Category Archives: WIP
No WIPW today, folks, but you can catch an exclusive excerpt of Settling Down, sequel to Shaken Up, on M/M Good Book Reviews for the beginning of my whirlwind blog tour!
…that stops today and continues next week. 🙂
I was yelling, and I heard the door open behind me. “Doctor, is everything alright?”
After a second, the door closed again. I didn’t even turn around, for all I knew, security was on their way to drag my crazy ass to solitary for making such a fuss.
Nothing happened, but Dr. Spaulding’s speaking. “From your friends, you have a lot of other talents that don’t involve sex. You juggle, there’s fire play, there has to be more.”
“That shit doesn’t keep you fed or warm. And who the fuck told you that, the guy I’d been fucking for a place to stay? HA! The only talents that got me anywhere were my dick and my mouth.” I clicked my tongue stud against me teeth like an exclaimation point to end my point. I didn’t want to make Jonathan look bad – he was good to me – but I had to get her to face facts. We both knew the score. No use in making it all nicey nice. I was a sex toy with legs who could eat fire.
And I didn’t regret a single minute of it.
Let’s get this party started up once again:
You know, unless I fuck up and burn my arm while not paying attention, like I did the week after that dinner.
Mark spread some cooling gel stuff on my shoulder with one eyebrow up. “You’re lucky this isn’t worse. It should heal fine.”
Fucking Cristian, creeping into my thoughts. Just who did he think he was, my boy…friend?
“Patch, you alright? How bad does it hurt now?”
Holy shit, I had a boyfriend. An actual man actually was in a relationship with me. Actually. Like really. And we haven’t fucked. Not even once. And he was still with me.
“Cristian’s my boyfriend,” I sputtered and noticed my heart raced even faster.
“Oookay. If we’re playing non-sequitors, then Shaka, when the walls fell.”
“Very funny. I’m serious.”
But since I needed to get that balm on me, I didn’t say anything as he sat on the bed next to me. “Okay, this stuff stinks to high hell – I rub it on Dean’s shoulders when he goes overboard on the weights. But it’s good.”
He wasn’t kidding about the smell when he unscrewed the lid. It was like getting hit in the face with whatever made throat drops work. We both cringed, but Jonathan bravely scooped up some of the white cream and looked right at me. “We’ll start on the shoulder on this side, okay?”
Right, asking for permission before touching me. One of my boundaries that in the time I’d been living with the two of them, I had almost forgotten. I’d accepted shoulder pats and high fives and the one time Dean actually lifted me out of the way of Jonathan’s attempt to run the riding mower. All without a freak out. Maybe it was my good step.
Not much on my mind, other than missing Prince. I wore purple to go out writing on Sunday. I live in Minneapolis, and the town is like half mourning and half partying, with a block party that lasted all weekend downtown and people over at his home at Paisley Park doing a vigil.
So, with nothing else on my mind, I present to you a bit of my work in progress from the sequel to This Little Whatever, tentative titled How to Solve a Problem Like Patch:
I nodded, and sighed. “I’m real fucked up, ain’t I?”
“Welcome to the club, Patch. We’re all a little fucked up here.”
Blink. Did Dean just curse?
Before I could even react to that, he was sliding out off the stool. “Look, panic attacks are a real pain, but you’re not alone. I’m glad you came home and not had to spend a night at the ER. You probably didn’t embarass yourself as badly as you think. You can’t be the only person in that group with anxieties.”
“Thanks, Pollyanna,” I got off the stool and grabbed both empty plates as Dean turned on the oven fan to help suck up the scent of glorious pig bits before Jonathan got home. He cooked, so I had the dishes to rinse and put in the dishwasher.