Tuesday Tease: Hunting the Hunter

This week brings a tease from Misty Carlisle’s debut short story, Hunting the Hunter which I had the privilege of beta reading. If you want awkward nerdy types in a sweet romance, this is the story for you!

41iFCMGAGzLDiana is a traveling presenter spending no more than a week in any town. She presents science to high school kids to get them interested in STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering and Math) careers. She’s all but given up hope on anything longer than a one-night stand. Hunter is a Chemistry professor at Anteros University, where he is returning from a one year leave to recover from a lab accident. He’s not even looking to add love to his life. They’re perfect for each other, and only have one week to figure it out.

 

“The bar’s empty tonight.” Val pulled the mug back across the bar. “I’ll bring your mug, so go on over and say ‘hi’.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Go on.” Then Val and the mug of chocolaty ambrosia were gone. The hints of peppermint hung in the air, pulling him to follow.
Val was right. He had to come out of his shell at some point. A quiet night at the Bowman’s was as good a time as any. What’s the worst that could happen? I could be rejected by a woman I’ll never meet again. Or it’ll go great, and I’ll still never meet her again. Nothing to lose. Hunter sighed and pushed those thoughts aside. “Hot damn,” he muttered as he slid off the stool. There were nine stools around the curved bar, and he sat in the second from the end on the left. Directly across from him would be the last stool on the right, so five between here and there. His cane would be too cumbersome, so he let his hand drag along the padded leather surface of each stool as he passed.
Three… Four… Five.* “Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?” He might have been talking to empty air.
“Please.” Her rich, inviting alto wrapped him in warmth. “You must be a local.”
“How’d you guess?” He adjusted his orientation.
“You didn’t come in through the hotel lobby.” Her laugh rang lightly. “And you know your way around.”
His cheeks flared with heat.
“I’m sorry.” She added quickly, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“It’s alright,” he lied. “I’m still getting used to it.” Actually, he hated the way most people were so direct about his disability, always trying to do things for him because they couldn’t imagine how he could ever manage without sight. “You must be new to town.” He decided to play her game. “You chose this side of the bar and called me a local.”
She chuckled. “I deserve that.”
They sat there for a moment without saying anything. The scent of her mulled cider mingled with his peppermint hot chocolate when Val thunked his mug in front of him again. He found it by the heat; it’d cooled enough to taste it for real.
“I’m impressed by your observational skills,” she said after a time. “I mean that, really.”
What an odd thing to say. “Um… thank you?”
“No really, I mean it. I’m not sure how you navigated this room, but you did. I saw your cane when you came in, but you didn’t use it on the way over here. You must really know this place. Did you count the chairs? Did Val tell you how many? No, he wouldn’t do that. You figured it out for yourself, and I’m babbling, sorry. But I really am impressed that you found me, and your mug all while blindfolded. I’m shutting up now.”
Hunter’s internal chuckles leaked out when he said, “I am blind.”
“You weren’t always. I’d guess fairly recently – maybe two years?”
It was his turn to be impressed. “Just one.” Her breath caught. He imagined her blushing and staring into her mug. He hated this part, when his accident was the only thing they could think of and yet they didn’t know what else to say. It was so awkward.
“Are you a scientist?”
“What?”
“It’s just…” She scraped her mug around on the counter. “I don’t know… I mean, you just have precision of habit that… The way you arranged the condiments on the other end of the bar, I’d be willing to bet you used atomic numbers to decide whether the salt or pepper should be to the left. It’s the way you counted your steps – your stride is very consistent…” She pushed her mug around in three circles. She might have sighed.
“You… you just seem like a scientist to me.”
“I teach Intro to Chemistry and General Chemistry at Anteros U.” He put his hand over hers. She was cool despite the hot drink she’d just let go of. “How about you? What do you do with your skills?”
“My skills?”
“You’re pretty observant, too.” He shifted his whole body to face her. Now, if he could just get that cheesy grin off his lips. “The way you described me coming in and navigating the bar— very precise and not a lot of supposition. I’d kill to have students who were half as aware as you are.”

***

Misty Carlisle turned to writing when she couldn’t find the kind of worlds she wanted to live in. She loves the freedom to twist plots and tropes and play with an audience’s expectations. Every story starts with a trope and turns it upside down. Tell her she can’t do something, and she takes it as a challenge. The world of Romance is in for a surprise.

Blog – https://mistycarlisle.mreauowpublishing.com
Twitter – https://twitter.com/AuthorMisty
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/authormistycarlisle/

Tuesday Tease: Voyeur in the Mist

This week’s teaser is from Sherry Terry’s Voyeur in the Mist, an erotic short story.

510y3LBHQJLSusan isn’t a woman who dreams of flowers and romance. She dreams of being watched through her bedroom window. Spending most of her life hiding her fantasy becomes normal until a chance encounter with and exciting man named Justin. He might make her dreams come true, if only she can get him to agree. Will they risk everything for an exciting sex life or play it safe?

She edged up his thigh, brushing her finger over his bulge. He gasped, and gripped her wrist, growing hard under her hand. The instant reaction made her heart race, and she rubbed a thumb over the tip of his erection.

He squirmed and glanced around. “Here?”

Lust washed into the pit of her stomach, pooling between her legs. Many times while at the aquarium in the past she’d thought about having sex in the tube. This might be her only chance, and doing it with Justin would be fun. She answered his question by going to her knees in front of him.

Looking up at his shocked face, she raised an eyebrow. “Sure. I happen to know that we are out of sight of any security cameras. It’s exciting, and taboo.”

“And how do you know that? You’ve done this here with other guys?”

The look of hurt in his eyes made her fall in love with him. “No! I’ve never done anything like this with anyone. A friend works in the IT department here, I’ve had lunch with her several times and she showed me around.”

He relaxed. “So. I’m your first. Good to know.”

Looking up at him, she smiled, flirting with her eyes. “You’re my first at everything we’ve done so far. I’ve waited a long time for someone like you.”

His strong hand cupped the side of her face, the warmth of his fingers spreading through her. “You’re so beautiful, and wild.”

She struggled a moment with his zipper before getting the fly undone. He fished his erection out of the opening, his flushed face and hungry, dilated eyes spurring her on. She wrapped her hand around him.

He groaned and adjusted on the bench.

***

Sherry Terry lives on Red Bull and sarcasm in a small town in Texas with her hermaphroditic cat named, Hermy. As a single mother, she put herself through college and worked as a Radiologic Technologist for almost twenty years before she gave it all up to be a bum. In her Champagne wishes and caviar dreams, she spends all of her time writing the next greatest romance novel to hit the market. Her blog is dedicated to helping aspiring writers with how-to articles and awesome research links.

***

Blog: https://verysherryterry.wordpress.com/category/blog/blog-blog/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100007182588429
Twitter: https://twitter.com/verysherryterry
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/verysherryterry/

Sunday Sitdown: Francisco Cordoba

 

FC 01This week, I had the opportunity to sit down with the very private (I think there’s a word for that?) Francisco Cordoba, who writes paranormal romance. Reclusive, he may be, but don’t let that fool you — he’s got a wicked quick sense of humor guaranteed to have you rolling on the floor, laughing.

MG: Let’s hop right to it, shall we? Do you remember the first story you ever read, and the impact it had on you?

FC: Stories and books were so much a part of life when I was a child that I don’t remember the first one I read, or even learning to read. But two early books that stand out for me are Are You My Mother by PD Eastman, which I think had an influence on my preoccupation with the idea of searching for home and security; and Fox in Sox by Seuss, which I’m pretty sure cemented my need for rhythm in language.

I love Fox in Sox. I have it memorized. I read it to my son when he was little. I use it in my ESL teaching. I quote it around the house when I want to piss people off. Tweetle Beetles are my friends.

MG: I both loathe and adore that book! Dr. Seuss saw the need for books children would enjoy, and I’m so glad for that. What are your ambitions for your writing career?

FC: To be the best writer I can be and to die with a body of work behind me. To write stories that make people love, hate, laugh, cry, and think. I really want to make some money, too.

MG: Gee, that sounds like familiar motivation. What motivated you to become an Indie author?

FC: Money and power. It was either become an Indie author or take over a small country. I don’t expect to get rich as an Indie author (although I won’t turn it down if it happens), but I do want to get the lion’s share of any money my books generate. Traditional publishing takes more than it gives.

I also have no plans to hand over the rights of my work to anyone else. It’s MINE. I’M the one who did it. So hands off!

Oh yeah, and time. I don’t want to wait around on tenterhooks nibbling my nails while some dude somewhere holds the fate of my novel in his hands. I have better things to do. As an Indie author, I can get my books out to the world, and the fans can tell me if they like it or not.

MG: Are we the same person? Some day, we’ll both be famous, and we can say, I knew them when…!” Which famous person, living or dead would you like to meet and why?

FC: I truly hate this type of question. Hmm, when I was at university, I was in love with Mary Shelley. Any nineteen year old who could write Frankenstein deserves respect, and the life she led on the continent with Percy and his cronies would have been interesting to hear about first hand.

Nuno Oliveira. You’ve probably never heard of him. But he was and still is revered in the realm of classical horsemanship. The man was a genius on horseback and while I’ve had the privilege of learning from those who studied with him, he died before I was able to study with him myself. I did attend one clinic he gave in England and was blown away. His books are bibles for those who can interpret them.

MG: I didn’t know Mary Shelley was only nineteen when she wrote Frankenstein! Okay, we have time for one more question. What are your thoughts on good/bad reviews?

FC: I’ll let you know when I’ve had any of either.

MG: Lol. Now you sound like me when I’m talking about marketing tricks. It’s been a great chat, Francisco! Thanks so much for sitting down with me!

FC: You’re welcome!

*******

A passionate romantic and obsessiveFC 02 equestrian, Francisco Cordoba has been writing for as long as he can remember. However, it’s only in the last few years, since completing his Master’s Degree in Linguistics, and suffering regular chastisement from his wife, that he has dared to fully unleash his muse. He loves writing about romance, relationships, adventures and sex.

Francisco lives a largely reclusive life tucked away in an old farmhouse, somewhere, with his wife, teenage son, four cats, two dogs, horse, ducks and chickens. He freely admits to loving them all, although he refuses to allow more than three bodies to occupy his bed at any one time. His six-book slightly erotic, paranormally romantic, mysteriously suspenseful, thrillingly adventurous, and possibly fictional debut series, The Horsemen of Golegã, will be self-published soon.

Email: contact@franciscocordoba.com

Website and Blog: http://franciscocordoba.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/franciscocordobaauthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CordobaContact

Why I Voted for Hillary

I don’t normally get political on social media because I just don’t. But today, I’m making exception.

I voted Hillary. I voted to keep Trump out of office. I didn’t particularly like that choice, but the fact of the matter is, the orange man terrifies me. I’m afraid of the culture this hateful, bigoted, sexist, racist, and every other “ist” person will create.

Honestly, I haven’t cried. I think I’m still in shock that, a man who spews lies and hate with every word he says and then denies he said it five minutes later, a man who degraded, belittled, and generally antagonized every demographic in the world, made it into the Oval Office. The man can’t handle his own Twitter account, but we’re going to entrust him with the nuclear codes?

I hope he’s able to “Make America Great Again” – just not to what, coming from his mouth, looks more like Hitler’s Germany than the intended melting pot of America where tolerance and acceptance are the norm when it comes to race, religion, and gender.

His belittling, degrading, toxic, negative comments have no place in the highest office in the country. And it terrifies me that WWIII will break out during his presidency — and this time, it will be OUR fault.

His sexually explicit comments and sexual predator ways have no place in my home or my community, and even though people say that “it’s not going to change a thing”, I beg to differ.

Because it already has. Just yesterday, my cousin posted this:

Trumplandia.png

Please tell me why 6-8 year old boys are talking about grabbing girls’ by their genitals and thinking that behavior like that is okay?

I’ll tell you exactly why: our President Elect does exactly that and gets away with it. He makes it okay to do and say things like that.

Please tell me this isn’t the society you want your daughters and nieces and wife and sisters and aunts and mothers and female friends, coworkers, and neighbors living in!

It’s not okay.

  1. IS. NOT. OKAY.

I stand for equality. I stand for tolerance. I stand for acceptance. I stand for kindness. I stand for compassion. I stand for integrity. I stand for trust.

  • Donald Trump does not stand for equality — he treats women like things to be had on a whim.
  • He doesn’t stand for tolerance — he is afraid of anyone that isn’t him and lashes out at them.
  • He doesn’t stand for acceptance — he thinks all Muslims are terrorists and horrible people and wants to kick every last one of them out of the country.
  • He doesn’t stand for kindness, he mocks, belittles, and antagonizes everyone — every minority, every woman, every disability, every religion, every sexual orientation and identity, even the very military he’s about to command.
  • He doesn’t stand for compassion, he openly mocked a disabled journalist.
  • He doesn’t stand for trust — more than half the words that came out of his mouth were lies.
  • Donald Trump doesn’t stand for integrity or trust — he lies and can’t even admit that he said it five minutes later when he’s asked about why he said it. He refuses to accept responsibility for things he’s done and said, and there are no consequences for him because “I’m famous”.

I belong to more than one of the groups he insulted — as do more than just a few of my friends. Female. Mexican. Puerto Rican. Guatemalan. Disabled (mentally and physically). Black. Gay, bi, trans, somewhere else on the spectrum, military…

I was never proud of my German heritage because of Hitler. But now I can’t even be proud of being an American. GIVE ME AN AMERICA WHERE PEOPLE ARE TREATED EQUALLY AND GIVEN AN EQUAL CHANCE AT BEING GREAT, and you’ll have kept your promise of making America great again.

Remember

I think this speaks for itself.

Sammie Maxwell

Today, I take a break from my usual smutty rhyming, and give a moment of my time, which is far less than deserved, to remember those we’ve lost. Fifteen years ago, today, the Twin Towers collapsed before the world’s eyes. Time stopped, and the only thing that continued was the deafening silence of the tears of a nation.

I still have no words for what I felt that day, and I’m not sure I ever will. About all I can do, is dig down to the bottom depths of my heart and thank the men and women who responded. In the seconds, the minutes, the days, weeks, even months and years after, and still, always, forever, the men and women who spend their days being the superheroes they claim not to be. Paramedics, police, fire and rescue. Every branch of the military. You all deserve so much more than I…

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