I’ve heard you have to know yourself before anyone else can.

It’s bullshit.

I firmly believe it takes seeing yourself through another’s eyes to be self-aware.  Sometimes we’re lucky enough to find someone who knows us better than we know ourselves.  If we’re really lucky, that person loves what they find.

Call that person what you will – soul mate or maybe better half – but finding that person is how you discover yourself.  It happens every day, all over the world.  That connection is more pure, more honest, than any other in your lifetime.  But what happens when it’s severed?  When you wake up to find that person is gone? Continue reading »

Funny how I didn’t think I had enough of Reed’s story in me to write a manuscript, yet I feel compelled to write her story constantly.  I’m up to over 10,000 words with her now.  Maybe there really is a manuscript there.  For now though, I like writing her here.

If you need to get caught up, here are the links for Parts 1-6: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 and Part 6.

I hate Mondays.  Getting up after sleeping in for two days, going back to work, staring at the long week ahead…Monday has no redeeming qualities.

This Monday also marks the fourth day with no call from Chris.  But who’s counting?

Why do men ask for your number if they’re not going to call?  A guy friend once told me it’s either to make the woman feel good about herself or for the guy to prove to himself that he can get it.  Seriously?  As for the former, I’m damn good catch and I don’t need some guy to ask for my number to prove that to me.  In terms of the latter, find some other way to bolster your weak ego and quit wasting my time.

I closed a multi-million acquisition for a client today, so I think a celebration is in order.  Staring into the contents of my refrigerator I have a tough decision to make.  Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio? 

My old buddy Chardonnay is always a safe bet.  I pull a glass from the cabinet and pour the cool, golden liquid.  Taking a small sip, I immediately feel my nerves ease.  Who cares if that loser calls?  Not this girl.

After all, there are hundreds of men just waiting to hear from me on eMatch.  Despite my lack of luck so far, I have an urge to go glimpse through pictures.  It’s like online shopping, and I love to shop.

Logging in, I wait for the mailbox to reveal how many messages have arrived since my last visit.  After I met Chris, I completely forgot about eMatch.  Surely after four days of not checking it I must have mail from some eligible bachelors.

Sure enough, there are seven new messages.  I scan the pictures and decide to open Jason from Marietta first. Continue reading »

If you need to get caught up, here are the links for Parts 1-4: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5.

Aubrey calls on my way home.  I answer hoping she wants to go grab a drink, and thankfully she does.  She forces me to recount my date with Peter as we both drive towards our favorite bar.    

“He took you to the St. Regis?” She’s squealing with delight. Miss Delilah taught her to enjoy the finer things in life. Especially when they’re paid for by handsome gentlemen.

“Yes, and don’t get so excited. It was perfectly awful.”

“Reed,” she said in a disapproving tone that sounded eerily like Miss Delilah, “Did you even give the poor boy a chance?”

Thankfully I could roll my eyes in the privacy of my own car without notice. “Yes, Aubrey, I gave him a chance Know what he did with it? Proceeded to tell me how well off he is and all the money he’d spend on me.”

“Oh yeah, that just sounds terrible,” she said in mock disgust. Giggling, she said, “What’s wrong with being treated like a princess now and then?”

“Because it’s one thing to treat a woman well and surprise her with little presents now and then like Nate does with you, but it’s another thing to lead with ‘Hey, guess how much money I have?’ on a first date.”

“That is a little tacky,” she concedes.

“Have you been to the St. Regis?  I swear I felt like I was in a bad black and white movie.  The servers wear old school flight attendant outfits!”

Aubrey’s easy giggle fills my otherwise silent car as I speed down Peachtree.  “Really?  It sounds kinda fun.”

“Trust me, there was nothing fun about it.”  I signal to turn onto the side street that runs beside the little bar we’ve frequented since college.  “Enough about my pathetic dating life.  What does it feel like to be someone’s fiance?”

More giggles.  I can picture her holding her hand out to admire the ring again.  “It’s wonderful!  Nate says I can have the wedding anywhere I want, that he’d marry me in burlap sacks in Cambodia if I wanted.  He’s so silly.  I think I’m leaning towards the Botanical Gardens.  What do you think?”

“I think you’ll look beautiful anywhere you get married,” I say, meaning it.  Aubrey has classic good looks.  Her hair is always done, her makeup lightly applied and flawless.  She has porcelain skin she keeps shielded from the sun with ridiculously big hats when we go to the beach.  Nate is right; she’d be a knockout in burlap. Continue reading »

If you need to get caught up, here are the links for Parts 1-4: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

I turn around in front of my floor length mirror.  This dress fit a few months ago.  It must have shrunk when I washed it.  Either that or the half gallon of ice cream I had the other night is creeping onto my backside.

I crane my neck around to get a good look.  There’s a hint of Kim Kardashian back there.  I realize men appreciate her assets, so to speak, but it’s a little much for a first date.

I shrug at my reflection and decide I don’t really care if the dress is too tight.  Another evening I’ll probably be wasting with some loser from the internet. 

This time it’s Peter, the commercial real estate broker Aubrey found the first night.  She’s convinced that because we’re both diehard Florida Gator fans, we’ll instantly click.  I’m skeptical, at best. 

Best case scenario, he’s tolerable and I can drag him to Aubrey’s upcoming engagement party.  I’m pretty sure I’m the only single friend she has, and I can’t stomach the idea of a night in coupledom alone while they all try to fix me up with their second cousin who lives in his mother’s basement (but only because he quit his job as a stockbroker to pursue his dream of becoming a rock star).

Peter is meeting me at The St. Regis Bar in Buckhead.  Normally, I would be sketched out by having our first date at a hotel bar, but this one is a seen-and-be-seen kind of place.  A little glitzy for my taste, but it was his suggestion since he lives nearby.  Besides, it’s a bar; how bad could it be?

As I exit my car at the valet stand, I notice Peter waiting by the massive gold front doors.  He smiles when he sees me, and I give a little wave as I approach him. Continue reading »

I have a short story I’m working on where the characters have some sexual tension building between them as they get to know one another.  What do you all think of this scene?

She was trying to make out the shape of an owl on a distant tree when she felt him come up to the railing beside her.  She turned to face Mark only to find the figure next to her was at least six inches shorter.  It was Cole.

“So, Mark Harrison, huh?”

Was he snickering?  “What about him?” she asked. 

“He doesn’t really seem like your type,” Cole said, tilting back his beer to take a long swallow.

Amy looked around for Mark and saw through the window that he’d been derailed by some of the basketball guys.

“How would you know what my type is?  You don’t know anything about me.”  They were standing almost hip to hip, facing out toward the woods.

“Really?” he asked, cocking a suspicious eyebrow at her.  Turning back to the trees, he took another swig.  “I know you get goose bumps on your arm when I touch your leg,” he said, reaching down to the small space between their legs and running a fingertip across an inch of her exposed thigh. 

Looking at her arm, she realized he was right about the goose bumps.  She hoped he hadn’t felt the shudder too.

Jerking away from him to put a few inches between them, she said, “Don’t be so sure of yourself.  Did you ever think maybe I’m a little chilly out here?”

He looked away from darkness beyond the porch and directly in her eyes.  “I don’t think you’re cold.”  He put his left hand on the right side of her face and she was sure he was going to kiss her.  Instead, he leaned in and kissed the left side of her face near her hairline.  She could feel his hot breath on her ear as he whispered, “In fact, I think I make you a little warm.”

She flinched, backing away from him before he could feel the heat radiating from her skin or hear the pounding of her heart. 

“Get over yourself,” she said with all the force she could muster.  She felt as vulnerable as if she were naked out there. 

“As soon as you learn how to get over me,” he said, winking before turning to walk away.

Amy stared after him, too shocked to speak. 

Before she could regain her composure, Mark was crossing the porch in her direction.