So, I've been sick – hence the no Monday prompt this week
(eeeeek and I'm sorry).
This crap I have (which I'm finally—FINALLY—recovering from
after about 3 weeks of having it...going to the doctor sometimes really is your
only choice lol) has messed up my life left and right. Not only did I not do a
prompt this week *hangs head again* I was late with my Pulp Friction 2014
release—Blown Away.
That hurt.
A lot.
I'm supposed to get it out on the fifteenth and it didn't see
the light of day until the seventeenth...ouch.
BUT
Thanks to like some of the MOST awesome readers in the whole
freaking world!!!!!!!!! OMG OMG OMG look where my guys Rowen and Mick were
yesterday on Amazon. Seriously—only one day after release and they are #6 on
the gay/lesbian short story list.
*plops down in chair speechless*
*okay found my speech*
All I can say is thank you!
If you are interested I've posted the whole first chapter
here...please sit, sip your favorite beverage, and get to know Rowen and Mick—I
can guarantee they are different...lmao.
Chapter One
Rowen
Smithe stared out the window at the unfamiliar truck. The pale yellow of the
Dodge Ram oddly enough worked, giving the new truck personality. But by god,
the truck was huge, and with the crew cab and full eight foot bed, it was a
force to be reckoned with, and came with its own zip code.
The
midday sun glinted off the pale yellow perfectly, enough to make Rowen squint
behind his glasses while measuring the meaning behind this intrusion into his
day.
That shouldn't be here.
He
nodded in agreement with…himself. That truck most definitely should not be
driving in front of his cabin.
He
noticed the rotations of the tires slowing down and realized he was in clear
view of the danger. Damn fool's mistake.
He dropped quickly to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up his legs
from the instant contact with the hardwood floor. Bending his body awkwardly to
the side, he continued to watch the threat from a more secured location.
Whoever decided they needed a better inspection of cabin thirteen would never
know they were getting inspected in return.
Immediately
after the truck stopped, the tinted window smoothly rolled down, motorized, of
course. In the muted light, all Rowen could see was an abnormally pale set of
eyes turned his way. From this distance and without any aid, he couldn't
exactly state the color, but the sheer lightness of them screamed a soft shade
of blue.
Those
eyes flicked over the entire front of his cabin, almost as if taking inventory
of every knot and split visible in the wood.
Oh, but you can't see me.
The
truck door opened, and Rowen automatically grabbed his bowie knife from its
sheath on his thigh, flexing his hand around the bone handle and threading his
finger in the ring.
The
man climbed out of the truck and Rowen growled to himself. With the winter gear
the stranger wore, his measurements were a secret not to be discovered at this
point. The intruder advanced a few feet toward the front door before he halted
suddenly and returned to his truck.
He
reached into the cab of the truck and awkwardly tapped on the face of his
phone. Finally, the futility of such movements with his gloves on must have
struck him and he used his teeth to remove one.
He's right-handed.
He
spoke into the phone without pressing any more buttons—presumably answering a
call. The stranger looked back up to Rowen's cabin then swung his head and
stared farther down the loop toward…toward Finn's home.
Who is guiding you?
Rowen
waited to see what the man would do, breathing slow and steady in preparation
for anything that might happen. The threat glanced again at Rowen's cabin then
climbed back into his truck and accelerated slowly so as to not spin his tires
in some manly show of supreme assholeness.
Who are you? I won't be taken by surprise
again.
Acknowledging
that the immediate threat to him was gone, Rowen absentmindedly slid his knife
back into its sheath and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor of
the cabin. Within mere seconds of the light-eyed stranger driving off, Rowen
sat safely in his favorite pine over thirty feet from the ground with his
electronic binoculars around his neck.
Over
a decade ago, when he moved into the cabin, he learned that the trees brought
him peace, a commodity he didn't take lightly. Upon realizing that one of the
bigger pines in the area actually grew next to his house—second floor back
window, to be precise—he groomed that tree to be his personal escape route.
Making sure no limbs grew lower than the window, so the only access to the tree
would be from inside the structure, and attaching wooden steps to help assist
him where it was needed.
At
first, transferring to the tree through the second floor window proved tricky
at best, lots of bruises and scrapes occurred. Now, after so many years, he'd
perfected the art of it to what undoubtedly appeared as a smooth singular
swinging motion to an onlooker.
He
raised the binoculars and watched the yellow late-model truck stop in front of
his friend Finn's cabin.
Rowen
reached behind him then cursed under his breath, he'd forgotten his bow and
arrows in his rush to climb the tree.
Tallying
in his head the amount of time it would take him to descend, grab a weapon, and
return to his perch…too long. Even with the man-made "steps" he’d
attached to the tree for ease of climbing, he'd never get back in time to
prevent whatever the threat meant to do. He'd have to settle for watching and
noting anything that might occur. If the stranger hurt his friend, he wouldn't
get away with it. Rowen would see to that personally.
The
man didn't hesitate to walk up Finn's steps as he had done at Rowen's cabin. He
took the direct approach, straight to the front door, where he knocked with his
still ungloved hand. Rowen tensed, holding his breath as he saw the door open
slowly. He pressed a button close to his forefinger and the binoculars zoomed
in on his friend's face, allowing Rowen to study Finn for any signs of fear or
unease. But the tension of worry ended moments after it began as Finn flung his
arms around the stranger and they patted backs. Rowen saw the laugh lines
around Finn's eyes deepen with his teeth-revealing smile.
Friends.
The stranger was obviously Finn's friend.
You are Finn's friend.
He
watched as Finn shuffled the stranger into his cabin without even pausing to
second-guess his actions.
That
simple gesture brought a wave of jealousy rolling through Rowen, but he managed
to tamp it down. How would it feel to do something like that? To welcome
someone into your home without wondering if they had any hidden devices on
them, if they were mentally cataloging your collection of reading materials for
background intel, if they were noting the dimensions of the room in accordance
to the obviously most sat on piece of furniture as to where it rested near the
closest point of entry…
"No!"
The
anguished cry ripped from his body as Rowen shook his head violently to block
out the thoughts that threatened to take over again. He was beyond that point
in his life. He was in control, not his wayward imagination.
So that's what you're calling it today?
Imagination? Baby, if you put your so-called imagination on paper you'd sell a
million copies.
Rowen
dropped his binoculars, allowing the heavy equipment to thump his chest as he
scurried farther up the tree. Maybe, maybe if he climbed high enough, fast
enough, that voice wouldn’t reach him. It’d been so long since the voice
taunted him. The time without it an indescribable peacefulness that helped him
forget the desperation the snide noise evoked.
Feeling
the exertion burn the muscles in his arms and legs, he slowed his ascent and
rested on one of the larger limbs. He fell limp against the trunk, his mind
secure and body cradled as if in a mother's loving embrace. Up here he was
safe.
***
"Holy
shit, he's climbing up even higher. The man is like a monkey or something…no,
not a monkey, more like a squirrel. Yeah, he definitely reminds me of a
squirrel the way he's scurrying up that damn fucking tall tree." Mick
Rutger shook his head in amazement as he stared out the window at the almost
miniscule man defying the laws of nature. With the light slowly fading from the
impending sunset, he had to squint to make out the man dot, but luckily, enough
sun still existed to distinguish his friend's neighbor from everything else.
Finn
chuckled behind him. "Get away from the window, he doesn't like being
watched. Oh, and he'll know that you're watching him, if he doesn't
already."
"You
never told me you lived next to a freak." Mick walked over to his oldest
friend and accepted the steaming cup of coffee.
"No,
I don't suppose I would've told you that, considering I don't." Finn
cocked his head at Mick, the look in his eyes well-knowing.
"That
was an asshole thing to say, yeah, I get it. He just, I don't know, he
fascinates me and I haven't even met him yet." Mick situated himself in
front of the window again and stared at the dark spot he knew to be the man.
What he stated wasn't a lie either. When he was looking for cabin numbers, he'd
seen a tall, long-haired man staring at him so intensely Mick was happy he
didn't combust. Thanks to his truck's tinted windows, he knew the curious man
couldn't actually see him, but their eyes met anyway—Mick's staring at his
knowingly and his staring at Mick unwittingly. It was definitely a moment…too
bad only one of the participants knew they were having it.
"I
hate to break this to you, Mick, but you probably won't ever meet him either.
He's a loner. I haven't even gotten the okay to bring Siggy over to meet him
yet."
Mick
choked on his coffee, coughing a few times to clear his airway. "Siggy is
a maniac."
"Siggy
is a perfect gentleman when need be."
"Yeah,
yeah, if this guy…" He eyed Finn until the man relinquished the neighbor's
name.
"Rowen,"
Finn said with an indulgent sigh.
Mick
smiled in triumph. "If Rowen truly is a loner, then Siggy's natural
robustness will scare the shit outta him. He needs to meet someone with tact
first. Someone who can charm a nun outta her panties…"
"You've
never been interested in getting a nun out of her panties."
Mick
looked out the window again. "Ah, but I can, and that's all that
matters." The dark Rowen spot seemed to be descending toward the ground.
Mick was interested in how he got up there considering there were no limbs
anywhere close to the bottom. He'd only glanced out the window and seen the dot
already climbing. When the dot came even to the second floor window he jumped,
causing Mick to flinch. "Oh that's brilliant, you can only access the tree
from the house."
Finn
reached in front of Mick and pulled the drapes closed. "That's enough of
that. So tell me what brings you here?"
"Oh,
you know, tired of the parental figures asking when I'm gonna start doing
something with my life. I finished the six years of college they required of
me, now I'd like a couple years of doing what I want. Then I thought, fuck
it—they don't control my purse strings, thank you very much, Gransmama and
Papa. Figured I could crash with you while I figure out what the hell I
want." He absentmindedly chuckled. While staring at the closed drapes,
Mick's tunnel vision kicked in. "I'm gonna introduce myself to Rowen.
Since I'll be here for a while, it's the neighborly thing to do, right?"
"Oh
no, you don't…"
Mick
studied his old friend, wondering if there was some hidden reason as to why he
didn't want Mick to get to know Rowen. Perhaps some attraction that Finn
himself wasn't aware of? No matter how much this monkey man piqued Mick's
interest he wouldn't step on his friend's toes if a prior claim existed.
Finn
never turned his gaze from Mick, never blushed or diverted his eyes. Mick
laughed heartily and clapped his friend on the back. Finn wasn't pining over
Rowen, he was protecting him like a brother would. Pure Finn. "Sure I do,
and you wouldn't expect anything else from me."
Mick
handed him the coffee cup, pecked Finn's cheek, and then put on his cold
weather gear.
"If
he kills you, don't say you weren't warned."
Pausing
with one arm in his coat, Mick studied Finn's face. "Um…is that a joke or
a real possibility?"
Finn
turned from him and shrugged as he headed back into the kitchen.
Mick
loved a challenge, and this neighbor of Finn's already proved to be more
interesting than anything else Mick could think of. His mind went back to that
tall, wiry man staring out his window with his long hair falling about him. Oh
yeah, definitely a promising distraction from boredom.
"Well
then, donations to Soul Dog Rescue in lieu of flowers."
About Con: Con Riley lives on the wild and rugged Devonshire coast, with her
head in the clouds, and her feet in the Atlantic Ocean.
