tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37142745858261014572024-03-05T12:43:08.014-06:00A Life Outside the BooksA place where the characters from Susan Schussler's books vent their thoughts.Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-35959271101829104482022-01-07T15:07:00.000-06:002022-01-07T15:07:18.009-06:00A New Chapter<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpbWdTwn2O_feQEcQNWoI76K6byor4yeipCYPwDljpJaAuYddVtdU2k7jr_7DvLbYmTl1sXGA6qwhoTCwNHgKeOVSSU6aIlx0w4fVgoI8rVO7o51wGb2mzxqUzUbU4qwI4o-dQPI7WI0UiV3zcL-Hq0DlS3r2TZI9IUtgoIyVn3KGnGBunDfS08N5M=s7360" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4912" data-original-width="7360" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpbWdTwn2O_feQEcQNWoI76K6byor4yeipCYPwDljpJaAuYddVtdU2k7jr_7DvLbYmTl1sXGA6qwhoTCwNHgKeOVSSU6aIlx0w4fVgoI8rVO7o51wGb2mzxqUzUbU4qwI4o-dQPI7WI0UiV3zcL-Hq0DlS3r2TZI9IUtgoIyVn3KGnGBunDfS08N5M=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p>2022 shows promise. I know I'm not alone, but I have to admit that this pandemic threw a wrench in the spokes of my writing. First, in February 2020, I caught a virus (the symptoms included cough, a 104.2-degree fever, a large dog sitting on my chest, a headache, fatigue, and brain fog). It wasn't Covid 19 because Covid hadn't been identified in the state where I live (Minnesota), and no testing existed yet (wink, wink). It took me a few weeks to get over the virus and a couple of months before my brain fog cleared enough to write. Then, my quiet writing space evaporated as everyone in my family moved home. My office became my husband's office. My new office became the lunchroom where everyone in the house took their breaks, turning on the television and demanding food. I retreated to quiet corners in the house, but they still found me.<p></p><p>Two years later, and what progress have I made? My husband still has my office, but the kids are back in school, and I'm squeezing more writing moments out of my day. I haven't written as a book character on this blog in a long time, and I apologize for that, but I did finish another novel. It's a thriller inspired by real-life events. I don't know when it will be out because I'm shopping it to agents, and the process is unpredictable. I need a pen name for this book because it's a thriller, not romance, and I haven't figured that out yet. I'll keep you updated when I know more. I can't wait to share my new novel with all of you.</p>Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-51735366484706574832020-10-28T14:45:00.000-05:002020-10-28T14:45:05.641-05:00Mia's New Man<h1 style="text-align: left;">Mia's Fabulous World</h1><h2 style="text-align: left;">Making Plans</h2><p style="text-align: justify;">It's me again. I know it's been a while since I wrote here, but cut a girl a break. My life's been a mess since this whole pandemic thing started. If you want an update on my fabulous world, don't judge. I have to admit 2020 hasn't been so fabulous. Work is pretty much non-existent, and Jonathan Williams is still making a go of it with that nobody from nowhere. I don't get what he sees in her. If one more person tells me how nice she is, I'm going to strangle them. "Nice," it's not even a real description. Who wants to be nice? Certainly not me. Since Jonathan's delusion is taking longer than I thought to wake from, and I hate feeling so pathetic, I've decided to make some plans of my own. If it were any other year, I'd easily plot a way to pop his bubble, but 2020 being the bitch it is, I have to get creative.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">I'm getting back with an old flame. Not my first pick obvs, but worthy of a second chance. It’s pure magic how good we look together. He checks all the boxes — name recognition, well respected in the business, money, and the mandatory drool-worthy body. You know him, of course, and we have a past, so I know the chemistry is there. The problem is he knows me too well. He sees my faults, sees right through me, and calls me out, probably because he has his own issues, which he refuses to share with anyone, especially me. Can’t fault him for that. He knows I'm not the best at keeping secrets. Ask my mother, or better yet, read her tell-all book.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">It didn’t work the first time between me and the spiky blond-haired hottie, but the fabulous Mia Thompson is not immune to loneliness, and I’m willing to give him a second chance. What do I have to lose? If you haven’t guessed who I’m dating, check out my Insta. Unlike Jonathan Williams, my new man's willing to let me show him off.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright 2020 Susan Schussler</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-44256159643239536322019-06-02T20:40:00.000-05:002019-06-02T20:57:14.269-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-78368450847189213242017-10-17T21:01:00.000-05:002017-10-17T23:36:42.611-05:00# MeToo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I know very few women who have made it out of their twenties without being inappropriately groped, harassed, or assaulted in some way. The high school and college years are especially treacherous for women. It happens when you are walking the hallway at school, in the dorm or even in the cafeteria. It happens at parties, concerts and ball games. I’m not talking about innocent brushes against you in the elevator. These are blatant acts—like when some guy, pushes you up against the wall or pulls you onto his lap and licks your neck as his hands roam your body. Maybe he just grabs your breast or sticks his hand up your skirt as he walks by. Or maybe your date thinks “no” means “yes.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">We’re taught to laugh it off, give him a break because he was drunk, or take it as a compliment.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">But what do these experiences <i>really</i> teach us? </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">From an early age, we learn to travel in groups to use the public restroom—not because we need a second opinion on the color of our lip gloss, but because some predator may be lurking in the bathroom stalls. By twenty, we know to hold our keys between our knuckles when we walk to our parked cars. We buy special nail polish that turns colors when dipped into a drink that’s been roofied—just to feel safe. We are told to keep secrets for our own benefit. “Don’t say anything. It won’t do any good. Do you really want everyone to know?” We learn to question ourselves. “Did I do something to provoke it?” “Was my shirt too low cut?” “I shouldn’t have made eye contact with him.” We learn to keep our guard up, and if something does happen to us, it is our fault and we are not worth defending.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I struggled with whether to post on this topic. I am not one to complain or jump on the bandwagon of trending causes. But this is personal to me and I am who I am because of my experiences. I’m a writer and my past gives me fodder for my work. If I’d never had to run from a speeding “Bubba-truck” with two men leaning out the windows taunting me as it chased me down a walking path, I don’t know if I would be able to write about the kind of fear I experienced that day. I know in my heart that if I hadn’t been able to cross the railroad tracks in time and make it to the busy highway (true story), I would not be here to write this post. I know what I know because of my past. My experiences make me a better, more relatable writer. And at this point in my life, I wouldn’t change any of them, even the horrible ones. I’ve survived this far.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">But, what would the world be like if our daughters didn’t have to grow up with these experiences? What could be accomplished, if they didn’t have to worry about walking too close to a dark doorway or someone posting a lewd video of them online? I post this with hope for the girls and boys of the future (because it is not just a girl problem). Recognize that assault is widespread and needs to end. Raise your hand to show your friends they are not alone. Keeping secrets does not change the future. We are in this world together. <b>#MeToo </b> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-7728331174992554332017-02-14T12:30:00.000-06:002018-09-06T17:30:55.137-05:00Kellen's Story <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have a new character blogging today. He walked out on Megan Billings in Romancing the Cook Part 5. I decided he needed his own voice and a chance to explain why he walked away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Rae, can you take table ten?” I ask the other server as she squeezes past me, balancing a tray of drinks above her head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She stops at my words with her back to me. I don’t miss the opportunity to ogle her bootiful backside. Luckily she doesn’t catch me. She hates it when I objectify her. I wouldn’t do it if she wasn’t so damn good looking. Too bad she has a boyfriend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“I can’t wait on my ex. I refuse to be cordial to her after what she did in my car. Besides, I won’t get a tip and she’d get better service from you. I’m done servicing her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“If I took the table every time one of your exes sat down, I’m pretty sure you’d be out of a job and I’d have to clone myself.” She laughs and walks into the crowded dining area. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She never answered me, which means that she’s not going to do what I want. I only have three tables to begin with, and my ex had to pick one of mine. I’m doing split duty today. Andy called and asked me to fill in on my day off. He didn’t realize the art festival downtown started today or I probably would have been on the schedule. As it is I’m working both kitchen and tables. The small café is packed and Rae, Andy and I can’t seem to keep up with the demand. I don’t have time to deal with a crazy ex-girlfriend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>What do I do?</i> I finish plating the salads for table six while I work on my plan. What’s the worst that can happen? She’ll kick me in the groin? Stab her fork in my eye? I can deal with whatever she’s got. I throw the salads on a tray and deliver them before approaching table ten. I swing the tray in front of me like a shield to protect my junk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Sam.” I acknowledge her right off with a jerk of my chin and her name. Girls hate being ignored. I can’t pretend not to see her. “What can I get you guys?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Answers,” says her blond friend. I can’t remember her name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Be specific. The place is packed and I’m busy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“What the hell, Kellen? What happened to us?” asks Sam. “Is it another girl?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“You threw up in my car.” I can’t believe she doesn’t know why I stopped calling her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“And I apologized. That can’t be it. That’s stupid,” she says. Her brown eyes glare at me in disbelief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Do you want anything to drink?” I ask, tapping my pen against my tablet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Kellen, you can’t just walk away because I threw up in your car.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“I love my car. I can’t help that what you did changed how I feel about you. Do you need menus?” I ask. My tongue rubs the inside of my lip against my lip ring as I stare at her with deadpan eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sam’s jaw drops open. “You’re serious?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I force a smile. “So no food then? If you’re not going to eat, we’ve got people waiting.” I point my thumb toward the door where a couple just came in. “And I’ve got other tables to tend.” I walk away. I’ve wasted enough time and need to check on my other tables. I hope she leaves without a scene.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“That’s all you know how to do, isn’t it?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I turn toward her, hoping she’ll lower her voice or better yet, stop talking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Walk away, Kellen Bennet. Just walk away.” She gets up and pushes past me in a huff. “I couldn’t help it. I was sick,” she calls as her friend opens the door to exit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I turn to the family at the table in front of me and say, “Sorry about that. Now that the show’s over, what can I get you for dinner?” I take their order and hustle back to the kitchen. I’m too busy the rest of the night to rehash in my head </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">what happened</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. I don’t think I was being too harsh. She threw up in my car! </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 107%;">©</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 107%;">Susan Schussler 2017</span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-12251715519660329462016-12-14T14:35:00.000-06:002018-09-06T17:27:49.824-05:00Megan: Romancing the Cook (Part 5)<h3>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After last night, I’m not sure what to think about Kellen. Sure he’s hot and that lip ring of his invites me to play tug-of-war every time we kiss, but he’s best friends with Chase’s little brother. How do I get past that? The more I think about it, the more weirded out I get. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When Chase and I were together, I never felt Tegan cared much for me. But last night during his monologue about his brother, Tegan started talking about how stupid Chase’s high school girlfriend was. He thought I should have been able to see Chase for the cheater he was, but it wasn’t that easy when I was seventeen. Over the last four years, I’ve gotten better at reading guys, but Chase will probably always be the exception. He used to lie to my face and I never suspected. He mastered the craft. Toward the end of our relationship, I knew about some of his cheating. But at that point, it didn’t matter. I was hooked. Chase was charming and he always made me feel as if I was the center of his universe, even if I wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tegan threw me off because I felt as if he was spelling out who I was to Kellen during his entire rant. But Kellen never seemed to figure it out and that’s what bothers me. He was just as oblivious to my lies as I was to Chase’s. <i>Is it weird that’s what bothers me?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’m waiting in the coffee shop for him this morning. He has the day off of work and we are going to hang out, without Tegan. I’m determined to tell him the truth about Chase and me because even though Tegan said it would count against me, I don’t want to be a liar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I got here a few minutes ago and am seated at a small wooden table with my latte. When Kellen spots me, his lips twist into a smile and he sucks his lip ring into his mouth. He motions that he’s going to get in line for his order and I breathe a sigh of relief. It gives me a little more time to think about what I’m going to say. How do you start a conversation telling someone you can’t go out with them again because he’s an idiot for not seeing through the web of lies you spun? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I struggle to formulate my words for several minutes while he waits in line. When Kellen sits down, he looks at me questioningly and I realize I must be scowling. I try to brighten my expression as he sets his drink on the table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“What is that?” I ask. <i>It looks disgusting.</i> “It looks like someone threw up in your cup.” Green and red chunks cling to the side of the clear plastic cup as green slime swims between the ice cubes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He laughs, before taking a long draw on the straw. “It’s iced green tea infused with a spinach and strawberry smoothie. The girl at the counter makes them special for me. It’s not on the menu. I don’t drink coffee. Do you want to try it?” He pushes the cup toward me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The fact that he doesn’t drink coffee is a huge flag. How can anyone function without coffee? Okay, I’m looking for flaws. I always do this with guys. No one will ever be good enough. I decide I am just going to tell him about dating Chase. It can’t get any worse, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I need to tell you…something…before we let this go any farther.” The words stumble out of my mouth as if I'm fourteen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“We’re going to get farther than kissing today?” He sucks his ring into his mouth and it springs suggestively back out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I laugh. I guess he’s used to girls just putting out. I shouldn’t tell him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“What you have a boyfriend? I’m not opposed to dating girls with boyfriends. We can work through this.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Really? You’d date a girl with a boyfriend?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Well, they can’t be too serious if she’s scouting for another guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Hum,” I say because he’s right. “Remember when Tegan showed up last night…how weird he got?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Let me guess. You’ve dated Tegan?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“No. But I used to date his brother.” I watch as an expression I can’t identify streaks across his face. Revulsion? Wariness? I’m not sure what he’s thinking. He sits back in his chair, widening the distance between us as he purses his lips. He’s got nice lips.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Whoa. Not what I expected,” he says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Just wanted you to know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He takes a sip of his infusion, looking around the coffee shop and not at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Is it a problem?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Tegan knows you. Which means you both lied to me last night and you were the girl he was blabbing on about—the one who was blindly in love with his brother.” He folds his arms across his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Yeah,” I admit. He looks <span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">angrier</span> than I expected.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He stands, picks up his drink and says, “I don’t need this.” Then, he turns and walks out of the coffee shop without looking back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Wow</i>. I can’t believe he just did that. That wasn’t even the worst thing I could have shared with him.<i> Seriously?</i> I am never opening up about my past to a guy ever again. What a jerk.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Copyright Susan Schussler 2016</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-86680628870765609522016-12-12T14:36:00.000-06:002016-12-12T14:36:28.477-06:00Between Friends (Megan's Story) is out on Thursday December 15, 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKTiuNxa0GfH7pWVranfzq71SXFoSXa7hRbH0yTwGU28Iys0CN9ycOc8xmmTaq6Jgg-F3XQ3V_YpWg7N7B8UNKI42N5uQ94gyCAyV9W1kQSDraS_1XA8kfiOeJ5A6G8TJtIF8Y62eOPpw/s1600/BF+ad+winter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKTiuNxa0GfH7pWVranfzq71SXFoSXa7hRbH0yTwGU28Iys0CN9ycOc8xmmTaq6Jgg-F3XQ3V_YpWg7N7B8UNKI42N5uQ94gyCAyV9W1kQSDraS_1XA8kfiOeJ5A6G8TJtIF8Y62eOPpw/s400/BF+ad+winter.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Megan's book comes out on Thursday.<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Between-Friends-Raindrops-Susan-Schussler-ebook/dp/B01MTOR2HY/ref=sr_1_1?tag=geolinker-20&s=digital-text" target="_blank"> Pre-order on Kindle today.</a> I will get one more post on her blog tomorrow before the big release. You are going to love her story. I can't wait for you to read it.Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-3494571096787188572016-09-23T11:00:00.000-05:002018-09-06T17:24:14.741-05:00Megan: Romancing the Cook (Part 4)<h3>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Megan's Post</span></b></h3>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is crazy. Kellen’s best friend is my ex’s little brother. Suddenly I feel really old. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I need to find the facilities. Keep Reeves away from her, would ya, Tegan? He’s not trustworthy.” Kellen hands me my water and his beer as his head cocks toward the guy I had been talking to a few minutes ago. “I’ll be right back.” Then he gently squeezes my shoulder before heading toward the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’m not going to ask Tegan about his brother. I’m not going to ask. I smile and crack open my bottle of water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“You’re dating Kellen?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“It’s our first date. He made me lunch a couple of times, but those don’t really count. Why did you lie to him?” I lean into him as I speak so Reeves can’t hear our conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“You don’t want him to know you dated my brother. He’s heard all about Chase. He’s a good guy. He doesn’t need that kind of baggage. You’re better off, trust me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don’t know if I should be offended or grateful. I take another sip of water. Tegan raises his bottle of water clacking it against mine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“To my big brother, keeping those who know him sober.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He must assume not only I don’t drink, but it’s because of Chase. I feel bad he’s been so affected by his brother’s mistakes. I don’t know what to say though. Would it be better to admit I drink or just leave it at this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“To Chase,” I say, holding my water up before taking another sip. I want to ask about his brother. I ran into Tegan not that long ago and he told me Chase had gotten treatment for his drug problem. I want to know more, but I’m here with Kellen. Besides, I don’t want Tegan telling Chase I was asking about him. Last time I saw Tegan he was carrying a toddler who was obviously his. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Tell me about your son,” I say because maybe it will distract me from Chase.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Another time. Kellen would never believe we just met if he came back and I was talking about my kid. He knows me too well. Let’s keep up the charade. What have you been up to?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“School. Work. Not much else. What about you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I’m an artist,” he laughs and lifts up his shirt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Wow. You’re ripped, little bro.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He smiles and says, “No. My art.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He lifts his shirt higher and points to the colorful dragon which wraps around his side. Intricately drawn scales give the colored skin a 3D effect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“You didn’t tattoo that.” There is no way he could have inked himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“No, but I designed it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Stop showing her your abs. You’re making me look bad,” says Kellen, grabbing his beer from my hand and lifting his shirt as well. “I’m close, right?” And he is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“In what universe?” asks Tegan. “Maybe if you stopped eating all that gourmet food you make.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Well, when you’re sixty your once fierce dragon is going to be all stretched out and sagging. Not even his claws will be able to hold him tight on your ribs. No girl’s going to want to touch it then.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“And when you’re sixty they’ll have to roll you through the door.” Tegan’s arms circle his belly like a big beach ball as he sways back and forth, puffing out his cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Shut it. I’m not going to be a beach ball. What I make is healthy, and you’re making me look bad. How am I supposed to get her into bed when you’re putting those graphics in her head?</span><span style="font-size: large;">”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Not my problem.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tegan meets my eyes and I wonder what he thinks of his best friend in bed with me. Then Kellen pulls me into a standing position and slides into my chair before pulling me onto his lap. His arms wrap around me. I swear this guy runs ten degrees warmer than most guys or I could be too close to the fire now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am quiet again. Now Tegan is here I’m self-conscious about every touch of Kellen’s hands. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“So Megan doesn’t drink either,” Kellen says to Tegan before taking another gulp of his beer. “But, she hasn’t shared her story yet.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Share your story, Megan,” Tegan says with mischief in his eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I don’t have a story. Designated driver, remember?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Well…I’ll share my story.” Tegan turns as if making an announcement to the entire group. “My dick of a big brother decided he was the only person in the world who mattered. He figured he could do whatever he wanted and everyone around him would have to adjust their lives to accommodate him. He got high every day until it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Then he moved on to pills. He destroyed the lives of all who loved him without a second thought. He had this great girlfriend who was the sweetest girl in the world, He totally didn’t deserve her. I thought of her as my sister, a part of the family. Her only fault was she was blind to what an ass he really was. He cheated on her left and right. I tried to tell her once, but she wouldn’t listen. He could do no wrong in her eyes. She eventually tried to get him help for his addiction, but he thought he was so smart he didn’t need help. He always thought he was smarter than everyone else. When she finally woke up and left him, he lost it. He took too many pills, trying to end it and ended up in the hospital. Of course, he survived, you know, like the drunk always survives the car accident he causes while everyone else involved becomes a statistic.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I stifle a gasp because I didn’t realize Chase tried to end his life. <i>Why would he do that?</i> I had given him an ultimatum and he chose the drugs over me. He had no right to change his mind. I look around the bonfire and realize no one else heard Tegan’s monologue. I guess the tale was for my ears only.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I’m sorry your brother hurt you,” I say. “He sounds messed up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“You think. They found him unconscious, covered in vomit and forced him into treatment. Since he’s sober, he acts as if he never had a problem and lectures me about my drinking. But he doesn’t realize, I don’t drink—I never have—because of him. I refuse to be like him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“What is with you tonight? Megan doesn’t want to know about your loser brother. You are acting so weird.” Kellen turns from him to me and adds, “He’s usually a really fun guy. Just ignore him.” Kellen leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The picture of Chase covered in vomit clouds my head. I pushed him to that by leaving him. If I stayed would he have gotten help before ending up like that? What am I supposed to think? Kellen’s hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me in as his lips cover mine. <i>I am not in the mood to make out.</i> I pull back, meeting Tegan’s eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I didn’t mean to upset you,” says Tegan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I’m fine.” I grab Kellen’s beer and down a swig. I wish I wasn’t driving. I could use a drink. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“So you do drink,” says Tegan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Yep. No dark past. I drink. I just don’t want to tonight.” I smile at Kellen. He slowly sucks his lip ring into his mouth. My announcement intrigues him, I can tell. I glance at Tegan and he lifts his eyebrows as if he thinks I’m putting on a show. I’m not. OK, maybe I am, but I can’t let Tegan know Chase’s story bothers me. I don’t know what I would do if I ran into Chase again and I don’t want his brother mentioning I’m still hung up on him. I smile and lick my lips before pressing them against Kellen’s. My tongue fiddles with his lip ring and he deepens the kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tegan clears his throat and Kellen pulls back. I made my point. Chase Maxwell no longer controls me. </span><span style="font-size: 7.5pt;">© Susan Schussler 2016</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-23567462437357422702016-09-22T09:01:00.000-05:002018-09-06T17:21:07.476-05:00Megan: Romancing the Cook (Part 3)<span style="font-size: large;">(Repost. New Post on ROMANCING THE COOK tomorrow.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We stop at the big white cooler before joining the crowd at the fire pit and Kellen digs around until he finds a bottle of water. He hands it to me with a smile and says, “You do drink, right? You’re not one of those religious types who doesn’t want to meet his maker drunk?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“No, I’m not afraid of dying drunk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Then you’ve either been through treatment or you’re close to someone who has.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My mind immediately goes to Chase, even though his problem was drugs, not alcohol. “I drink. I just don’t want to tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He rummages through the cooler again, pulling out a beer and cracking it open. He takes a sip, penetrating me with a humorous gaze and then says. “This is our third date, counting our two lunch dates.” He licks his lips, pulling his lip ring into his mouth with his tongue and then releasing it. “There are certain expectations on a third date.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Really?” I say because if he thinks I’m sleeping with him, he’s wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Yeah.” He grasps my chin ever so softly and trails his thumb over my lower lip. “I should at least get to kiss you on our third date.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I smile and before I can say anything his lips are on mine. I brace my hands on his broad shoulders, really strong shoulders, as I deepen the kiss. I thought his piercing would be awkward rubbing against my lip, but it’s sensual, erotic even. He pulls back just as I want more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“See that wasn’t so bad.” He licks his lips again, and I want to suck that ring into my mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Just then jeers break out from the crowd around the fire. I look over and everyone is staring at us. He takes a shallow bow as if we had just performed on stage, places his hand at the small of my back motioning me to walk, and we head toward the onlookers. Kellen pulls up two chairs as the circle widens to accommodate us. Everyone is watching as we settle into our seats. After he introduces me the conversation returns to its previous level of chatter, and he pulls my chair closer to his, resting his arm on the back of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The discussion burns through strategy based type video games and the idiocy of politics, finally, it settles on the latest Comedy Central star to hit the big screen and whether she was hot enough to do. Most of the guys agree there is something about her which makes her desirable. I’m quiet, for me, as I scrutinize the group. It’s interesting to watch Kellen interact with his friends. Maybe I am a little more detached because I don’t know anyone or maybe it’s because I’m not drinking I enjoy the carefree silliness of their dialogue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’m relaxed and I don’t care I don’t know anyone because I’m enjoying the date. Kellen’s sweet, but not clingy. His leg is pressed against my knee. I’ve never understood the way men sit. Is it a peacocking thing to sit with your legs spread as far as possible? Are they airing out their junk or showing it off? I guess it’s not that different from women crossing their legs. My tiny white shorts would be obscene if I sat like him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am very aware of his body. The heat emanating from him is incredible. His arm trails along the back of my chair as his fingers gently stroke my neck. It feels good and I am not going to disrupt him by changing positions to cool off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Several people have just arrived and are helping themselves to drinks at the cooler when Kellen leans in and says, “Crap. I didn’t know she would be here. She shouldn’t be here. Sorry in advance for anything she may say to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I look to the group coming toward us and then back to him with a questioning expression. He’s nervously sucking that luscious ring into his mouth again. “The brunette in the skirt is my ex.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I figured that. She’s the only girl. How ex?” I ask as she stares at me, and if he says yesterday I’m leaving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“A month.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“OK. How long did you date?” She's still glaring and if she had laser eyes I’m sure I would be a pile of ash by now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Not that long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“That was vague.” I look into his eyes to see what he’s hiding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“About eight months.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Why’d you break up?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A coy smile crawls onto his face. “Did anyone ever tell you, you ask a lot of questions?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Is that rhetorical?” He looks at me as if he doesn’t know the meaning of rhetorical, so I say, “No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“She’s crazy. Nutso, schizoid, certifiable. That’s why we broke up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Is she going to stalk and kill me on my way home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Probably,” he answers twisting his lips in a smirk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I guess I better make this worth it.” I lean in and mesh my lips with his. It takes about a heartbeat before he realizes what I’m doing. Then his hand at the back of my neck pulls me in closer. I suck his ring into my mouth and tug on it with my tongue—very erotic. The groan he makes is way too loud, and if the crowd hadn’t noticed us before, they have now. I don’t know if it was the smartest move to flaunt the kiss in front of his ex, but if she hadn’t glared at me I would have played nice. It’s childish, but <i>so</i> much fun. I let the ring go and pull back. He smiles. I refuse to regret it. We aren’t the only couple making out in front of everyone tonight. I saw at least two other couples coupling. I sit back in my chair, and his fingers dig softly in my hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I look up and the ex is sitting on the edge of her seat with her back to us as she talks to another girl. I’m not usually such a bitch and I don’t know the whole story, but she started it with her hatred eyes. I glance around and no one seems to be paying attention to the two of us. Kellen raises an eyebrow and says, “She’s going to kill you for sure, now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I can take her.” I laugh and then he smiles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I believe <i>you</i> can. I need another drink. Are you sure you don’t want a drink? One drink’s not going to kill ya.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I’m sure. Another water would be good.” I smile appreciatively and his whole face lights up as he heads for the cooler.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When he returns he’s got another newcomer with him. I didn’t see them come down to the fire pit because I was talking to the guy next to me, but I can feel the heat coming off of Kellen’s body. They’re standing behind my chair so I turn and try to stay composed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“You’ve got to meet my best bud. We’ve been friends forever. Megan, this is Tegan Maxwell.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I swallow hard and smile, readying to spill my past to my date.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That’s when Tegan extends his hand and says, “It’s great to meet you, Megan.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Wow</i>. He’s as good of a liar as his older brother, Chase. </span><span style="font-size: 7.5pt;">© Susan Schussler 2015</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-89851560612807334642016-09-12T12:28:00.000-05:002018-09-06T17:19:19.541-05:00Megan's Blog: Romancing the Cook (Part 2)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Repost (New post on this story next week)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I slide into the same booth I sat in yesterday. I can’t wait to see what my personal chef has dreamed up for today’s meal. My expression wilts with disappointment when my usual server appears at my booth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Do you want a menu?” Her raspy smoker’s voice scratches through the air.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I never got the cook’s name so I’m not sure how to ask for him. “The guy in the kitchen was going to make me something.” That sounded completely lame. Of course, the guy in the kitchen was going to make me something, this is a restaurant. I pause. “Can I talk to him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She shakes her head, turning her face to the ceiling as if asking God for strength. “Romeo, there’s another victim out here for you,” she calls toward the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He comes out of the back wiping his hands on his towel just like yesterday and raises his chin in acknowledgment with a smile. When he sits down, I raise my eyebrows and stay silent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I’ve got something special for us today. How do you feel about Thai food?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I like Thai food, Romeo.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“That’s not my name.” His smirk tells me that he doesn’t mind the nickname. He reaches a handout. “Hi, I’m Kellen.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Megan,” I say, meeting his hand. “So. You often suck unsuspecting women into your vortex with your culinary skills?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He smiles. “That and other skills.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I laugh. <i>He’s a bit cocky, isn’t he?</i> I may as well ask. School starts in a couple of weeks and I don’t have anything to lose by asking him out. “So what time do you get off of work?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I’ll just go let Andy know I’m leaving. He can handle the kitchen without me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">That’s not what I meant.</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> I smile at his presumption. “I meant, after work, we could get a drink or something,” I say, though I know he’s underage. “You promised me a meal and I have to go back to the clinic for a couple more hours of work.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I knew what you meant. You can’t fault a guy for trying, though, can you?” He nods toward the kitchen and adds, “Our food should be ready,” before heading behind the counter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He comes back out a couple of minutes later with a large plate and two sets of flatware, positioning himself across from me again. The food is even better than yesterday’s. Taking my second bite, I say, “You should be on Top Chef.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“That’s what I keep telling everyone, but nobody listens.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He rises again and I immediately take a large savoring bite. This could possibly be the best meal I have ever eaten. When he returns, he places two glasses of ice water on the table and leans in, holding up an extra napkin. He’s inches from my face when he wipes my cheek and says, “You had dragon sauce.” He looks into my eyes, way to close. I’m not going to kiss him, so my choices are to awkwardly take a bite of food or talk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I must be devouring it too fast,” I say. “This is really good.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He backs away, sitting on the other side of the booth. “You like?” He unwraps his flatware and fills his fork.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I nod and just like that I’ve averted a possible game changer I’m not ready to address.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I’m supposed to meet some friends tonight out in Grant Township. Do you want to come as my date?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My lips twist as I consider his proposal. I know nothing about this guy other than what I learned yesterday during our lunch. I don’t really want to ride with a guy I barely know to meet up with his friends. On the other hand, what do I have to lose? He seems harmless, and I can defend myself if needed. “Okay, but I’m driving.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“How am I supposed to get you drunk so I can take advantage of you if you drive?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I don’t drink,” I lie. “Or at least I won’t be tonight whether you drive or not.” <i>Was that too assertive?</i> I don’t want him to go into this with a false impression of me. “You may as well take advantage of a sober ride.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He agrees and we talk, finishing our meal. It turns out that we went to the same high school, but weren’t actually there at the same time because as a freshman he was still at the junior high when I was a senior. Eeww. I shiver at the thought. We’re both adults now though. I need to stop worrying about our age difference. He’s cute, intelligent, and an incredible cook. <i>There’s no problem</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He gives me his number and address, and we make plans for me to pick him up at nine. I don’t really know what I am doing, but I may as well see if there is potential in this guy. His cooking skills alone could keep me entertained until I have to head back to class.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">His address is across town from where I grew up. The houses in his neighborhood are close together with overgrown hedges and cars lining the street. He’s waiting for me on the front step as I pull up and is practically in the car before I put it in park.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He smells good, all traces of the restaurant washed away, his hair still damp. “So…you live with your parents?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He nods hesitantly and adds, “I was supposed to get a place with a friend but he backed out. I don’t make much at the restaurant. What am I supposed to do?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Don’t sweat it. I live with mine too, during the summer.” I pull the car away from the curb after he’s buckled and start driving in the direction I know we will have to go, even though I don’t know our destination.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Are you going to school?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Yep. I graduate in the spring from the U. Some friends and I rent a house off campus during the school year.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Did you go to college because you wanted to or because it was expected of you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Both, I guess. What else is there to do?” I don’t want to insult him but school is really the only way to get ahead and have a career verses a job.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Everyone expected me to go too, but I just couldn’t do it. If I’m going to put out the kind of money it takes to get a four year degree then it’s going to be something I want. I’m doing what I want to do right now. Besides there’s no guarantees that I’d even get a job after paying all that money for school anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He’s right. But I try to push the worries about getting a job out of my head, at least for the night. “Well you’re really good at what you do. I was serious when I said you should be on <i>Top Chef</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“That’s my favorite show. That and <i>Chopped</i>. I’ve thought about going to culinary school. Maybe in another year I’ll have enough money saved and I can start classes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Do you know where we’re going, because at the next stop sign we either have to go north or south and I have no clue which way?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Take a right at the next road,” he says. “What are you going to school for?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Education and Math.” I try to keep my answer short. I don’t want to talk about me. He doesn’t ask any more questions and we sit in silence for a couple of uncomfortable beats. “How long have you been cooking?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Since elementary school. My mom worked late every night and if I wanted anything decent to eat I had to learn to make it myself. As I got older it just became my role. I have two younger sisters that were too involved in sports and dance to take on cooking. My dad died when I was little.” He sits back and sucks his lip ring into his mouth as if he’s worried what I may think.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’m really starting to like this guy. He’s mature for a teenager and the lip ring intrigues me. I turn back to the road and smile. “I think that’s great, and you enjoy making it.” I say the last part tentatively and I hope he takes it as a positive instead of negative.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“And you enjoy eating it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My jaw drops. “I don’t usually get complaints.” I wave my right hand down my side to emphasize my point.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I’m not complaining. I like a girl who’s not afraid to eat. Most girls take one bite of my food and then push it around on the plate. I think it’s great that you’re a member of the clean plate society.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I laugh. <i>Did we really eat everything on the plate?</i> I glance at him again to read his expression. “I do like to eat when the food is worth the calories. I can always work out.” I say it as a complement. He doesn’t need to know how much I hate working out, when he obviously lifts weights. “Besides, you ate half of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“And it was damn good.” He points at the next street, and I turn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">About halfway down, our path narrows as cars fill the road’s edges. I find a spot to park and then I follow him across a lush green lawn to a brick path. As we round the corner of the house I see about twenty people seated around a large fire pit, just the reflection of the fire lighting their faces. I don’t spot anyone I know, and I resolve to just enjoy my date.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 7.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">© Susan Schussler 2015</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-31360507522190567812016-08-04T10:27:00.001-05:002018-09-06T17:16:42.565-05:00Megan's Blog: Romancing the Cook (Part 1)<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Repost</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Megan's Blog:</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">It’s late afternoon before I take a break to eat. I can’t stop thinking about Chase and I can’t tell anyone that I’m thinking about him. All my friends hate him for what he did to me. I don’t know why I can forgive him when they can’t. I guess I understand Chase Maxwell. He never meant to hurt me. He just has poor impulse control. He doesn’t know when to stop pushing to the extreme. If he is really drug-free maybe he’s changed. Maybe I wouldn’t know him at all. Three years is a long time. His brother Tegan didn’t give me any insight into Chase’s sober life. Chase always had such a carefree way about him. Every sentence that came out of his mouth was either sarcasm or a joke. Maybe I wouldn’t even like drug-free Chase. I shouldn’t waste my time thinking about him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I look out the window at the mental health clinic across the street and spot a hottie dressed to the hilt in a tailored suit coming out the door. He looks to be about thirty but still striking. He’s not my usual type, though I think my tastes may be maturing. I wonder if he is part of the study I am compiling for my friend Alli’s mom. She’s a psychiatrist at the clinic and paying me to gather statistics on her clients. It’s an easy job inputting data and compiling charts, and it will look good on my resume.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">“Hey, gorgeous. You waiting for someone?” a tenor voice infiltrates my thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I turn to see who is addressing me and shake my head. The dark-haired cutie standing next to my booth wipes his hands on the towel hanging out of the waistband of his jeans, and then sits down across from me, stretching his legs out next to mine. As his grey eyes penetrate me he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, catching the ring pierced through his lower lip with his tongue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">“You’re not my usual server,” I say, holding eye contact.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">He tilts his head toward the counter where the girl who usually waits on me is eating. She must be on break. I’ve only been here twice before, but she was my server both times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">“Do you want a coffee and a house salad like yesterday? Or can I make you something with flavor?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I didn’t realize he even noticed me. I saw him working in the kitchen, but didn’t know he saw me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">“Surprise me.” I don’t know why I say it, but I do, and my words light a fire in his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">“Coming right up.” As he rises from his seat, he smirks. He ducks behind the counter and returns a minute later with a tall glass of ice water and a set of flatware wrapped in a paper napkin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">“You’re going to need this. Something tells me you like hot and spicy.” He sets them on the table in front of me, then he winks and returns to the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I hear pots clanking in the back and since the café is nearly empty, I know that it is either for show or <i>my</i> meal. He peeks at me through the serving window and smiles. I like his smile. When he returns ten minutes later carrying a huge plate brimming with pasta and vegetables, I can’t help but be impressed. It looks delicious and smells even better with garlic, basil, onion, peppers and summer squash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">“I didn’t realize you served pasta here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">“We don’t. This was supposed to be <i>my</i> lunch.” He holds up a second set of flatware and sits down across from me. “I don’t mind sharing.” He dips his fork into the pasta and lifts a bite to his mouth as if I’m the intruder on the meal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I stare at him in disbelief, but he just smiles. Then the aroma overtakes me and I have to join him. “Thanks for sharing,” I say before taking a bite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">He smiles and waits for my reaction. “Three, two, one,” he whispers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">And the flavor explodes in my mouth. <i>Ohmygod</i>. He pushes my ice water toward me. My tongue is on fire, but in a good way. I down a mouthful of water and then say, “This is <i>so</i> good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">He smiles again before taking another bite. The food is amazing and that alone scores him points, but he’s cute and definitely has attitude. As we chat with easy conversation, I discover he’s only nineteen and that’s a bit of a turn off. I don’t usually pay attention to younger guys. I’m going to make an exception this time, though. I’m twenty-one so it’s not that big of an age difference.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">We make a date to have him make me lunch again tomorrow and somehow over a meal I’ve almost completely forgotten about sober Chase.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler</span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-86503147769320048852016-07-11T08:34:00.000-05:002018-09-06T17:13:20.358-05:00Tegan Maxwell<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am reposting this prequel story to <i>Between Friends</i> before I finish it, just to refresh your memory and get you in Megan’s head before her book comes out. I really love Megan’s snarky character, but don’t let her exterior fool you. You will see a completely new side to her in the next book. --Susan </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Megan: The Summer before Between Friends (Chase’s brother)</span></b><b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I met the girls downtown for lunch. I sat facing the river on the large wooden deck as we discussed Sarah’s new boyfriend. She seemed a bit overwhelmed by her new relationship, but I guess that’s understandable. I don’t know what I would do in her situation. Though I’m happy for her, I don’t think she is being realistic. The relationship won't last and she's going to get hurt.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">After lunch, I ran into Tegan Maxwell on Main Street in front of the yogurt shop. I had parked by the antique store, my mom loved so much, and was walking back to my car when I heard my name called from across the street.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I almost didn’t recognize him. The last time I saw him he was a round-faced sixteen-year-old, but today he was all grown up. The toddler in his tattooed arms, a testament of his maturity, dawned the same dark hair and sapphire blue eyes as Tegan. Those eyes. I knew those eyes well. They were identical to the ones I’d stared into for years in high school. Though his hair was dark, his eyes looked the same as Chase’s.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Tegan wrapped me in his arms and kissed my cheek as if I was his long lost sister.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Megan, I can’t believe you’re walking the streets of Stillwater.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“I’m not a streetwalker,” I said with a laugh. “I am from here.” I didn't know if I should admit I was living at home for the summer.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“No, that’s not what I meant.” He gripped my arm and squeezed, breaking into a huge smile. “It’s just great to see you.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“It’s great to see you, too.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> WOW</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">, you’ve got a kid, Tegan.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Yeah.” He looked down at his feet and I saw a glimpse of the sixteen-year-old little brother of my ex I remembered. “It’s a long story.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He introduced the boy. And as I greeted him I thought about his Uncle Chase. It must have shown on my face because Tegan said, “Chase went to rehab, you know. He’s clean.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This news slapped my consciousness, pulling thoughts of Chase and me that I had buried deep back to the surface. I always used Chase’s drug problem as a barrier between us, but with him sober, what crutch would I use to keep away from him?</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Tegan explained all the gritty details that led to Chase’s recovery and as I listened, I realized the story had more to do with me than I wanted to admit. An hour passed as we stood on the sidewalk talking. The toddler’s sapphire-colored eyes had long since closed and he lay limp in his daddy’s arms, exhausted by the summer’s heat. As we readied our goodbyes, fear must have shown on my face because Tegan looked at me as if he wanted to say more, but then tightened his jaw and said, “I better get this guy a proper nap. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I wanted to give him my number to pass along to his brother, I really did, but I couldn’t. The number Chase had for me was changed long ago in a deliberate effort to keep him out of my life. I’d worked so hard to erect the wall between us, I couldn’t risk bringing it down. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-83203085987943020782016-02-07T18:40:00.000-06:002018-09-06T17:11:55.931-05:00How To Help Guys Remember Valentine's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We all know guys forget the important holidays. Here's a list to help you remind yours about Valentine's Day</h3>
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<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Wear </span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">only</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> a football jersey to the Super Bowl party.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Spray his pillow with his favorite scent/your perfume. He won't know why, but he will want to remember.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Stage Victoria Secret bags around his house or apartment—in the fridge, on the table, by the remote—places where he frequents, so you’re always on his mind.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Blatantly tell him Valentine’s Day is just a few days away. (The farther in advance you do this the better) When he starts cursing because he forgot to get you something, you can say, don’t worry, you still have time to make reservations and buy a gift. Be clear about your wants because men need guidance.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Text him links to your favorite restaurants.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Leave jewelry store adds in his car. They always have ads for Valentine’s Day engagement rings. (This actually works.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Wrap his present (or an empty box) in paper with red hearts, and leave it in plain sight. If he can’t figure it out, he’ll ask.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Make the reservation. Men actually appreciate you making the first move.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Make yourself unavailable until the 14th. Men always want something they can’t have. Anticipation builds desire. He’ll remember if he has to think about it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Send him pictures of the garments from the bags you staged in number 3. </span><u style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Do not wear them in the pictures</u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> because he may forget his own name let alone the reason for the pictures. And…yeah, Jennifer Lawrence. You don’t want to find intimate photos of you on the Internet.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
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Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-58221098278867828892015-11-12T15:41:00.000-06:002018-09-06T17:09:52.026-05:00Characters' Bios in Hot Romance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jonathan Williams</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Son of director Zander Williams and special effects artist Lara Nylund Williams, the 23-year-old actor is best known for his role in the Hollywood blockbuster <i>The Demigod</i>. Other notable roles include: <i> Love Twice </i>(with Mia Thompson), <i>The Forgotten Year</i> (with his brother Jack Williams), <i>Uproar</i> (with Niki Morris), <i>Third Rung</i> (with Amy Richardson), <i>Demigod Forbidden</i> (with Rachael Marrerro), and <i>Liar’s Remorse</i> (with Natalie Lipka). </span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nicknames:</b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Jon, Will, and His Holy Hotness</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Birthday:</b> April 4th</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Close Friends:</b> Nick Reyes, Hayden Nappo, Liam Nordstrom, and Chris Hanson. Also hangs with: Jake Gorboni and Daniel Nackerson </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Trivia:</b> </span></div>
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<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Plays the piano/keyboards and guitar, and has been known to join buddies Nick Reyes and Hayden Nappo on stage with their band EXpireD. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Has a vintage guitar collection, including a signed <i>Fender</i> that once belonged to rocker Terence Halverson.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Currently in a relationship with university student Sarah Isabella Austin.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Has a great sense of humor and will often play practical jokes on castmates and crew when filming a movie. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Singer Ashley Taylor deemed him "His Holy Hotness" on the red carpet of the VMAs after she was shown a video clip of him singing on stage. The name stuck in the press. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler (</span></span><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: center;">All characters, events, and places are fictional.) </span></li>
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Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-87180541621338510462015-11-05T10:30:00.000-06:002018-09-06T14:32:44.211-05:00Megan's Blog: August 7th <h3>
Megan: Romancing the Cook (Part 3)</h3>
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We stop at the big white cooler before joining the crowd at the fire pit and Kellen digs around until he finds a bottle of water. He hands it to me with a smile and says, “You do drink, right? You’re not one of those religious types who doesn’t want to meet his maker drunk?”</div>
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“No, I’m not afraid of dying drunk.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Then you’ve either been through treatment or you’re close to someone who has.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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My mind immediately goes to Chase, even though his problem was drugs, not alcohol. “I drink. I just don’t want to tonight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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He rummages through the cooler again, pulling out a beer and cracking it open. He takes a sip, penetrating me with a humorous gaze and then says. “This is our third date, counting our two lunch dates.” He licks his lips, pulling his lip ring into his mouth with his tongue and then releasing it. “There are certain expectations on a third date.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Really?” I say because if he thinks I’m sleeping with him, he’s wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yeah.” He grasps my chin ever so softly and trails his thumb over my lower lip. “I should at least get to kiss you on our third date.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I smile and before I can say anything his lips are on mine. I brace my hands on his broad shoulders, really strong shoulders, as I deepen the kiss. I thought his piercing would be awkward rubbing against my lip, but it’s sensual, erotic even. He pulls back just as I want more.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“See that wasn’t so bad.” He licks his lips again, and I want to suck that ring into my mouth. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just then jeers break out from the crowd around the fire. I look over and everyone is staring at us. He takes a shallow bow as if we had just performed on stage, places his hand at the small of my back motioning me to walk, and we head toward the onlookers. Kellen pulls up two chairs as the circle widens to accommodate us. Everyone is watching as we settle into our seats. After he introduces me the conversation returns to its previous level of chatter, and he pulls my chair closer to his, resting his arm on the back of it.</div>
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The discussion burns through strategy based type video games and the idiocy of politics, finally, it settles on the latest Comedy Central star to hit the big screen and whether she was hot enough to do. Most of the guys agree that there is something about her which makes her desirable. I’m quiet, for me, as I scrutinize the group. It’s interesting to watch Kellen interact with his friends. Maybe I am a little more detached because I don’t know anyone or maybe it’s because I’m not drinking that I enjoy the carefree silliness of their dialogue. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m relaxed and I don’t care that I don’t know anyone because I’m enjoying the date. Kellen’s sweet, but not clingy. His leg is pressed against my knee. I’ve never understood the way men sit. Is it a peacocking thing to sit with your legs spread as far as possible? Are they airing out their junk or showing it off? I guess it’s not that different from women crossing their legs. My tiny white shorts would be obscene if I sat like him. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am very aware of his body. The heat emanating from him is incredible. His arm trails along the back of my chair as his fingers gently stroke my neck. It feels good and I am not going to disrupt him by changing positions to cool off.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Several people have just arrived and are helping themselves to drinks at the cooler when Kellen leans in and says, “Crap. I didn’t know she would be here. She shouldn’t be here. Sorry in advance for anything she may say to you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I look to the group coming toward us and then back to him with a questioning expression. He’s nervously sucking that luscious ring into his mouth again. “The brunette in the skirt is my ex.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I figured that. She’s the only girl. How ex?” I ask as she stares at me, and if he says yesterday I’m leaving. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“A month.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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“OK. How long did you date?” She's still glaring and if she had laser eyes I’m sure I would be a pile of ash by now.</div>
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“Not that long.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“That was vague.” I look into his eyes to see what he’s hiding. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“About eight months.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Why’d you break up?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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A coy smile crawls onto his face. “Did anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Is that rhetorical?” He looks at me as if he doesn’t know the meaning of rhetorical, so I say, “No.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“She’s crazy. Nutso, schizoid, certifiable. That’s why we broke up.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Is she going to stalk and kill me on my way home?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Probably,” he answers twisting his lips in a smirk.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I guess I better make this worth it.” I lean in and mesh my lips with his. It takes about a heartbeat before he realizes what I’m doing. Then his hand at the back of my neck pulls me in closer. I suck his ring into my mouth and tug on it with my tongue—very erotic. The groan he makes is way too loud, and if the crowd hadn’t noticed us before, they have now. I don’t know if it was the smartest move to flaunt the kiss in front of his ex, but if she hadn’t glared at me I would have played nice. It’s childish, but <i>so</i> much fun. I let the ring go and pull back. He smiles. I refuse to regret it. We aren’t the only couple making out in front of everyone tonight. I saw at least two other couples coupling. I sit back in my chair, and his fingers dig softly in my hair. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I look up and the ex is sitting on the edge of her seat with her back to us as she talks to another girl. I’m not usually such a bitch and I don’t know the whole story, but she started it with her hatred eyes. I glance around and no one seems to be paying attention to the two of us. Kellen raises an eyebrow and says, “She’s going to kill you for sure, now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I can take her.” I laugh and then he smiles. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I believe <i>you</i> can. I need another drink. Are you sure you don’t want a drink? One drink’s not going to kill ya.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m sure. Another water would be good.” I smile appreciatively and his whole face lights up as he heads for the cooler. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When he returns he’s got another newcomer with him. I didn’t see them come down to the fire pit because I was talking to the guy next to me, but I can feel the heat coming off of Kellen’s body. They’re standing behind my chair so I turn and try to stay composed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You’ve got to meet my best bud. We’ve been friends forever. Megan, this is Tegan Maxwell.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I swallow hard and smile, readying to spill my past to my date. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s when Tegan extends his hand and says, “It’s great to meet you, Megan.”</div>
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<i>Wow</i>. He’s as good of a liar as his older brother, Chase.<span style="font-size: 7.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">© Susan Schussler 2015</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-47257825009415469002015-10-09T14:59:00.001-05:002015-10-12T11:25:51.821-05:00Megan's Blog: August 7th<h3>
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Megan: Romancing the Cook (Part 2)</span></h3>
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I slide into the same booth I sat in yesterday. I can’t wait
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“Do you want a menu?” Her raspy smoker’s voice scratches
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I never got the cook’s name so I’m not sure how to ask for
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She shakes her head, turning her face to the ceiling as if asking God for
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He comes out of the back wiping his hands on his towel just
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“I’ve got something special for us today. How do you feel
about Thai food?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I like Thai food, Romeo.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s not my name.” His smirk tells me that he doesn’t
mind the nickname. He reaches a hand out. “Hi, I’m Kellen.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Megan,” I say, meeting his hand. “So. You often suck unsuspecting
women into your vortex with your culinary skills?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He smiles. “That and other skills.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laugh. <i>He’s a bit
cocky, isn’t he?</i> I may as well ask. School starts in a couple of weeks and
I don’t have anything to lose by asking him out. “So what time do you get off
of work?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ll just go let Andy know I’m leaving. He can handle the
kitchen without me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>That’s not what I
meant.</i> I smile at his presumption. “I meant, after work, we could get a
drink or something.” I say, though I know he’s underage. “You promised me a
meal and I have to go back to the clinic for a couple more hours of work.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I knew what you meant. You can’t fault a guy for trying,
though, can you?” He nods toward the kitchen and adds, “Our food should be
ready,” before heading behind the counter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He comes back out a couple of minutes later with a large
plate and two sets of flatware, positioning himself across from me again. The
food is even better than yesterday’s. Taking my second bite, I say, “You should
be on Top Chef.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s what I keep telling everyone, but nobody listens.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He rises again and I immediately take a large savoring bite. This could
possibly be the best meal I have ever eaten. When he returns, he places two
glasses of ice water on the table and leans in, holding up an extra napkin.
He’s inches from my face when he wipes my cheek and says, “You had dragon
sauce.” He looks into my eyes, way to close. I’m not going to kiss him, so my
choices are to awkwardly take a bite of food or talk. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I must be devouring it too fast,” I say. “This is really
good.” <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He backs away, sitting on the other side of the booth. “You
like?” He unwraps his flatware and fills his fork.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nod and just like that I’ve averted a possible game
changer I’m not ready to address.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m supposed to meet some friends tonight out in Grant
Township. Do you want to come as my date?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My lips twist as I consider his proposal. I know nothing
about this guy other than what I learned yesterday during our lunch. I don’t really
want to ride with a guy I barely know to meet up with his friends. On the other
hand, what do I have to lose? He seems harmless, and I can defend myself if
needed. “Okay, but I’m driving.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How am I supposed to get you drunk so I can take advantage
of you, if you drive?”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t drink,” I lie. “Or at least I won’t be tonight
whether you drive or not.” <i>Was that too
assertive?</i> I don’t want him to go into this with a false impression of me. “You
may as well take advantage of a sober ride.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He agrees and we talk, finishing our meal. It turns out that
we went to the same high school, but weren’t actually there at the same time
because as a freshman he was still at the junior high when I was a senior. Eeww.
I shiver at the thought. We’re both adults now though. I need to stop worrying
about our age difference. He’s cute, intelligent, and an incredible cook. <i>There’s no problem</i>. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He gives me his number and address, and we make plans for me
to pick him up at nine. I don’t really know what I am doing, but I may as well
see if there is potential in this guy. His cooking skills alone could keep me
entertained until I have to head back to class.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His address is across town from where I grew up. The houses
in his neighborhood are close together with overgrown hedges and cars lining
the street. He’s waiting for me on the front step as I pull up and is
practically in the car before I put it in park.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He smells good, all traces of the restaurant washed away,
his hair still damp. “So…you live with your parents?” I ask. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He nods hesitantly and adds, “I was supposed to get a place
with a friend but he backed out. I don’t make much at the restaurant. What am I
supposed to do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t sweat it. I live with mine too, during the summer.” I
pull the car away from the curb after he’s buckled and start driving in the
direction I know we will have to go, even though I don’t know our destination.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you going to school?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yep. I graduate in the spring from the U. Some friends and
I rent a house off campus during the school year.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did you go to college because you wanted to or because it
was expected of you?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Both, I guess. What else is there to do?” I don’t want to
insult him but school is really the only way to get ahead and have a career
verses a job.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Everyone expected me to go too, but I just couldn’t do it.
If I’m going to put out the kind of money it takes to get a four year degree
then it’s going to be something I want. I’m doing what I want to do right now. Besides
there’s no guarantees that I’d even get a job after paying all that money for
school anyway.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’s right. But I try to push the worries about getting a
job out of my head, at least for the night. “Well you’re really good at what
you do. I was serious when I said you should be on <i>Top Chef</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s my favorite show. That and <i>Chopped</i>. I’ve thought about going to culinary school. Maybe in
another year I’ll have enough money saved and I can start classes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you know where we’re going, because at the next stop
sign we either have to go north or south and I have no clue which way?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Take a right at the next road,” he says. “What are you
going to school for?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Education and Math.” I try to keep my answer short.
I don’t want to talk about me. He doesn’t ask any more questions and we sit in
silence for a couple of uncomfortable beats. “How long have you been cooking?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Since elementary school. My mom worked late every night and
if I wanted anything decent to eat I had to learn to make it myself. As I got
older it just became my role. I have two younger sisters that were too involved
in sports and dance to take on cooking. My dad died when I was little.” He sits
back and sucks his lip ring into his mouth as if he’s worried what I may think.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m really starting to like this guy. He’s mature for a
teenager and the lip ring intrigues me. I turn back to the road and smile. “I
think that’s great, and you enjoy making it.” I say the last part tentatively
and I hope he takes it as a positive instead of negative. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And you enjoy eating it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My jaw drops. “I don’t usually get complaints.” I wave my
right hand down my side to emphasize my point. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not complaining. I like a girl who’s not afraid to eat.
Most girls take one bite of my food and then push it around on the plate. I
think it’s great that you’re a member of the clean plate society.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laugh. <i>Did we really
eat everything on the plate?</i> I glance at him again to read his expression.
“I do like to eat when the food is worth the calories. I can always work out.” I
say it as a complement. He doesn’t need to know how much I hate working out,
when he obviously lifts weights. “Besides, you ate half of it.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And it was damn good.” He points at the next street, and I
turn. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About halfway down, our path narrows as cars fill the road’s
edges. I find a spot to park and then I follow him across a lush green lawn to
a brick path. As we round the corner of the house I see about twenty people
seated around a large fire pit, just the reflection of the fire lighting their
faces. I don’t spot anyone I know, and I resolve to just enjoy my date.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">© Susan Schussler 2015</span><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-86395526768275014262015-08-26T15:05:00.000-05:002018-09-06T14:18:15.509-05:00Megan's Blog: August 6 <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Megan: Romancing the Cook (Part 1)</span></h3>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s late afternoon before I take a break to eat. I can’t stop thinking about Chase and I can’t tell anyone that I’m thinking about him. All my friends hate him for what he did to me. I don’t know why I can forgive him when they can’t. I guess I understand Chase Maxwell. He never meant to hurt me. He just has poor impulse control. He doesn’t know when to stop pushing to the extreme. If he is really drug-free maybe he’s changed. Maybe I wouldn’t know him at all. Three years is a long time. His brother Tegan didn’t give me any insight into Chase’s sober life. Chase always had such a carefree way about him. Every sentence that came out of his mouth was either sarcasm or a joke. Maybe I wouldn’t even like drug-free Chase. I shouldn’t waste my time thinking about him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I look out the window at the mental health clinic across the street and spot a hottie dressed to the hilt in a tailored suit coming out the door. He looks to be about thirty but still striking. He’s not my usual type, though I think my tastes may be maturing. I wonder if he is part of the study I am compiling for my friend Alli’s mom. She’s a psychiatrist at the clinic and paying me to gather statistics on her clients. It’s an easy job inputting data and compiling charts, and it will look good on my resume.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hey, gorgeous. You waiting for someone?” a tenor voice infiltrates my thoughts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I turn to see who is addressing me and shake my head. The dark-haired cutie standing next to my booth wipes his hands on the towel hanging out of the waistband of his jeans, and then sits down across from me, stretching his legs out next to mine. As his grey eyes penetrate me he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, catching the ring pierced through his lower lip with his tongue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re not my usual server,” I say, holding eye contact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He tilts his head toward the counter where the girl who usually waits on me is eating. She must be on break. I’ve only been here twice before, but she was my server both times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Do you want a coffee and a house salad like yesterday? Or can I make you something with flavor?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I didn’t realize he even noticed me. I saw him working in the kitchen, but didn’t know he saw me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Surprise me.” I don’t know why I say it, but I do, and my words light a fire in his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Coming right up.” As he rises from his seat, he smirks. He ducks behind the counter and returns a minute later with a tall glass of ice water and a set of flatware wrapped in a paper napkin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re going to need this. Something tells me you like hot and spicy.” He sets them on the table in front of me, then he winks and returns to the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I hear pots clanking in the back and since the café is nearly empty, I know that it is either for show or <i>my</i> meal. He peeks at me through the serving window and smiles. I like his smile. When he returns ten minutes later carrying a huge plate brimming with pasta and vegetables, I can’t help but be impressed. It looks delicious and smells even better with garlic, basil, onion, peppers and summer squash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I didn’t realize you served pasta here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We don’t. This was supposed to be <i>my</i> lunch.” He holds up a second set of flatware and sits down across from me. “I don’t mind sharing.” He dips his fork into the pasta and lifts a bite to his mouth as if I’m the intruder on the meal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I stare at him in disbelief, but he just smiles. Then the aroma overtakes me and I have to join him. “Thanks for sharing,” I say before taking a bite. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He smiles and waits for my reaction. “Three, two, one,” he whispers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And the flavor explodes in my mouth. <i>Ohmygod</i>. He pushes my ice water toward me. My tongue is on fire, but in a good way. I down a mouthful of water and then say, “This is <i>so</i> good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He smiles again before taking another bite. The food is amazing and that alone scores him points, but he’s cute and definitely has attitude. As we chat with easy conversation, I discover he’s only nineteen and that’s a bit of a turnoff. I don’t usually pay attention to younger guys. I’m going to make an exception this time, though. I’m twenty-one so it’s not that big of an age difference.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We make a date to have him make me lunch again tomorrow and somehow over a meal I’ve almost completely forgotten about sober Chase.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 7.5pt;">Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-72968823349633989762015-08-20T08:12:00.001-05:002015-08-20T08:12:50.693-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Read <b>Between the Lies</b> today</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Between-Lies-Raindrops-Book-ebook/dp/B013XGBYL6/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1439605155&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Available on Amazon</a></div>
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Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-5993457423550893802015-08-17T12:05:00.000-05:002015-08-17T12:05:07.687-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h2 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">BETWEEN THE LIES </span></b></h2>
<h2 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">is now up for pre-order on Amazon</span></b></h2>
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<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Between-Lies-Raindrops-Book-ebook/dp/B013XGBYL6/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1439829088&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Click here for the link</a></span></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Looking for more about my blog characters? Check out Jonathan and Sarah's continuing story in BETWEEN THE LIES. Release date THURSDAY, AUGUST 20th, 2015. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Next blog post is Megan's on August 26th.)</div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-22275022224176541252015-06-10T11:29:00.000-05:002018-09-06T14:12:55.765-05:00Megan's Blog: August 2nd<h3 style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Megan: August 2nd</span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Today, I met the girls downtown for lunch. I sat facing the river on the large wooden deck as we discussed Sarah’s new boyfriend. She seemed a bit overwhelmed by her new relationship, but I guess that’s understandable. I don’t know what I would do in her situation. Though I’m happy for her, I don’t think she is being realistic. The relationship won't last and she's going to get hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">After lunch, I ran into Tegan Maxwell on Main Street in front of the yogurt shop. I had parked by the antique store, my mom loved so much, and was walking back to my car when I heard my name called from across the street. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I almost didn’t recognize him. The last time I saw him he was a round-faced sixteen-year-old, but today he was all grown up. The toddler in his tattooed arms, a testament of his maturity, dawned the same dark hair and sapphire blue eyes as Tegan. Those eyes. I knew those eyes well. They were identical to the ones I’d stared into for years in high school. Though his hair was dark, his eyes looked the same as Chase’s. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tegan wrapped me in his arms and kissed my cheek as if I was his long lost sister. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Megan, I can’t believe you’re walking the streets of Stillwater.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m not a streetwalker,” I said with a laugh. “I am from here.” I didn't know if I should admit I was living at home for the summer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, that’s not what I meant.” He gripped my arm and squeezed, breaking into a huge smile. “It’s just great to see you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s great to see you, too.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> WOW</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">, you’ve got a kid, Tegan.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yeah.” He looked down at his feet and I saw a glimpse of the sixteen-year-old little brother of my ex I remembered. “It’s a long story.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He introduced the boy. And as I greeted him I thought about his Uncle Chase. It must have shown on my face because Tegan said, “Chase went to rehab, you know. He’s clean.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This news slapped my consciousness, pulling thoughts of Chase and me that I had buried deep back to the surface. I always used Chase’s drug problem as a barrier between us, but with him sober, what crutch would I use to keep away from him?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tegan explained all the gritty details that led to Chase’s recovery and as I listened, I realized the story had more to do with me than I wanted to admit. An hour passed as we stood on the sidewalk talking. The toddler’s sapphire-colored eyes had long since closed and he lay limp in his daddy’s arms, exhausted by the summer’s heat. As we readied our goodbyes, fear must have shown on my face because Tegan looked at me as if he wanted to say more, but then tightened his jaw and said, “I better get this guy a proper nap. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I wanted to give him my number to pass along to his brother, I really did, but I couldn’t. The number Chase had for me was changed long ago in a deliberate effort to keep him out of my life. I’d worked so hard to erect the wall between us, I couldn’t risk bringing it down. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-17483123819921865702015-05-04T13:35:00.000-05:002018-09-06T14:10:34.818-05:00Perfect Alli: July 20<h3>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Alli: July 20th</span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I went to pick up Sarah this afternoon to go shopping. She wanted a new birthday outfit for when she meets her Internet guy for the first time on Friday and she asked for my help picking it out. She’s so funny. I’ve never seen her like this before, all excited and tongue-tied. I hope the guy doesn’t disappoint. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I walked in the front door of her parent’s house without knocking, because that’s what I’ve been doing since high school, and I literally faceplanted into Thor’s rock hard chest. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, steadying me. <i>Wow, he smelled good</i>. My gaze drifted to his gorgeous face and our eyes met. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hey.” His carefree voice resonated through his chest. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hi.” I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there in his arms in silence. It felt so good until he dropped his hold on me and stepped back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Um, yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m waiting for Jeff. Are you here for Sarah?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded. “We’re supposed to go shopping. It’s her birthday on Friday.” A<i>wkward.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s right, the big reveal date. I tried to convince her the guy is probably a troll, but then he goes and gets her into a sold out concert. At least the troll’s got connections.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You should come with us. I bet we could add one more person to the list. It’s probably no big deal.” My mouth just went off on its own. <i>Damn. Did I sound desperate? </i>I had no idea if we could get him in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I can’t. I’ve got plans,” he said rubbing his fingers across his forehead as if he was embarrassed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Did he have a date? Had he moved on that quickly?</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Just as I gathered enough courage to ask what his plans were, Jeff walked in from the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“You ready?” he asked. He glanced at me with an insincere smile, calling upstairs to his sister,</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> “Sarah, Alli’s here.” Then they were out the door. Gone. I resolved to ask Sarah what she knew, but I didn’t want to come off overly interested. I had all afternoon to bring it up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was two hours later before I found the right time to ask. Maybe it wasn’t exactly the right time, but it was as good a time as any other. Sarah and I had just sat down with our packages at a <i>Cariboo Coffee</i>. She’d found the perfect jacket to wear on her date. Though with the ninety degree days we’d been experiencing, I wasn’t sure how long she would be leaving it on. But she liked it so much that I didn’t want to mention the heat. I couldn’t deny she looked sexy and buoyant in it, and half the battle with fashion is finding what makes you confident. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hope that wasn’t too awkward seeing Thor this morning. I would have warned you, but I didn’t know he would be there.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It was fine.” I shrugged, taking a sip of my iced chai tea. “I asked him if he wanted to join us for your birthday celebration.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She fidgeted in her chair and I added, “Don’t worry, he has plans.” I thought she was nervous because she might have to ask her Internet guy for another ticket, but that wasn’t it. I was just about to ask Sarah if she knew what his plans were when she spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I know,” she said softly, glancing down at her coffee and then back up at me, hesitating. “I thought that we should invite him too, but Jeff said that Thor has a date on Friday.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“With who? He’s not getting back together with Nora, is he?” I was going to call and bitch him out if he was letting his cheating ex-fiancé back into his life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s not Nora. It’s just some girl he met.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, he met someone new. That’s what his body was built for. I sipped my tea and took my phone out of my purse to check my messages. <i>Nothing</i>. I glanced up to find Sarah watching me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You’re OK with him moving on, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yeah.” I lied. “You know me. I’m not going to have time for a relationship once school starts.” I swallowed a few gulps of my drink, trying to rid my throat of the knot lodged there. <i>It was what I wanted, right?</i> My career comes first. The rest of the afternoon I tried to erase Thor’s date from my head, but I couldn’t. I knew I had made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 7.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-17119945879778899632015-04-06T12:31:00.001-05:002018-09-06T14:08:13.936-05:00Blonde Chicks Preferred: July 19 <h3>
Liam Nordstrom: July 19</h3>
Nak and I met Jake Gorboni before heading over to Club Priela, on our second attempt to flush Leslie from Nak’s system. To say last week was unsuccessful would be an understatement, but this week Nak was ready. We got seated in the VIP area, not the best table, but decent for not letting the club know that we were coming. Girls surrounded us in a greater than usual effort to get our attention and I wasn’t sure if it was Jake’s company or my newly established notoriety that drew them in.<br />
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It’d been months since I was out at this club. My girlfriend wasn’t thrilled about me going out with the guys a second weekend in a row, but she accepted it for Nak’s sake. It was to her benefit to stop his moping around the house. She had to live with him too, after all.<br />
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I propped my casted leg on a chair, using my injury to pull more fish into our net. No one asked what happened to my leg. My motorcycle accident was common knowledge now. My crash and the false accusations of the underage girl had done wonders for my Internet presence and every female seemed to be in tune with my life’s story.<br />
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It was weird, being out at a club. I’d been removed from the scene too long. Since Kelsey moved in, I hadn’t been driven to go out shopping and that’s what a club is for a man, a giant chick mall. I’m not sure if I’d call what Kelsey and I have love, but it is the closest that I’ve ever been to that state. She’s the only person that I have ever dated that has made me stop to think before acting and that’s new for me.<br />
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I tried to direct the beauties toward Nak, even though the first sentence out of every girl’s mouth seemed to be, “So you’re single again?” They assumed that since Kelsey wasn’t there, we’d split. And though it helped bring them to the table, I wanted it clear that I wasn’t shopping.<br />
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“Nope, but my roommate Nak is newly available.” My comment met pouty lips and a few longing touches trying to prove that my words meant nothing, but I behaved. I’m not the immoral bastard I play on television and messing up what Kelsey and I have didn’t appeal to me. <br />
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A couple of hours in, Nak had his arms around two girls—one a dead ringer for Leslie and the other I was pretty sure I had hooked up with last year—I wasn’t going to bring up either detail though. At least he looked pseudo happy.<br />
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I never realized how boring clubs are when you’re not shopping or able to move around. I sat stuck at the table because of my leg, limited to the people that found me. When the brunette crossed my vision, I just assumed she’d come for Gorboni or Nak, but no such luck. When she said my name, I realized who it was and couldn't suppress the groan that slipped from my lips.<br />
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“What’s up, Mia?”<br />
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She waited for everyone at the table to give her their full attention. Even though they wouldn’t be able to hear her above the techno music, she obviously wanted all eyes on her. “Why can’t you get Jonathan to come out with you? I thought you were buds. He needs to get out more.”<br />
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I gawked at her in disbelief. He’d never come to this club and she knew it.<br />
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“I think he’s too preoccupied with that girl he’s seeing.” He wasn’t technically seeing her yet, but he was planning to meet her in less than a week and it brought me great satisfaction to watch the smugness on Mia’s face crumble into concern.<br />
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“What girl?” She straightened her posture and brushed her dark hair behind her shoulder, trying not to look bothered by my reveal.<br />
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“Some girl. He’s known her for months. Hasn’t he told you about her?”<br />
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She glared at me while the microprocessors in her head fired, trying to make sense of my words. “Not the non-Hollywood chick?”<br />
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“Yep. That’s her.” She was definitely not Hollywood.<br />
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“She’s never going to last,” she spat. And though it may have been true, I didn’t like the way it sounded coming from Mia’s mouth.<br />
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“What’s it matter to you anyway? I thought you were hot and heavy with Fallston. Are you done with him already?” Her lips curled into a sneer and she glared at me for a moment readying to tear my head off. I didn’t have the patience for her. Just as she opened her mouth, Tom Fallston’s arms wrapped around her behind her and he balanced his head on her shoulder.<br />
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“Hey, guys. Good music tonight, huh?” Fallston bellowed over the noise. They were still hot and heavy as far as he was concerned, I could tell. Mia, on the other hand, she’d drop him in a second if Jonathan Williams wanted her back.<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler</span> <br />
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Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-76609838211758394982015-01-12T11:16:00.000-06:002018-09-06T14:06:55.831-05:00Blonde Chicks Preferred: July 12, 2013<h3 style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Liam Nordstrom: July 12, 2013</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Will finally took the <i>red pill</i> and called the Internet girl. He was hilarious when he stopped by this afternoon, in the best mood. He kept cracking jokes and nothing I said seemed to bring him down. He’s completely whipped. He didn’t come clean with her about his fame, but at least he is talking to her. She sounds like a super sweet girl—nothing like Mia Thompson. Will deserves a break. Hope she doesn’t turn into a psycho bitch. He wants to meet her, so he and I were brainstorming on how he should spring his true identity on her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“I say you just show up at her door. It’s not like she’s going to turn you away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“She might. She’s not impressed by fame. I think she’d see it as a detriment, not an asset. She’s not like the rest of the mindless drones. That’s why I like her.” He smiled and I could tell that he was thinking about something she said. “It’s got to be something big, something she can’t refuse.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“If you had a premiere coming up, you could invite her to that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">He shook his head. “I don’t. And I have to meet her before filming starts in September. It’s got to be larger-than-life, where she can’t just shut me down.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Talk to Nick,” I suggested. Our buddy Nick Reyes lives over the top every day and in a weird man-whore way knows women pretty damn well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Can do.” He cocked his head in agreement and we moved on to talking about his assistant Leslie and my housemate’s break up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Is it another guy?” I asked. “Because I think that Nak is in shock. He can’t figure out what happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“I don’t think that she is seeing anyone else. Leslie said that they just agreed that it wasn’t working. She made it sound as if they were both too busy to keep it going.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“If you gave the chick some time off, maybe she could have a decent relationship and Nak wouldn’t be moping around like a puppy with his head stuck in one of those clear plastic cones.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“This is not my fault.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Nak walked into the kitchen in yesterday’s clothes, wearing a three-day-old beard. “I’m pretty sure it <i>is</i> your fault, Jonathan Williams.” He sat down at the breakfast bar and spun around to face us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“I am not getting involved in Leslie’s personal life. You are not worth me losing the only person that can keep me organized. Sorry, man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Nak slumped against the counter. “If she had just given me some warning. That would have been…I mean…what the hell? She shows up in Vancouver for my wrap party and granted the film didn’t have much of a budget so it wasn’t much of a party, but I was coming home. And she starts up with this <i>it isn’t working</i> BS. And <i>we never see each other?</i> We were flying out together. I just don’t understand.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“It’s not another guy if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s probably just trying to work out her fall schedule. You know how anal she is. We’re going to be gone almost three months. Leslie likes to have everything methodically in order. I, on the other hand, say, seize the day.” Will chuckled and I knew he was talking about finally meeting the Internet girl. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“So you think I should call her or not?” Nak asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Do what you have to do. Life’s too short. I’ve got to go,” Will added as he stood up and headed for the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Can you talk to Leslie?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Will turned and asked, “What do you want me to say.” He stared at him earnestly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Tell her we’re going out clubbing tonight,” I hollered. There was no way in hell that I was going to let Nak beg. “This is LA. There’s plenty of chicks wanting some Nak. Her loss.” I lifted my chin to stress my point. He doesn’t need her. “Are you coming with us or not,” I ask Will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">He smiled. “Can’t. I’ve got to figure out my own problems.” As he headed for the door he added, “Gorboni said he was looking for something to do. Give him a call.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Good luck with the Internet girl,” I yelled before the door closed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kelsey was visiting her family so it was the perfect night to go clubbing and I could always find some more people to join us. I’d call Gorboni for sure. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 18px;">I hadn’t been out clubbing since before the accident. My plastic leg boot and pain would assure that dancing was out, but the sympathy card the cast brought would reel in the chicks—all in the name of helping Nak. </span></span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The sacrifices I make</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“You better shave. I can’t take you anywhere looking like that,” I said, slapping my roomie on the back as I hobbled over to the counter to grab my phone and figure out our plans for the evening. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 7.5pt;">Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-75521551399066703602014-12-17T10:37:00.000-06:002018-09-06T14:04:32.648-05:00Perfect Alli: July 11, 2013<h3>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I have five weeks left before school starts. I hate how fast time seems to move in adulthood. A week ago I was at the lake with Thor and now I don’t even know where we stand. After I told him that I didn’t want to come over after work, he got pretty quiet. I probably shouldn’t have said, “If we’re still together, then” when he mentioned meeting his parents at Thanksgiving. I just didn’t want to talk about meeting parents or future plans. He was stepping all over my strategies to concentrate on school. <i>Who does he think he is messing with my head?</i> I know I should have told him that I wasn’t interested in a relationship past summer. It just never felt like the right time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Once, I went out with a guy who told me on our first date that he didn’t have time for a relationship. He was probably just being honest, but it came off condescending as if he thought he was better than me somehow. I didn’t even want to go on that date in the first place, but he had asked me out four times. I went out with him out of pity and then he turned it around to make me feel unworthy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Even though I am not always the best at being empathetic (at least that’s what my friends say), I didn’t want to make Thor feel the way that douche made me feel. I like Thor. And he’d been through so much already. I thought if I waited, it wouldn’t sound so harsh. Now I’m just frustrated. He doesn’t know that short-term has been my plan all along. He sent me a text Saturday morning to tell me he was going back up to the Austins' cabin. I sent back “K.” Everyone knows the universal text meaning OK really means I’m pissed. I haven’t heard from him since. I don’t know if he got mad that I was pissed or if he was mad that I didn’t spend the night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Everything is <i>so</i> unresolved. Maybe I should concentrate on work and lining up references for my med school applications like my mother keeps nagging me to do. It’s the easiest way to end it—no one is to blame, we just drift apart. We’ll see each other again at some point, unless I stop being friends with Sarah and Jessica or Thor and Jeff have a falling out. It’s a big incestuous circle of friends dating friends’ friends or friends’ brothers. <i>What a mess</i>. Note to self: In the future, only date strangers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I could call him and invite him to go club hopping with us for Sarah’s twenty-first birthday. It would break the ice between us and Jeff is going to be there so if he’s still mad at me Thor can talk to him. But if I do that and then break up with him, how is that going to be better for him or me? I’m pretty sure my friends will be more forgiving of me if I tell them that he stopped texting me. I don’t really want to lose him yet, but it would be a lot easier just to let him slip away. <span style="font-size: 7.5pt;">Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span> <span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714274585826101457.post-30947688969324971602014-11-20T12:09:00.000-06:002018-09-06T14:02:10.440-05:00Jessica's Way: July 6, 2013<h3>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We were all up at Jeff’s family’s lake home for the fourth of July weekend—Sarah, Megan, Trent (Megan’s guy of the moment), Jeff and I. Alli had to work on the weekend at the hospital, so she and Thor left by noon on Friday. I was surprised when Thor came back up to the lake this morning though. I thought he and Alli were going to have a quiet weekend together. That’s what he had told Jeff when he left. I guess he changed his mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I didn’t realize that Thor and Alli had a fight until he corners me on the end of the dock. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“She hasn’t even told her parents about me,” he says, sitting down next to me on the bench. “I’m a decent looking guy. I’m going to grad school. Am I that much of a loser that her parents wouldn’t approve?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t help but laugh. He is indecently <i>fine</i> looking sitting next to me without his shirt. I know that he’s Jeff’s best friend, <i>but still</i>. That isn’t why I am laughing though. He obviously has no clue what Alli’s parents were like or he would never want to meet them. “Trust me, you don’t want them to know you exist.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’m not sure if I should go into detail, but I think he deserves to know what he is in for if he wants a relationship with Alli. “Her parents are a bit overbearing. It is not worth meeting them if this is just going to be a summer thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">His brow furrows and his eyes squint as he glares at me. <i>What did I say?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Suppose they found out about me, what would happen?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“They would very politely invite you out for dinner at <i>the club</i>, where they would interrogate you endlessly about your career plans and religious beliefs. And when you didn’t measure up, they would condemn you. Not because you’re a bad person, but because no one, not even themselves, can meet their standards. Then they would pinpoint your flaws and make sure that Alli was aware of each and every one of them, tenfold.” I pause hoping that helps clarify it for him. His scowl tells me I need to add more. “When I first met her mom, she tried to convince Alli that I wasn’t good friend material because my parents were going through a divorce and I was going to suck Alli dry with my emotional neediness. That was her conclusion though she had talked to me for no more than ten minutes. With guys, it’s worse. If you think Alli’s type-A personality is high strung now just wait and see what she’s like when her parents get all riled up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He looks out over the water following a speedboat with his eyes as it loops around the edge of the lake. “We’ve never even talked about religious differences.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“I’m not trying to turn you off from Alli. She’s not like her folks. She views the world around her without blinders and can see outside the box. It’s just best to not stir the pot with her parents.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“I thought she was Catholic. She went to a Catholic high school.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Her Nana is Catholic. But her parents joined a non-denominational church when Alli was in her teens. It’s a little extreme. I think it turned Alli off to all organized religions. You should probably talk to her about it. But I know for me with my mom’s crazy family, no one ever listens to anyone else with an open mind, so I’ve learned not to discuss religion or politics if I can help it. It just leaves me frustrated when I do. Alli probably feels the same way with her parents. It’s easier to let them assume she agrees with them. If she doesn’t make waves then she can live her life in peace.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I could see the cogs of Thor’s brain turning in his expression. I hope I didn’t say anything wrong. I just wanted to help. He seemed so dejected, and he doesn’t deserve the psychological torture that Alli’s parents inflict. Sometimes Alli doesn’t realize that her parents don’t just affect her. They affect everyone she touches. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I hear the clomping of flip-flops against the wooden slats of the dock and I look back to see Jeff and the rest of the gang coming toward us in their swimsuits. I don’t know what else to say to Thor. I rise as Jeff spins the oversized wheel of the boatlift, clinking with each turn, to lower the boat. We’re going skiing and I still need to get my suit on before the boat leaves without me. I touch Thor’s shoulder and ask, “Are you OK?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He nods and I know that is all I will get now that everyone else is on the dock. I squeeze past the group and hustle inside to get changed. Thor has to figure the rest out on his own. Alli is right to keep him away from her parents. I hope he understands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 7.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Author Susan Schusslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08494538996114920870noreply@blogger.com0