Persuaded

It’s  9½ Weeks meets Romancing The Stone….

Here’s the first chapter of their story.

Chapter One

He took one look and then cut through the male crowd, determined to be the first one to Peyton Thomas’ table during this “date while you wait to dine” fiasco.

“Excuse me.” He shouldered his way past the last few guys to reach the front doors of the bistro and the hostess, who chatted on her cell. He was just about to tap her on the shoulder when he spotted the clock on the stand counting down the time. There were three minutes left to go before the place opened for the guys to be let inside.

Wonderful.

From what he could tell, women were allowed in as soon as they arrived. So, while the hostess continued to complain about her lousy weekend, he thought about his. Not that it was lousy, but busy. Actually, the last three weeks had been a zoo with him staking out the widow’s house. Ms. Thomas had a veritable family circus performing around her. Starting at the top with her two mother-in-laws and hitting rock-bottom, surrounding the situation with her dog. He thought about the last one and scowled. Once this was all over he’d be paying that neighbor kid’s father a visit, that was for sure.

“Hey he cut the line.” He heard someone whisper behind him so he swung around.

“Is there a problem?”

“You-you need to get in line.”

Greyson frowned. “I am in line.” He stared at the guy for a five count and then said, “Look, I have a situation here that I need to take care of, so if you don’t mind?”

“There’s no need to argue.” The hostess said, “Where you start at the tables isn’t determined by line placement. No worries. Oh, good it’s time.” When Greyson turned back around, he saw the hostess holding up the clock. She had a fake smile on her face, and when she finally looked at him her smile faltered, and she flushed. She liked what she saw.

Right on.

He needed a name badge to get inside and she was going to provide it.

“Hi.”

He smiled down at her. “Hi back.” When she shifted to answer a question from one of the guys behind him, Greyson stealthily turned his attention to examining her clipboard that was filled with columns of self-adhesive labels. There was no apparent order to them so he figured this was going to be a piece of cake.

“I’m wondering if you could hand me a menu?” The second she turned to get him one he spotted a guy’s moniker right at the top of the sticker sheet and was just about to swipe it when she turned back.

“I think a big man like you would want the dinner menu. The lunch one has nothing but lite bites and salads.”

Greyson nodded and when she swiveled to reach for the hefty binder, he kept an eye on her as he peeled off the tag he’d previously had his eye on. With one slap it was stuck on his shirt. “On second thought. Maybe I’ll skip lunch today. Thanks anyways.”

“Okay, but you need a—”

“I’ve already got mine.” Patting his hand on the square, he walked to the doors before she made an issue with him helping himself and called over his shoulder. “Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond. The way he saw it? He’d wasted enough time lining up.

“Sir?” The instant he was inside, he was confronted by a young man holding a different colored clipboard. Jesus H. Just how hard did a guy have to work to land a date these days? He’d never had a problem. But then he wasn’t dining on vanilla.

“Yes?”

“I can’t see your name or number. I need to know one or the other so I can tell you what table you should start at.”

Start at? He wasn’t making the dating rounds until he got to her. Quickly, he scanned the room until his gaze landed on Peyton Thomas and her numerical value. “It’s number eight. That one.” He pointed to her and then made a beeline for her table.

“Hello.” Greyson didn’t wait for an invitation. He simply took the seat opposite of her as if he owned it. “Have you been waiting long?”

He was hoping his nonchalance would confuse her, but only crystal clarity shone in her light blue eyes.

“That depends.” She smiled and then shrugged. “Are we talking about me winning the lottery or my first date showing up? If it’s the former, why yes I have. If it’s the latter? Could be, as this event hasn’t officially started and even if it had, you aren’t the right number.”

He didn’t care about that. Man, she had nice eyes. Nice teeth too. A slight overbite which meant she’d be great at sucking—

“Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”

He cleared his throat and forgot about how accommodating hers could be for the moment. “No. Sorry. I’m Aaron, by the way.”

“Really?” She tilted her head and gave him a half grin. “I don’t think so.”

Not a reply he was expecting, but one that made him curious. “I’m crushed.” He put a hand over his stolen nametag that was stuck just above his heart, and hiked a brow at her. “Why would you think I wasn’t who I said I was?” Briefly it occurred to him that maybe she knew Aaron. But then if she did, she wouldn’t be meeting the guy this way, would she?

“Well.” Was she trying not to laugh? “For starters your nametag disagrees with you, Anita.”

Anita? Greyson moved his hand and read his tag upside down. Shit. “Oh.” He sat back real casual like. “I must have grabbed the wrong one.”

“Stole the wrong one, don’t you mean?” She held his gaze with a tenacity that impressed him. This chick was smart. Perceptive. Cool and collected by the unruffled look of her.

“What would make you think that?”

“I could tell you I saw you do it, which I did, but I’d rather tell you there’s a guy at the hostess stand with a Yarmulke on, sporting a nametag with Aaron’s name on it.”

He didn’t say anything. His drill-like stare had been known to crack the hardest of criminals so he’d just wait her out until she crumbled and dropped the subject. A couple of seconds later something cracked.

Unfortunately it was her cracking up.

“Hang on a minute.” She managed to pull herself together long enough to lean sideways and look beyond him. Then she straightened and picked up her ice tea. “Scratch our Yiddish friend over there. Now there’s a woman all up in the hostess’s business at the front door. She’s freaking because there’s no tag for her. Hm. I wonder what her name could be.” She lifted her glass in a silent toast. “Don’t you think unraveling that mystery is far more interesting?”

No. No he did not think that. Suddenly the shine he’d taken to her being sharp was dulling down some. Especially when he realized she was enjoying this situation far too much. What kind of woman in peril disses the man who’s trying to save her? It was time to cut to the chase and tell her that. “You’re in danger and you need my help.”

With a brow hiked, she mimicked his earlier action and carefully set down her glass. “Are you sure about that, Anita?”

There was one thing he was sure about. He didn’t like her attitude. Narrowing his eyes, he strove to lower his voice. Maybe this form of intimidation would work on her. “Positive.”

“Am I in jeopardy today?”

It was hard intimidating someone who smiled at you. “No, but soon.”

Her smile disappeared and so did her playful attitude. “I’m well aware that things change the moment I’m legally able to sell that tract of land. If I need help at that time I’ll let you know. Until then, I’m doing a little shopping.”

“For?”

She stubbornly tipped up her chin, so he knew this was going to be good. “A husband.”

“Here?”

“Sure. Why not?”

After looking around, it was on the tip of Greyson’s tongue to tell her there wasn’t a man present who’d be strong enough to handle her. Not one. Except maybe him. But then, she wasn’t here to land a husband and they both knew it. “I would imagine if that was true, you’d give the poor fish a squirming chance and remove your wedding ring.”

He knew he’d caught her off guard when a soft frown creased her brow. She looked down and held out her hand, splaying her fingers. “I forgot about that.” When she looked up, her playful attitude was back. “It’s quite a tangle isn’t it?” She moved her hand, showing him the ring. “You’re right. If I hope to snag a new mackerel I’ll need to cut the old line.”

Although she acknowledged the slip, he noticed she didn’t make a move to correct it. Just as he noticed she was in complete control of her emotions. So intimidation wasn’t going to work with her. Best to try reasonable. “I want to help you.”

“Really? I don’t know.” She studied him. “Meeting you like this, I’m kind of reminded of one of my favorite fairytales. It stars a young girl in a red cape who meets someone other than her grandmother.”

Now he didn’t have to say the word out loud, he was crushed. Usually when he turned on the heroic charm women were dazzled. “You think I’m a wolf in granny’s pajamas?”

“I do. Oh, don’t look so offended.” She sat back in her seat as if they were discussing the weather. Cool and calm? Hell yeah. “What else am I supposed to think when you approach me this way, Anita?”

“The name’s Greyson. Greyson Maddox.” He tried to keep an even tone, but when he spoke his voice sounded as if he’d been chewing on glass. “Here’s what I think. Being that the woodcutter killed the wolf in the end to protect Red from the beast, you’re looking at this all wrong. I’m not the beast, or in this case the bad guy. I’m the hero.” When her brows shot up as if to say, ‘Oh really?’ he added, “Yes really. Look, normally I’m an easy going guy, but I have to tell you, I do find the idea of you relishing my death offensive.”

“In the original story, Red, as you call her, gets eaten by the wolf, so personally? I don’t care what you find offensive.” She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “You’re a liar, a thief, and a bully—not necessarily in that order, so it would be foolish of me to believe anything you have to say.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man come and stand beside their table. The guy was wearing jeans, so he wasn’t a waiter. Without turning, Greyson said, “Beat it.”

Which only made her scowl deepen. “Case in point. That was my first legitimate date you just growled at and scared away.”

He shrugged. “I’m a wolf, remember? Besides, you can do better than him.”

When she cocked her head, he was glad to see her frown ease up some until she said, “He was six-foot-five and looked like Brad Pitt’s twin.”

Greyson wasn’t going to look. There was no way the guy was an inch taller than him. She was messing with him. He wasn’t that insecure that he had to turn to—damn. Apparently he was, because he turned.

“And you’re full of yourself on top of everything else.”

Greyson was nearly finished giving the room the Steven Austin once over when her words sank in, causing him to stop. Damn, he was busted checking out the potential competition. What the hell? Peyton wasn’t a woman to be won, she was a job. Plain and simple.

He shifted in his seat and looked her right in the eyes. “I was checking for you. Not for me. I was going to wave him back here. A man like that would be perfect for a woman like you.”

“Oh?”

“Sure. With all the female attention looks like that would garner, your suspicious nature would be kept busy.” He braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Too bad he doesn’t exist. Who’s the liar now?”

“Me.” And she didn’t seem one bit broken up about it. Not. At. All. He should have been angry, pissed even a little, but he wasn’t. He was almost grinning when she said, “It’s going to cost me a dollar too.”

“A buck?”

She nodded. “I’ll have to pay up when I get home. Each fib requires that a dollar be put in the pants on fire mason jar. There’s one for swearing too. Needless to say, between me and my late husband’s two mothers, I should be buying the island of my dreams in,” she checked her wrist that had no watch on it, and said, “less than a year.”

That sealed the deal for him. She was funny. He liked her. “Sounds like you have the perfect location picked out already.”

“Of course.” She affected an ‘I’m so sorry’ wince, and added, “But I can’t tell you about it as I make it a point not to give my would-be stalkers the information I prefer they work hard to dig up on me themselves. It’s only fair, right?”

She may have been attempting a joke, but there was anger steeped in her tone. Was she mad that his presence ruined all her plans for today? “I’m not a stalker.”

She shifted, and when she did her hair slid off her shoulder, falling like water over glass. Normally blondes weren’t his type. Hell, short chicks weren’t either. He had to be a foot and a half taller than her, but here he was thinking about getting his hands on her. Touching her. Feeling her skin. Would it be as soft to the touch as it looked?

“I know. You’re one of the government guys who never gets anything right. I tell you what.” She picked up her purse, that was almost bigger than she was, and dug through it until she found her phone. “Why don’t you give me your email address and I’ll send you a birthday gift.”

Greyson remembered what his friend had said about her. Neil had mentioned that Peyton had a problem with authority and she disliked the government agency her late husband worked for. He couldn’t blame her there. They’d done a shit job in protecting the guy. Reminded of that tragedy, he wouldn’t argue with her over her insult. Instead, he’d focus in on the second part of her comment. “What kind of gift?”

He expected a number of different replies. An email bomb. An attachment with a virus in it, or maybe even a link to where he could donate to the Free the Citizens of Inept Government Intervention campaign.

“An email with some very important answers about the sanctuary in it. Are you interested?”

He was. Very interested. “Maybe. What kinds of answers and why would you hand them over to me if you think I’m one of the government guys who never gets it right?”

“These are answers you’ve been looking for and the reason I’d hand them over is precisely as I’ve said. You guys will never figure this mess out on your own. You need help from a person who thinks outside the bureaucratic box. Come on.” She held up her phone. “Just give me your address and I’ll shoot it over. All I ask for in return is that you leave me alone.”

She may as well have said, “Stay back so I can put myself in harm’s way and get this shit over with.”

He held her gaze. “Why make this offer now and not before?”

“This is the first chance I’ve had since you’ve never returned my calls.”

He blinked and so did she. Damn. Had she called the agency to offer them info? One look and he knew she was telling the truth.

She put her cell on the table and looked away. “Not you personally, but you know what I mean.”

This gave him a chance to study her profile. When she appeared vulnerable like this it was hard to imagine how she not only challenged, but balanced the trials and tribulations she faced in her everyday life. All of those things were enough, without adding in the additional stress of men currently tracking her down to steal her land, and yet she’d managed it without breaking down. Fuck that. She’d plowed forward to meet the potential for danger head-on. After he’d spent nearly a month watching her from afar it was easy to forget how small and isolated she really was. She may have had a tiny shoe size, but she walked with tall and confident strides.

“Peyton.” She seemed surprised that he used her name. There was a measure of wariness in her eyes. “I want you to know if you had called me, night or day, I would have answered.” What was he doing subtly flirting with her like this? She’d think he was an asshole. Yeah. She couldn’t know he’d had weeks to learn things about her. Things he’d begrudgingly admired. And he didn’t want her to know that, so he changed the topic.

“What’s that?” He nodded toward the paper she’d put her phone on.

“The list of things I want to ask a man before I’ll agree to date him outside of this event.”

The correct reply for him to utter was, “Oh? Or nice. Or, good thinking.” instead he found himself captivated and invested. Was he the kind of man she’d date? Right now he wanted to be and that made no sense as he uttered the incorrect response. “Ask me.”

She remained looking at him, never checking the paper. She’d probably memorized the questions. If she had, they made her unhappy. Stoic. Prepared, and not in a good way. Was she bracing herself? “Do you like children?”

“Not particularly.”

“Great.” The air rushed out of her and the tension of whatever moment they’d been having, vanished. “Give me your email address and I’ll send you that info.”

She’d set him up. He hadn’t been prepared for her question, but she’d been expecting his answer none-the-less. “What about the danger I said you may be in?”

“I just diverted it.” She sat up straight and grabbed her cell. After she searched his face she whispered, “I’m not afraid of the people from the sanctuary.”

But her inference was clear. She was afraid of him.

Damn.

“Those men will be Stateside in three days. You’d better be prepared.”

“I understand.”

He doubted that, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. Not here. “I’ll take the info.”

“And I’ll send it. Just as soon as you leave.”

Greyson nodded and wrote his email address down on one of the napkins. After he handed it to her and before he got up, he said, “You have two days to decide whether or not you want my help. Once you’ve decided, shoot me an email.”

“Sure.”

As he got up he realized her decision made no difference to him. She was getting his help whether she wanted it or not.

Peyton waited until he left before she relaxed.

Greyson Maddox.

He was a problem she hadn’t counted on. Although she’d never met him before today, she had heard about him. A decorated Navy seal. A hardcore mercenary. A decent man. A complicated man. A man who belonged to an edgy lifestyle she found intriguing.

Why?

Simple.

He was a horror story. A dark thrill that represented the dreaded, but bizarrely exhilarating long walk through a haunted house a person should have passed by, but couldn’t because of the electrifying rarity. He was the kind of man that made a woman sweat with fear in one moment, and caused her heart to beat at double-time in nervous excitement in the next.

He was everything a woman should stay away from. No wonder she was drawn to him.

For a few seconds there she’d worried he was the perfect man for her. The one who’d wake up the parts of her that seemed to have died when she married Wes. Lord knew the moment Greyson had sat down those intimate parts had started to physically react to his presence. To be expected, she supposed, as the guy was not only big and powerful looking, but gorgeous besides. Handling that dual combination wouldn’t have been too hard if his eyes weren’t penetrating. He was a man who could get the job done with just one look.

A man who got anything he wanted with a look.

Good thing he didn’t like kids. That nonnegotiable probably saved them both from a night of hot and heavy sexual recriminations of the unforgivable kind.

The fantasy was nice though.

She was just wondering what he’d do after he went through all the information she intended to give him, when the man with the Yarmulke approached her table. “Peyton? Hi. My name is Aaron.”

“Hi.” She gave him a bright smile and indicated for him to take a seat. She could handle this meeting as it was a typical one. No tingles, heat, or excitement, which all combined, added up to one big no problem. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself Aaron?”

And as he did, all she could think about was Greyson Maddox.

His piercing gaze.

His potent magnetism.

That deep and husky voice.

If you had called me, night or day, I would have answered.

And that’s why she needed to put all thoughts of him out of her head.

Giving herself a mental shake, she sat forward, determined to focus on the man she should be thinking about. “I’m sorry Aaron. Did you say you worked as a toll booth operator? How interesting. I bet you have a lot of stories about crazy things you’ve seen when people drive through your line.”

“No.”

“No?” Oh brother. This was going to be the longest ten minutes of her life. Maybe she could leave early now that she’d tested her theory and was right. Nothing bad was going to happen to her until she met with her attorneys and signed the deal for the land to be released out of probate.

“Well, there was this one time when a driver paid me all in pennies. It was funny because he lost count each time. Right at the second to last cent he’d miscount and had to start all over again. He must have counted out that pile of pennies ten times.”

She frowned. “But you knew there were only two cents left to make up the total.”

He did a giggle-snort and nodded like a bobble head sitting on a spinning washing machine.

Wow. She really didn’t know what to say to that except. “You don’t work the toll on I-92, do you? My car overheated crossing the bridge last year after some guy held up the line for nearly an hour.”

His suddenly sober expression, combined with his owl-eyes told her everything she needed to know.

Fantastic.

When her phone buzzed she was instantly relieved and then completely hesitant, faced with this lesser-of-two-evils moment. She could listen to Aaron trip over the most awkward apology of the century, or she could deal with Greyson Maddox.

“Maybe I could tell you about the time a guy with no pants—”

“Sorry Aaron. I have to take this call. It’s terribly important.” She turned aside, picked up the call, and said loud enough for him to hear, “Anita. Thank God. I was worried about you.”

“Careful, Red. At the rate you’re fudging things today you’ll be funding a small nation of islands by the week’s end.”

She tried to ignore Greyson’s gravelly voice, but couldn’t disregard the spine-tingling prickles his tone elicited. A shiver-like flush of pleasure skated downward, from the back of her neck to her bottom. “What? No! Oh, Rita—”

“Anita,” he corrected.

“—give me a minute, would you?” She turned back to Aaron to see if he was taking the bait. Just her luck, he wasn’t. Great, now what? A dud right in front of her and a stud on the phone. Maybe she could—

“I could probably fix this pathological lying problem you have with a regimented schedule of some corporal punishment. I like skin to skin. You?”

She crushed the phone to her ear, worried that Aaron would hear the deeply masculine voice saying some deeply disturbing things. “Wh-what did you say?” This time when she turned sideways to curl down and talk into her cell she’d spoken in hushed tones. “I don’t think I heard correctly.”

“I said. I could make you stop fibbing by spanking your bare ass with the flat of my hand every time you did it. Corporal. Punishment. It’s the deliberate infliction of pain in order to punish a person for an infraction. Where I come from, lying is a whopper in terms of transgressions. A few over the knee sessions and my guess is you’d be as honest as old Abe.”

She snapped up so fast she worried she’d cracked a rib. She looked at Aaron and then held her phone out and stared at it for a second or two before she brought it back to her ear and said, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Peyton?” Aaron reached across the table and gave her shoulder a quick pat. “You’ve obviously been given distressing news. I’ll go so you can have some privacy.”

It occurred to her as he left, that nothing in life was free. Using right now as an example. The cost of getting rid of one problem had landed her on the lap of an even bigger one. “I hope you’re happy, Mr. Maddox, you just scared off a very delightful date.”

His laugh was nice and almost as sexy as his voice. Almost. “What happened to Anita?”

She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “How did you get my phone number?”

“I put some of that can’t get anything right government guy stuff to work and had the state department look it up.”

That couldn’t be true. He was bluffing. “Who’s the liar now?”

“I am. I googled you. Do you really shop at Victoria’s Secret?”

How the hell—? She uncrossed her legs and sat forward. Clutching her cell with both hands. “A general search told you that?”

“No. Educated guess. I bet you favor an underwire and don’t favor lace. You probably like the little bows though.”

She couldn’t believe this. The guy was right on all accounts, but at the moment she couldn’t think of what to say back so she stalled. “Excuse me?”

“The little satin bows. They usually stick them between the cups on a bra, or on the elastic part of the panty. Dotted right over the hip. I’ve choked on a couple of those, so I’m not a big fan.”

Oh, he was very funny. Actually he was, but she’d never let him know it. “What do you want, Mr. Maddox?”

“Greyson.”

“Greyson.”

“I’m waiting for that email.”

And just like that she was back to reality. For a few minutes there she’d been…been…what had she been?

Enjoying herself.

“Right.” She was almost disappointed that this was the reason for his call. What would she have preferred? Him calling just to talk to her? God no. “I’ll send it now.”

She bent to pick up her purse, when his next words jarred her.

“If I were you, I’d hold off doing that until you get to your car. Look at the clock. You only have two more minutes to get out of here before another date shows up to your table.”

She stood so fast the chair nearly toppled behind her.

He was here.

Quickly, she scanned the room, but then her eyes fell on the clock beside the hostess at the front door and she panicked. He was right. One more minute and she’d be trapped for another ten.

Damn it.

Adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder, she hurriedly made her way to the door. No sooner had she exited than her cell vibrated. She’d received a text. She was almost afraid to look.

But she had to.

Was I right about the lace?

She didn’t realize she was stomping down the sidewalk until she noticed the woman coming towards her gave her a wide berth out of fear. Oh hell no. She wasn’t going to let him rile her or have the last say. She stopped at her car and then texted back.

Nope.

Who’s the liar now? Don’t answer that. I’m on official “can’t get anything right government” business at the moment. Just send me the email.

She narrowed her eyes after she read his text, because at the present she was totally riled, and he’d managed to get the last words in too.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

(End)

Thanks for reading. And speaking of reading…

If you read my blog regularly you know I can’t let a blog get posted without a Honey moment. And boy do I have one to share.

Am I going to tell you about him watching another one of his stupid documentaries? Nope. Why? Because I don’t think you want to know about how an owl flies noiselessly, do you? That’s a true story by the way, but there’s a price the owl pays for that privilege. *Sigh* See? Here I am telling you. *Shakes head* If an owl takes flight in the rain he/she could die, as in fall out of the sky, because their feathers aren’t waterproof and could be saturated and rendered useless. Sad? Yes. True? Yes. Why do I know this? *Looks right at you* Honey!

But I digress. I shall turn my thoughts to the matter at hand so *insert here, me razzing him last night about his documentary show watching, and him being all holier-than-thou about it* Why? Welp, it would seem I only write books and he gets to educate himself through the modern marvel of  the history channel…actually, I think it’s the discovery channel, but I wasn’t about to ask him. So there we are, having this little heated tiff that amounts to nothing more than a “So there” from me and a “Go write your hunky guys” from him, and no one wins. End of story, right? (Pun intended by the way, because it wasn’t) Check this out. To set things up, Honey and I are in bed later that night and, well, things are starting to get interesting when I begin to notice a couple of things. *Leans into whisper* Go get the popcorn. I’ll wait. *whistles and looks up at the ceiling, then at the walls and the floor. Lovely tile. Got the snacks? Are you ready? Perfect. Here’s the lowdown.

Honey is pulling out all the moves, he even starts to talk in that low and dirty way of his, “I’m going to…” *insert unmentionable things he’s going to do to me there* Yay!

Insert more unmentionable things.

And more…

And more…

And—gasp—more…

And then? Just when I’m ready not to listen to anything anymore, dirty or unmentionable, I hear, “She has such beautiful skin.”

Yeah, I’m kind of drawn out of the moment because…she? Am I in bed with Yoda?

“Her hair is silken velvet and smells like grass appointed dew.”

My eyes are wide open at this point people. Grass appointed? Never mind the dew.

“I hear her breathe and it gets me hard like the granite that hasn’t been cut for a sink opening.”

*Pulls my readers down and gapes at you* WTF? A sink opening? Really? I invoke the mighty snow globe here

before …

I tap his shoulder, almost sorry to interrupt such a romantic diatribe, and ask, “Um, what are you doing?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I’m writing a book. You’re giving me ideas. If I recall correctly writing is more important than watching documentaries.”

I felt kind of bad. “Did I say that?”

“You did. Now, what color would you say your skin is? Alabaster or ivory?”

I really wanted to laugh, but I managed to say this without cracking up, “I’d say it’s a tough call since we don’t have the lantern of the undead lighting up the bed tonight.”

“Don’t I know it.” He played it straighter than I could have. “With that in mind, I have to say, this working in the dark is stifling my artistic expression. My poor muse is bumping into walls.”

And right there folks? I lost it. I was laughing so hard I nearly fell out of bed.

That’s what life’s all about isn’t it? Give and take. Agree or disagree. At the end of the day if you can laugh until your sides hurt, you’ve got to know you’re doing something right. Right?

Thanks for stopping by! Up next? The start of a our build a giveaway. I can’t wait for that! I’ll be posting about that soon.

Riley