The Forgotten Child by Lorhainne Eckhart @LEckhart

Mortified, the ringing in her ears catapulted her tingling body to what she could only explain as an out of body experience. Who was this idiot who’d taken over her body? Emily’s face burned crimson again. And she did what any self-respecting woman would do. She dropped to her knees, grabbed the coins, open wallet, crackers, Katy’s toys, and the wrapped sanitary napkin lying by this handsome stranger’s feet. Emily stuffed everything back in her purse, cursing her idiocy at not making sure it was zipped up. Wasn’t that purse rule number one?
Retreating into her head, she prayed, maybe at some point in the years to come, she’d look back on this and laugh. Except now, to make things worse, Mr. Good-looking knelt down in front of her, nose to nose, and started scooping up her loose coins scattered across the hardwood floor. Emily glanced up; his eyes were burning into her, and she wanted nothing more than to slink away apologizing profusely, run to her van, and drive away so she could cry the tears threatening to burn a hole in her head. “I’m so sorry; I can’t believe I did this.” Why did he have to help? Why couldn’t he just ignore what she’d done? He said nothing as he handed her the loose coins. She dumped everything into her plain black purse and zipped it up. Emily then sprung to her feet without looking, smacking her head into his, which sent her tumbling back down where she landed on her derriere.
“Wait. Don’t move. Let me help you up. Are you okay?”
Could it get any worse? She wanted to weep right here, right now, but she was stronger than that, right? She rubbed her head, and the strong man held out a large, rough hand and with little effort, pulled her up. Back where she started from, facing this extraordinary tall man, who shoved his hands in his front pockets as he appeared to study her with amazing control, no sign of embarrassment, but an odd curiosity twinkled in those wise whiskey-colored eyes.
Without a doubt, he must think she was nuts, a moron. Maybe he’d ask her to leave. Her forced smile pulled at her mouth.
“I’m Emily Nelson. I called about the job in the paper, we spoke–” The telephone rang. He promptly turned and walked away.
He abandoned her inside the doorway as if she were a woman of no importance and hurried in the direction of the ringing phone. Unsure of what to do, Emily shuffled from one foot to the other, this time looping her cursed bulky purse over her shoulder. He shouted from around the corner, “Come in, have a seat. Sorry, I need to take this.”

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Genre – Contemporary Western Romance

Rating – PG

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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.

Matchplay Series (Three Book Boxed Set) by Dakota Madison @shortontimebook #Romance

From Fair Play

Excerpt

Evan steps to my side and shakes Mr. Donovan’s hand then he gives Mrs. Donovan an awkward A-frame hug. After all of the formalities are finally exhausted, he places his hand on the small of my back and I’m a little startled by the gesture. It seems too intimate and too protective a gesture. That’s something you do to your girlfriend not your fuck buddy.

As nervous as the gesture makes me, I don’t step away. I actually kind of like it. As many guys as I’ve dated over the years, I’ve never had a full-on relationship. One: because I never found anyone worth going out with more than a few times and two: because none of them were Aaron Donovan. It’s tough for any guy to be compared to Aaron because chances are nearly 100 percent that he’ll never live up to Aaron in any way. That’s because Aaron is perfect in every way. And it’s not just his looks, which are amazing. It’s everything about him. The way he looks at you with his smoldering brown eyes and his sexy smile. And the way he makes you feel when you are around him, like you are the most important person in the world. Not only is Aaron one of God’s true gifts to women, he is the epitome of charm, class and charisma in a breath-taking package.

I’ve only seen one guy, who has even come close to Aaron in both looks and charm and that guy currently has his hand on the small of my back. “I’ll walk you back to your car,” Evan whispers in my ear. His gruff voice makes me a little hungry for an Evan appetizer before dinner.

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Genre – New Adult Romance

Rating – R

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Excerpt: The Titan Drowns by Nhys Glover

And it was good she wasn’t since she knew that Luke had eyes for no one but his Faith. He was almost slavishly devoted to the gentle, unassuming woman who now worked exclusively with the children Retrieved by the program and her adopted son, Bart. She was the perfect mother, even though she could never bear children from her own womb, as no woman in their world ever would.

‘How long until morning?’ Eilish asked absently, shifting back so she could stare at the overly ornate moulding on the lofty ceiling above. Such a high ceiling in such a small room made the space seem even more restricted. She rubbed at what was left of her pompadour hairstyle, loosening more strands from the mound on top of her head. She would need to hire a maid to do her hair during the next month if she was to pass as a lady of the upper echelons of society.

‘We arrived at two and this is March, so I wouldn’t expect much activity before seven. Sleep if you want to. I brought a book to read.’ With a grin, he pulled a stained, yellowing Penny-Dreadful from his pocket. The title: Varney, the Vampire or the Feast of Blood, was arranged around a crudely drawn skeletal figure in a bat cape leaning over a sleeping woman. It was laughably awful and she wondered what archive Luke had raided to secure the thing. Most material in New Atlantis was kept on computer. There were few, if any, hard copies of books left preserved.

‘It was in Wardrobe. It’s probably a bit antiquated, even for this period, but it’ll attract little attention if it’s found. Unlike a Neville Shute paperback might.’

‘Neville Shute?’

‘A guy who wrote adventure stories during the early part of the twentieth century. I used to read his books on missions. There’s always a lot of boredom when you’re waiting around for something to happen.’

Eilish nodded thoughtfully at this gem of information. ‘A bit like our Jumps. I used to buy a book or two to read while I was grooming my Targets. You cannot be with them twenty-four seven, and after a few days of sight-seeing, most places are a bit “same ol’, same ol’,” as I think they used to say.’

She was starting to become aware the differences in their speech patterns. Luke still spoke like an American of the 1940s, while she used the formal speech of twenty-fourth century New Atlantis. Hers was far closer to the speech of this time than his was, she knew, even though he was born in this era. That was a relief for her, because it meant she didn’t have to try to adjust her language. Her linguistic downloads could do it for her, but it was still easier if she could just stick to what she knew.

‘You’ve been a Jumper for a long time, then?’ Luke sat down on the side of the bed, also seeming to be a little uncomfortable with their close quarters. She wondered if it was his background that made him consider it unsuitable for a couple to share a room when they weren’t married.

‘Since the beginning, I have always been a bit restless. I was only thirteen when the Last Great Plague wiped everyone out. Too young for a clone and too sick for manual labour. So they moved me to New Atlantis and put me to work in the Knowledge Centre. By the time I got my first clone, I was ready to DO something with my life. I did not want to be stuck in a mouldy old Knowledge Centre forever. I wanted to see the world – or what was left of it.

‘I was uncharacteristically restless, so I was told. Everyone else was shell-shocked after the LGP and for years afterward. All anyone wanted to do was knuckle down and work to survive. But I was never like that. I had been an Irish orphan living in one foster care home after another most of my life. I did not feel like I lost much with the LGP – not as everyone else did. And I had always moved around, so it was ingrained into me…

‘Sorry I am giving you my life history and you just asked about my Jumping.’ Eilish shrugged and grimaced as she became aware of how she was running on.

‘No, go on, I’m interested… better than Varley, the Vampire, anyhow. If we’d been in the back-end of this century, I could’ve got Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but hey, Eilish the Restless Irish will do as well.’ He laughed, visibly more relaxed now that they‘d started talking. Making quick work of it, he slipped off his shoes, sat back against the headboard and leaned his elbows on his knees. He watched her with bright, blue eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing.

‘Ha, do you know how many times people have played on the “Eilish, the Irish” thing? Not very original. But anyway, if you feel like being entertained by my life story, here goes.’ She flopped over onto her stomach and rested her head on her hands, elbows bent to support them.

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Genre – Romance

Rating – Between PG13 and R (sensual but not erotic)

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Website http://nhysglover.com/

Excerpt: Sleeper’s Run by Henry Mosquera @sleepersrun

CHAPTER FIVE

Corso International is in a posh building on Brickell Avenue in downtown Miami, which I can actually see from my apartment. I walk there, arriving with fifteen minutes to spare. After signing with the security guard at the lobby, I take the elevator to the eleventh floor. The name of the company, stylishly written on a glass panel, greets me as soon as the doors open.

God, it has been a while. I feel as out of place as a womanizer in a gay bar.A cute receptionist sits behind a desk talking into her headphone’s mouthpiece. I smile awkwardly and announce myself. The receptionist smiles and asks me to wait for a moment. Soon, a woman with a confident swagger walks into reception.

“Mr. Caine? I’m Susan Delgado. Nice to see you in person.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

As we walk to her office, I check the space out. It’s like one of those places you see on a TV series: busy, modern and tasteful.

I keep repeating to myself that I have nothing to worry about. For Christ’s sake, I used to rescue mangled people while getting shot at by terrorists for a living. So why in the world am I so scared of a stupid interview for a job I didn’t even apply for in the first place?

Mrs. Delgado starts by talking about the company. The speech is short but impressive. Corso handles major development projects all around the world, including many contracts with the Department of Defense. Then she focuses on my résumé.

“It says here that you’re fluent in five languages: English, Spanish, German, French and Arabic.”

“My mother was a language major,” I say. “I learned French from her and English from my father. She also enrolled me in a bilingual school where I learned German and participated in exchange programs in Europe. My friends used to call my house ‘Babel’.”

“Seems that your parents put a premium on your education,” Delgado says. “How about Arabic?”

“I lived in Qatar for three years when I was a kid,” I say. “My father’s company sent him there. My mother didn’t want me to lose the language when we returned to Venezuela, so she hired a Lebanese live-in maid so I could practice.”

Delgado pauses to think about something she just read. “You entered college at sixteen? And studied at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology on a partial scholarship, and graduated Summa Cum Laude in Computer Science and Electrical Engineering, then got a Master’s in Engineering. You were also part of the jujitsu and flying clubs and started… ‘The Eskrima Club’?”

“It’s a Filipino martial art,” I say.

“Very impressive.”

“Thank you. I like to keep busy.” I’m amazed by my own eloquence so far. I thought I’d come across like Woody Allen.

Delgado continues reading, “You worked five years for the National Security Agency doing information security operations and vulnerability discovery.”

“They recruited me in my last year,” I say.

“I’m sure you must have had plenty of offers from the private sector,” Delgado says. “What made you choose the NSA?”

“I wanted a challenging job, where I could work with the latest technology,” I say. “I figured the NSA would give me invaluable experience that I could later bring to a private company. Plus, I liked the fact that I could serve my country.”

“Is that why you joined the Air Force after that?”

No, because I felt useless and guilty after 9/11. “After the terrorist attacks, I felt I could do more,” I say.

“Of course,” she says with the expected solemnity. “I can see why Mr. Montenegro recommended you so highly.”

All of this might sound tremendously self-serving and shamefully sappy if it weren’t true. I did join the service with those noble intentions. It took politics and the reality of war to mire them.

“How do you feel about traveling for work or being relocated?”

“I don’t mind at all,” I say. I’m not about to get picky at my first job offer in almost a decade. “That’s all I did when I was in the service, so I guess you can say I’m used to it.”

“Excellent,” Delgado beams.

At this point, I’m oddly optimistic that my days doing CPR could be over. When the interview is done, I return home feeling two inches taller than when I left that morning. I’d have called Tony to thank him, but he told me via email that he’d be out of town for a few days. I’ll have to wait until I see him at his BBQ this weekend.

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Genre – Political Thriller

Rating – R

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Anniversary of the Veil by Vanna Smythe

Chapter 2 - Hatred and Death

The air stood still in the mid-morning heat, but the fields surrounding the village of Sarron were empty. An ox still pulled a plow and had trampled all the neat planting rows with no one to guide it. Baynard stopped and held out his arm to halt Orn. The former Protector turned and looked at him, one flame-red eyebrow raised. "What is it, Baynard? Another pebble in your shoe?"

Baynard ignored the jest and the edge in his friend's voice. This was the first village they'd seen in two days and they hadn't eaten in longer. Baynard knew that all Orn wanted was a hot bowl of something and a bed. He wanted the same himself. But the empty field and the untended ox were odd.

Baynard pointed at the field. "Where are all the peasants?"

Orn shrugged his shoulders and started walking again. "I don't know. Maybe it's a feast day or something. Let's just get to the tavern, Baynard. There's no need for all this caution all the time!"

Orn's Protector staffs were well-hidden by the rough brown cloak he wore over regular clothes, and his thin, sharp Protector sword was well disguised as a regular broad sword. Still, one could never be too cautious. Baynard kept his own sword wrapped in rags, its black hilt covered in brown leather. He had taken the sword from the armory at the Protectors' Keep before he and Orn fled after the carnage of Ardnan's war. Baynard was a priest, not a Protector, yet he had to learn to excel at sword fighting in the last couple of months. Especially here, so near the Forest of the Dead, in outlaw country.

"I think we shouldn't enter this town," Baynard called after Orn. He couldn't explain the fear he felt, but something was telling him to turn back, leave. Once he would've associated such a foreboding with the Life Force, but the Life Force was gone.

"Nonsense, Baynard! Even you can fight well enough now to defend yourself against common thugs. There's nothing to fear here and I'm hungry."

Baynard practiced with the sword every morning and every night. He could even best Orn two times out of five now. But this wasn't the time to remind Orn of it. Orn soon disappeared behind the first row of houses in the village. Baynard jogged to catch up.

The former Protector waited for him at the start of a wide thoroughfare, staring off into the distance, mouth open. Shouts came from the far side of the street from where the road bent out of sight and must have led to the village square.

Baynard stopped beside Orn and pulled his hood up over his face. "You must've been right. They're having a celebration."

Yet the shouts weren't merry, not joyous.

"Kill them!" A woman's high-pitched yell reached them. Baynard's throat constricted.

Orn tapped his index finger on his lips and walked off the main thoroughfare and along a row of low houses. They met no one as they approached the village square. But the shouts grew louder, the words clearer. The peasants all called for murder and blood.

Orn gasped as he peeked into the square from behind the corner of a house. Baynard looked too. And wished he hadn't.

Two men in black trousers and shirts knelt on a raised scaffold in the center of the square, their hands tied behind their backs. Thick ropes ending in nooses swung from the rafters behind their backs. One of the men's head hung lifelessly against his chest, his face an unrecognizable mass of blood and bruises. The other man looked around wildly with his one good eye; the other was swollen shut beneath a mass of black and bloody flesh. His chest heaved as he struggled for breath.

"Hang them both, the Protector scum!"

"I'm no Protector! I killed the man and took his clothes!" the conscious captive yelled, then gasped as a coughing fit took him.

"Lies, all lies!"

Duty versus love is the one battle warrior Kae doesn’t know how to fight.

Kae has trained his entire life to become an elite Protector of the Realm. But when he earns that honor he finds himself protecting something far greater: the Veil separating two worlds. On one side of the Veil lie untold stores of magic. On the Realm’s side, magic is all but obliterated, and Kae is one of the few who can use it. The priests who secretly rule the Realm will do everything they can to control his growing magical abilities. He’s willing to pay the price, even though it comes between him and Issa, the princess he loves.

But the Veil has weakened over a thousand years and powers on both sides will stop at nothing to keep it intact. Strangers from the other side have kidnapped Issa to take her across the Veil and sacrifice her to strengthen it. Kae is the only one who can find her. If he goes after Issa, he loses everything he’s worked so hard for. But if he chooses duty over love, Issa will die.

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Kae, a warrior Protector, has followed Princess Issa across the Veil separating two worlds. They were told Issa will play a crucial role at the Anniversary of the Veil, but have been mislead! Kae will face a terrible choice once the Anniversary finally comes. He is the Decision Maker and must play his part in a ceremony that will reunite Issa with the man from her dreams, her other half – but in so doing, leave her senseless or worse, dead.

As the King fights to find his daughter, as the Priesthood is falling apart; Kae must make his choice between stopping Issa’s Joining and force her into a life of unhappiness, or allow her to Join and thereby leave her a mere shell of herself. Meanwhile friends and foes alike are showing only half-truths to both Kae and Issa, and the right choice depends entirely on who you ask. Will Kae be able to make the right choice?

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The Anniversary of the Veil has come and gone, for better or worse. Now all is left is to pick up the pieces and move on. Easier said than done, that!

Kae only wants to be left alone to live and die in peace, Issa makes plans she can’t realize and Alet is drowning in her own guilt. Yet someone must rise to wake them all, rouse them and let the past truly become the past. Only, can it still be done?

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Genre – Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

Rating – PG13

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Website http://vannasmythe.com/

Excerpt: A Widow Redefined by Kim Cano

•••••

Saturday night, after our monotonous weekly routine of chores and grocery shopping, we all sat down to play a board game. We chose Monopoly Junior, a simplified version of the regular game. Within an hour my son had kicked our butts. Mom ran out of money, which is technically when the game is supposed to end, but we fight until the last man is standing. Since I only had a few dollars left, I threw in the towel.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “We should go to bed.”

Tyler frowned. He didn’t want to sleep, but was up past his bedtime and he knew it.

“What a wonderful idea,” Mom agreed. “Let’s put an end to this embarrassing defeat.”

Once validation came, Tyler stood up and stretched, a proud smirk crossing his face. I wondered if maybe it was time to upgrade to the adult version of Monopoly, to give us half a chance at winning.

“Better luck next time,” he joked.

I was surprised I fell right asleep Saturday night. Sunday morning was when the dread set in. I took a shower, dried off and brushed my teeth. While staring at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed something: I looked different. But I didn’t know how.

As I blow-dried my hair I began drifting off, thinking of Justin. I still missed him so much. It hadn’t gotten easier with time. But it was something I lived with, something I understood. The flowers, though, they were something new. Their appearance unsettled me. In spite of my fears, I had to find out. I had to know who left them. And why.

I went into my room and stuffed my swimsuit and towel into my gym bag. I was probably overreacting. The flowers could have simply been left by the wrong grave. I decided I was being dramatic and silly over all of this. I’d just go to the health club, workout and come back home.

After eating a small breakfast, I said goodbye to Mom and Tyler.

“Enjoy yourself. Work those muscles,” she said to me.

I gave Tyler a quick kiss goodbye, then found myself driving toward the cemetery anyway. No matter how much I tried to pretend it was nothing, I couldn’t deny my curiosity… and concern.

On my way there my sense of awareness was heightened. I noticed details I hadn’t paid attention to before: a for sale sign adorning a neighbor’s yard; a new Korean restaurant on the street corner. This wasn’t a typical day, grocery shopping in a half hour or less or droning through punching a stack of documents, working on auto-pilot. This was a genuine mystery that needed solving.

And I didn’t look forward to it.

When I pulled into the parking lot and got out, I realized I hadn’t worn boots. I wore gym shoes. Cursing myself, I stepped into the dirty slush and looked around. Apart from a grieving family gathered on the far side of the cemetery, I was alone.

I began walking around, reading the headstones. There was an equal number of older men and women who had lived a long life. Mixed in were a few middle-aged folks and sadly, some children. And then, of course, there was me, the idiot hanging around with them on my day off. I shook my head, realizing how foolish I was. Then I walked over to Justin’s grave.

As I got closer, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A fresh bouquet of yellow daffodils lay in front of my husband’s headstone. I began shaking. From the cold, but also from fear. Anger rose in me. “What’s going on here?”

I expected some kind of answer from Justin, in the form of telepathic communication, perhaps, but there was nothing. The only sound was sniffles from my runny nose. I wiped it and inhaled an icy breath. Then I quickly glanced around.

Whoever brought these flowers was gone. But they had shown me one thing; it wasn’t a mistake. Someone was putting flowers on my husband’s grave. And if I came often enough, accompanied by my good friend—Irish luck, I would find them.

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Genre – Women’s Fiction

Rating – PG

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Website http://www.kimcano.com/

Widow Woman by Julia Tagliere (Excerpt)

Chapter Three

The following morning, I lay on the bed in our motel room, waiting for Peter to come out of the bathroom. Our friend James needed his car so Peter was driving it back to Nebraska while I started handling details here. Catherine was meeting us at the motel for breakfast; once Peter left, she’d drive me back out to Mom’s house, where I planned to spend the morning sorting and cleaning. Later in the afternoon, I was scheduled to meet with George Koblick, Mom’s attorney and an old friend of the family, to go over Mom’s will. I’d dated George’s son Daniel for a long while in high school, but Mom’s determination that I attend college quickly ended that romance. At least, that’s what I’d let her think.

While I waited, I thought about the long night just ended. I’d lain awake most of the night, wanting Peter to take me in his arms almost as desperately as I hated the thought of him ever touching me while he might still be thinking of her. The other woman. God, what a cliché. I shook my head, trying to shut out the thought. The only way to survive everything ahead of me today was to focus on one loss at a time.

Peter came out, carrying his shaving kit. “Your turn,” he said, gesturing to the bathroom. When I didn’t move, he set the kit on top of his suitcase and sat down beside me on the bed, studying my face.

“You sure you’re going to be all right?” he asked tentatively. “I can stay longer if you want me to.” I caught the expectant tone in his voice. Neither one of us knew how to act, but for the moment, I tried to avoid the topic of his infidelity, focusing instead on Mom’s loss and its aftermath.

That worked well enough. I replied, “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” knowing it was likely a lie, but still hurting too badly to ask him to stay.

Peter appeared to debate for a moment. He cautiously pulled me up to a sitting position beside him. I allowed him to tuck my head down onto his chest. I smelled his cologne, and it was the only scent I ever wanted to breathe in for the rest of my life. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not get that woman’s face out of my mind. I abruptly pulled away. He nodded, looking resigned. I slid out of the bed and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

When I was ready, we went to the lobby where Catherine was waiting, wearing a vibrant yellow scarf. After we ate a quick breakfast together at the café across the street, we returned to the motel. Catherine and I waited in the lobby while Peter retrieved his suitcase.

“How are you holding up, darling?” Catherine asked.

“About how you’d expect, Catherine,” I sighed. “I miss her.”

“Me, too,” she said with a sad little smile. When Peter returned, the three of us walked to the car. After stowing his suitcase in the back seat, Peter turned, preparing to take his leave.

“Call me if you need me, all right?” he said. He leaned in very close. For a moment I feared he would try to kiss me, but instead, he whispered softly in my ear, so softly that Catherine couldn’t hear, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Sorry about everything. I hope you’ll come home soon.” He hugged me tightly. Impulsively, I suddenly snaked my arms inside his coat and clung to him, even as I berated myself for such weakness. I suddenly wanted him to stay; what if he went back to her? My fear threatened to overcome my pride.

Peter squeezed me even more tightly as the tears pushed up through my throat. I’m supposed to be mad at you. I’m supposed to hate you. God, what was the matter with me? I rested my forehead against his chest, wishing things weren’t so complicated. I pressed a quick kiss to his lips then backed out of his arms and mumbled, “Have a safe trip.” I hadn’t felt Peter’s lips for days; their unfamiliarity stung.

Peter turned and gave Catherine a quick hug, waggling his fingers at me. He climbed into the car and drove slowly out of the lot. Once the Olds vanished from sight, I climbed into Catherine’s front seat, feeling bruised and ashamed.

“Would you care to stop for another cup of coffee?” Catherine asked softly, as we pulled away from the motel.

Clearing my throat and giving my eyes a cursory swipe with the back of my hand, I replied, “No, thanks. I think I’d prefer to get started sorting through Mom’s things, and try to get as much done before the meeting with the attorney.” Stealing a quick glance at Catherine’s face to see if she was disappointed by my farewell to Peter—that I hadn’t slugged him instead of hugging him—I saw that her face was serene and composed, as usual.

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Genre – Women’s Fiction

Rating – PG13

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Intoxicated by Alicia Renee Kline (Excerpt)

Chapter Two

There were four missed calls and three voice mails on my cell when I returned to the car after midnight.  I didn’t need to guess who they were from.  I closed my eyes momentarily, attempting to give myself the strength to deal with him.  Knowing resistance was futile, I pressed the speed dial button before listening to any of the messages.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Eric said in lieu of a greeting.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology slipped out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop it.  More of a trained response, learned from ten years’ experience.  Honestly, I wasn’t sorry.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice softening.

“Just leaving Gracie’s place.  What hotel are you at?”

“It’s a small place.  Relatively local.  You might say the atmosphere leaves a little to be desired.  Lots of moving boxes at the moment.”

“You’re at my place?”

My anger melted away at the thought of him lounged on my couch, his feet propped on the coffee table.  He rarely came to my place.  Granted, it was tiny and not in the best neighborhood, but it was my home.  He must have been overcome with guilt to make the trek from his downtown high rise.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll be home in fifteen.”

“See you then.”

I pressed the “end” key and tossed the phone over to the passenger seat.  Traffic was light for a Friday night, and I made good time back to my complex.  Sure enough, Eric’s BMW was parked in my guest spot.  His car seemed to smirk at my very used Honda Accord.

The two certainly didn’t belong together.

Eric had been campaigning for quite some time for me to get something new.  However, I liked not being a slave to a car payment as much as I enjoyed not being strapped for cash due to high rent.  So that explained why I was here, driving what I did.  Who cared about appearances?  My bank account was the one laughing.

Humming, I smiled to myself as I bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  I could hardly contain myself.  Eric was here, in the flesh.  I tried to remember the last time we had been in the same time zone.  Two weeks?

My front door was unlocked.  Eric’s six foot two inch frame was folded over the tiny loveseat like an adult sitting on a toddler’s chair.  He was still dressed for work, his suit jacket slung over the back of the couch.  He grabbed the remote and turned off my small television set as I entered.

“Hey,” I greeted.

He stood, and we met midway.  He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his embrace. What was left of my resolve melted into a puddle at his feet.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

He pressed his finger against my lips to silence me and led me to the couch. As we sunk to the cushion, he replaced his finger with his own lips.  Once the hello kiss had been completed, he leaned back against the sofa, his arm wrapped around my shoulders.

“I missed you too.”

“How long have you been here?”  I was hesitant to ask, but curiosity won out.

He drew in a deep breath prior to answering.  “A couple hours.”

Damn.  That meant that while I was pouring my heart out to Gracie about how insensitive he was, he was sitting in my empty apartment waiting for me.  No wonder he had called so many times.  I scolded myself, ashamed that I could be so irresponsible.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.  This time I meant it. “I had no idea that you would be home tonight.”

“My last meeting today got cancelled.  I took an earlier flight.  I wanted to surprise you when you got home from your party.  I didn’t think you would be out so late.”

“Well, you accomplished a surprise.”

“I thought about crashing your party, but I figured that would be rude.”

The truthfulness in that statement was questionable.  I doubted the thought had crossed his mind.

“You could have come.  I’m sure everyone would have been happy to see you.”

Another false sentiment.  After the last couple days, Gracie would have been ready to gouge his eyes out.

I rested my head against him and closed my eyes.  It had been a long, emotional day and everything was finally catching up with me.  I swallowed a yawn, embarrassed.

“Tired?”

“A little.  I have to get up in the morning and go look at a room to rent.”

He shifted his weight, causing me to sit up on my own accord.  His eyes traveled across the expanse of my apartment, taking in the moving boxes that lined the walls.  My place had never been worthy of a spread in a decorating magazine, but now it was uncomfortably void of any personality.  With my furnished apartment, there was little preparation that needed to be done in order to move.  In fact, everything that I didn’t immediately need had already been packed away.  When I was ready to go, I really only needed to box up a dresser’s worth of clothing, my bathroom stuff and the few dishes that remained in the cabinet.

“You don’t have to do this,” he breathed.

“Do what?”

“Leave.”  He took my hands in both of his.

I sighed.  “Eric, I kind of do.  I’ve already accepted the job.  They are interviewing people to replace me here.  I can’t just turn around and tell them that I was kidding.  That would be like suicide.  I would never get another opportunity there again.”

“You don’t need that job.  I told you that I would take care of you.”

“I don’t need taken care of.”

He let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh.  “You are doing so well on your own.  I mean, everyone strives to live in a dump and drive a fifteen year old car.  Congratulations.”

I jerked my hands away from him, scooting over as far as I could.  The gesture only separated us by a couple inches.  The look in his eyes had changed, grown cold somehow.  I kept my gaze fixed on his, refusing to blink as I formulated a response.  My lips parted once, twice, but nothing came out.

Eric took that as his cue to continue.  Straight out of his book of tricks, he was using some patented technique to close his sale.  “I could give you everything you ever wanted.  Every little wish you ever had could come true.  And you walk away from me.  For what?  To prove some point?”

“That I don’t need to be in debt up to my eyeballs in order to be happy?”

“I am not.”

“Way to sound like a ten-year-old, Eric.”

I stood up with a flourish, crossing the apartment in a matter of steps.  My frustrated fingers raked through my cropped brunette hair as I paced in front of the window.  Eric also rose to his feet, though he lingered by the couch, allowing me my space.  I walked back and forth, concentrating on my feet, the threadbare carpet, anywhere but him.  I knew I still had the floor.  I needed to choose my next words wisely and make the most of it.

“If you are so willing to give me everything that I want, then you will allow me to do this.  For years I have stood by and let you make decisions for us.  I never argued with your choices.  You wanted to go away to school while I stayed here?  Fine.  You wanted to take a job that makes you travel ninety percent of the time?  Fine.  Are you sensing a pattern here?”

I paused, letting my words absorb.  He offered no rebuttal.

“Why does every major decision you make involve leaving me?”

Now I turned to face him, meeting his stare.  Eric winced.

“It’s not like that, Lauren.”

“It’s exactly like that.  And the one time I ask you for something, the one time I make a decision for myself, you go off the deep end.”

“Lauren,” he repeated, moving closer.

I thrust my palm out, effectively cutting him down.  “No.  If you want to leave me so much, then do it.  Get out.”

He looked as though I had struck him.  We stood for a moment, wordless, stonefaced.  He broke the staring contest first, reaching down to grab his pinstriped jacket.  He slung the garment over his shoulder, then spun on his heel.

For the first time in recent memory, he did what I instructed.

The door slammed behind him, punctuating his retreat.

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Genre – Romance / Chick Lit

Rating – PG13

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