📚 From Monday:
“You did come,” Reid said when Michael joined him outside the restaurant early Sunday evening. “I figured it was fifty-fifty that you would.”
Michael smiled. “Seventy-thirty on my part that I wouldn’t But then I decided what the hell. It’s a free meal.”
📚 From Wednesday:
“Don’t you like dancing?” He seemed genuinely puzzled, like a straight acquaintance had once reacted upon discovering my lack of interest in women.
I shrugged. “I like watching dancing.”
He must have taken that in, for when we were at the club, several times I had the distinct impression that he was dancing for me. It was when he began to dance in a more teasing, provocative fashion, moving the hips and the pelvis, and orienting himself so that I would get the best view of this. He never gave himself away by looking at me, but I felt he was actually performing for me.
📚 From Monday:
“Wow, you are hairy.”
“I did warn you.”
“I’m not complaining.” Jamie grinned, meeting his eyes. “I like a hairy chest.”
“Luke gave him a half smile. “Wait till you see my back.”
📚 From Sunday:
“Well,” Skarry hesitated. He liked this strange, eccentric wizard who had swept, so suddenly into his life a few weeks ago. He wasn’t sure he should like him. Wasn’t even convinced that ‘like’ was the correct term for it; Mercurio Smith had the same curious appeal as an invitation to delve into a haunted crypt at midnight. Even as a child, Skarry had never been able to resist that kind of invitation. “I am dressed for dinner,” he said, at last. The last thing he wanted to do was offend his new companion. Mercurio liked being offended. He actively sought it out and then immersed himself in it for hours, like a long, hot bath.
📚 From Monday:
Azrah gave a sly smile. “Was it Doctor Who again? Robin met him last night,” she added to Heath.
“Maybe. I didn’t get the chance to have a good look, did I? Thanks to you two.” Robin glared at her. “Anyway, I said he reminded me of Doctor Who. Not that he was Doctor Who. Who doesn’t exist, by the way. And is also a woman right now.”
Heath stared dreamily into the middle distance. “Ah, she’s another strong woman, that one. Knows what she’s doing with a welding torch.”
“Okay, I’m going to have nightmares about your sex life tonight.” Robin took a thoughtful sip of his rum and Coke.
📚 From Sunday – “He does have persuasive eyelashes,” John said into his shoulder. “All soft and long and pretty. Maybe it’s another superpower.”
📚 From Friday:
“It’s Christian Dior, asshat.”
“Asshat?” So, they were throwing down, were they? “Well maybe only put on twenty bucks worth next time.” Stone slipped on his boxers, figuring he’d shower the Christian Dior, hundred and thirty buck rank off once the jerk left. “And let some hair grow back between your legs, why don’t ya? It’s like going down on an eel or a Ken doll.”
“I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.” Joe Hollywood was at the exit. “I, on the other hand, could barely find the tree for the forest. Wouldn’t hurt you to take a machete to the bush once in a while, would it?”
📚 From Friday: His image was startling, and he understood that. Still, every double-take, every sharp breath that occurred as he passed felt like a branding iron to his heart, hurting him and marking him as different.
📚 From Tuesday: The perfect man, what a silly, childish notion. And yet, in the darkest hours of the night when he found it hard to sleep, spending far too much time staring up at the blank ceiling like it might magically produce answers to all of life’s most baffling questions, he ached for something more. Especially as of late, yet what exactly more was, he didn’t have a clue.
📚 From Tuesday: He could allow himself to fade, to wither and die. It would be easy, a couple more days, and he’d be gone, but there were moments worth living for. Moments when the woods were peaceful, when the animals shared their serenity, when the stream was warm and the moss soft under his body.
📚 From Sunday: Jordan nodded, still not looking, and he completely ignored the warmth of Beckett’s fingers as they slid over his. As soon as he could, Jordan took a slight step away. Being so close to Becket was a little unnerving.
📚 From Monday: “Seriously?” asked Lloyd. “Hawtt with a capital ha?” He threw his good arm over Cabot’s shoulder. “Who are you dating, Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
“It is kind of stupid, isn’t it?” Cabot bumped his head against Lloyd’s. “But goddamn it, man, nobody’s ever called me hot before. Not even with a lower-case ha.”
📚 From Thursday: Was that how happiness worked? Was it a quantifiable thing that could be accumulated? For all Mac’s possessions and accolades, the accomplishments he could point to, the money safely squirreled away in various profitable ventures, he couldn’t say he was happy or that he’d be happier for having more of it. Happy was a sense he got when he was with Hailey—a sort of potential. Like he could be happy with Hailey if only he deserved him.
🍷 [from Tuesday] Miller mimicked taking his photograph. “Clancy Rhodes, cover model.”
“Don’t judge. It’s a travel day.” He ducked his chin and peered over the top of his sunglasses. “How much plaid do you own?”
📚 (From Wednesday) – “What the hell is this shit? Adam poked a finger into the bag. He pulled his arm back a second later as if something had bitten him. “It’s spongy. Why is it spongy?”
📚 From Sunday:
Those colonists never forgot Ancient Earth or the lessons they’d learned from her suffering. Men became less and less a part of the new worlds rising in power and prosperity.
📚 Thursday’s snippet: It had been a long time since Jared had one of those goofy grins that stretched his face, the ones you couldn’t wipe away.
📚 From Wednesday:
He was familiar with the lotions and pastes for everyday hygiene—he used many of them himself—but what on earth was a toilet tissue? He’d quickly gathered its approximate use from a very flustered sales assistant who’d looked back at him like he was a heathen as she scurried away, but why the bewildering array of options?
📚 From Wednesday: He’d slicked his hair back in an attempt to control the curls, and Joe had to ball his hand into a fist to stop from reaching out and mussing them up again.
📚 From Sunday: Nick and Peter shared a glance, their expressions full of amused glee—like twelve-year-old boys who had just heard a fart joke.
📚 Reading The Monuments Men Murders by Josh Lanyon
👻 From Monday: When a third ghost appeared—a bit, burly guy with an intimidatingly bushy beard—and said, “Finally,” like I was the answer to all of his prayers, I broke.
❤️ From Sunday:
Nonetheless, I reply, “Sure, why not?” as if I’m doing him a favor. When he winces, I smirk. I know how to play the game, until it’s not a game anymore.
❤️ From Monday:
“You are the only person I’ve ever met who would opine thus. Everything I said is poles apart from what is purported to be ‘romantic’.” Padraic sighed.
“Only if one considers romance and Romantic to be one and the same…I do not.” Raff snorted.
📚Reading 7 short stories this week on the treadmill:
– His Steady Heart by Nell Iris
– A Leather and Tea Morning by K.L. Noone
– Forever Yours by Kassandra Lea
– Slither by T.A. Creech
– Aim Higher by JL Merrow
– Finder’s Keepers by Rob Rosen
– The Gate by A.L. Lester
💖 Something Like Peace
💖 Something Like Want
📚 From Sunday’s snippet:
“Oh, am I dreaming?” Padraic may have been musing to himself, but Raff wasn’t about to pass up the chance to learn what he now had to know. He would be asylum bound by morn, if matters progressed apace.
“Would you be dreaming about me?” Well, really. Raff was only human.
📚 From Friday’s Snippet:
It was creepy as hell. And, inexplicably, utterly arousing.
Treadmill Goals/Tracking Get on the treadmill (or equivalent exercise) daily Pace is fine at 30 min/mile, although I may up it on occasion Time range between 30 minutes and 1 hour per day Distance 1-2 miles per day Read the chosen book, which I won’t allow myself to read outside of my treadmill time, hopefully motivating me to reach or exceed the above goals (exception…at the end of the week …
🌹 Monday’s Snippet:
“Now, what am I going to do with you…?” The rogue mused, lifting a forefinger to his lips in a parody of deep thought, as he drew to a halt before Padraic. The threat inherent in that phrase thrilled down the Duke’s spine, which was oh, so wrong; he should be plotting his escape or…or weaving the perfect words to ensure his prompt release. Yes, that was it.
“I-is that a rhetorical question?”
🐙 Earth Fathers Are Weird by Lyn Gala
Sunday’s Snippet: Totally fucked was total and fucked, and whether the level of fuckedness was multiplied by two or ten didn’t matter.
📚 Monday’s Snippet:
“Sure,” Robert said easily. “I’m not the heroic type.”
“Not you,” Mable agreed. “Not being heroic is how you got shot in the Phillippines.”
“Everybody got shot, so that doesn’t count.” Robert shrugged into his coat, took his hat, and limped toward the front door. “Anyway, it was my leg that got shot, not my Philippines. My Philippines still work fine.”