Obviously, I’m very fond of all the stories I write but, sometimes, when it feels as if I don’t have to write it, as if the story is basically creating itself and all I have to do is pound my fingers on the keyboard and let it flow out, a special one comes along. That’s how it felt when I was writing I Still Remember. It’s nostalgic and hot (I broke my record of lady-loving scenes per story!) and it’s my wife’s new favourite. Here’s a snippet for today’s Hump Day Hook. I Still Remember will be released next week. (Send me an e-mail if you want an ARC in return for an Amazon review.)
“Eli?” Amy’s voice never really suited her until now. It was always the voice of a grown woman with endless legs, strong hands, and pronounced collar bones.
“Sorry. Miles away.” I take the cup of tea she hands me and, awkward as I feel, sip from it immediately. The tea is scalding hot and I burn the tip of my tongue but I don’t say anything.
Amy looks at me over the rim of her cup while she, wisely, blows on it to cool the liquid. Her eyes radiate a softness I don’t recognise. But we are different people now, even though I feel myself slipping into my teenage skin again—and adoring Amy silently. Me, of the endless chatter on TV, the never-ending banter I’ve made a career of. A few minutes with Amy and I’m sixteen again.
“Why don’t we get on with it.” She places her cup on a small table next to the chair she sits in, one leg folded over the other. She looks at me, her eyes almost watery now, and in that one glance I see it. In that instant, I realise she always knew. “I give a mean massage, even if I do say so myself.” She erases the moment with a quip and a smile and I don’t know what to think.
The words ‘massage’ and ‘Amy’ seem to flash in my mind in big red letters. My brain can’t process the two of them together, as if it has neatly shelved any physicality away from the memory of Amy.
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