’m sayin’.”

Reggie pulled up to a small brick building and across the front in faded letters it just said ‘ os ital’. There was a neon sign on the front door that flashed ‘the Doc is in’ every few seconds.

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Genre - Space, Fantasy

Rating – PG

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V. L. Dreyer – The Survivors Book I: Summer @VL_Dreyer

It seemed like a cruel irony.

I had survived the brutal end of civilization and watched our world fall from grace; I had stood by helplessly while all of my friends and family died, or were reduced to the walking dead, one by one.  I lived on and yet now, a decade later, my salvation lay behind a worn, old movie poster for a film named Zombieland.

Crouched between a dumpster and a stack of decaying boxes, I stared at the faded, ruined poster, wondering at life’s morbid sense of humour.  I remembered that movie.  It had been a few years old at the point when the world ended, so it seemed strange to have it hanging in the window, but places like this backwater little town tended to be behind the times.  I used to enjoy that kind of thing, back when I was a teenager and the world was still whole.  The zombie fad had been so popular in 2013 – there were copies of The Walking Dead in the window, too.

If only we had known what was to come.

The virus that struck us down was nothing like any of those movies.  There was to be no Dawn of the Dead for us, no 28 Days Later.  I was eternally grateful for that fact, actually.  My reality was very different to the fantasies dreamed up by Hollywood.

There was one of them in the DVD store across the road from me: An old man.  I could just see him past the tatty photograph of Jesse Eisenberg, shuffling back and forth between the shelves.  He wandered tirelessly, trying to organise his stock with hands no longer capable of gripping.

Some of the undead were still dangerous, but most of them were slow and heart-wrenchingly pathetic, like the little old man in the store.  I’d take him over a fast-moving, angry movie zombie any day, even if it did break my heart to look at him.  The difference came down to which one was more likely to eat my brain.  Frankly, I liked my brain right where it was.  The real undead weren’t interested in brains – or anything else, really.

There was nothing left on the shelves now; the old man had knocked all the videos to the ground long ago with his limp-fingered efforts, and then crushed them beneath his wandering feet.  He was far gone after all these years.  His flesh was half-rotted, and his eyes were unseeing.  Only instinct kept him moving in his relentless, unattainable quest for perfection.

A lot of the infected seemed to retain the basic memories of their lives, but only the things that they had repeated so often that the action ended up deeply ingrained within their subconscious.  The core of their personalities seemed to linger as well, but it was just an echo of the person they used to be.

That made them unpredictable.

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Genre - Post-Apocalyptic Survival

Rating - PG-13

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Website http://www.vldreyer.com

Allegiance: Dragonics & Runics Part II by A. Wrighton @a_wrighton

Mouse moved swiftly up the spine of the Fire Dragon towards its rider. He didn’t realize she was there at first and when he did, it was too late. Her daggers had found their marks before he’d seen the flash of the blades – one in his side, the other in his neck. She withdrew the daggers from his flesh and neatly dumped him from the saddle. Only then did the Beast turn around, snapping its full skull of teeth at the stowaway. The frenzied Dragon ignored the fast-approaching earth, blinded by the scent of its rider’s blood. Mouse sidestepped a snap. And another. She dodged the jaws just long enough to tuck and roll off the Dragon, crashing half-heartedly into a boulder. Scrambling for her dislodged rapier, she dove behind the boulder as the Fire Dragon bucked, turned, and spewed a wall of flames in her direction.

The Beast landed with a thud and sprayed the boulder again.

Mouse pressed her head and back into the boulder, the heat beginning to sear her skin through the disintegrating rock. She shut her eyes, blacking out the licks of orange flame around her. A deep breath. Two. Three. Her eyes snapped open, dark with determination.

The Dragon bellowed a deafening cry of challenge and spewed a blast of fire again, before drawing back to begin a charge. Once the flames subsided, she spun from the boulder’s shelter and sprinted towards the charging Beast. A few lengths from the acid-kissed mouth, she slipped into a feet-first slide. Back against raw stone, Mouse freed her daggers into the Dragon’s eyes before rolling onto her stomach as she passed under the length of the flailing Beast’s body. Her slide ended out beneath the Beast’s tail. Grappling for any uneven ground, she clutched onto a root, pulled herself up and dove behind a rock outcropping.

The Dragon staggered. His scream deafened. In a final, mourning chortle, the bloodied orange-red Beast took to the sky.

The 10-man Council Dragonics patrol stopped and stared at the Beast’s whirling, scream-filled demise. One Water Rider passed low over the crumpled Rider and retrieved his pin and sword. At the rallying cries of the Rogue Dragons, the Water Rider ordered the retreat.

Mouse laid low until the Council Dragonics had gained enough altitude to be harmless. Standing, she dusted off her pants and checked for any significant cuts or gashes. Satisfied with only a few long scrapes from the scuffle, Mouse strolled over to the lifeless Fire Dragon and pried out her daggers. With a swipe across her pants, she returned them to her belt and looked up at Callon and Vylain, hand on her hip for their impertinent stares. Casually, she waved them down.

“You good?” Callon asked as Syralli landed.

Mouse shrugged and nodded.

“Is she good? You ask if she’s good? Are you both mental? It’s obvious she is bretzing mental, Callon, but you, too? Woman. You could have been killed!”

Another silent shrug.

“Ease up, Brydellan. She saved our skins.”

Mouse smiled a gratefully and then cocked an eyebrow at Vylain.

His green eyes remained still. His jaw clenched as he flexed and closed his hands until he could muster a solid, controlled breath.  “She could’ve gotten us killed since, and I’m just guessing here, but from that display – they were actually after her!”

Callon shrugged. “Eh… technically both of us,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Technically?”

“Like I said, it’s a long—”

“Story. Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t pout, Lady Vylain, it’s very unbecoming. I’ll explain it to you later.”

“Oh,” Vylain scoffed. “Don’t bother with me. Explain it all to Alaister when he demands to know why one of his officers was almost killed.”

“You’re exaggerating just a smidge, don’t you think?

Immune to the bickering, Mouse slowly approached Syralli. Her snout twitched. Her mouth seeped black tufts of smoke, but she did not make a move. Mouse stared into amber eyes that were nearly as large as she was wide.

“Why is she even—”

“She did accost me at blade point.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Wish I was…”

“I find that a bit… hard to believe, Callon.” Vylain gestured to all of Callon and then his twin blades. “Really, really hard to believe.”

Callon pointed to the slain Rider’s crumpled corpse and shrugged. “Do you? Really?”

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Genre - Fantasy

Rating – PG-13

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The Forgotten Child by Lorhainne Eckhart @LEckhart #Romance #Excerpt #Kindle

Emily balanced the hastily scribbled directions on the steering wheel. She passed the faded red barn at the second marker on the highway. Making a right turn onto a gravel road, she continued until she saw the split-rail fencing with 665 in bright green numbers embedded in the wood. A huge fir archway on two solid beams surrounded the entrance to the dirt driveway, with the name Echo Springs carved into the weathered wood. What was it about the name that stirred some nostalgic memory of longing in her tummy?

History, established families, of Mom, Dad, grandparents passing down their heritage and land. She’d heard the powerful family names whispered in the community: the Ricksons, the Folleys, who were the others? She was caught now by a nervous flutter starting to pound her solar plexus as she drove down the long dirt driveway. Old growth spruce, cedar and fir trees on both sides created a dense canopy overhead, and a mixture of other bushes and trees gave the appearance of walls. At the end, the driveway opened up into a large clearing, exposing a two-story white frame house with a wraparound veranda and large post beams. It resembled an old rambling Victorian. Emily parked in front of the house beside an old Ford Escort, a dirty blue pickup truck that had seen better days, a chipped yellow digger, a fairly new black GMC one ton pickup and a flatbed trailer loaded with some mysterious goods covered with a tarp. How many people live here, she wondered?

The wind created a chilly breeze as thick clouds cluttered the baby blue sky. Emily was far from cold when she climbed out of her van. Her underarms were damp and she prayed her deodorant was strong enough to keep her from smelling ripe. It’s nerves, that’s all. Or maybe it was the five cups of high-octane coffee she’d guzzled before Gina arrived, which wound her nerves so tight she could have bounced her way to the door.

She paused and breathed deep the clean air. The front of the house was virtually bare of any landscaping. Patches of grass poked up here and there from the well-packed dirt in the front yard. The flowerbeds in front were littered with dead perennials, weeds and overgrown grass long and bare leaning against the house. How many acres did he have? A large barn and other outbuildings littered the property with what looked like miles of open land with a spectacular view of the mountains.
She flexed her damp hands and climbed the four white wooden steps. She noticed the paint was chipped. Emily nearly tripped when the third step suddenly creaked and caught her off guard. She was way out of her comfort zone and this didn’t help, prompting her self-doubt to send SOS signals to confuse her already shaky insides. She was a mess. Her face ached so much, she was positive the forced smile she wore looked more like a grimace. Emily clutched a brown manila envelope, stuffed with her resume and references from her friends. On unsteady legs, she crossed the wide porch. A porch made for families to gather at the end of the day, to laugh together and share dreams and triumphs. Something families did. Well, the sort of dream family Emily yearned to be part of. She spied a wooden swing suspended by chains at the far end of the porch, beside two wicker chairs placed on each side of a large picture window, and she sighed.

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Genre – Contemporary Western Romance

Rating – PG

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Foreseen by Terri-Lynne Smiles @TLSmiles #Foreseen

In this scene from Chapter 7 of Foreseen, the 18-year old main character’s over-protective father unexpectedly shows up in her dormitory room after being unable to reach her. In it, we get insight into the origins of Kinzie’s fear of crowds.
“Where were you?” he demanded.
“None of your business.”
“It is my business,” he roared pacing across the room. “You’re my business. I drove three hours down from Tipton because you wouldn’t answer your phone. You can’t run off like that,” Dad dictated, taking a stand in front of Sasha’s desk. “That boy could have …”
“He didn’t do anything. We were doing homework, and we’re just friends!” I interrupted, waving him away with my hand as I marched over to the window. Outside, students passed under the lights on the walk, free to come and go as they pleased. Their fathers didn’t act like they were precious jewels everyone wanted to steal. Their fathers hadn’t lied to them their entire lives about what and who they were.
“Homework?” he bellowed. “You do homework here, on campus, so I know exactly where you are.”
I bit back fast. “I’m an adult, and this isn’t a prison – or a convent.” Silence filled the room at those words but I let it. I knew Dad would have preferred either of those settings to the freedom of a college campus, but I’d never been a wild teen, drinking or running around. I’d never even broken curfew. I wasn’t the one being unreasonable. After a minute, I heard Dad sigh behind me. I’d won.
“Let’s start over. I was worried about you, Sweetheart. Maybe I worry too much, but when you’re missing …” He paused, but didn’t need to say more. The scene was etched into my memory more vividly that he would ever know. The Thanksgiving parade in Chicago. The beautiful woman on the float tossing out candy as she passed. The big round kid pushing me out of the way to grab everything nearby before I’d had a chance. I’d thought I’d outsmarted him, running out into the road gathering the bits further out. And the next thing I knew, I was in a forest of legs. Long legs, pumping up and down, sweeping me further and further from my dad. Jostling me between the press of ribboned pants, and black shoes, and the blare of brass. Looking up to see a giant clown face blocking out the sun high above, and the legs kept going, twisting and turning me until I was spewed from the wave of the marching band to crash into strangers. A sea of faces loomed over me. Staring. Bending toward me. More and more. Inches from my face. I could feel their breath. Inhaled their perfume. Felt their heat. Until I didn’t remember anything else. Dad told me later that I’d passed out. He said he’d been as scared as I was, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t true.

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Genre - Science, Fantasy, Thriller

Rating – PG-13

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Our Love by Sheena Binkley @ChevonBink

3. Michael

“Why do I bother coming to school?” I asked my friend Chris Matthews as I got out of my BMW 528i.

“Because you have to,” he said while hopping out of the passenger seat.

As I started to walk through the crowded parking lot of Belmont High, I looked around at the same faces and wondered if anything would ever change. It’s hard being the most popular guy in school. I’m not being cocky about it; it’s what people labeled me. As soon as I stepped onto Belmont’s steps, I was considered the guy everyone liked. Every activity Belmont offered, I was in, captain of the football and basketball teams, and student body president. And, I still had time to master a 4.0 GPA. I’m not going to brag, but there is a list going around school claiming I’m the hottest guy at Belmont. So I guess I’m living the good life, huh? I am, but it gets old quick.

As Chris and I walked to the quad, three girls who looked like sophomores came up to us. They looked at me with huge grins on their faces.

“Hi Michael,” they said in unison.

“Hey,” I said.

As I walked away, the girls started breathing erratically because I said hi to them. That’s what I have a problem with. It seems like I’m a freaking celebrity around here when I’m just an average seventeen year old senior.

“I don’t get you man. Girls are throwing themselves at you and you don’t even notice,” Chris said.

“I notice. I’m just not interested.”

“Still having issues with Danielle, huh?”

I looked at Chris and rolled my eyes.

Danielle Peterson is my ex-girlfriend. We dated since freshman year and then all of a sudden, this year she broke up with me. Rumor has it that she’s dating some guy at our rival school, Bridgewall, but it’s not like I really care. I was going to talk to Danielle anyway about our relationship. It seemed like nothing was the same anymore. Danielle always thought she should be the center of attention. I hate that in a girl. It’s good to be confident in yourself, but when you take that to the extreme, it’s very annoying. I guess that’s why girls have been throwing themselves at me, because the whole school knows about the breakup. Belmont is a big school, but word travels fast.

“No, I’m not still on Danielle. I’m glad things are over between us.”

“Really? You and Danielle were the perfect couple. You two had everyone around here wishing they could be like you two.”

I laughed and sat down on one of the metal benches in the center of the quad.

“From now on, Chris, don’t mention her name to me, okay?”

“Who, Danielle?”

I looked at Chris and sighed.

“Real funny.”

As I looked around at how beautiful the day was, I noticed someone I never seen before walk toward the building. She was gorgeous. She had long dark brown hair that went to the upper part of her back, honey-colored skin, and nice long legs. From the side view, I could tell she had a body on her. As she turned her head, she looked straight at me. I looked at her and gave her a grin so huge, it showed all my teeth. She gave me a sexy smile and walked into the building.

“Who was that?” Chris asked curiously.

“I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.”

I got up from the bench and ran into the building. I had to find her, whoever she was. I practically ran into five people in the crowded hallway before I saw her turn the corner toward the principal’s office. I caught up with her just before she opened the door.

“Hello,” I said to the beautiful girl in front of me.

“Hey. Were you outside a minute ago?”

“Yeah, I was.”

“My, my, you move fast,” she said in a sexy tone.

“I do when I’m interested in something. Or someone.”

The girl smiled as she moved away from the office door.

“Why have I never seen you here before?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I blend in well with the student body,” she said smiling.

“No way. I would remember every part of you.”

She looked at me and rolled her eyes.

“If that was supposed to be a pick-up line, you need to try harder.”

“No, it was not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I guess it came out wrong.”

Her expression softened a little after I apologized. From the looks of it, I could tell she was feeling me, just like I was feeling her.

“It’s okay. Actually, this is my first day here.”

As she said those words, I realized that I had seen her before, mainly at football games. She was a cheerleader at Parker.

“Now that you said that, I have seen you around. You were a cheerleader at Parker, were you?”

She looked nervously at me when I mentioned Parker. I guess she would since Belmont and Parker hate each other.

“Correct; head cheerleader to be exact.”

“Michael Collier,” I said as I extended my hand out to her.

“Charlie Perry,” the beautiful girl in front of me said. She took out her soft hand and placed it in mine. The look she was giving me made me want to know more about the mystery girl named Charlie.

“Charlie. Nice.”

“Thanks. Usually people wondered why my parents named me that.”

“It’s different.”

“Yeah,”

“Well since you’re new here, I could show you around campus if you want.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

The school bell rang and everyone began to go to first period. Fine time for the bell to ring! As I looked at Charlie, she smiled and put her hand on the doorknob.

“I better go so I can get my schedule.”

“See you around, Charlie.”

“I hope so,” she said as she went into the office.

I watched Charlie go into the office with a longing look. I turned around and started to walk to class.

Maybe Charlie was the change I’ve been looking for.

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Genre - Fiction

Rating – R

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Morgan’s Return by Greta van der Rol @GretavdR

In this excerpt from Morgan’s Return, Ellen Cruickshank has failed in her first attempt to destroy Morgan. Here’s she’s being interviewed by her commanding officer, Admiral Makasa.

***

He made her wait. She had known he would. Deliberately, he put down the light pen and pressed the control to hide his screen, which sank into the desk cavity. He placed his forearms against the desk’s edge, and lacing the fingers of both beringed hands together, he stared at her from black eyes in an ebony face. The thick lips were curved downward.

“You know why you’re here.” His chins wobbled as he spoke.

“Yes, Sir.” He hadn’t told her to stand at ease.

“I’ve had a complaint from Captain Glebe. Would you care to explain to me what in hell you thought you were doing?”

Ellen glanced down at her shoes. “I… I’m sorry, Sir. I overestimated my capability.”

He scowled. “You underestimated your enemy.”

“Yes, Sir.” At least that was the truth.

“You had no authority to engage a hostile in combat. You should have contacted Captain Glebe and let him deal.”

“I felt the intruders would have escaped, Sir.”

Makasa’s nostrils flared. “The intruders did escape, Sir. And you sustained damage to a state-of-the-art fighter.”

She winced. She’d never seen him so angry.

He rose to his feet and paced around the desk to stand over her, a vast bulk in a dark blue uniform. She could smell his cologne, hear his breath hissing softly, as she examined the details of the Fleet insignia on the buttons of his jacket.

“Never forget, Cruickshank, you are a Supertech. You do not fly fighter missions without very, very good cause. What if your ship had been destroyed? Hmmm? Not just a ship, but a ship with a Supertech flying it. The fighter is worth a fortune but your skills are worth much, much more.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Makasa wheeled, surprisingly light on his feet for such a large man, and paced back around to his side of the desk. The hover chair hissed as he lowered his weight into it. “Do I need to remind you that not quite two years ago we lost Morgan Selwood? The Coalition cannot afford that sort of thing.”

“No, Sir.” Selwood. Bloody Selwood. And he called her by her first name. Ellen was always Cruickshank, never Ellen. I hate you, Selwood. You’re going to die. But first I’ll tell you how much I hate you.

***

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Genre - Science Fiction

Rating – PG-13

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Malpractice! The Novel by William Louis Harvey @sexandlawnovel

Despite Paul’s sexual frustration, his high-school years passed relatively happily, as they did for most of the boys in town. Paul gradually discovered his own talents and peculiarities. He had dates with many of the girls in his class, as well as with girls from lower and higher classes. Most dates were chaste, ending with a light kiss at the girl’s door. Girls (and their parents) felt safe with him because he dressed well, was polite and articulate, and never bragged to his friends about how far he got on a date.

In the later years of high school, he began to make a little sexual progress. He learned to tell which girls were interested in going a little further. This started with the French kiss, which was initiated by him and eventually became mutual. When that began to seem dull, Paul found a girl in his class who had a plain face but a well-developed figure; she enjoyed him putting his hands on her breasts, outside her sweater or shirt, and caressing her breasts and nipples. However, although she moaned with pleasure, his attempt to get his hand under her sweater was stopped cold. After several dates with similar results, forcing him to masturbate in the bathroom when he got home, he gave up and moved on, earning nasty looks from her during the next few months. (pp 21-22) Malpractice! the Novel

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Genre – Steamy Courtroom Drama

Rating – R

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Loving Conor: A Clairvoyant’s Memoir on Loving, Bonding and Healing by Tami Urbanek @tamiurbanek

As I continued to put away the groceries, my mind shifted from my childhood to the summer I turned eighteen when I went to a party with my friend on the Army base. She and I walked into a room full of cigarette smoke, a pool table, and a few guys who had no dates. They weren’t saying much; they were drinking, smoking and playing pool. I saw Nyle for the first time laughing and drinking margaritas out of a pitcher.
I was enticed by his tall, slim build, bluish eyes and sandy blond hair. He looked like he was enjoying himself and when he noticed me standing there, he smiled, sending my stomach into a swirl of butterflies. I wanted to get to know him and it was easy to quickly join in the fun.
Eventually, we began talking and we ended up in my car where we could be alone.
He said he liked me.
“Why is that?” I asked him.
“You’re different.”
“You tell all the girls that,” I said with a laugh.
He laughed too. “Maybe; but it’s true.”
After that night, we began dating exclusively and within a few months, we moved in together. Very soon, I found myself pregnant and we became engaged. Within five weeks of my pregnancy, I began bleeding a small amount. I was afraid that I would miscarry and I made an appointment with the doctor.
The doctor didn’t seem worried about me miscarrying and he sent me home with instructions to watch for more cramping and heavy bleeding. Unfortunately, the next week, I did have more cramping and heavy bleeding and when I returned to the doctor, he told me that I had miscarried. Even though, we had not planned on a pregnancy so early, I had started falling in love with the child, whom I always felt was a boy.
Returning home, I crawled into bed and Nyle crawled in with me, holding me as I cried for our unborn baby. I never knew how Nyle felt about the miscarriage; we never talked about it. In that moment, we decided to get married anyway, despite the miscarriage. This choice would change my life forever.
We were married in front of a judge and had a celebration ceremony that spring when we had the money. We lived in a tiny 500 square foot apartment nearby the Army base where Nyle worked every weekday. I found myself jumping from job to job, never satisfied with anything. Earning minimum wage was the norm for me until I was hired as a telemarketer, earning $10 an hour in early 1993. The problem with telemarketing was that I wasn’t very good at it.
“Hello, Ma’am, may I tell you about…” The phone died. The customer hung up on me.
“Hello, Sir, may I tell you about this prod….” Another dial tone.
One part of the job was that we were expected to pressure the customer who didn’t even want our phone call in the first place. I always felt so guilty about that.
“Hello, Ma’am, may I speak with you about this new opportunity?” I asked the woman who answered the phone one day.
“Well…I’m in the middle of something right now…” she replied. I could hear in her voice that she was elderly and her voice was shaking a bit.
“Oh…well, I’ll be quick. You see we have this great package that you can purchase at a very reasonable price! Let me tell you how you can most benefit!” I continued, reading from my script.
“Well…perhaps I have a small amount of time, but I don’t know…” she said, clearly not wanting to continue, but too nice to say so.
I saw my boss on the phone listening in on one of the calls, and I had a strong feeling that he was listening to mine. Though I knew I’d get in trouble for it, I ended the call anyway.
“I understand, Ma’am. Thank you for your time.”
As I hung up the phone, I looked over at my boss. He hung up the phone and quickly walked in my direction with a look on his face that said, ‘What the fuck?’
“Why did you do that?! You could have sold her,” he yelled.
“She wanted off the phone,” I said.
“So? You can’t do that!” He stomped away.
I gladly ended my shift and never returned to that large room with rows of tables, computers, and telephones.
Within a month, I went back to work at McDonald’s. The same McDonald’s I worked at in my earlier teen years. I felt since they knew me I could quickly become assistant manager and earn more than the minimum wage they pay all beginning crewmembers. I also signed up for two college classes at the community college and I was excited to begin working towards my degree in education.
Very soon after I was hired a McDonald’s, several other Army wives and I took a bus out to the field training area for a special lunch with our husbands. I sat on the hard bench waiting and waiting for Nyle to come meet me. All the other husbands met their wives while I sat there alone, feeling rejected and angry. Tears stung my eyes as I looked down at my lap.
We had not been getting along. He was drinking a lot and was usually intoxicated from 4 p.m. or 5 p.m. Friday until Monday morning. We constantly fought about money. We had talked about trying to conceive again and I was trying to keep one job longer than two months. It helped that I had begun working at McDonald’s.
Finally, Nyle came walking towards me, but I was already so angry that I didn’t have a lot to say. I was also embarrassed that the other wives had been looking at me oddly because I was the only one sitting there by myself. I attempted to cover up my hurt and anger and pretended to be happy to see him, though I’m sure he saw anger in my eyes.
“Let’s go take a walk,” Nyle said.
We walked away from the benches full of seemingly happy couples.
“Maybe…maybe we shouldn’t try to get pregnant,” he said.
My heart dropped into my stomach. I stayed silent for a few minutes, “Ok, well, I don’t think I am pregnant, so yes, ok.” I didn’t want to return to the other wives and husbands with red-rimmed eyes, so I held in my tears.
However, I was pregnant; I just didn’t know it yet. A couple of weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant and I was about six weeks along by that time. I was excited while Nyle only pretended to be excited.
Our relationship stayed the same over the course of my pregnancy. Not much changed in his drinking, though we did move from that tiny 500 square foot apartment to the larger one.
During all of this, I was falling in love with my child. I knew I was having a daughter. There was no doubt about that.Unfortunately, due to my exhaustion, I needed to drop out of college.
I was eight and half months pregnant and on maternity leave when Nyle came home for lunch one day. Right before he left to go back to work, he tenderly placed his hands on my stomach and said, “Now, you need to hurry up and come out so I can take my leave.”
Placing my hands over his, I kissed Nyle, remembering how it was this side of him that I first fell in love with.
Later that day, I went to the Commissary to buy some groceries. Walking down the aisle with a cart full of food, I suddenly thought that I had lost control of my bladder.
“Oh my God,” I said out loud, realizing my water had just broken.
“SHIT! SHIT! My water broke!” I said to no one in particular as I waddled over to the customer service desk, sucking in air and hyperventilating.
“My water broke!” I said, again, to the two women behind the customer service counter. I was not in any pain yet, but I was scared out of my mind.
The two ladies looked at each other in surprise and one of them immediately walked around the counter to help me. In my panic, I wasn’t hearing them clearly and all I could think about was the eventual pain I would experience. I think one of them said she’d help me. As one woman left, the other woman also came around and guided me outside to the front of the store and stood there with me. My head was spinning and I was just following directions, rather than thinking for myself. In what seemed like seconds or minutes, I wasn’t sure; the woman who had left brought her car to where I was standing and opened her passenger door. I quickly sat down on the seat she had covered with cardboard. I was immensely grateful for the assistance as we rushed to the base hospital. I wasn’t sure who was more scared at that point…her or me.
I was immediately admitted to the hospital and the nursing staff called Nyle who called my parents. I was frightened and in pain, but I could not wait for my daughter to arrive. My labor was only six hours long.
Later, the nurse brought in my crying baby and all I had to do was gently place my hand on her head and she immediately calmed down. The nurse seemed surprised, but that moment embodied the bonding we had already experienced before her birth.
I gazed down at this amazing child who meant everything to me. I stroked her head and smelled her skin, breathing in her beauty as I rubbed my nose against her cheek. Next to me was Nyle, smiling down at Bethany. In that moment, I thought we could be a happy family.
Sadly, I was terribly wrong.

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Rating – PG-13

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Quality Reads UK Book Club Disclosure: Author interview / guest post has been submitted by the author and previously used on other sites.

Corr Syl the Warrior by Garry Rogers @garry_rogers

_______

One morning as Corr sat at his table listening to his mother’s instructions and conducting a set of simultaneous exercises, his father came in with a tall, short-legged, white-haired otter wearing a broad-brimmed hat.  “Corr, meet Ori Calin, one of the district’s assistant librarians.” 
Calin grinned, swept off his hat, and sat facing Corr.  “Corr, your parents say your studies are going well.  They asked me to come to meet you so you could show me what you’ve learned.  Would you like to answer some questions?”
Corr nodded.
“Do you know what has one head, one foot, and four legs?”
Corr didn’t know what to say. 
“A bed,” answered Calin, with a chuckle.
“How many letters in the Danog Alphabet?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Nope, sixteen,” said Calin, who laughed so hard that Corr grinned.
“Corr, this is what I want you to do . . . .”
For the next fifteen minutes, Corr recited a series of poems while he mentally calculated the intermediate chemical states for a metabolic series, composed a story based on a prompt given him by Calin, and prepared two proofs of the infinitude of prime numbers.
“Corr, that’s very good.  Now, do you have any questions for me?”
Corr reached in the drawer on his side of the table.  “Can you name something that’s in this drawer?”
“Not fair,” replied Calin, “I have no clues.”
“My hand,” said Corr, his whiskers twitching.
Calin gave a sharp whistle and laughed.  “Corr, stop by the library and say hello if you’re ever in the District Center.”
On Corr's fifth birthday, his family followed custom and returned to their ancestral home.  The day they left, Corr and Allon took a last walk together in the canyon and vowed to remain friends forever. 
The boys exchanged letters, but when Corr turned seven, he began training with one of the district's warriors and wrote less often.  Three years passed and Allon wrote that he had decided to follow his father and study engineering with a teacher in the district north of Wycliff.  His teacher designed spacecraft and sometimes visited the two space stations orbiting Earth.  Allon said he might get to go someday. 
Corr found the idea intriguing, but had no time to pursue the topic.  Strength, speed, endurance, genetics, sensing, anticipating, pain, fear, thirst, hunger, and technique, technique, technique.  These filled Corr's days and nights.
Four years passed and Allon returned.  Corr heard that Allon had some trouble and had not completed his training.  Then, about the time Corr completed his training, he received the stunning news that Allon had committed a murder.  Murder?  Impossible. 

 

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Genre –  Science Fiction

Rating – PG

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A Widow Redefined by Kim Cano

Chapter 3

“Mom. How was swimming?” Tyler asked as I walked in the front door.

I was so upset I’d never gone. But I had to say something. “It was good, honey. I’m on my way to getting into shape.” I inwardly cringed as I spoke the words.

White lie upon white lie. They began to compound so quickly, I feared they’d bring some kind of return.

After dinner, Tyler had me critique some of his drawings. He was really getting good. And I had a thought, one that I blurted out before analyzing the affordability factor.

“What would you think of taking a weekly art class? From a private instructor?” I asked.

My son shot me a look filled with wild excitement. I hadn’t expected such an intense reaction.

“Can I really take one? Can we afford it?”

The worried look in his eyes broke my heart. He shouldn’t know these things. Mom and I would have to take better care to discuss finances in private.

Not sure how it could be done, I responded, “Sure honey, we’ll just find someone who’s offering a special deal for new students.”

My reply was casual, dismissive of the ins and outs of how it would all come together, but it brought the mood back to where it was supposed to be: positive. And for the rest of the evening I scoured the internet, searching for art teachers.

I found an ad for a local woman and clicked to her website. She looked like just a kid. She offered one-on-one classes out of her home, which conveniently happened to be less than a mile away. Her rates were reasonable too. I didn’t know how good she would be; no reviews had been posted. But after looking over her qualifications, I noticed she had recently graduated from a prestigious art college in Savannah, Georgia. She’ll do, I decided.

•••••

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Genre – Women’s Fiction

Rating – PG

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A Study in Sin by August Wainwright

We had only driven a few blocks when Sam piped up.

“You can't be pissed at me if you don't like her,” he said.

“If I don't like her or she's some sort of psycho control freak, then there's nothing forcing me to live with her. I'll just tell her that I'll think about it and we can go our separate ways. Don't worry about it.”

“I'm just saying, you're the one who wanted to meet her. So you can't hold it against me if things don't go well.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You don't understand. Remy is – I don't even know. She's brilliant, I can promise you that, and sometimes it's amazing to be around her. But it's like she wasn't raised by humans. She just says whatever she's thinking, and a lot of the time, her thoughts don't even make sense. It can be off-putting to people. I don't know. I just can't give you much because I don't know anything about her other than what's said at the lab, which isn't much.”

“Give me an example of something she's done,” I said, challenging him.

“Last week, she had been consuming medical journals one after the other. There were four of us in the lab that day and she interrupts everyone and announces 'Half of all Americans will die of heart disease.' then she looked around the room and stared at this guy named Tiny and I; like she wanted us to know she was talking about us. Then she just goes back to what she was reading.”

I almost burst out laughing.

“It's fine, Sam. I can handle myself.”

“Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. We're here by the way,” he said as we turned down an alley behind a row of buildings. We parked at the end of the row and I followed him down the steel staircase on the side of the building that led to the lower level. When we entered through the outer door, I was immediately hit by the stale smell of old air. Sam turned and opened the first door on his right.

“The Lab” as he called it was more like a basement hideout for an unclean, villainous comic mastermind. There were computers and parts and equipment everywhere. Wires hung from the ceiling and plastic soda and water bottles were littered over the desktops that ran along the outer walls of the room. In the middle of the mess was a high-topped laboratory table that stretched the full length of the room. I assumed that's what gave the place its name.

As I looked around the room, I noticed that I had drawn the attention of a man that had been staring at his computer screen, which was full of lined code. His stare made me uncomfortable, mostly because he was the largest human being I'd ever seen.

“That's Tiny,” Sam whispered. I remembered his story and laughed to myself before nodding in Tiny's direction. He looked at me for a few more seconds and then turned back to his monitor without saying a word.

Then my eyes caught sight of a little woman working on a laptop at the far end of the lab table. She was surrounded by papers full of charts and scribbles. The glow of the screen lit her features and I wondered to myself why Sam hadn't mentioned that his friend was so good looking. She stared at her laptop with large, bright eyes. I couldn't look away.

Sam walked towards her.

“What are you working on Remy?”

“Why would the heiress of a vast energy empire, chosen amongst nine children to take over the family business, disappear on the very day she was to be named the benefactor?” she asked without ever looking up from her computer.

“I don't know. What do you think?” Sam said back.

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Genre – Mystery / Thriller / Suspense

Rating – PG13

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Jack Templar Monster Hunter: The Templar Chronicles: Book One by Jeff Gunhus (Excerpt)

“Yep, that sounds perfect to me,” I said. “Can I invite someone over?”

“I’d like it to be just the two of us tonight, is that OK?” Aunt Sophie said.

There was that sadness again. I stopped eating. “Are you sure you’re OK?” I asked.

She nodded, but tears welled up in her eyes. She grabbed a dish and took it into the kitchen. Sometimes, when she looked like that, I wondered if she was thinking about my dad. I always had to remind myself that when I lost my father, she also lost her little brother.

My dad had been a soldier, some kind of special branch of the Army or something. One day, according to Aunt Sophie, because I was too young to remember, some of his buddies knocked on our door with the news that my dad had been killed. It was some big Army secret how he had died. Aunt Sophie said she didn’t know. But in the back of my mind, I wondered if she really did know and she was just keeping it from me.

I obsessed over my dad while I was growing up, always thinking of new ways that I could solve the mystery of his death. No matter how often Aunt Sophie asked me to leave it alone, I swore that when I got older, I would do everything I could to uncover the truth.

Don’t get me wrong; I missed having a mom too. She died when I was born and all I have left of her is one photo taken from a distance. But I think having Aunt Sophie basically as my mother made it a lot easier. And she’s awesome. She’s into fishing, rough-housing, playing baseball. She even comes to all the father/son events at school where we beat the other teams at sports, showing up all the jock dads.

Still, even with Aunt Sophie, I grew up feeling the loneliness that only an orphan can feel. That aching sense that something that is supposed to be there, just isn’t. And worse, that it will never be. Into that empty hole, I put all my anger and my frustrations and I used it to focus me on the one thing I wanted more than anything else in life:  to find out what really happened to my dad. It may not be true, in fact it’s probably not, but part of me wants to believe that when I figure it out, the hole will go away and the loneliness will be gone forever.  I can only hope.

OK. Enough of that. I don’t want to make you think this story’s going to be all mopey. Let’s get on with it. I’ve got to tell you about the first monster I saw that day.

After gulping down enough food for three kids, I grabbed my book bag and ran out the door.  The town of Sunnyvale was pretty rural. Our house was set back several hundred yards off the road and backed up to an old-growth forest. Trees lined our gravel driveway and our nearest neighbor was far enough away that you couldn’t see another house until you got out to the main road.

Once at the end of the driveway, it was less than a quarter mile to school, so I could easily walk to class. Most days, I ended up running because I was late. I glanced at my watch. There was no way I was going to make it on time. I tightened my book bag straps and sprinted up the gravel driveway.

Just like when I was lifting the weights, something felt different. My legs were like springs, pounding out long strides as I ran. I was easily going twice as fast as normal. I pushed a little harder and found that I had one more gear left and could go even faster.

I stopped when I reached the road, panting, but not tired. I looked behind me. A trail of dust hung in the air the length of the driveway, just like in a comic book when someone has gone super fast. I grinned. It was pretty cool.

I walked over to the first house on the street. It was empty and the lawn was overgrown with weeds, but it had a basketball hoop set up in the driveway. I slid my book bag off my shoulders and grabbed a ball half-covered in the tall grass.

I sized up the hoop. With a quick look around to make sure that no-one was watching, I bounced the ball a few times, then ran up to the hoop, jumped…and slam dunked it.

I’m not talking about barely getting over the rim and having the ball dribble in, either. I two-handed that bad boy into the hoop like I was an NBA all-star.  The day before, I had only been able to get a handful of net with my best jump.

That was the first time I felt a little bit scared. Whatever was happening to me was happening in a big way. And it clearly wasn’t normal. But, honestly, I didn’t feel that scared. Mostly, I just felt totally awesome about it.

Even from a block away, I heard the first bell ring at my school.  I grabbed my backpack and ran up the street, unaware that I was about to meet my first monster.

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Genre – Middle Grade / YA Fantasy

Rating – PG

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Website http://www.jacktemplar.com/

Tainted Waters by Maggie Thom (Excerpt)

Tainted Waters by Maggie Thom (Excerpt)

“You’re fired!”

Sam’s hands slammed down on the arms of the office chair as she jerked forward. “Because some dude stole a necklace from his wife, pawned it and got the insurance for it? And I had the nerve to tell the story?”

“You’re fired!”

There was so much more she wanted to say to him. To tell him. It wasn’t fair that she was getting kicked to the curb for other people’s lies and secrets. It wasn’t her fault that she felt truth should win out at all costs. Climbing to her feet, she stared hard at her boss, debating about telling him again why she’d written that story. The blue vein bulging from his forehead and the deep crimson color of his puffy cheeks told her it was pointless and might just cause a heart attack.

“The story didn’t run, so what’s the big deal?”

His mottled face started to shake with fury. Sam picked up her coffee which she was glad she’d set down when she came in and took a step back. The last man she’d seen that angry had thrown a punch.

“Only because I caught it. Nothing and I mean nothing, gets printed in this paper without my say so. Very sneaky Samantha. Not acceptable. You’re done here. And don’t worry you won’t ever work in this industry again.”

She shook her head hoping something would fall into place and this would all make sense. It wasn’t like it was any different than any of the other stories the newspaper wrote – they got details, or as many as they could and then skewed them sideways if that’s what made the tale sensational. Only she hadn’t needed to do that. The facts themselves had been enough to make the story astounding. For once the paper might have been able to print the truth and nothing but the truth. The informant who’d put her on to this situation had been right, it had been unbelievable. She wished she’d been able to thank him but that was part of the agreement – no names, no thank yous, no mention of where the story started. And she couldn’t tell anyone because it wasn’t actually supposed to have been hers to tell.

“I’m fired.” It didn’t compute.

“Of course. I don’t say things I don’t mean. Now get out.”

She eyed Mr. Donner, the man that she’d thought she was going to have a lot of respect for, the man she’d envisioned thanking in the future for all he’d taught her. For taking her under his wing and making her the exceptional journalist that she was. Okay she knew that was crap but she had hoped that her initial ‘feeling’ about him had been wrong. Besides she figured that even if he wasn’t more than a pompous figurehead, there had to be some people at the paper that she could learn from. To date, unfortunately, she’d only been patted on the head and given the lame jobs. Still, she’d actually started to believe that this work might be her calling. Well, until she’d taken it into her head to run with a tip she’d been given. It hadn’t really been meant for her but since Tom hadn’t been at his desk when his phone kept ringing and ringing, she’d figured it had been hers to run with since she’d been the one to answer it. She had planned to show them what she could do and that would have been the start to her amazing career.

Another damn dream dashed.

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Genre – Suspense

Rating – PG13

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Website http://www.maggiethom.com/

Emma’s Secret by Steena Holmes

Setting his cup of tea on the coffee table, Jack sat down in Dottie’s old chair and reached for the multitude of bags she kept to the side of it. Last week, he’d found a box full of knitted scarves, mittens, and hats tucked away at the back of the guest-room closet. He’d taken them into town and dropped them off at the Catholic church. The priest promised that they would find use in wintertime. It was hard getting rid of Dottie’s things, but he felt like he didn’t have much time left, and the last thing he wanted was someone else going through her things when he wasn’t around anymore.

The first bag he grabbed held balls of yarn. Pink, white, and yellow. Jack dug his fingers into the yarn and knew right away that these had been meant for Emmie. Dottie was forever knitting that girl homemade dresses and doll clothes. He considered tossing it all in the donation box, but something stopped him. He wondered whether Emmie’s mom knitted? Maybe she would appreciate the yarn. He could mail it to her and explain…what? That Dottie bought it to make Emmie things? That would not go over well.

He set the bag off to the side. The next bag he grabbed was heavier. Jack lifted it over the arm of the chair and dropped it into his lap. He pulled out a long brown-and-blue scarf, its soft wool caressing his calloused hands. He remembered the day Dottie bought this yarn. She’d come home excited to have found the perfect color for him. He’d shaken his head at her enthusiasm while she held the ball of wool up to his face. Complemented his eyes, she said. He wasn’t sure that he needed a scarf that matched his eyes. Yet here it was, ready for him to wear. Jack wound it around his neck, disregarding the warm summer air. Dottie had spent hours knitting this for him, and he was going to wear it.

Jack pulled out the remaining item. It was a book with a creased, untitled black leather cover. Even without opening it, he knew it was Dottie’s journal. It had been a long time since he’d seen this particular one.

She had called this journal a record of her “darkest time.” When she’d first said that, Jack didn’t understand. It was around the same time Emmie came to live with them, a time Jack thought of as the best years of his recent past. But now he knew what she’d meant. Now he understood why it was her darkest time.

In their bedroom was a bookshelf lined with Dottie’s journals. Each cover was a different color, with each hue symbolizing her feelings. The years he had been off at war were all black. Every one of them, except for the first and last. Jack had bought the first journal for her before he left. He chose one with a soft yellow cover because he thought it would make her smile. He’d asked her to write letters to him in that journal. He never thought he’d be gone for so long. The last journal—which Dottie had written in after Jack was listed as MIA—was one he was never tempted to read. The white daisies dotting the soft pink cover symbolized new hope. But the hope she’d then held in her heart wasn’t for his return. She’d thought he was dead. The hope was instead of future love. Dottie later confessed that Doug had given her that journal for her birthday.

Even now, Jack hated that cover.

The day he’d returned from war, Jack had brought his Dottie a gift from the shop on base. It was another journal for the love of his life. His return was the start of their new life. He’d even bought Mary one, sure that Dottie had passed along her journal-writing passion to their daughter. The journal he’d bought for Dottie was bound in a pretty baby-blue material with small yellow flowers. He still remembered his first night back home. They sat on the bed, both a little shy to immediately rekindle the intimacy they’d had.

“What are you doing, Dottie-mine?” Jack had asked when she laid a pink journal in her lap. Dottie’s eyes had filled as her fingers ran along the white daisies.

“Putting an end to the black days,” she’d whispered.

Jack watched her as she slowly opened the baby-blue journal he’d bought her to the first page. She wrote the date at the top right-hand corner and then glanced over at him.

“What will you write?” he’d asked.

Dottie wrote three words on the page in the flowing script he’d grown to love.

Jack is home.

With a teary smile, she closed the cover. Jack reached for the journal and tossed it on the floor before gathering the woman he loved more than life into his arms.

After all their years together, all the nights they had shared a bed, that night was the most memorable. They’d created another baby that night, only to lose their son one month after he was born. Basil Jack Henry. They named him after Jack’s father.

Jack glanced down at the black journal in his hands and knew he couldn’t read it. Not yet. But when he rose to head for bed, his tea forgotten on the coffee table, his hold on the journal didn’t loosen.

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Genre – Women’s fiction

Rating – PG

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Website http://www.steenaholmes.com/

The Benjamin Chronicles: Relativity by Matthew DiConti

In his room, he put on a pair of sweatpants and a clean undershirt. A picture on the dresser caught his eye. It was of his parents. Another lump caught in his throat. They reminded him of when life had been easier. Duller, perhaps, but easier, sane. He turned the frame around and looked at the photo he’d stuck in the back. A wallet-sized photo copied from a high school yearbook. Abigail Bradley, age 18. It was the only photograph he had of her.
We never even took a picture together.
Conal heard the ding of the microwave, put the frame back and headed downstairs.
He carried his dinner to the living room and sat down to read. Conal had spent every night of the past two years reading, ever since the loss of Abby. The house was covered top to bottom with books of every genre and on every subject: history, physics, language, anatomy. What had once been a favorite pastime had become an obsession, an only way out. Aside from the History Channel, the television was never on. Edie would stop by occasionally to nose around or drop off some baked goods. Conal would accept politely, then shoo her out as quickly as possible.
The library had a purpose, but he wasn’t about to discuss it.
The storm had picked up again, so he lit a candle in case the lights went out. He opened a book to where he had left off, dissecting Einstein’s theory of relativity, a subject he was beginning to know uncomfortably well. Reading helped ease his anxiety, it gave him a sense of productivity, the illusion of moving toward a solution. He often read for hours at a time. Tonight, though, his eyes began to droop under the weight of depression and exhaustion. It had been a terrible day.
“I promise I’m trying, Abby. I promise. I’m working on it. I just need to rest my eyes for a minute, Abby, just a little while.”
He was asleep within seconds.

Conal Benjamin never let the love of his life Abigail Bradley know of his romantic feelings for her. Years of living with that regret haunted Conals life and left him with an emptiness in his heart. In one serendipitous moment they are reunited at an alumni science exhibit giving Conal a second chance but in a cruel twist of fate Conal’s triggers an unexpected chain of events sending Abby and himself through a wormhole to 1888 Whitechapel, London, the time and place of one of the most horrifying serial killers in history, Jack the Ripper. With the time machine lost and Conal and Abby separated, the fate of both of their lives hang in the balance. Nothing is what it appears to be and it’s up to Conal to unravel the mysteries that await him, before it’s too late.

“I could not put this cleverly crafted paranormal fiction novel down. I can’t wait to go on the next time travel journey with Benjamin! It would make for a great TV Series/Feature Film. Out of 5 stars I give it 6!”   - Kelly V. Dolan, NBC News Radio

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Genre - Paranormal Fiction

Rating – NC17

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Website http://matthewdiconti.com/

Excerpt: Redwood Violet by Robin Mahle

* * *

In the dressing room of the church, Katie watched the fluttering of people in and out as they assisted the bride on her big day.

“Katie, can you help me find my garter? I can’t see it anywhere.”

“Don’t worry. I saw it in the back of the car. I’ll go grab it.” Katie returned a few minutes later, blue lacy garter in hand.

“I knew there was a reason I chose you to be my maid of honor!” Sam said as she pulled the garter up to her thigh.

“Yes, well, I can only hope you’ll be half as good as I am when it’s my turn.” Katie pointed Sam in the direction of the full-length mirror. “You look stunning, Samantha.”

They looked at each other in the reflection of the mirror. “Thank you for always being there for me. I could not have asked for a better friend than you.”

Katie started to blot her eyes with her fingers, careful not to smudge her makeup. “Stop it already! You’re going to have both of us blubbering like idiots in a minute.”

Sam’s mom entered the room, took one look at her daughter, and nearly burst into tears.

“Okay, Molly, we can’t have Sam messing up her beautiful face with tears,” Katie insisted.

“I know, I know.” Molly swatted at the air as if to brush away her emotions. “You’ve always been the sensible one, Katie. Never letting your emotions get the best of you. It’s we Fields women that can’t keep it under control.”

She was right. Keeping her emotions under control was something she learned from an early age. Her father was an expert.

“Well, I’d better check on your dad to make sure he hasn’t frightened poor Jarrod away with talk of what he will do if he breaks his little girl’s heart. You know how he can get, Sam.”

“I know, Mom. Please stop him.”

Molly left the room and Katie was once again alone with Sam. She wanted to tell her about the dream; ask her for advice. But, this was not the right time. It was Sam’s day and she didn’t want her to worry.

“You’re very lucky to have such amazing parents, Sam. I’ve always thought that.” Katie fidgeted around with Sam’s train. “I always felt like they were my parents too.”

“Me too, Kate. Speaking of parents, you are going to talk to them today, correct?”

“I’m sure the opportunity will present itself.”

The door opened and the wedding planner came into the dressing room. “It’s time, ladies. I’ve gathered the other bridesmaids. Let’s walk you down that aisle, Sam.”

Sam took a deep breath.

“It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine,” Katie said, ushering Sam through the door.

* * *

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Genre – Mystery  / Thriller / Suspense

Rating – PG

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