Okay, with the NFL draft nearly upon us … I’m going in a completely different direction this week.
Psych!
Sooo … I’m struggling with writer’s reluctance, but I thought I’d share the opening of a fiction manuscript I’ve been working on for a few months. It’s a coming-of-middle-age story, of sorts, drawn on a short story I wrote like 100 years ago. I feel compelled to add that it’s NOT based on actual incident (fiction, remember), so if someone out there thinks it’s about you … well, it’s not about you.
Anyway, I still have a long way to go in writing—and more importantly, re-writing—but I have the entire story framed out. I’m hoping that sharing it here will keep encouraging me to git ‘er done.
Oh, and even though this is still a draft, all copyright and legal stuff goes here. I have a title, but I’m keeping that off the intrawebz for now, thanks.
Okay, deep breath. And exhale. And enjoy ….
I tried not to think about Hayley’s husband while I was kissing her.
First off, it was totally ruining the buzz of the moment—the magical head-rush of a first kiss always should be drunk in deeply, especially when it’s been long while since the last first kiss, and who knows how long (if ever) until the next.
Secondly, it was forcing me to keep my eyes open so as not to have the mental image of him standing there, glaring at me. (I’m a very visual person, you’ll come to discover.) When I was young and still figuring out girls, and the whole making-out thing, I did smooch with my eyes wide open so as not to miss anything. The view was weird and myopic at best, and as I got older, more experienced, and more jaded, I realized there may be nothing less arousing than watching someone kiss you, so I eventually got into the habit of closing my eyes. Now, however, the distraction wasn’t quite working the way I had hoped.
Thirdly, and probably most importantly—she was married! That still matters, to me at least.
Really!
Ever-so-reluctantly, I pulled back. “Look, we can’t do this,” I whispered.
Hayley squinted at me, her hazel eyes dancing in the shadows, then smiled. “It’s because we’re in a storeroom, isn’t it?” she said, gently scratching the back of my neck. “And you’re afraid if we get caught, we’ll both get fired, right?’
“Uh, not exactly,” I said, glancing around the steel shelves, dusty file cabinets, and silent boxes of old magazines. “I thought that part was sorta cool and exciting, to be honest, right up to the moment you mentioned getting fired. That’s not so cool.”
“Come on,” she said. “No one is gonna fire us for this! As a matter of fact, I bet half the office cheers.”
“Well, I’m not that good.”
“You don’t suck,” she said, sliding her lips back up against mine. “Yet.”
“Mmm . . .” I said, allowing myself a nano(no-no)second of pleasure before brushing her back again. “No. Come on. We can’t do this. It’s not right.”
“Feels right to me,” she said, snuggling her firm little body back up against mine.
She wasn’t wrong. From the moment the strawberry-blonde firecracker strode through the doors of our media group ten months ago, it’d been Chemistry 101—spark, snark, and constantly hitting each other’s mark. (Sorry, that sounded cooler in my head.) A game of cat and cat ensued, each of us seemingly finding reasons to cross each other’s paths, not easy to do with me in the editorial department and her over in client services. Through a carefully calculated series of “accidental” break room encounters, “coincidentally timed” restroom visits, and “necessary” emails (plus a very happy happy hour or two), we drifted closer and closer and closer until we found ourselves in the fortuitous position we had a few moments ago: the two of us in the storeroom alone. Together.
And then she kissed me! Or I kissed her. It all happened inexplicably fast, like a train wreck or how “Gangnam Style” got to one billion views. I knew she was married—I saw the shiny gold band on her left hand Day One, except she never mentioned her husband, and if she had, she never uttered his name, now that I thought about it. (Once I took a moment to look at it, the mental picture of “him” glaring at me was really that stupid sexy Ryan Gosling!) On those ultra-rare occasions she did discuss her marriage, she kept saying those kinds of things that make a relationship seem not particularly lovey-dovey, or that it was seriously adrift and about to wreck on the rocks. You know, comments that float hope to interested third parties.
Besides, the game had been flirty and exciting and more fun than I’ve had in a hound’s age, so I kept playing along, never thinking anything would actually come of it. Then, somehow we bumped into each other in the storeroom . . . the banter got cranking . . . things escalated quickly . . . someone threw a trident . . . and boom! Kissyface.
Regardless of how our lips came together, it wasn’t too late at this point for my annoying conscience to stop it all before substantial damage was done. I gave her one big, overlong last kiss and eased her away, although everything in my chromosomes was screaming to pull her closer. “I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry. I mean . . . it’s not right. What about your husband? What would he say?”
She glanced to the side for a moment, then leaned back into me. “I am one hundred percent certain he won’t say a damn thing.”
“Really?”
She grabbed my shirt with both her hands, and with a reckless urgency, pulled my mouth hard to hers again.
Okay, for the record, that’s all titillating and true, but this isn’t the letters page of your second-favorite porn mag. (“Dear Squish, I never thought this could happen to me . . . .”) Although neither of things are things any more. Man, I’m old!
Anyway, I should slow it down here a second so I can get you up to speed. Don’t want you to think it’s that kind of story. (Not that there’s anything wrong with it.) You might even be interested in other events that led up to the aforementioned storeroom snogging session.
Actually, other than the lurid tease of an intro you just read—which, come on, will be an awesome opening scene if this ever gets made into a movie—I really don’t know where to begin ….
Again, still a work in progress. Thanks!