Stay, my short story with an amnesia trope, is FREE. I hope you click on the link above and download your copy. I sent Stay into the world back in 2017. Today, I searched my archived blog posts for the post I did as to what inspired me to write Brooks and Violet’s love story but realize I lost all blog posts from 2017 when my website was hacked last year.
What was my inspiration? The cover. I have a few go-to cover designers that offer reasonably priced, beautiful premade romance covers. I found the cover for Stay on Marianne’s site, Premade Ebook Cover Shop. When I saw the cover, I knew I had to buy it and then write the story to go along with it.
I hope you like Stay as much as I enjoyed writing it. Here’s an excerpt.
The elevator doors open and I back inside with the cart. He pushes the down button then sidles in next to me.
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“Wouldn’t your girlfriend or wife mind?”
I glance sidelong at him. “No, as in you have a girlfriend or a wife?” Or both? I blow at a loose strand of hair falling over my eye. It’s just my luck that the first guy that interests me in a long time is spoken for.
“No, as in life is complicated at the moment. Can I plead the fifth?”
What kind of bullshit talk was that?
“Just go along with me for now, Violet.”
The seduction in his voice promises hot and heavy sex. I can’t remember when I last had sex. Keeping my knees together, I somehow move myself away from the dangerous heat of his ripped body.
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t mind taking the bus.” And I damn well won’t be another mark on his headboard. Or whatever men used these days to keep count of the women they’ve slept with.
“Is the bus warm?”
Not the one I take. I can only describe the temperature as arctic.
“Is the bus fast?”
Not when there are people getting off at each five stops before mine.
“What the bus has,” at this hour, “is room for personal space. It’s what you and your car can’t offer.”
“I’m offering a warm space and a fast but safe ride. Sit as close to the door as possible. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
The elevator doors open and he follows me out. I put the cleaning cart away and lock up, mulling over whether to accept his offer or not.
“So are you or are you not in a serious relationship at the moment?” I ask with my arms crossed.
He uncrosses my arms and tucks a finger beneath my chin, tilting my head until our gazes lock. “You hesitated when I asked if you’re married. Are you in a serious relationship?”
“My best friend is a guy, but he’s just a friend.”
“Are you certain?”
I knock aside his finger. “I’m ridiculously aware of my emotions, okay?”
“I figured as much.” He grasps my hand and tugs me toward the elevators. “No, I’m not in a serious relationship.”
Not yet are the unspoken words that linger in the air between us.