Hooray, Friday is almost here, so let's start the party early with a little Tease Me Thursday!
Today, I'm posting a little bit from my WIP, No Way Out. I stopped working on it to work on When Will I Be Loved, but NWO is next on my list after that! Wyatt is an art student, housesitting in a well-to-do, quiet neighborhood in St. Louis. He spies two men across the street - an older man, and a younger, who is washing a rather nice luxury sedan. I hope you enjoy!
Wyatt thought the older
man was handsome, in a slick sort of Cary Grant way, minus the warmth. But the
younger one... he was very cute. He had long blond hair that he sometimes wore
in a tail at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t tell eye color from a distance,
but in his imagination, they were blue as a summer sky in St. Louis, and very
expressive. He longed to see him closer up, to affirm his first impression.
Maybe get to know him better. It didn’t seem like he went anywhere. At least
Wyatt never saw him leave the house, except in the company of the older man,
whom Wyatt dubbed The Keeper.
Even if he was taken
romantically, who couldn’t use a friend?
Wyatt peeked through
the living room window. There he was now. Correction, there they were. The blond was on his knees,
scrubbing at the expensive sedan The Keeper drove. Come to think of it, hadn’t
he been doing that same thing a few hours ago? How long did it take to wash a
car? And come to think of it, couldn’t Mr. Fancy Pants afford to take it to the
sort of car wash where they not only washed it inside and out, they detailed it
to smell brand new? Hell, they’d probably pick it up and deliver it for him if
he asked.
So why was he making
this guy do it?
Something shifted in
his mind’s eye, and now Wyatt visualized the blond in a slightly different
scenario—on his knees, hands bound behind his back, head bowed in silent
submission. What had brought that on?
Suddenly, Wyatt had the
irrational desire to release the blond from his imaginary bonds, to set him
free. It was time he discovered the true state of affairs between them, for his
own peace of mind. Afterward, he’d laugh about it, and tell himself how foolish
he was. And maybe work it into a sketch or painting.
He took a quick glance
in the mirror. His brown curls were unruly—what else was new?—and perhaps he
had a few smudges under his dark blue eyes. He had a bad habit of rubbing at
them when he was drawing, and he wasn’t very good at cleaning up after himself.
No matter.
He quickly crossed the
street, approaching the pair, frozen in their curious tableau.
He meant to say hello
and introduce himself. Explain that he was staying across the street. But
something went haywire in his brain as he gazed in utter fascination at the
handsome man.
“Is something wrong?”
he blurted out instead.
And now here's the link to the rest of the hop:
