The point of this little exercise, my darlings, is to tease you, to draw you into a character's mind, to take you to the very edge where you can feel their warmth and sweet breath.
But NO KISSING.
And after you read my snippet, you'll click the link below to see a listing of all the blogs participating in this little blogfest, so you can do it (or NOT, because NO KISSING) again and again and again. There are some truly fantastic writers participating here - and I want to give a shout-out to Amanda for organizing us. You should totally check out all the posts, and see all the creative ways they torment their characters.
Because NO KISSING, remember?
The snippet below is from my current WIP. The story is set in 1955, and Russell's the assistant coach for a synchronized swimming team who travels to Seattle to perform in the annual Seafair event, the Aqua Follies. He meets Skip, a trumpet player in the show's band, and despite Russell's best intentions, he finds himself falling for another man. Right here they're on a hike through the woods, up by Deception Pass...
“Russ.” Skip’s voice chased him. “Russell. Come on. I’m sorry.” Braced against a tree by his forearm, Skip’s chest heaved as he fought for breath. “I’m an ass.” He doubled over coughing.
Russell jogged back in Skip’s direction, chagrined at himself for the drama.
“Naw.” He focused on the fabric of the other man’s shirt to avoid the deep water intensity of his gaze.
“Yeah I am.” Skip somehow gave the benign statement a seductive edge.
Russell memorized the small fray in Skip’s right cuff, the worn patches on the knees of his dungarees, the shadow of a beard under his lower lip. Anything but his eyes, his smile. “Let’s hike some more.”
“Now you’re trying to kill me.” Skip scuffed through the fallen, crumbled leaves, coming close enough to clasp Russell’s shoulder.
Russell froze, caught on the edge of a blade. “What?” His voice was raspy and raw. Skip’s spicy scent made Russell want him closer still.
“I like strong men, smart men,” Skip whispered. “Always have.”
Russell closed his eyes, paralyzed by competing urges: to put his fist in Skip’s face or to run away fast. Or to turn around and kiss him.
“Come out with me tonight, after the show.”
Balanced on a high wire between wanting and fear, Russell couldn’t find it in himself to respond.
Susie ran up through the trees, Ryker right behind her. “Your aunt’s blowing her whistle, Russ. We’ve got to get back.”
By now, Russell's resistance to Skip has almost completely worn away, but they've still got a ways to go before they find their HEA. But for you fine souls, click HERE to carry on with the blogfest. You'll find the master list of participating blogs, and there'll be all kinds of heat, but NO KISSING.