Catch up (below) with the novella I am tweeting in September 2014—and check out these other authors participating in twitternovella:

Jules Dixon
New adult romance

Lisa Kovanda
Speculative fiction (horror/sci-fi/fantasy), grit lit, true stories, screenplays, short stories

Sabrina Sumsion
Young adult, science fiction, urban fantasy, romance

 My Twitternovella

Trey was not the all-American quarterback everyone thought he was. Unfortunately, he didn’t know that. His mother did, but she kept that tidbit to herself, along with all the secrets she kept in her jewelry box. Trey knew about the jewelry box, knew his mother’s secrets, and knew he’d share one of his own tonight. 

He dropped his sweat-stained shoulder pads by the door.

“Another victory?” His mother smoothed her hands along her apron. The repetitive action was one of her tells.

Trey smiled to himself. He was anxious for tonight too. “Still undefeated.”

He caught her eye and, for an instant, his breath caught in his chest. Winning game nights were always deliciously intense.

“I kept your dinner warm.” She headed into the kitchen. “I expected you home earlier.”

She meant it as an offhand comment. He knew better. She was annoyed that he’d gone off script, delayed the payoff. He followed her into the kitchen, trying to think of a way to appease her before she dug deeper, asked questions.

She pulled a tinfoil-covered plate from the oven and placed it on the small kitchen table. “Milk or water?”

He hunched over the food, hesitating just long enough to evoke a frown from her. “It was the championship.”

“Fine.” She turned away.

Trey dug into the skinless chicken breast. She returned, handing him a glass of cheap white wine. He would have preferred a beer, but beer was not sophisticated. He sipped the wine, watching her over the rim of the glass.

She was waiting for him now, pretending to be patient, watching him lick the hints of apricot and peach from his lips. One word from him and she would burst into action. She’d been waiting all week. She would be anxious in these last moments.

He picked on the chicken, chewing deliberately. He licked his lips again, the tip of his tongue dragging across his lips. He tasted the roasted squash. He didn’t like squash, but he ate it. She was always happier when he finished his vegetables. When she was happier, she was more giving, which always made his night easier.

“When did coach put you in?” 

“Second quarter. Led 13-7 by halftime.” He slid the empty wineglass across the table.

She frowned, and he affected a shy smile. He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his lips to kiss the tiny knuckles. She bit back a smile, but he saw the twitch in her cheek and winked as he let her fingers slide from his.

She returned with the refilled glass and a homemade brownie with vanilla ice cream, a lop-sided cherry perched on top. “Coach should’ve known better.”

He nodded, handing her his clean dinner plate. “He knows now.”

He picked up the cherry and popped it in his mouth, sucking off the ice cream before dipping the fruit in the glass of wine. She frowned. She didn’t like it when he played with his food, but he’d discovered just how much fun it could be.

Making her uncomfortable was just another delightful benefit.

He held the cherry up to her lips. She opened her mouth slightly. The little wine she allowed added an interesting spark to their celebrations. He let the cherry touch her lips lightly, but refused to drop it into her mouth. She snapped her mouth shut and scowled.

“Finish up here. I’ll draw your bath.” She tried to brush past him.

He grabbed her hand and held it firmly when she struggled against him. “Please.”

She stilled, focusing on the wall behind him. He shifted into her line of sight, towering over her tiny frame.

He held the cherry up to her lips. “Please.” His voice was barely a whisper.

She glared at him, then opened her mouth wide.

He clucked his tongue lightly as he leaned closer, deeply inhaling her lavender-scented shampoo.

“Please.” He was begging, a tiny whine in his deep voice, but he didn’t care.

She closed her mouth and swallowed, and he watched the muscles in her jaw and neck working in harmony. She looked him in the eye, waited a heartbeat, then opened her mouth and let her tongue tease her lips.

Trey lowered the cherry to her lips, letting a groan escape as her tongue darted out to guide the cherry in. He bit his bottom lip when she used her teeth to pull the cherry from its stem. She held it there for him to see, then sucked it in and chewed it up, smiling at him.

His shoulders sagged, the tension draining from his body. He dropped his forehead to hers. “Thank you.”

“No problem, sweetie.” She patted his chest. “But your bath won’t draw itself.”

He leaned back, placing both of his hands over hers to hold it on his chest. “I don’t deserve you.”

She pulled her hand away and pushed past him. Her laugh echoed in the hallway. “You certainly don’t.”

He took a few bites of the brownie, washing it down as he finished off the wine in one gulp.

He was rinsing his dishes when she returned. “Just leave those and get going before your bath water gets cold.”

He nudged her with his hip. “I like helping out.” He also liked the view of the neighbors from the window above the sink. It provided a portal into Sara Jackson’s bedroom—an exquisite discovery that he’d hidden from his mother. Until tonight.

As if on cue, light flooded from the neighboring window. Sara didn’t have curtains. She didn’t need them. Trey’s muscles tightened in expectation. He closed his eyes, picturing her messy ponytail and ruddy cheeks. He spent many nights wondering just how pink they could go.

He could feel his mother’s eyes on him, watching him, studying him. He held his breath, nearly losing control of the familiar tingles of excitement.

“So it’s the Jackson girl who’s got you all in knots.” She placed a hand on his bicep. “Bath, now. We’ll unknot you.” 

He stumbled down the hall, wondering how she knew. His mind raced as he stripped off his clothes. Had she always known? His chest tightened against the humidity. He slid into the steamy water, the stiffness in his muscles succumbing to the heat. He settled back against the cool porcelain and closed his eyes. She knew, and she seemed nonplussed by the knowledge.

He called up an image of Sara Jackson, her pink Powerpuff Girls nightshirt hanging to just above her knobby knees. Her dedication to cartoons was almost as endearing as the thought of sliding his hand up her golden brown thigh.

The knock on the door shattered his vision, mere seconds before Trey discovered her little jewel. He exhaled his frustration. “Yeah?”

His mother walked into the bathroom, reading from a bottle. He rested both arms on the edge of the tub. He was giving her complete access, letting her take her fill of him. She didn’t look up from the bottle, but he saw the tiny smile peeking from the corner of her mouth.

“I ordered a new massage oil. Ginger and cayenne.” She glanced up. “You game?”



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