Off the Menu

Warning: Mature theme (but not explicit)


The music throbbed, its hard bass line vibrating against her body. It was loud enough that she had to raise her voice so the waiter could hear her order.

He was cute. Very cute. Young, thin, his jeans practically draped off his sculpted hipbones. Dark fringe curtained his eyes. Was it dark brown or black? It was hard to tell in the dark light of the restaurant. He tossed his head back to flip it, revealing deep eyes that could only be the darkest brown. They flashed for just a heartbeat before the soft fringe fell forward, blanketing them again teasingly. Good lord he was beautiful. And sexy as hell.

“Is that all?” His voice matched his face perfectly and his lips curved into a brilliant smile when she nodded wordlessly. She bit back the urge to purr back, “Actually, I’ll take an order of you too, piping hot…” She was fairly sure that wasn’t on the menu though.

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Late Night Freud and the First Glimmers of a New Idea

It’s too late at night to ponder too deeply… my head is heavy and my thoughts are muddled. A thought just occurred to me though and I can’t believe I didn’t figure this out before now.

My writing has changed over the past couple of years. I attributed my change in focus to many things – mainly the fact that I acquired an amazing writing partner. Almost everything I write now is a shared labour of love and we get so caught up in ‘our’ stuff, that the latest novel keeps getting pushed to the side. Inspiration pours out of me in the form of poems and lyrics now and it’s a very different mindset and process than when I write a novel.

When I write the novels, I sit by myself and step into a world that’s of my creation – but not mine. It’s pure fantasy.

When I write songs and poems, I write with and for my partner, about a world that’s ours. It’s our reality.

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Warning: Adult Content


Today was the day. His heart raced and he felt slightly nauseous as he unlocked the hair salon. Every morning when Kohl unlocked the door, he looked at his own name painted on the glass and felt a sense of pride. It’s the only thing he’d ever been proud of and this morning it was no different. Maybe this morning there was even more appreciation for that rolling script; it might be all he had left. Continue reading