Tuesday Tales and It's All About the Band

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.

A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- ghost.  This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, No Games, Just Love.

Enjoy!~





I suppose I never hated Lola, I hated her actions.

Hate- such a violent word, final, definitive- offering no hope, probably more depressing than any other emotional concept. Hate meant your heart down to your toes had room for nothing else, and it consumed a person. If I had no hate, then, my heart never stopped loving Lola, my soul was only hibernating away from the agony. Healing removed the reasons I shouldn’t love Lola, and I didn’t know what to do about it.

Impulsively, I ran in Forrest Gump splendor, skirting past dancing couples, bumping into folks left and right. “Pardon me…excuse me…sorry I need by.” My mouth repeated the mantra excusing rudeness, while zinging like a pinball through the human congestion. The band slowed the tunes to something sensual, encouraging closeness. Luckily, I hit the foyer before knocking any tightly bound couples over.

But, luck didn’t prevent my haste from knocking Lola on her sexy ass. Hrmph! Hitting her full speed, she saw me a split second before I made contact. “Marty!”

Solidly, she tipped over onto the floor in full upright position- a Coke bottle beauty hit like a wide receiver.  The side of her head made direct contact with the slick finish of the hardwood flooring.

She wasn’t the only one who saw stars from our collision. Sweet mother, I wanted to slam her in a different way.

“Fuck, Marty, is there a fire or something?”

Fire? What a good way to describe my testosterone enhanced genitals.

“I’m very sorry.”

Rubbing the side of her face, shakily sitting up, Lola caressed her jaw. “That’s twice I’ve hit the floor in the past month, and I’m fucking sober! Sober both times!”

“I didn’t know you’d still be here.  I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” Shit, that came out wrong.

“Did you know I’ve already chipped a tooth? I’ve got a dentist appointment this week…that is if my jaw isn’t too swollen I have to put it off.”

“Let me take a look.” Squatting down, I inspected her smooth skin, looking for bruises or abrasions. Angry red splotches promised necessary healing time. Gently, I touched her face, skimming her cheek with my fingertips. Familiar territory, even more familiar feels, momentarily quieted the turmoil inside my chest.

“So, a bar brawl in a jazz club. How believable will the story float?”

“Would you even tell that story? Isn’t that like getting beat up for your milk money or stuffed in a locker?” Joking with me was how we got started in the first place. I reveled in the destiny.

“I’ll tell everyone, you should see the trumpet player.” Diverting her eyes, possibly hiding tears, caused another round of ache in my guts. The whisper carried slightly over the din of the crowd in the main room. “Why did you chase after me?”

“I’m not…I’m…dammit, I don’t know.” Honesty, brutal truths can make for obstinate conversation starters. “Somewhere inside me couldn’t take you leaving. I saw you walk away and got desperate.”

Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of band  Tuesday Tales Main Page