It’s Writing and Sharing Day, You Lucky Bastards

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January 19, 2014 by Renee

It’s not often I devote an entire day to writing and editing, but since I was up early (thank you asshole cat) and finished my “real” work before 8am, I claimed the rest of this fine Sunday for fiction.

You may remember me talking about LUSCIOUS, the second novel in my For the Love of Gods series. Well now it’s title is MENDACIOUS and I’m editing. Beta readers have done their thing and the suggestions all point to giving Sarah and Dionysus a bit more backstory. So I have, and I’m pretty damn happy with the result. I love you, Beta Readers. Don’t stop being awesome.

Anyway, one of the new scenes has Dionysus and Sarah meeting before Aphrodite and Eros decide to meddle and before Dionysus is sent to take over Thanatos’s job as Death.

I thought you guys would enjoy seeing their new first impressions of each other. Don’t worry, it’s a short scene. Enjoy.


Sarah didn’t know why she let herself get suckered into going to a bachelorette party. She barely knew Julie, who was the bride-to-be, or any of her other coworkers, all of whom were slipping money into G-string’s of three strange men and drinking frilly cocktails. In the room next door, the groom and his buddies were doing the same with a few female strippers.

“Loosen up, newbie.” Charlotte, her cubicle neighbor, patted Sarah a little too hard on the back. “It’s a party.”

Sarah smiled and sipped her drink. It didn’t taste awful, but it was far from delicious. “I’m fine. I just don’t know anyone very well.”

Charlotte nodded. “Too bad they won’t keep you on. You’re a better employee than Marla. She’s such a bitch.”

“Well she’s a bitch who had the job before me, and next week she’ll be back from maternity leave.”

“Still sucks. I liked you, even if you’re a little weird.”

Sarah smiled. Charlotte was one of those nosy, pushy, touchy, huggy types. She had to know everything and everyone, and she’d made Sarah one of her projects. Sarah couldn’t wait for Marla to return so she could move on to the next temp job, sans Charlotte.

The women squealed and Sarah turned. A tall man with a head full of mahogany curls had entered the room.

“Hey, do you smell grapes?” Charlotte asked. “Who is that? We only hired the cop strippers.”

“Maybe he’s with the hotel?” Sarah suggested.

“I hope he stays.” Charlotte’s voice was strange. She joined the other women at the door.

Sarah felt a sudden urge to follow, but sat on the uncomfortable chair instead.

“I thought this was a wedding party,” the man said over the women’s chatter. Was Julie rubbing his—oh, not good. He wound slim fingers into Julie’s brown hair. “And you’re the bride?”

Julie nodded. “It’s my bachelorette party. Bobby’s next door.”

“Why don’t we invite the groom and his friends over here?” He smiled and Sarah would have sworn the estrogen level in the room soared through the roof.

Bobby and his friends entered the room and things went from bad to very strange. Sarah picked up her purse, set down her drink, and attempted to inch toward the door.

“Leaving so soon?”

Damn. Sarah turned. Burgundy eyes stared down into hers. She looked for an excuse, but nothing came to mind. “Uh…yes.”

“You’ll miss all the fun.” He said.

“I always do.” She rushed past him and to the door. No one paid attention as she opened it and stepped into the hallway. Before she closed the door, Sarah took one last look, meeting the stranger’s burgundy eyes again. He raised a thin eyebrow. God, she knew better than to do that. Never look back. Never.

Julie moved in front of him. Where was her shirt? Sarah almost gasped as Julie, the sweetest, most in love woman she’d ever seen, sank to her knees in front of a man who was definitely not her fiancé.

She met the man’s eyes again. He put his hand to his ear and mouthed, “Call me.”

Sarah slammed the door. “Asshole.”


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I like to write stuff. Sometimes it's funny. I've published some novels and short fiction. I also battle an addiction to cake and potato chips, and I sometimes have inappropriate fantasies involving Kevin Spacey.

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