Blog Tour
Two
rockers. Two different bands. One girl.
I sent him off to be a star, to chase his dreams.
I placed mine on hold so he could have his.
He kissed me, made love to me, and promised he’d come back.
He lied…
The original plan was to show up and steal him back.
But in the process, I inadvertently fell hard for another rocker.
Now, I’m in deep with both of them.
I love one with my heart.
I love the other with my soul.
I’m selfish.
I’m greedy.
I want to keep them both.
They want me to choose.
How dare they. How dare they ask me to choose.
If I give my heart up, I’ll lose my soul.
If I give my soul up, I'll lose my heart.
Yet I’m terrified if I don’t make a decision, I’ll lose them both.
I’ll lose.
I sent him off to be a star, to chase his dreams.
I placed mine on hold so he could have his.
He kissed me, made love to me, and promised he’d come back.
He lied…
The original plan was to show up and steal him back.
But in the process, I inadvertently fell hard for another rocker.
Now, I’m in deep with both of them.
I love one with my heart.
I love the other with my soul.
I’m selfish.
I’m greedy.
I want to keep them both.
They want me to choose.
How dare they. How dare they ask me to choose.
If I give my heart up, I’ll lose my soul.
If I give my soul up, I'll lose my heart.
Yet I’m terrified if I don’t make a decision, I’ll lose them both.
I’ll lose.
Ice
Steam is up for pre-order for 0.99 on Amazon, and will change to 2.99
when the book goes live next Tuesday.
ICE
STEAM
Excerpt.
The
door was matte-black. A gold embossed 409 situated at eye-level. A “Do Not
Disturb” door-hanger swayed ever so slightly from the handle.
I
could hear a familiar rhythm, stifled by carpets, curtains, bed sheets, wood
and concrete, coming from the other side of the door. Massive Attack’s Angel.
The
same base, drumbeat, guitar strum, and soft voice I lost my virginity to.
I
pressed my forehead below the 409, pressed my palms flat against the
matte-black wood, letting the muffled music seep through the wood and into my
pores as the memories of that night floated around my head in lazy swirls, like
spice-scented smoke from an illegal Cuban cigar.
My
heart ached. Then it smiled. Then it ached some more.
The
song ended then started all over again like it was set on repeat. I
straightened up, curled my fingers into a hook, and made two gentle taps on the
door. Possibly too gentle to be heard over the magical creation of Angel.
The
music volume dimmed, and a few seconds later the door soundlessly opened.
Eyes
of blue skies and cirrus clouds stared at me with evident conflict, as though
he wasn’t quite sure whether he was glad I came, or wish I’d obeyed the capitalized
‘DON’T’ in his message.
With
a five o’ clock shadow on chiseled jaw, his sturdy physique was clad in a
dark-gray sweater and denims, white socks, no shoes.
Releasing
the door handle, he took small steps backward into the room.
I
walked in, closed the door and leaned back against it.
Black
Doc Martens were kicked off haphazardly by the bedside, a chocolate-brown
duffel bag vomiting clothes out onto the bed.
His
fiancée was under the impression that he was still in New York spending quality
time with his sister.
Instead
he was here, in a hotel room, staring at me, keeping his distance like I was an
apparition, fists clenched tight.
I let
my handbag fall to the floor, my hands left dangling at my sides like a puppet,
letting the blood flow freely so I could think clearly.
“I
begged you not to come,” were his first words.
“I’m
not Jesus,” I replied, voice quiet, “I don’t answer prayers.”
Pushing
away from the door, I took a step towards him, but he stepped back. “What are
we doing, Ally?”
“Picking
up where we left off.”
S. Ann
Cole is a passionate writer and reader, and a lover of anything that distracts
her from the real world. Reader first and second a writer, S. Ann
Cole is an exaggerator, a laugher, sometimes overly chatty, sometimes
overly shy. She’s afraid of cats, dogs, snakes—heck, she’s only tolerable to
gold fishes in a tank. Because if they do jump out and try to attack her, the
suckers will surely die…
She hates
chocolate, schmaltz and arrogance.
She
loves carbs, Chris Brown and humility.
She
lives nowhere and everywhere.
Jokey
people are her favorite people, as laughter is the way to her heart.
Never
mind her foul-mouth (she’s working hard on changing that!), she loves GOD.
Fiercely. And believes prayer is the essence of all good, great, wonderful and
miraculous things, and the most powerful privilege given unto man.
Ann
hopes that one day, the right day, when it’s her time (because nothing happens
before its time), her hard work will be noticed and appreciated, and she’ll
become a “NYT Bestselling Author”…
Uh-uh.
Yeah. That’s what she said.
When
Ann’s not abusing her computer keyboard, you can find her nosing a novel,
watching anything on television that makes her laugh until she breaks into
hiccups (loves Disney & TBS!) studying the Bible, or guzzling booze.
Hosted by Obsessive Pimpettes Promotions
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