Welcome! From May 20-27, 2013, the Chick Lit Author Blog Hop will include some incredible writers who are posting What's on Page 25? from one of their chick lit novels. Be sure to scroll down to the end of this post for the list of authors participating in the hop and head back to Chick Lit Chit Chat to enter to win the unbelievable GRAND PRIZE. What can you win? One lucky blog hop winner* will receive a FREE Kindle Keyboard 3G, with Free 3G + Wi-Fi, and a 6″ E Ink Display. That lucky grand prize winner will also receive a “chick lit starter library” filled with great chick lit books written by the indie authors participating in the blog hop.
Learn "How to Hop & Win!" New to blog hops? Want to learn how to win the grand prize? Find complete information here.
Here's what's on page 25 (ish) of my debut novel!
Sometimes I fantasize about what my life would be like without Derek. Packing my bags and just leaving a note on the $1000.00 coffee table. But even though I know Hanna would let me live with her, I need my own space, and I certainly can't afford to live alone because the associate producer's salary is nothing next to the paycheque that Derek gets from his Ken Dream job.
And if I lose Derek, what else do I have? My family, friends, job. No love. I might never be with anyone again. At thirty-two, it would be too hard to find someone else now, and I just can't trust that another man will fall in love with me because before Derek, it had never happened.
I know most women analyze every nuance and sentence spoken in relationships so when something just doesn't feel right, they tell all of their friends and break it down word by word. I love being the listener for these conversations, but I'm not so good at talking about the things that bother me. So, for me to talk to Derek about our problems, or try to, is a pretty huge deal. And obviously neither of us is happy.
This weight of discontent seems to fill the air around us. But every time I bring up our problems, he acts as if nothing's wrong. He won't even talk about it. Lately it seems like he's not thinking about me at all. I'd probably have to text him to break up with him.
Sighing audibly, I pad to the bathroom to wash up. My little bottle of no-name soap looks depressingly inconsequential next to Derek's wide array of cleansers. Hmmm, maybe I should try some of his apricot scrub. What does a scrub do? I try to tie my hair back, but the stupid ponytail holder keeps falling out. I twist my hair in a bun and open the bottle. Squeezing out a healthy amount (Wow, it's pink. Should it be pink?), I slather it all over my face. Ow, ow, ow! It's making my skin tight and itchy, and it hurts like a bitch. This cannot be good for me.
I read the back of the tube, which tells me I should leave this crap on my face for twenty minutes. After three, I'm impatient so I scrub it off and look in the mirror, and all I see is a blotchy mess of mottled pink skin. Gorgeous I am. And I finished the tube. Derek has so many products, I'm sure he won't even notice.
I shut the light, tiptoe into the bedroom, and change into my favorite over-sized red t-shirt from a consignment shop in Wicker Park. It's downy soft and comes to my knees. The sheets (Egyptian cotton, three hundred thread count, of course) are cool, and I slide under them, wiggling my fingers and toes. The room is pitch black, with only the moon illuminating the handmade bureau, giant black leather armchair and Tiffany lamps on each of our bedside tables. I throw my hands above my head and turn my face toward Derek. It's amazing how peaceful people look when they're sleeping. Derek's long, thick lashes are fluttering against his smooth skin, his strong jaw is relaxed, and a faint smattering of stubble gives him that sexy, mussed look I'd once loved so much.
I reach over to stroke his cheek, and Derek twitches in his sleep. Shockingly (because we just had sex the other day), his hand rests on my thigh and starts creeping upwards. I grimace slightly, wishing the next eight minutes (I've got it down to a science now) wouldn't be so predictable. Here it comes: left breast, right breast, quick stroke of my back, a spit of saliva around the clitoris, insert. Bang, bang, bang. Done.
Well, that was refreshing. Passion dies, friendship remains. Isn't that what they always say? And now I can't sleep because I'm annoyed. Annoyed that Derek didn't notice that I didn't come. Again. So while he's washing off, I go to the couch to finish what he started. (Win the grand prize! The 6th secret word in the 25-word sentence is: Author) Maybe I should call that hotel in Montreal and get the make and model of the shower head.
Speaking of buzzing over books and summer parties… If you happen to be in NYC on Thursday, May 30th, please come on down to Stone Creek Bar and Lounge on East 27th (between Lex and 3rd) from 7pm to 9pm for a mix-and-mingle event a few of us in this Hop are hosting. Check out Book Buzz 2013 for details and please RSVP to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Now, here's the list of fabulous authors on the Chick Lit Author Blog Hop! Thanks so much for stopping by!