Holy crap. Where did January go? It's crazy how fast months fly by now.
So, The Flash is testing my patience. Not in a necessarily bad way, but having Barry zoom around and put all the inmates back in their cells had me eye-rolling. We'll see how long they keep him trapped in a cell. I need to rewatch the second episode of Black Lightning because I had too many distractions the first time around.
Riverdale… Oh, show. The Ram? Really? I don't know. It's either the best nickname ever or possibly the lamest one on the planet. Time will tell. Everything else about the episode hit high notes for me. It's going to be a wild ride and I'm totally strapped in to see where everything goes. One interesting development… now that I have a better understanding of Mama Alice I now need to know what the hell flavor of fresh hell Hal's been drinking.
Arrow keeps throwing twisty-turns into the mix and I love it. I'm actually hoping Vigilante is an actual double agent. And here's my fondest desire… he's working for ARGUS in exchange for immunity against all the bad guys he killed. Just saying, having him around for a while wouldn't be a bad thing. Now, after saying that, he did tell James he knows how to push every one of Dinah's buttons and having him on her side would be a great big red one. I won't be too shocked if his help is nothing but a ruse. But I will be disappointed, dammit.
Still loving my period dramas. Murdoch Mysteries and Frankie Drake Mysteries. Frankie Drake is terrific with keeping interesting cases rolling across the screen. Murdoch Mysteries never fails to be consistent with quality. Love both of these shows.
I'm burning through season three of Chicago Fire and still loving the show. I'm also enjoying the crossover episodes they have with other productions. Nice to have those on the DVDs.
I think that's it for television this week. Tonight's post is from Drowning Pull, a novella that started with the idea of meeting the right person at the wrong time.
Here's the mini-blurb:
Lane Addison drowns his grief over losing his brother in alcohol, until a blonde distraction sits down beside him. Injured and off the circuit, Weslee decides to have a pity party for one until she sees someone deeper in the well than she is. A hot hookup later, Lane thinks he's found the perfect woman in Weslee, until she mentions her fiancé.
And a snippety peek…
Lane Addison woke up slowly, his head throbbing and his vision fuzzy. The room came into focus—not his. Where the hell had he ended up last night? Thinking made his brain hurt, but he tried to back trace his steps. A vague memory of being in O'Halloran's pub started taking shape. Then a vision of Lori James formed. She wore a clinging black dress and sat across the table, sipping on something, probably a drink that ended in 'tini.
Why on earth would he have been drinking with Lori?
The reason hit him. Hard. And the pounding head and blurry vision got worse. The two sensations battled with the bone-deep ache of loss, striking him full force once more.
Liam's funeral, his life over too soon. Lane's brother wouldn't come strolling through the fire department on Lane's next shift. Killed in the line of duty when a three-alarm fire turned into a five-alarm catastrophe, the department had lost a great man. And Lane didn't want to accept he'd never see his brother again.
A warm body rolled over and snuggled up against Lane. Lori. Vague snatches of the previous day and night flashed through his mind. His divorced parents, being civil to each other for the first time in years, put aside their many differences to mourn the loss of their son. The friends, family, and members of the fire service forming a long line, waiting to offer their condolences. Lane listened to so many stories about his brother from so many people. Nothing brought out the narrative genius more than remembering one of the fallen. Lori, slithering into the service, gluing herself to Lane's side, held court, accepting hugs and handshakes like she belonged with the immediate family.
He had a clear picture of her dragging him from Liam's graveside and driving him to O'Halloran's. From there, events went a little fuzzy. Copious amounts of alcohol did nothing to ease the pain of Liam's death. He had no idea when they left the pub, but they'd ended up back at her place. He figured odds were on a night of sex—not that he remembered any of it—and probably expectations of a morning repeat.
His stomach rebelled at the thought.
Or maybe the alcohol gave him the queasy, nauseous feeling.
Lori yawned, stretched, and smoothed her hand down his torso to cup his flaccid dick. The urge to heave got stronger and before she could get any bright ideas of getting him hard, he flung himself out of the bed and made a dash for the bathroom. Emptying the contents of his stomach in the toilet eased the rolling in his belly, but made the headache take a vicious turn for the worse. Easing away from the commode, he leaned against the tub, keeping his eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling slowly.
Puking his guts up made him thirsty and he chanced trying to stand so he could find something to drink. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed he could still make his way to the sink. A cool hand grasped his elbow and Lane blinked to find Lori holding a glass of orange juice, a wet washcloth, and a toothbrush.
She didn't speak, but handed him the scrap of fabric first. The cold cloth felt awesome against his clammy skin. He scrubbed his face and neck, leaving the rag at his nape. He glanced in the mirror and groaned. Shit would look better than he did at the moment. He dropped the washcloth on the side of the sink.
Lori broke her silence. "I know it'll taste terrible, but toothbrush before OJ." She handed him the toothbrush. "Coffee's brewing, but you need some vitamin C and aspirin first."
While he took care of his teeth, she grabbed a bottle of tablets from the medicine cabinet. She shook out four and handed them over with the orange juice.
He didn't argue, scarfing the tablets and orange juice together. After draining the glass, he felt almost human again.
Giving her the cup, he nodded. "Thank you." Making his way through her bedroom, he looked around for his clothes.
The suit pants were by the bedroom door. He slowly bent down and picked them up. Tossing the pants over his shoulder, he spotted his shirt on the back of her couch. He snatched it up and shrugged his arms into the garment, leaving the buttons undone. His jacket lay in a heap by the main entrance. He'd grab it on his way out.
Making his way into the kitchen, he braced his hips on the counter and carefully put his pants on. The coffee finished brewing by the time he zipped and buttoned up. Out of habit, he poured two mugs, adding two sugars to one and cream to the other. Lori came in, a silky robe billowing out behind her. She grabbed the sweetened mug and took a sip. Lane drank his milky brew and tried not to think about Liam or being at his ex's place. He failed on both counts.
Lori popped some bread in her toaster. "You know, the Tinderbox is looking for product managers. You could fill out an application online." She crossed over to the fridge and grabbed butter and jelly. "Or, if you want to stay in the industry, I heard Parma Medical is always looking for sales reps who know the equipment." The toast popped up and she buttered the slices. "Of course, you'll want to take some time, I'm sure, to consider all your options." Spreading jelly on the surface, she shot a look over her shoulder.
Lane blinked, trying to follow the conversation. She sounded like a recruiter, which, okay, she would. She worked as the HR director for the local hospital. But what options did he need to consider? The Tinderbox sold woodstoves, fireplaces, and everything to do with both. And, yeah, his experience in the fire service would make project management a snap, but no way. Same applied to a sales position. Lane wanted to sell emergency medical equipment like he wanted to jab a fork in his eye. He didn't.
He drained his coffee mug. "I'm not interested in a new job, Lori. I like the one I have perfectly fine." Out of habit, he rinsed his cup out and put it in her dishwasher.
Lori took a bite of toast, chewed, and swallowed. "You're staying with the department? After what happened with Liam?" She put the food down, dusting off her hands. "Are you fucking insane? Of course, you're going to find another job."
Lane exhaled on a slow breath, thankful he barely remembered the sex from the night before, because the memory of why he and Lori broke up smacked him right in the face. His job. He loved being a firefighter and Lori hated it.
Lane shoved his hands in his pockets. "No, I'm not. I'm damned good at what I do and have no plans to quit." He shoved away from the counter and started doing the buttons up on his shirt. "I should go." He wouldn't get back on her crazy 'if you love me, you'll do something else' train. "Thanks for last night, Lori, but we're not together anymore. Don't forget that."
Lori's mouth thinned to a flat line. "That's how you're going to play this, Lane? Get me drunk, sleep with me, then slam out the door?" Her nostrils flared. "You're an ass."
Lane had a brief flash of memory from the previous night. Lori kept the drinks coming, not him. And she suggested they head to her place afterwards.
He tucked his shirt in his pants. "And you're still the queen of manipulating facts to suit your needs." Exiting the kitchen, he made his way to her front door.
Reaching down, he gathered up his coat, happy to find his shoes underneath. Jamming his feet inside the footwear, he yanked the door open.
Turning, he gave her one last comment. "I won't be slamming your door, but I won't be back either." He stepped out into the corridor and gently closed the carved wood behind him.
I'm so pleased with how this scene turned out. I went back and forth more than once trying to get the mood the way I wanted it.
That's it for this week. Happy reading!