So I admit, writing is harder than I thought it would be. But it is going to happen. I swear.
So, to prove it, here is a snippet of the cover art…
… and a taste of what I have been working on.
“What the hell do you want from me?”
I sipped my Long Island iced tea and tried to ignore the hysterical woman waving her hands and screaming at her husband. She wore a painted-on one piece strapless dress that threatened to snap loose and explode up her thighs and down off her breasts into a roll around her waist. The ring on her finger was big enough to throw her off balance as she gesticulated, so I assumed they were married.
I pushed the spin button and lost another sixty-five cents into the Purple Unicorn slot machine in front of me.
It was hard not to keep looking at the couple. He was sitting in one of the chairs at a bank of slot machines caddy-corner from me and she was pacing around him like a wolf looking for an opening to lunge at his throat.
The loud electronic dinging noises of somebody winning a jackpot somewhere nearby temporarily drowned out her husband’s reply. I felt bad for him. He looked like he was trying hard to remain patient and calm, as though this was an old argument he had been through too many times before. His short, dark, curly hair was mussed from repeatedly running his fingers through it in frustration. His expensive looking shirt was ruffled and unbuttoned, and his suit jacket was forgotten, draped over the back of the stool he sat on.
The noise from the other slot machine finally stopped as the woman began pointing at other women walking by. “Her? How about her? Or her?” The woman’s voice was loud enough to make two of the women turn to look, but they hurried on past in the flow of people moving through the casino. The last time she pointed, it was at me.
I looked away, flushing.