Natalie sighs. “I left his lederhosen-wearing-ass at the party in Chelsea,” she looks back at me with a smile, “and came here.”
Best decision she’ll ever make.
Taking her hand, I say, “Let’s get a drink.” Walking toward the bar, I notice the eyes of every single guy skimming her body — Natalie’s a vision tonight, platinum wig and iconic white dress swaying against her hips — but she’s mine.
Soon.
The first and last time I saw Natalie, she had some major shit going on in her life. But on that night, I knew without a doubt that we would eventually be together. Funny how fate likes to control the outcome. And funny how we both allow it, knowing that one day it won’t matter.
“Here, grab that seat,” I say, guiding her by the small of her back to an empty chair.
Natalie sits on the leather stool and pulls me in next to her. “Let’s order the Sangria.”
While motioning for the bartender, I place my other arm around her bare shoulder. The bartender, dressed as the alien, Alf, places two napkins on the bar in front of us.
“Beer or Red Rum?” he asks in a nasally voice.
“Red Rum, I guess.”
When the bartender leaves, Natalie swivels slightly on the stool, her knee resting under my nuts. “How’ve you been, Chris?”
“I’m good. Busy at work.”
With her blue eyes sparkling, Natalie asks the inevitable question. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nah, holding out for someone special. You?”
“Yeah, but nothing serious. No one special.” Her hand moves to the waistband of my jeans as her pinky strokes my stomach. But when the bartender places the mini pitcher of blood-red liquid on the bar, she quickly removes her hand.
“May I present, Red Rum. Do you want to start a tab?” the bartender asks.
“Sure,” I say, pouring the alcoholic punch into our glasses. He leaves an orange ticket next to the pitcher and waddles away toward the other patrons in his furry costume.
When it’s just us, alone in a pocket of space controlled by fate, I smile. Returning my smile with a wink, Natalie brings the glass of Sangria to her mouth. She slowly takes a sip, and then staring into my eyes, sensually licks her lips.
I simply watch.
“Perfection. Do you want a taste?” Natalie asks.
I take the glass from her hand and place it on the bar next to mine. Leaning in and inching closer, we let our lips linger on the verge of a new story — our story. Placing all my faith in our future, I don’t kiss her, not yet.
I shift behind her, placing my hands on her shoulders, and pressing my mouth against her ear.
“Soon,” I whisper.
Are you craving more from Chris, Natalie, Adam and Chloe?
Continue on their timeless journey of friendship and love in the upcoming release, The Album.
A moment, a kiss, a love, an epic soundtrack.
Available 11.11.14
Hey y’all!
Fifteen years ago I became a permanent New Yorker, but I have yet to abandon my Texas charm. NYC is an amazing place to find inspiration — the random and the ordinary that make up reality. My writing showcases inspired ideas, as well as my love for dichotomy, authenticity and humor.
I'm just a girl. A girl with a dream. A dream to write for television. I also had a dream to marry Christian Bale, but I digress. I'm a girl with a dream to write and write and write until someone tells me to stop. And even then I would find a way to write about the jerk who wanted me to stop.
Connect with Ashley Pullo
Website: www.ashleypullo.com
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The Album 11.11.14
The Ballad 12.11.14
Double Dare by Penny Reid
Never play truth or dare with identical twins
Dear Reader,
This short story is actually the beginning of book #1 in the Winston Brother’s series (the full novel will be released before summer 2015). I did my best to end it at a place where (if this is all you were to read of Jessica and Duane’s story, then) you would feel content and satisfied that they reached their Happily Ever After. But for those of you who want more, do not fret! It’s on its way.
I hope you all have a happy Halloween!!
Part 1: The Tale of Two Twins
— Jessica~
I pulled into the Green Valley Community Center parking lot and scared the crap out of five senior citizens.
Though it was Halloween, frightening senior citizens was not on my agenda.
I’d dutifully stopped as they crossed in front of my vehicle. Unfortunately for everyone within earshot, the truck made a ghastly, high-pitched whining sound whenever it idled.
The five of them jumped, obviously startled, and glared at me as though I’d commanded the truck to make the screech on purpose. Soon their glares morphed into wrinkled squints of plain befuddlement as their eyes moved over my appearance from my perch. It took them a few minutes, but they recognized me.
Everyone knew me.
Nevertheless, I imagined they were not expecting to see Jessica James, the twenty-one year old daughter of Jeffrey James and sister of Jackson James, dressed in a long white beard sitting behind the wheel of an ancient Ford Super Duty F-350 XL.
In my defense, it wasn’t my monster truck. It was my mother’s. I was currently between automobiles, and she’d just upgraded to a newer, bigger, more intimidating model. Something she could plaster with bumper stickers that said, Have You Kissed Your Sheriff Today? and Don’t Drink and DERIVE, Alcohol and Calculus Don’t Mix, and Eat Steak!! The West Wasn’t Won With Salad.
As the local chief of police’s wife, mother to a police officer (my brother) and math teacher (me), and the daughter of a cattle rancher, I think she felt it was her duty to use the wide canvas of her truck as a mobile pro-police, mathematics, and beef billboard.
After a few more minutes of confused stares, the gang of seniors shuffled off toward the entrance to the community center, casting cautiously confused glances over their shoulders. As quickly as I could, I maneuvered the beast into a space at the edge of the lot. Since inheriting the truck I usually parked on the edge of parking lots so as not to be that jerk who drives an oversized vehicle and takes up two spaces.
I adjusted my beard, tossing the three-foot, white length over my shoulder, and grabbed my gray cape and wizard hat. Then I tried not to fall out of the truck or flash anyone on my hike down from the driver’s seat. Luckily, my costume also called for a long staff, and I leveraged the polished wood to aid my descent; the rest of my costume was negligible — a one-piece mini-skirt sheath with a low cut front — and made stretching and moving simple.
I was halfway across the lot, lost in delighted mental preparation for my father and brother’s scowls of disapproval, when I heard my name.
“Jessica, wait up.” I turned, found my coworker Claire jogging toward me. I set my wizard hat — which had a built-in wig — on my head and waved.
“I thought that was you. I saw the beard and the staff.” She slowed as she neared, her eyes moving over the rest of my costume. “You’ve made some… modifications.”