Archive for the ‘Red Writing Hood’ Category
Skinny jeans
Friday, October 14th, 2011
This is a work of fiction and is a continuation of last week’s piece, in which Ryan reveals a scar on his knee. This post is inspired by the prompt to write about a tattoo from Write on Edge.
“Wow, that looks like it was from something pretty nasty,” I said.
“Torn ACL, torn meniscus, torn everything.”
“Yeouch. How’d you do that?”
“Baseball. My spikes got caught sliding into home.”
“When, college?”
“No. I used to play in the minors.”
Ryan abruptly stood up.
“Listen, I think you should stay here tonight. On the couch. It pulls out. I promise I’ll lock myself in my room.”
He lifted the ice bag off my ankle and we both saw how purple and swollen it was. I needed to use the restroom and he helped me in, then back to the couch, which he’d made up. When he went into his room I took off my shirt and bra and slipped on the soft, faded Red Sox tee he’d brought, which came down mid-thigh. I shimmied my skinny jeans down and off my left leg, but my right ankle was so big I couldn’t get them over it. They were now inside out with my ankle stuck in them.
I considered pulling them back on but it seemed beyond me.
“Ryan?” I called. “Ryan!”
He opened his door and stood, framed, in nothing but jeans unfastened at the waist.
“Can you help me?” I raised my right leg so he could see the issue.
He walked over and knelt down, gently working on the jeans. I sucked in my breath from the pain as he pulled them over the ankle, freeing it. He leaned back on his heels, which is when I saw the ink on his chest, right above his heart. I impulsively reached out and traced the seams of the baseball tattoo.
“I guess baseball means a lot to you,” I said.
He grabbed my hand and held it against his warm skin. I felt his heartbeat quicken as he gazed at me.
“It did.”
Tags: fiction, red writing hood, write on edge
Posted in Fiction, Red Writing Hood, Write on Edge | 32 Comments »
A shiny scar
Friday, October 7th, 2011
I reclined on the brown leather couch. Ryan put a fat beige chenille throw pillow under my foot and walked into the kitchen, flipping on more lights as he went. I heard the crunching of the ice dispenser as I looked around his living room.
I had never seen a TV that big. It took up half the space on the cream-colored wall, with just enough room for a built-in cabinet which I assumed held all sorts of electronic equipment. And probably an XBox or PS3. Or both.
Ryan came back in with a clear bag of ice. He patted the bag flat, then put his mouth to the opening and breathed in the air, which I found strangely intimate. He twisted the top and tied it in a knot. He then put a towel on my ankle before setting the bag gently upon it.
“You’re a professional.”
“Too much practice at it,” he said, pulling over a soft green arm chair to sit next to me.
“You date lots of klutzy women?”
He laughed. “Nah.” He pulled up the bottom of his jeans to just below the knee, where I could see the beginning of a shiny white scar.
This piece is a work of fiction, inspired by the prompt of writing about setting from Write on Edge. It is the continuation of last week’s piece, where Cam falls down the stairs.
Tags: fiction, red writing hood, write on edge
Posted in Red Writing Hood | 45 Comments »
She fell for him
Friday, September 30th, 2011
Ryan unlocked the glass door of an unremarkable grey building. We went through a tiny lobby area and up five flights of stairs, the clicking of my heels echoing in the stairwell as we climbed.
We got to the top and Ryan pushed open the door that led us into a long hallway. I stared at the maroon paisley pattern in the carpet as he opened the door to his apartment.
“Come on in,” he said, taking my hand.
I was afraid to look up. I stood, rooted to that carpet. I knew I couldn’t go through with it. What seemed exciting and hot at the bar, and then on the street when he kissed me, now simply terrified me.
“Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to do anything. I can get you a cab home. But I really have to use the restroom, and I don’t want to leave you standing out there by yourself, so could you come inside for a minute? I won’t even breathe in your direction.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling. “As long as you don’t breathe.”
He grinned back and stood aside as I walked in. The first thing I noticed, besides the gazillion-inch flatscreen on the wall, was a curved staircase with an ornate iron railing leading up to… nowhere.
Ryan walked past me, flipping on lights as he disappeared into a small hallway. I wandered over to the staircase and ran my hand along the cold metal. The steps were steep and almost triangular. I slipped off my heels and put a foot on the bottom. Then I took another step. And another, clutching the railing and wishing I hadn’t had that last beer. I took a few more steps before I could see what was at the top.
“Roof deck,” Ryan said from below me, startling the hell of me. I felt ridiculous for snooping, but something drew me to this staircase.
“Can we go out there?” I asked.
He started up the steps and when he reached around me, his chest pressed into my back and I tensed, the attraction I had for him was overwhelming. He pulled down a lever and popped up a fiberglass lid and I felt the night air cool my face. Ryan squeezed past me and stepped up onto the roof and extended his hand to help me up. I held onto it as I stood and looked around. We weren’t high enough to have a view of the city, but in one spot where you could see the lights by the river.
“It’s not much, but sometimes I come up here after work to relax,” he said.
I nodded. It was too dark to see anything and the traffic on the streets below us was muted. We stood there, holding hands, in the quiet.
“I guess I should go,” I said. Ryan squeezed my hand. I stepped back down the stairs, again holding tightly to the rail. I was four steps from the bottom when I turned and looked up at Ryan, who was shutting the lid. I stared at his ass and took another step – and missed. I tumbled down the rest of the way, a scream escaping from my throat as I landed at the bottom.
“Holy shit, are you okay?”
He ran down to me where I sat, my ankle twisted under me. I was completely mortified.
“I guess I’m falling for you,” I said.
Ryan snorted. “Yeah. That must be it.”
He helped me to my feet, which is when I realized I couldn’t put any weight on my right ankle. A sharp pain shot through it. He swept me up and carried me to the couch.
“I’ll get some ice. You’re not going anywhere for awhile, babe.”
I rested my head against a pillow and knew he was right.
This post is a work of fiction. It is based on a photo prompt of a winding staircase from Write On Edge It is the continuation of the tale of the widow and the bartender. You can read the last installment here.
Tags: fiction, red writing hood, write on edge
Posted in Fiction, Red Writing Hood | 39 Comments »
Be a Pepper
Friday, September 23rd, 2011
SWF iso SM
Be a Pepper
You can reach the chip-and-dip on the high shelf without a step stool. You can keep up in a spin class or on a 5K run and you’re not worried about a little sweat. Or competition.
Sundays are obviously reserved for football. And home-made chili. Extra spicy.
You think gray eyes are sexy. As is good hygiene.
Books fall off your nightstand. Or maybe it’s your Kindle. Or the Times.
You don’t talk til after the movie, which, unless you’re watching it alone, cannot make me want to sleep with the lights on for the next two months.
You don’t gag when I dip my fries in ranch dressing.
You understand a heart with a crack in it must be handled gently. Also, with wine, preferably a lovely merlot, or even an ice-cold Rolling Rock. And salt-and-vinegar potato chips.
Separating work and play is no problem for you and you do both of them hard.
You smile at little kids but not in a creepy way. You might even want some one day.
You know about a barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain.
You’re not allergic to the phone if you’re going to be late. Which you never are. The words “sorry” and “forgive” are in your vocabulary. “Love,” too, and you’re not afraid to use it.
You can be still. You gaze at the stars.
You make me snort Dr. Pepper out of my nose.
And then you hand me a Kleenex.
This post is based on the prompt, “Write a personal ad for your character” from Write on Edge. I chose the widow I wrote about here.
Tags: fiction, personal ad, red writing hood, write on edge
Posted in Red Writing Hood | 33 Comments »
I was alive
Friday, September 9th, 2011
I watched him from my perch on a stool at the end of the bar.
I sipped my beer and pretended I was looking at my phone or at the guys elbowing their way to the bar or the women in teeny skirts who leaned up against it.
But the truth was I couldn’t keep my gaze away from Ryan as he poured drinks and took money and refilled the bowls of pretzels. He chatted and smiled and one time he caught me staring and winked at me.
I didn’t use to be a fan of winking. That was before. Now suddenly it was incredibly sexy.
He was going to get off work in less than an hour. He was then going to take me to some other club where his friend’s band was playing. I’d pulled on my skinny jeans and a strapless top and arrived just as happy hour was turning into stay-til-closing.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him the past few days. Our first date, after the incredibly awkward beginning, had gone great. He wanted to know all about me, but was careful not to pry about my life with Justin or what had happened. He asked about my childhood, what I’d studied at school, did I like my job.
He didn’t kiss me that night, just hugged me before tucking me into a cab with instructions to text when I got home.
It was nice to once again have someone waiting to hear from me.
I drained the beer and before I could even put it back on the bar, Ryan set one down in front of me.
“Fifteen more minutes,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
I watched him walk to the other end of the bar. His dark jeans slung low on his hips and his forest green Hennessey’s tee shirt molded to his shoulders. I thought about how it would feel to run my hands under that shirt, and then lower, how it would feel for him to hold me.
My face flushed and I swallowed the beer quickly. Maybe he’s the one who’s supposed to get me back into living my life. He’s fun and sweet and would be perfect for a casual thing. No emotional attachment. My heart was definitely not available. Nor would it ever be.
I finished my beer and Ryan appeared next to me.
“Hey,” he said. “You ready?”
He’d come out from behind the bar and was standing next to my stool, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. I stood up and then had to steady myself, putting my hand on his arm. I resisted the urge to squeeze his biceps. In my heels I was almost as tall as he was. We made our way through the crowded room and out into the street. The club was only two blocks away on Rush Street and he took my hand as we walked.
A whisper of a crescent moon appeared in a patch of sky between two buildings. Ryan stopped and pulled me into the shadow of the awning of one of them. He put his hands on either side of my face and he leaned in and kissed me. My response surprised us both. I kissed him back passionately, my hands clutching his arms like they were life rafts as he shoved his hands through my hair, pulling me even closer as the kiss deepened.
We finally came up for air. He rested his forehead against mine, his ragged breathing matching my own.
“We can be at my place in 10 minutes,” he said.
I smiled. I was alive.
This post is a work of fiction and was inspired by the prompt “Write a story where jeans figure prominently” for Write on Edge. You can read previous installments: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six and Part Seven.
Tags: bartenders are hot, fiction, red writing hood, will Cam do the deed
Posted in Red Writing Hood | 24 Comments »
