Another Hump Day, another #1lineWed. Every watched (or read) “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants?” Or have a sister from a different mister? There’s “Sister Golden Hair”–and I hope that doesn’t give anyone an earworm. Soul sister, sob sister, and sister cities. In this snippet, written as a writing exercise during a class at one of my OKRWA meetings, it’s a case of sibling rivalry. I have no clue if this bit will ever appear in a book. I’m thinking maybe one of the Red Dirt stories left to tell or perhaps the series after, so the heroe’s name would likely change. Still, given fifteen minutes and a prompt “second date,” I sorta like what my brain provided.
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Cole exercised his iron-clad control to keep a smile curving his lips as he faced the woman sitting across the table from him. Delilah. Even her name grated on his nerves. They were only an hour into their second date and it was already an exercise in futility.
The woman didn’t know when to shut up. Clothes. Hair. Make-up. Kim and Kanye. Who freaking cared? She didn’t work, lived in an uptown apartment financed by Daddy who, according to Delilah, was the second coming of Rockefeller.
If he’d been the least bit attracted to her, Cole might put up with her gossip-gabbing mouth. His gaze dropped to glistening red lips. Nope. Nada. The idea of them touching him anywhere—anywhere—triggered cold dread along his spine.
A frisson of awareness skittered across the edges of his perception—something shy, illusive. And totally intriguing. He searched the restaurant looking for the cause. He quit breathing when his gaze collided with that of the woman six tables away.
She was…he didn’t know, couldn’t think for all the fireworks going off in his brain. Mine. She was. And he would claim her. Just as soon as he poured Delilah into a cab and sent her on her way.
Too bad Delilah noticed the direction he was looking.
“What is she doing here?” His lamentable date focused on the woman and sounded like a feral cat as she hissed the question.
“You know her?” He asked casually, and very, very carefully. He eyed the inch-long crimson nails Delilah displayed.
“My sister.” The amount of venom in that one word was enough to poison every customer in the place. “The one my parents disowned.”
Even more curious, he studied the other woman. Her dark hair glistened with red and gold highlights and her eyes were a blue that shaded toward gray. Delilah was a brassy blonde with hard blue eyes that reminded him of that weird water in amusement park rides. He could see a few similarities in the shapes of their faces, but the sister’s mouth? Yeah, he could imagine those lips on every part of his body.
“Coleman!” Delilah’s voice was whip-sharp. “Go tell her she has to leave.”
“Say what?” His gaze skimmed over her, his expression tensing.
“I was here first and I won’t be able to eat a bite with that bitch in the room.”
He choked back a laugh. The only bitch in the room was the one sitting across from him. He leaned back in his chair. “You don’t want to share space with her, you know where the door is.”
Delilah’s face drained of color and then suffused with red as her anger surged. She rocketed out of her chair and leaned over the table as her hand snapped out, fingernails leading the way.
The man’s movements were almost lazy as he blocked her sister’s blow. The approaching waiter halted, frozen stiff by the expression on his face. Amy had never seen any man look more ruthless and she’d grown up in a viper pit of alpha males. A part of her brain wondered what her father would do if confronted by that look.
When she’d realized her sister was here, she’d almost turned around to leave but the stubborn streak that kept her chin up in the face of the bullshit that was her family, forced her to stay. Then she’d caught a glimpse of Delilah’s date. By every ounce of femininity she possessed, she was aware of him. In a visceral way that touched all of her. ALL of her.
****
There it is. Want more? Which of my worlds would it fit in? Writers, got any sisterly advice to share?
Waaaay back in the day, we used to put inspirational posters up on our walls. Or posters of a hot rock star (looking at you Mark Lindsey of Paul Revere and the Raiders). Farrah Fawcett in that tank suit…(the guys anyway…) In college, the one I remember had a butterfly perched on a femimine hand and this message: If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was. Lord but that poser got the lot of us through a bunch of break ups. When I read today’s message from the Universe, that’s the first thing I thought of.
Silver James 