Sneak Peak Sunday! FRESH ICE!

Good evening Friends!

Not sure if I've mentioned it, but I recently released my third novel, Fresh Ice  (Don't be confused, there are two books out there with the same title...mine is, well mine.  By SARAH J. BRADLEY)  Anyway, the tale of former figure skater Isabella "Izzy" Marks seems to resonate with most readers, so I thought I'd give you all a little more of  a peak into her world.  At this point in the book, she's decided to leave Wisconsin for good and move to Nashville to be closer to her daughter, who is attending college there.    Oh, and there's this sort of mystery guy she saw at a club...and she's intrigued.  So here you go!  (and for those of you NOT into Kindle, this book is also available for the Nook, any e-reader, if you click HERE!  It's also available in print if you click HERE!

            Izzy sipped her iced tea and tried to ignore the chatter floating around her like cottonwood pollen. Jenna and Mikayla carried on a loud discussion about what they would wear on the first day of classes. Izzy knew it was a hilarious conversation, simply by looking at Adele’s disapproving glare. Sean, probably thinking about the long day’s drive he had ahead of him in the morning, was quieter than normal, which only emphasized Izzy’s own lack of participation.

            I have to stay focused. I have to think of exactly the right words to somehow make this decision seem right for everyone involved, including Adele.

            “Ladies, I hate to break up your chit chat,” Sean pushed his chair back from the table, but we have a long drive tomorrow and us oldsters need our sleep.”

            Adele looked at her watch. “Oh you are right, Sean. Okay, girls, give me a hug.” She stood and held her arms out wide. Jenna and Mikayla stood and positioned themselves into her iron embrace. Izzy knew, from the girls’ body language, that this hug was not soft and motherly.

            If she’s hard and unyielding with the girls, what’s she going to be like with me when I flat out defy her?

            “Come on Izzy,” Adele could have been summoning a dog to her side. “Let’s go.”

            “No.”

            The word was out before Izzy had time to second guess herself. It hung in the air like the glow of an unexpected bold of lighting.

            “I’m sorry. What did you say?” Adele put her hands on her hips, a fighter, waiting for the bell.

            Sean and the girls froze in their positions. Only their eyes moved back and forth from Adele to Izzy.

            “I said no, I’m not coming with you.” Izzy struggled to keep a fearful waver out of her tone.

            Adele’s expression clouded. “I see. So you’re having a few moments with the girls before you turn in?”

            “No. I mean I’m not coming back to Wisconsin. I’m staying in Nashville.”

            Sean and the girls slipped back to seating positions and waited.

            “You’re staying here?”

            “Yes.”

            “You’re not coming back?”

            “No.” Izzy shook her head for emphasis.

            “What do you intend to do?”

            “I guess I’ll do what people do. I’ll find a place to live, a place to work. There’s nothing for me back in Wisconsin. The house is foreclosed, my job won’t support me.”

            “Oh, and there are so many opportunities here? What kind of job do you think you’ll get here? There isn’t much of a market for a former figure skater with no education and bad credit.”

            Adele’s words stung like a slap to the face. Izzy blinked, and glanced at Jenna, whose expression of fury steeled Izzy’s resolve. “My daughter is here. I have, or will have, enough money to get a modest place.”

            “How do you have any money?” Adele waited a beat. “Unless that man you were with paid you. Just how good are you that you can snag a dirty musician and suddenly have enough money to make a major move like this?”

            “Mom!” Mikayla shouted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

            “No Mikayla, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Remember yesterday when she was so sick she couldn’t help you move? Well, I found her out with a man, and they looked like they were headed to bed.”

            “All right Aunt Iz!” Mikayla cheered.

            “Adele, shut up.” Izzy kept her voice low. Fear was gone, replaced by righteous anger. “I was not headed to bed with a man. Collier was my best friend growing up. We happened to meet yesterday purely by chance. We talked, we had dinner. And then he put me in a cab and I went back to the hotel. Alone.” She glanced at Jenna, who gave her an uncertain smile.

            “Well at least you can’t ruin him like you ruined Jason. He’s already homeless.”

            Izzy staggered back at the force of this unexpected blow. “I didn’t ruin anything for Jason.”

            “That’s not the way I remember it.”

            “Adele, that’s enough,” Sean said quietly.

            “No, Sean, this is a long time coming. My brother had everything going to him until her father bribed him to skate with her and then she trapped him with a pregnancy.”

            “Your brother was a grown man who got a young girl pregnant.” Sean’s face turned a shade of red Izzy had never seen on him.

            “Yes, and had she gotten the abortion like we all told her she should have, he wouldn’t have been exiled in shame.”

            “Mother…shut the hell up!” Mikayla put her arm around Jenna. “Do you listen to anything that falls out of that gaping pie hole of yours or do you just say every damn word that comes to your head?” Mikayla eased a stunned looking Jenna out of the booth. “You are one foul bitch. For your information, Aunt Izzy won the lottery. Not a million bucks, but certainly enough to tell your queen bitch ass to go to hell.”

            “Mikayla! Language!”

            “Whatever.” Mikayla hugged Sean, who was now also standing. “Sorry Dad. Have a safe trip back. Come on Jenna.”

            Without another word, the girls walked out.

            “Do you see what you did?” Adele turned on Izzy, her eyes blazing.

            “What I did? What I did? I didn’t do anything to you.” Izzy took three steps toward the door.

            “Everything you owe me, and this is how you repay me?”

            Izzy paused, her hand hovering over the knob. The idea of owing Adele anything froze her. “What on earth could I possibly owe you?”

            “If it weren’t for us, you and Jason would have been on the street.”

            “Adele, Jason more than paid for that and you know it.”

            Adele whirled her viper eyes on Sean. “Shut up Sean! That was nothing! That was a pittance! We gave them a life, we gave them livelihood!”

            “They paid for that. Izzy’s more than paid her share.”

            Izzy stared at Sean, his intense glare of defiance surprising her. Sean never stood up to Adele. What does he mean, we paid for it?

            “It wasn’t enough given the years I’ve had to put up with this!”

            Izzy’s glance whipped back to Sean as she waited for a spirited rebuttal, but the look was gone, replaced by his usual slack expression of defeat. I’m on my own against her again. Izzy squared her shoulders. “Well, Adele, I’m so very sorry you’ve had to put up with me all these years. So I guess I’m taking that huge task away from you. Whatever will you do with all the time you’ll have, now that you can’t think up ways to blame me for everything?” She didn’t wait for a response, and given the purple hue to Adele’s face, it was doubtful the one she got would have been pleasant. She whipped the door open and charged through it, rage speeding her steps.

            Once out on the street, the warm night air did little to calm her. She started up the street with a vague notion of tracking down Jenna. She didn’t realize she was nearly running until she crashed into another pedestrian and fell down.

            “Hey, where’s the fire?” The tall man held out his hand.

            “Thank you. I’m so sorry…oh, it’s you…” Her knees went weak as she looked into the clear, beautiful eyes of the mystery man from Jason’s funeral.

            He smiled, and kept his hand on her arm. “Yes it is.”

            “I’m so sorry. I mean, you’re the guy from the other night, the one who introduced the bands. Quinn…something.” Why am I blanking on his last name?

            “Yes. Yes, that’s what my stage name is; Quinn Something.”

            Izzy brushed herself off. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit preoccupied.”

            “I gathered that.”

            “Well, anyway.” She shook his hand. “Thank you for your help, Quinn Something.”

            “You’re very welcome, Miss. Look, can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?”

            Izzy looked up into Quinn’s face. Again she was mesmerized by his eyes. “Are you in the habit of asking out complete strangers?”

            “No, of course not. But we’re not complete strangers.”

            “Really?”

            “Really. I mean, you saw me at Chance’s, and we just ran into each other here. Plus, we know 25% of our combined names. We’re nearly old friends.”

            “Ah. So what would we be if we knew each others’ full names?”

            “Well, this is the South. We’d be kissin’ cousins.” He gave her a dizzying smile.

            Her knees went weak, and Izzy laughed out loud to cover her sudden flash of arousal. Her anger at Adele shed itself from her like a heavy coat. There was something about Quinn that put her at ease. Also, there were his beautiful eyes. “Say, you don’t have a twin, do you?”

            “No. Why do you ask?”

            “Then we have met before. My name is Isabella Marks, but everyone calls me Izzy. But you must have already known that.”

            A shadow crossed his face. “Why do you say that?”

            “You were at my husband’s funeral, back in March.”

            Quinn was quiet for a long moment, his eyes darkened. “Yes, I was there.”

            Briefly Izzy wondered why admitting that fact was so difficult for him. She decided not to pursue the line of questioning.

            “So they call you Izzy.” He seemed happy to change the subject. “That is a  properly Southern nickname.”

            “I grew up here.”

            “Okay then, Miss Izzy,” he bowed low, and used an exaggerated Southern accent, “my full name is Quinn Murray. I did not grow up here, but here is where I have taken root.” He took her hand and brushed his lips lightly on the tips of her fingers. “So, where would you like to go?”

            “I don’t suppose there’s anyplace I could get some good coffee and grits, is there? I have a sudden urge for grits.”

            “Miss Izzy, this is the South. Finding grits here is like finding cheese curds in Wisconsin. And I know the perfect place for grits this time of night.”

            Ten minutes later, Izzy and Quinn were seated in a Waffle House, waiting for their food to arrive.

            “So Mr. Murray…”

            “Call me Quinn, please.”

            “Quinn. What are you celebrating?”

            “I do some charity events at Bridgestone Center and I just got something lined up for the spring that could help a very worthy cause in a big, big way. And today I got permission to use the Center for the event. I’m pretty excited about it.”

            “Well that is a reason to celebrate.” She set her coffee cup down. “You said some of the Admiral players were your friends. Are you a hockey player?”

            Quinn took a long time stirring cream into his coffee before he answered. “I work for the Nashville Predators, that’s the NHL affiliate of the Milwaukee Admirals.” He took her hand in his. “Ja-Your husband seemed to be well liked. I am sorry for your loss.”

            There’s something about his expression. He doesn’t look all that sorry.

            I’m imagining things.

            “Thank you. It’s been a big adjustment. I’ve just decided to move back to Nashville. My daughter is starting at Vanderbilt and I’ve got nothing holding me in Wisconsin.” Remembering Adele’s hurtful words, Izzy shook her head. “I’m celebrating moving back.”

            Quinn smiled at her, his clear blue-green eyes lighting up. “Well, then, I guess welcome back Izzy Marks. Welcome home.”

Ladies and Gentlemen...Fresh Ice.

Good morning!

After much editing, many bumps in the road, and more cups of coffee by day and glasses of pinot noir by night, I am delighted to announce that my third novel, Fresh Ice, will be released officially on Tuesday, December 12.  (That's 12-12-12.)

You will be able to purchase it where all digital books are sold, and, so long as I get my act in gear this week and get it together, you'll be able to purchase it in print on Amazon.

Words cannot begin to express the joy this announcement gives me.  Every writer dreams of the day they can release their story, their heart, to the world and I've been so blessed to be able to do it now for the third time.  Releasing a book is very much like giving birth.  The biggest difference is that the book won't sass me and demand I give it the car keys on Saturday.

Once Fresh Ice is available for sale, I will post links on this blog.

Now, the rest of you, go forth and WRITE!

Sneak Peak Sunday! Fresh Ice

Good evening!  It's been a while since I popped a chapter out from my new work in progress  (due out this fall, Lord willing and the river don't rise...)

Remember, it's random!  (And, given how strict both my critique partners are being with me of late, it may not even get into the final draft, so enjoy it while you can!)

My timing could not suck more. Quinn sat in the narrow plane seat next to Benny and cursed himself, again, for the events of the previous night. I knew I was leaving on this trip. I knew it and I went ahead and opened that door anyway.

            Now I have a week away from her. A lifetime.

            “So Quinn you told me weeks ago that you were going to find a woman for me.” Benny drained the last of his diet cola. “Yet, here we sit, another trip, and you have come up with exactly no one and nothing. I’m starting to doubt your abilities in the romance department, my friend.”

            You’re not the only one.

            Quinn closed his eyes and felt Izzy against him, felt the heat of her soft skin. He tasted her lips.

            “Hey, Quinn? Earth to Quinn? We’ve landed, dude.”

            “What?”

            Benny yanked his carry on out of the overhead compartment. “Yeah, I asked about this magical woman you’re supposedly fixing me up with, and you went all space cadet on me. And now, we’re in San Jose.”

            “Oh, sorry.”

            “Yeah, whatever. The next time you want to just day dream about your sex life, warn me.”

            “What?”

            Benny shook his head. “I’ve known you for a long time. I know your sex daydream face. And you, my friend, were daydreaming big time. So who is she? It’s not Boss Lady, is it? Tell me it’s not her.”

            “Shut up Benny.”

            “Ooh, touchy. So it’s NOT the Boss Lady. The plot does thicken, doesn’t it?”

            “I’m not having this conversation.”

            “Not having what conversation? Bob sidled up to them.

            “Quinn was having a sex daydream about someone other than Boss Lady.”

            Bob laughed. “Well, we are in San Jose, which, if I’m recalling correctly, is the scene of some of your biggest conquests, Quinn.”

            Why would I think I could have a normal relationship with anyone? What decent woman would even allow me near them, if this is how my friends think of me?

            He couldn’t escape the image of Izzy, smiling at him. She would. And I left her. What kind of idiot am I?

            Without realizing it, Quinn had followed Benny and Bob through the airport to the street where they were calling for him to get into a cab. Quinn stared at the pair as if seeing them for the first time. “Guys I can’t do this.”

            “Quinn, it’s a cab. You get in, you close the door, and they drive you to a very nice hotel that will have a beautiful room service menu.” Benny called.

            “No, I mean, I have to go. I have to go home.”

            “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah Bob, I am. I’ll meet you guys on Friday, in the Twin Cities. I just…I have to go.”

            “Quinn?” Benny jumped out of the cab. “What the hell dude? You can’t just run out. You’ve got two games to do before we get to the Wild game on Friday.”

            “Cover for me Benny. Please?”

            Benny paused and smiled. “This must be a big deal, huh?”

            “The biggest.”

            “Okay. Okay. Bob and I will figure out something. But be in the Twin Cities on Friday.”

            “I promise.”

            “And Quinn?’

            “Find that woman for me, okay?”

            Quinn laughed. “I will Benny, I swear. But first I have to go see someone. And if she’ll talk to me, I might be able to find you someone really great.”

            “I’m going to hold you to that.” Benny got back into the cab.

            “I know.”

            “Boss Lady is going to be pissed that you went AWOL.”

            “I know that too.” Quinn waved as the cab pulled away from the curb. Without another thought, he went into the airport and booked a flight home

Sneak Peak Sunday! Fresh Ice

Good evening!

The fun thing about reading a book that's not published yet is that you might be reading a section of the book that won't actually make it into the final draft.

I doubt that will happen with this chapter, because I do love it.  To set you up with the scene, Quinn and Izzy have just spent the night working at the Waffle House, serving the homeless coffee because of an unseasonable cold snap in Nashville.  They've now returned to Izzy's place over the coffee shop, where Izzy promised Quinn a shower and breakfast in return for his help.

Enjoy!


QUINN

Quinn dried off after his shower and studied the bathroom.  The room was small, it was difficult for him to turn around, but there were no frilly towels or decorative soaps cluttering the shelves.  There was little in the way of sprays, perfumes, and lotions.  Everything was simple and tidy. 

             I feel at home here, comfortable.  Even if I can’t pull a t-shirt on over my head.

            Putting on his jeans was enough contortionism for him, so, shirtless, he opened the door.  “It’s all yours.”  He set his duffle on the table and pulled out a pair of clean socks. 

            Izzy ended her phone conversation shook her head.  “You didn’t have a shirt in your duffle?”

            Am I blushing?  “Hey, don’t blame me.  There isn’t room in there for me to put a shirt on.”

            “Don’t get defensive.”  She grabbed some clothes from the edge of her bed.  “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” 

            Quinn wanted to think she was flirting.  And he did, until she closed the bathroom door and the sounds of the shower didn’t drown out her giggle.

            “You don’t do much for a guy’s ego, you know,” he shouted at the bathroom door.  Izzy’s giggles turned into full blown laughter.

            He pulled on his socks.  He always loved the feel of clean socks after a shower. Since giving up drinking Quinn spent far more money on clean socks than most people. Old jeans and new socks.  Most comfortable things in life.

Quinn

            Except for this apartment.  A table, two chairs, two nightstands, a killer TV…and a big, soft bed.  That’s all anyone really needs to be happy, as long as they have a life they like, right?

            So what’s my defect?  My life is a mess…why can’t I let go of what’s not working?

            Because if I did, I’d have to give up what is working, too.

            He lay on the bed, his feet dangling near the floor.  His eyes closed, he tried to picture a world where he could be as at peace as he was in this still moment…and still keep the trappings of his glory days.  That place doesn’t exist.  But then, neither does a world where Izzy knows what I really am and she still lets me shower in her tiny bathroom and lie on her massive bed and be at peace.

Cat.

            A knock on the door jolted Quinn out of his reverie.  “Coming!”  He pulled on his other sock and opened the door.  “Hey, Cat.”      

            Cat stared at him for a beat.  “OH COME ON!”  She shouted, shoving a tray of food at him and storming down the hall.  “You cannot be serious!”

            “Wait, wait…” Quinn juggled the tray a bit before setting on the table.  “Cat!”  He stuck his head out the door.  “Cat?”

            “What’s all the yelling?”  Izzy, dressed in soft sweatpants and a long sleeved thermal shirt walked out of the bathroom.  “Oh good, Cat dropped off the food.  Ooh, cinnamon rolls.”

            “Yeah, what’s up with her?” Quinn liked how she looked.  Her hair, still damp, trailed onto her shoulders.  Her face was clean and smooth.  He’d never seen her look prettier.

            Izzy looked at him.  “Did you answer the door like that?”

            “Like what?”

Izzy

            “Shirtless and muscly like that.”  She picked up the mug marked ‘decaf’ and dumped in three ice cubes.  “At least she didn’t spill the ice.”

            “So, a guy can’t take his shirt off around here?”

            Izzy bit deep into a cinnamon roll.  “No, most guys can.  I’m sure those Monty Python guys downstairs, they could strip naked and Cat probably wouldn’t make a big deal about it.”  She licked a bit of frosting off her fingers, a move that stirred something in Quinn.  “But you…well, have you seen yourself?”

            Quinn couldn’t stop the faint shiver that ran up his spine.  So she thinks I’m good looking.  “Fine, fine.  I’ll put on a shirt.”

            “Don’t get huffy, think of it from another point of view. Cat is a lonely, lonely, lonely woman.  And you…well, you’re like guy on the cover of a romance novel.  Guys like you can’t just wander around without a shirt; you have no idea what sort of trigger sequence you’re launching.”

            Quinn laughed out loud as he pulled a long sleeved t-shirt over his head.  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a woman equate arousal with launch sequences.”

            She picked up her coffee cup, walked past him, and sat cross legged on her bed.  “I used to watch a lot of the History Channel.  My husband…he liked it.”  A veil of melancholy passed over her face.  “Anyway…” she drank more coffee, seemingly unaware she’d stopped talking.

            Has she mentioned Jason by name once since she’s lived in Nashville?

            Eager to bring the light mood back, Quinn sat on the edge of the bed, coffee cup in hand.  “So why the ice cubes in the coffee?”

            Izzy shook herself out of her thoughts.  “I don’t know.  I do it with wine and coffee.  Something about the ice…I don’t know.  I’ve done it for years.  I don’t even remember when I started drinking coffee.”

            “Or wine?”

            “Oh wine!”  She chuckled and set her empty coffee cup on the nightstand.  “No, that I remember really well.  Col and I…”

            “I’m sorry, who’s Col?”

            She leaned against the pillows.  “Collier James.  My very best friend growing up.  We used to sneak…we used to sneak into his father’s office and one night he had this bottle of cherry wine.”

            Quinn set his cup on the opposite night stand and slid next to her.  “How old were you?”

            “Thirteen.  Col was fifteen and really rebellious.  We drank the whole thing.  I got so sick.”  She laughed at the memory.  “That was my first kiss.”  Her smile faded slightly and she looked at Quinn.  “I’d forgotten that part.”

            Oh good move Murray.  You’re finally on a bed with the woman and you’ve got her thinking about someone else.  Nice.

            “Anyway, our parents had a fit.  How about you?  What was your first experience with demon liquor?”

            “Demon liquor?”

            Izzy shrugged.  “History Channel.”

            “I was young, too.  I think my brothers snuck me into some party when I was in high school.  I was older than thirteen though.  That’s young.”

            “Well, things were sort of…in fast forward for me.”  She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest.  “You say you wanted to take me up on that favor.  I’m guessing a hot shower and some breakfast won’t quite cover it?”

            Quinn adjusted to her conversational gear shift.  “You see…I’ve got this charity thing in a few days.  It’s for the Make a Wish Foundation.  Some little boy here in Nashville wanted to skate with real NHL players.  It’s not a huge deal, but my…assistant sort of bailed on me last minute.  I could use someone to, you know, maybe greet people at the door, hand out parting gifts.  Maybe skate a little in a scrimmage, if one comes up?”  He studied her face to see if his request sparked anything in her. 

            “Skating?”

            “Can you skate at all?”  He felt stupid asking the question.

            “Oh a little.  I mean, I used to go to skate parties with Jenna.”  She hugged her knees tighter.  “I won’t crash into the wall, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

            Crashing into the wall?  I’m more worried about falling to pieces if you really start to skate.  “So it’s a yes?”

            She was quiet for a moment.  Then, as if she’d finished some internal battle, she relaxed and lay back on the pillow.  “Possibly.  But first you need to answer a question that’s been bugging me.”

            “Okay, I’ll try.”  And I’ll try harder to not take you in my arms right now.

            “Why don’t you sing more often? Like you did at Chance’s?”

            “There’s no money in it.”  The words were out before he could stop them.  Where did that come from?  Am I really that tied up in money?

            “Ah, so you just do stuff for the money?”

            Her dark eyes pierced through the protective layers he’d wrapped around himself.  “No, of course not.  But I’ve got the radio station thing and I’m on the road with the Preds a lot.”

            Her eyelids drooped.  “You were so good that night, Quinn.  When you sang that last song…that Night Ranger song…there was something so…so pure about it.”

            The first time anyone’s used the word pure next to my name.  “I’ve never given it a real thought I guess.  I’ve always only done what I do…because I’m good at it.  Who could believe I could do more than a short show at a local dive?” 

            “I believe it.”  She yawned and rolled onto her side facing him.  “You think about it.  You promise to think about it, and I’ll help you out with your charity event.” 

            “I’m going to hold you to it.”  He brushed a damp strand of hair away from her face.  Completely relaxed, her face looked like porcelain.  He brushed his fingertips lightly on her cheek, unable to keep from touching her.

            “Okay.  Promise.”  Her voice was far away, dreamy.

            Watching her sleep, her face a perfect image of an angel, Quinn thought about her words.  How great would it be to turn my back on everything and sing for a living?  He’d never given it a thought.  And Izzy believes in me. His heat beat a little more quickly.  Could I make that big of a change?

            Serena would never allow it.  She would completely ruin me.

            And of course, I’d be broke in about a month.

            Could I live that way? 

            I could, maybe, if Izzy could forgive my past.

            But that is very unlikely.

            His cell buzzed in his pocket.  He eased off the bed.  Wrapping a quilt around Izzy, he made sure she was safe and warm before he left.  Serena summons.  Time to go pay the rent.

           

Sneak peak Sunday: Pick your adventure!

Hello my friends!

This week for Sneak Peak Sunday I have a bit of a favor to ask.

Should they....or shouldn't they?

See, here's my issue: In my current work in progress, "Fresh Ice"  my two characters, Izzy and Quinn, wrestle with big issue problems about who they are, what kind of person they have become, and, most importantly, can they be saved from what they've become.  A movie writer's log line might read "She's an angel in need of rescue.  He's a hero in need of redemption.  Can they save themselves from themselves?"

First off, i know...thank goodness I don't write log lines for a living.

Second off my big question with this book is, should this be an inspirational novel or a hot and steamy romance?

One might wonder how on earth a story could fall of either side of that coin easily and I'll tell you this:  the characters wrestle with some serious moral questions ranging from the evils of drink to abortion.  They are two very broken people, but broken in different ways.  Quinn, especially, has issues, especially with how he's used women, and how he's now being used by a woman.

So when I get to that moment in the book when they should...you know...I halt and close the door.  I've tried writing steamy loves scenes for these people, which is always fun, but it doesn't ring true given 1)  Izzy's complete lack of experience with men other than her  now deceased husband and 2)  Quinn's longing to become a better man by treating Izzy better than he's ever treated any other woman.

With that in mind, tonights sneak peak is a very unfinished chapter, and one I hope you can help me with:  At the end...simply leave a comment with one of three answers.

1)  Close the door.  (Yes they do, but we don't see it.)
2)  Bring it on.  (steamy love scene.)
3)  Ring the doorbell.  (Nope, not happenin')

Enjoy!

Izzy sat at the table.  “This smells amazing.”

            “You know, it’s the funniest thing.  Breakfast.  Breakfast in the morning when the sun is shining.”

            “Which is when most people eat breakfast.”

            Quinn sat down across the table from her.  “I can’t tell you the last time I ate breakfast after four AM and before noon.”

            “Well, welcome to the world of normal people, Quinn.”  Izzy raised her juice glass in his direction.  “So what are we doing today?”

            “Today not much.  But tomorrow morning, around ten, we have another skate practice scheduled, so rest up.”

            “So nothing today.  And I’m off today.”

            “You are?”

            Izzy threw her napkin at him.  “Don’t act like you don’t know my work schedule.”

            “Okay, fine.  I may have checked before making the skate practice.”

            “Well, since you’re free and I’m free, I have a proposition for you.”  Izzy laughed out loud at Quinn’s lecherous expression.  “Really?”

            “Sorry.  Sorry.  Force of habit.  Muscle memory.  A woman says she has a proposition, my face just falls into that look.”

            “Whatever.  Do you want to hear my proposition or not?”

            Quinn covered his face with her napkin.  “Go ahead.  I’m listening.”

            “I want you to sing.”

            Quinn lowered the napkin.  “You want me to what?”

            “I want you to sing.  I want you to go over to Second Chance’s and work out something that that guy…what’s his name?”

            “Chance.”

            “Right.  Talk to Chance.  I want you to set up a couple dates to sing again.”

            “Izzy I told you.  That was a one time thing to settle a bet.  I’m not a singer.”

            The light in his eyes told her otherwise.  “Quinn, I’m serious.  You got me on the ice again, against my better judgement.  You are a very, very good singer.  That crowd loved you.”  She blushed.  “I loved you.”

            Quinn dropped his fork.  “I’m sorry, what?”

            “You heard me.  I was standing there, watching you sing that beautiful song, and I just sort of fell in love.  With you.  The singer.”

            Quinn jumped out of his chair, crossed the room, and grabbed his guitar case from the corner near the fireplace.  “Geez woman, why didn’t you say that earlier?  You love me as a singer?  Fine…I will happily serenade you while you eat breakfast.  I will serenade the hell out of this breakfast if that works for you!”

            “You go for it!”  Izzy cheered and she bit into a salty piece of bacon.  She watched him move around the room and then sit down with his guitar.  His manner changed, as if he were a completely different person.  Izzy sipped her juice and waited for him to sing.

QUINN

            His hand trembled with the first chord and he hoped she didn’t notice.  What on earth am I doing?  I can’t just sing a song here in my apartment, first thing in the morning?

            “What would you like me to sing?”

            She chewed slowly on a piece of bacon.  How is it possible she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.  She’s got bed head and she’s eating bacon? 

            And if she asked me to swallow crushed glass right now, I probably would.

            Quinn took a deep breath.  Waiting…not exactly my  biggest talent.

            “I really, really liked that Night Ranger song you sang at the end.” 

            “That one?  But it’s sad?  It’s a good-bye song.”

            She set down the bacon and took a sip of juice.  Licking her lips, she smiled.  “And your voice was ultra sexy when you sang it at Chance’s.”

            It’s not swallowing crushed glass, so I’m going to sing it.

            Quinn strummed the strings, and hummed a few bars, warming up to the idea that he was sitting in his sweatpants, singing a stripped down version of a sad song to the woman who held his heart squarely in her hands. 

            Singing like this took him back, back to his mother’s kitchen when he’d sing for his sister.  She loved it when I sang.  She was truly my biggest fan.

            And then I became the biggest ass in the world.

            The words stuck in his throat and he stopped singing.

            “Quinn?  Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” he wiped his eyes.  “I was just remembering…my sister loved that song.”

            “You talked about her last night, too.”

            Quinn nodded.  “Yeah, I did. “

            Izzy set her fork down.  “You should call her, Quinn.”

            “You should call your parents.”

            She bit her lip and for a moment Quinn wanted to curse himself for breaking up a beautiful moment.  “I won’t be calling them, there’s no hope there.  But you and your sister, you could give her a call.”

            Change the subject.  Bring the mood back to when she was talking about loving you, you big dumb idiot.  “Tell you what.  I’ve got another song I’d like to sing for you, if you don’t mind.”

            Izzy stood and cleared the plates from the table.  “Sure.  What do you have in mind?”

            Quinn strummed a few chords. He knew she recognized the notes by the way she stared at him.

            “Oh Quinn,” her voice was soft as she sat on the floor next to him.

            “’If I had another chance tonight, I’d try to tell you that the things we had were right…’”

            The song lasted three minutes, but the effects, Quinn sensed, would last far longer.  Izzy’s eyes glistened with tears.   

            “That was beautiful,” she whispered against his cheek.

            He set the guitar on the floor behind him. He kissed a tear away from her cheek, savoring the salty taste.  Cupping her face in his hands, Quinn kissed her gently, without demand, and waited.      

            Her return kiss was just as gentle, but confident, and full of promise. 

            He kissed her again, holding her tighter, one hand smoothing her wild cloud of curls.  Her locks were surprisingly soft and untangled, giving way to the slightest pressure from his fingers.

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