Mad Writing on a Wedensday with Misha Elliott #SilveFox #Excerpt

Mad Writing on a Wedensday with Misha Elliott #SilveFox #Excerpt

Silver Fox

Jill and Richard s lives were both irrevocably changed at the age of 17. A chance meeting and long-term friendship lead them into a love affair that is an erotic meld of lust and understanding But age is irrelevant when love enters the heart or is it?

EXCERPT

 

Why do the worst things occur on Mondays? Mondays hate me, I have proof.

Many things go wrong today, a dead car battery, a warning citation from the police due to driving my brother’s car with a busted tail light, a car that makes me feel like a dwarf inside because I had a dead battery.

These situations require patience, and I have none. Again, I haven’t had a cup of coffee yet, because my brother used the last of the coffee beans and didn’t tell me.

I want to throat punch Evan right now.

It’s 6:35 AM which means I have less than ten minutes shop, make it back home by 7:00 AM shower get ready and drive the forty-five-minute commute to make it to the gallery before eight o’clock.

Time is not my friend today so I needed to hurry.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” a deep husky manly voice calls out to me as I leave the store. My heart skips a beat as I recognize the source of that sultry voice, his voice.

If I had to make a list this morning of the last people I ever expected to see at the grocery store before 7 AM, Richard Sisk would have been at the very top my list. My eyes bulge. I stop in my tracks. His large frame swaggers toward me. Some may argue and say he looks cocky. Cockiness is someone thinking they are the shit, but when a man like Richard walks, he has swagger because he is the shit.

I want to lose all control, put my hands all over him, and run my fingers through his hair.

“I see you’re an early riser.” All I need to say is yes. Instead, I give him the highlights from my morning which include a dead car battery and being pulled over by the local police.

I stare intently at this perfect male specimen, memorizing his appearance.

A classic wool-blend twill jacket cuts softly across his shoulder line down the length of his arms. A glimpse of his white shirt peaks out from the folds of his unbuttoned lapel. He gives me a sexy grin, noticing that I’ve been eying him up. Which means he’s been staring at me too. I cough at the realization that this is our first encounter since the bar.

He’s dressed like a million bucks, and I’m clad… in my light Bordeaux colored tank and pant set from Victoria’s Secret, aren’t technically pajamas.

I know the reasons why pajamas shouldn’t be worn in public, but the allure of comfortable sleep clothes, on a Monday morning is strong.

“Please excuse how I look,” Immediately I lift my hands to my hair, silently cringing at how it must look.

“I don’t see anything wrong.” His strong alpha vibe reflects in his tone. My legs turn to jelly. If I were a superhero this man would be my kryptonite.

I have no clue what to say next to this formidable man before me. From his attire I assume he is on his way to somewhere important, but still, want him to continue talking to me. Looking at me.

“What’s in the cup?”

“Hot java, black with cream. Are you an addict as well?”

I pull my bag of beans out for some reason. “Yes, this is my favorite blend. I grind a fresh cup every morning.” I don’t stop there, I go into an explanation of how to keep them fresh. “Most people put them in the refrigerator, but you should never do that. Air, moisture, heat, and light are the coffee bean’s greatest enemy.

“Sounds tedious,” He removes the lid. Blows on the contents, to cool them further then brings the rim up to his lips for a sip.

When people are nervous most tend to speak quickly, for me when nerves are on overdrive I use my hands way too much and way too fast. Talking to him came easy when we were at the bar; now, not so much.

“It’s nothing,” My right hand gestures wildly. One flick of the wrist knocks the coffee out of his hand. I watch in horror as it spills down his pressed white shirt leaving a big wet brown stain.

It is a catastrophe of epic proportions.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” My head looks left then right searching for something, but not finding it.

“It’s alright, I keep a spare at the office.”

He heads to the left, I move to the right. Once I’m inside Evan’s car, I pound my fist on the steering wheel. Then press my palms against my face completely mortified.

Monday strikes again.