Speaking of sabotaged navigational systems, I cleaned my bathroom already this morning. And the males in this house have seriously defective penile guidance systems. Aiming high is for the Air Force, dammit.
Last night the husband accidentally knocked over one of the foothills surrounding Mount TBR and, while trying to stack them, asked me why I don’t write for Silhouette Romantic Suspense. I told him my guys have been spoiled by Samhain—can you imagine Gallagher talking in PG-13? It took me forever to find an excerpt from On the Edge mild enough for the website and even then I had to edit a word or two out.
I don’t think Gallagher and Rossi could sneak by the red pen.
Gallagher watched the minutes tick away on the ugly, industrial clock. Only twelve passed.
â€œStraight up, Rossi,â€ he said, when his boss had closed the door behind him. â€œEleven fucking years Iâ€™ve had your back, and you just fucking abandon me here, telling me nothing?â€
â€œWhen one of the top doctorâ€™s in the country tells me somethingâ€™s in the best medical interests of my guy, I listen.â€
â€œThatâ€™s bullshit, and you know it. You donâ€™t have the balls to come and talk to me like a man.â€
I’m utterly spoiled now, and I don’t know if I could write
romantic suspense action-adventure romance with restrictions. Don’t really care to try.
Potties and pottymouths. Hey, I have a theme!