It’s #WritingChallenge time!

We hope you’ve all been enjoying entering our #WritingChallenges as much as we’ve been enjoying reading them – we’ve been so impressed with the quality (and quantity!) of the responses!

So, after a couple of challenges that have focused on the darker moments in your potential story, we thought it was high time to have a more upbeat one!

Drum roll please for this weekend’s #WritingChallenge….

What’s the most embarrassing scenario in which your heroine could run into her ex, the hero?

Have fun with it, and we’ll be checking back in on Monday to give our feedback!

Happy Writing!
The Sold editors x

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  1. Elle Marlow

    “Ah, just what I’ve been waiting for…a nice big thick and juicy foot-long hot pastrami on rye smothered with mustard.”

    Gino Scarpelli wiggled in his chair from anticipation as he opened his mouth wide. That’s when the fire alarm’s ear busting whine vibrated through out the station. Code 877.

    “This can’t be happening,” he sighed as he put the sandwich down. Code 877? In his six years as Fire Chief, he’d never heard of that code. Not once.

    Vinny popped his head through a crack in his office door.
    “You better forget that sandwich and come with us,” he said.
    “Why?”
    “Word is that there’s a hot dame stuck in a tree. She was trying to rescue her cat. A crowd is forming around her blocking traffic on Petunia Ave.”
    Gino gazed lovingly at his sandwich, ready to skip out on the entertainment for some grub, but curiosity got the better of him.
    “Why is there a crowd?”
    Vinny chuckled. “Her dress got hung on a limb and is wrapped around her waist, sir.”

    Gino looked at Vinny, looked at his sandwich and figured the sandwich could wait. This he’s gotta see. As he geared up, he wondered what it was with crazy dames and their cats? His ex would have scaled Mt. Everest to save her cat. He shook his head and gave his sandwich one last look before jumping onto the truck.
    Vinny started the engine.
    “There’s one more thing, Capt.”
    “Oh?”
    “The broad in the tree?”
    “Yeah…”he asked slowly.
    “Its Mrs. Scarpelli. Revenge is sweet, huh,Capt?”

  2. Mary Fahey

    Attracta got up at four in the morning on Black Friday to be top of the queue at the department store sale. Six hours later she stumbled out laden down with carrier bags. A warm glow infused her. She sorted her Christmas shopping for a fraction of the normal cost. Her addiction to sales was her guilty secret. It enabled a designer lifestyle on her budget store income. It allowed her pretend that her business was successful.

    She yawned as she crossed the road. A black car screeched it’s breaks and the window rolled down.
    “What the hell are you doing?”
    Oh dear, Sinbad rarely ventured into this area. Probably too late, she raised a sale emblazoned carrier bag against her face. A shirt and tie set with a 70 percent off price tag flew onto the ground. She rescued his Christmas present from a water filled pothole before meeting his scowling gaze. Her coping strategy was rumbled.

  3. Tambra Nicole

    This is from Alpin MacKibble’s Christmas Wish.
    Anyway, this is an embarrassing moment for the heroine.

    Alpin shimmied pushing the sides of the black leather bag lower and looked around.
    His movement brought her attention back to the present.
    “Mama’s getting your Woofies, baby.” She risked a glance at the face of her pup. His brown eyes sparkled with mischief. A diversion was necessary. Melody reached beside the frisky furball her fingers touching and discarding items until she found the container of treats.
    Thank God she still had a few left in the plastic snack box.
    “Hey pupster, here you go.” Alpin wagged his tail eagerly accepting her offering and lay down.
    She wove through the crowd and noticed a few nods and smiles from the men. Why was she getting so much attention? My skirt. An emergency call from her secretary this morning changed her schedule. Melody had missed picking up her clothes from the dry cleaners yesterday. Late meetings shoved her plans for doing laundry and relaxing with a glass of wine. So, on went the burgundy suede, way above the knee garment from her niece. Melody loved it, but she wasn’t used to anything that showed so much leg.
    The pet aisle was just ahead. Stopping in front of the product she huffed out a breath of frustration. Wouldn’t you know, Alpin’s Woofies just had to be on the top shelf where she couldn’t reach them.
    Looking around there wasn’t a store employee to be found. Or a tall guy. She had to buy those dog cookies tonight or else she’d never get any sleep.
    Pushing aside a few cans Melody made a toehold on the shelf. What demented person puts an eight-pound bag of dog cookies so high you have to climb to reach them? She checked the sturdiness of the unit. A few seconds was all she needed.
    Placing her foot on the shelf, she grasped the metal above her head. Her already short skirt inched higher. Terrific. She could see the headlines in tomorrow’s local paper—“Woman falls: Gives New Meaning to Southern Exposure.” Of course, she had to wear the shortest item of clothing she owned today. Melody suppressed groan and prayed no one would choose this moment to come around the corner.
    “Here, let me help you.”
    A man’s Welsh accent slid over her like warm honey drizzled over a cat head biscuit. *Damn and double damn.*

  4. Karen Macleod

    For weeks her nephew Charlie had been begging her to take him to the lifeboat station open day. Of course Louise had said no. Too many memories for her there, she just couldn’t face seeing Leon again, not after what had happened.
    But in the same way the patient stream erodes the steadfast rock, Charlie had worn her down and she found herself agreeing to take him.
    Besides she reasoned, she had changed, moved on. She would go down to the open day, be all sophisticated charm and Leon would see her and realize exactly what he had lost. Yes, that would teach the arrogant tosser a lesson!

    So it was that she came to be stood, packed like a sardine with the other visitors in the wheelhouse of the lifeboat.
    Charlie was in his element. He loved all things lifeboat and she found herself smiling at his evident joy.
    Of course, she couldn’t resist showing off to him a bit.
    “So this is the engine start up button” she said indicating a button on the control panel.
    “What happens if I press it?”
    “Nothing, the system will be in a kind of simulation mode so no one can accidentally start the engines or anything” she said airily. “Try it”
    Cautiously Charlie pressed it and… nothing happened.
    “See” she said smugly, enjoying the chance to show off her somewhat limited knowledge and earn the respect of her young nephew.
    “And this one” she said, indicating a large red button “is the man over board alarm. So if someone falls over board, you press it and the engines will cut out and the sirens will sound” she explained, punching the button decisively to illustrate the point.

    Of course, in hindsight, she should have realized that even in this kind of “safe”, simulation mode this lifesaving feature would still work. But flushed with the excitement of potentially earning the status of ‘cool aunt’ with her nephew, she hadn’t even considered that possibility.

    There was a moment of silence before a slow whine began to sound on the boat, quickly rising to a wild, ear piercing crescendo. Around her people clapped their hands to their ears and small children began to cry.
    Frantically she repeatedly punched the button, trying to kill the screaming sirens but they carried on their unrelenting cry.
    From the back of the wheelhouse a guide hurried forward to cancel the alarm. Calmly he pressed the button but to no avail. The deafening noise continued.
    Someone yelled for the mechanic to come on board. There followed an excruciating wait as the mechanic was summoned to rectify the situation.
    Finally he arrived. Louise, staring in transfixed horror at the offending red button, saw a well muscled arm reach in front of her towards the alarm button that had caused all the trouble and in a moment the alarm was silenced.

    Gratefully she turned to her savior and immediately her heart sunk. It was Leon. Of course it would be Leon- that was the way the her day was going. Badly.
    But all was not lost. He didn’t know it was her that had set the alarm off.
    ‘Cool and sophisticated’ she reminded herself.
    Boldly she met his gaze, looking up through her sweeping lashes.
    “This your doing Lu?” He asked wryly with that infuriating, sexy laid back smile of his.
    “Me? Gosh no!” She exclaimed brightly
    He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her and she felt heat flooding her cheeks.
    She panicked “It was Charlie, my nephew, he wanted to see what it did” she lied, desperate to cover her own guilt.
    “It was not!” Exclaimed Charlie loudly with all the wounded affront an eight year old could possess “you did it! Don’t lie Aunty Louise!” He said with an expression of confused hurt on his face.
    At that moment her agonizing humiliation was complete, not only was her crime discovered but she had then compounded it by lying and laying the guilt on a child!
    “Tut tut Lu, shame on you blaming a child” said Leon smirking at her evident mortification and at that moment she really wished she had fallen overboard…

  5. Charlotte

    Miss Frickin’ February, indeed. Heroine hopped uncomfortably from foot to foot as her already-shaking hands tugged in vain at the hemline of her bottom-skimming dress. Never mind a charity runway show, she only needed a large phallic inflatable and she could swing in there looking like one of today’s most scandalous popstars. This was so not her.
    Her only comfort was the thought that no-one outside of this small community would ever see her
    un-dressed like this.
    Hero would never see her like this.
    A wolf whistle dragged her attention from the uncompromising fabric and heroine’s head snapped up to see Mr March and Mr January strutting towards her striking random, over-egged poses.
    “Looking H-O-T,” January wiggled his eyebrows at her appreciatively.
    Heroine’s eyes slid from one muscled torso, gleaming with oil, to its matching pair and despite her discomfort the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. Their outfits were as outrageous as hers.
    “Yeah, who’d have thought a body like
    that lurked beneath your army combat gear?” March gave a low whistle. “You should show it off more often.”
    Show it off? The nausea she’d been fighting all day threatened to finally overwhelm her. But she couldn’t let the guys see how uncomfortable she was. They were decent lads and she would trust them with her life – frequently did – but she still couldn’t afford to show any weakness, they’d never let her live it down.
    Grudgingly, she relinquished her grip on the hemline, it didn’t matter how much she fought anyway, the fabric wasn’t going to miraculously grow. And, to be fair, it didn’t matter
    where the hemline fell, since the baby-blue organza slip was scandalously see-through, apparently all the better to showcase the hand-stitched rhinestone underwear beneath.
    “Nice thong,” March grinned, as though reading her mind.
    Heroine resisted the urge to clap her hands over her backside. She had rhinestones where no jewels should
    ever be encrusted.
    “Not sure I could concentrate on flying Apaches if I knew
    Miss February was flying alongside me,” January teased.
    Miss February,” Heroine snorted, perhaps bravado would conceal her absolute discomfort. “What kind of an idiot would go out in chilly February wearing an outfit like this? They’d catch their death of cold.”
    “Don’t think an outfit like that is made for going out in, if you see what I mean,” January chuckled, giving her another dramatic once over.
    “Keep going mate,” March egged him on. “She’s blushing.”
    “And now please put your hands together for the
    Calendar Soldiers,” the MC’s voice announced, and January strutted through the curtain and onto the runway beyond.
    Heroine wrinkled her nose, drew a deep breath and followed. She just had to hold onto
    why she was doing this, for the families of soldiers who’d been killed or severally injured in combat. For Billy, who had been leaping into his chopper on a med-evac one minute, and shot down by insurgents the next.
    Galvanised, she straightened her shoulders and injected a hint of a shimmy into her stride. It was all she had feared. And yet it wasn’t. Families were cheering them on, lending her confidence. She could even pick out a few friendly faces, wives of soldiers she’d flown alongside. By the time she reached the end of the runway she found she even had the courage to strike a pose.
    Bam-Bam.
    And that was when she saw him. On the front row. Glaring up at her. His face as dark as rolling thunder.

    • Charlotte

      Yes, I confess I may have a soft spot for soldier hero/heroine (but my own hero husband *was* my Troop Commander when I was an Officer Cadet lol) hence my paralysed army doc in the first challenge too!
      In fact, I enjoyed that first challenge so much that 7chapters flowed in the first week alone, and within 10days I’d submitted! But there has been something missing between their black moment and their HEA – maybe (with work) this could be just the thing.

  6. Harriet Hale

    Rae drove down the residential street. At three in the morning, it should be dark and quiet, its residents dreaming of happy things. Instead, lights glowed yellow and curtains were pulled open. It was easy to see art, fireplaces, overstuffed furniture, pets standing guard. The front yards were crowded with people in robes, pajamas, and slippers. Several older women had their hair in rollers. And everyone was staring at the end of the street, where the blue lights tinted the trees and shrubbery, headlights lengthened the shadows, and crime scene tape ringed the yard.

    After parking in the first available spot, Rae hung her shield around her neck, slid her sidearm into her holster, and lifted her coffee. The lid stayed in her hand, but the cup didn’t. Lukewarm coffee splashed across her jeans and up her shirt.

    Grumbling, she shoved her arms into her department windbreaker and opened the door. Wasn’t it enough to be up at three? Was it too much to ask to stay clean and have hot coffee? To drink rather than wear?

    She scooped her hair into a ponytail, then twirled it into a loose knot. Ignoring the strands that immediately slipped free, she snapped the windbreaker closed over the coffee stains and pushed her glasses up her nose.

    “Davy!” Captain Lou Welch barked from the doorway. “Quit primping and get in here!”

    “On my way,” she shouted back. After winding through the civilian melee, Rae nodded to the patrolman charged with preserving the scene and ducked under the tape barrier. Primping. Lou would have had a fit if he’d seen her three months ago in St. Lucia – massaged, tan, warm, in a dress, with her toes in the sand. With Ezra.

    Ezra … with his unruly dark hair, sharp mind, and rich laugh. Too bad she’d been the butt of the joke. But at least she’d found it out before she’d done something truly stupid – like falling for the jackass.

    “Lou, what’s up?” she asked as she entered the foyer. The front door was askew, its knob was in the floor, and the jamb was splintered. Crime scene techs swarmed through the house.

    “It looks like a domestic that got out of control. Neighbors heard the boyfriend yelling from the yard, saw him kick in the door, and called it in. By the time we got here, the girlfriend was dead. He’s in the back.”

    They walked to the back of the house, toward their prime suspect. The case would probably be off her desk by dawn and she could get some real coffee.

    “Of course I’m covered in her blood, y’ daft git. First aid requires that I touch her.”

    “So, your girlfriend -”

    “For the hundredth time, Laurie is … was not my girlfriend.”

    Rae’s stomach plummeted. It wasn’t the words, it was the voice. It couldn’t be. Not here. Entering the room, she surveyed the scene. Officers Barnes and Ruiz faced a man with blood splattering the front of his t-shirt and staining his jeans. A man with wild dark hair, black framed glasses, and a jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked up and across the room, right at her. His eyes widened.

    “Rae?”

    Barnes looked over his shoulder as he stepped aside. “Detective Davenport, he’s all yours.”

    Straightening her spine and ignoring her audience, Rae walked into the room and sat across from Ezra. Resting her elbows on her knees, she leaned forward. “Doctor Larkin, would you like to tell me how and why you killed your … girlfriend?”

    • Mary Fahey

      She should have brought her class to the zoo instead. Mother Superior Genevieve de Paor’s description of the Jack Butler Yeats painting halted mid sentence. She pulled her wimple over her face and crouched behind big Liam.
      At least, Bradley appeared mesmerised by the Caravaggio and was surrounded by other tourists. She took a deep breath. What was he doing here? He resided in Las Vegas and everyone said what happened there stayed there.

      “Oisin, please tell your class about the next painting.” The school swot would relish the chance to show off about Paul Henry and she could hide somewhere better until it was safe.
      Too late. Bradley turned around and their eyes met. He spoke first. “Gigi, darling. At last. I never thought to check the convents.”
      “I really am a school principal.”
      “I knew it was meant to be a holiday fling but I want more.” You could hear a pin drop in the gallery.”I’ve never met anyone as passionate as you.”
      Even Oisin lost interest in the paintings. In future, she was banning camera’s from school trips. Tablets too as the kids checked the meaning of passionate.

    • Vicki Lane

      Really love this set up! I want to know what happened between Ezra and Rae and just how he’s going to get out of the mess he’s currently in.

  7. Carol Opalinski

    I’ve been dreaming about Carla’s cardamom monkey buns. Hadley’s words had taunted Quinn on the short drive through the sleepy town to the coffee shop. Too bad his dreams weren’t that chaste. Every night his treacherous mind played erotic cinema starring Hadley and he’d wake up hard, sweaty and frustrated as hell.
    There were only a handful of other cars in the parking lot when Quinn pulled his department SUV into a spot beside Hadley’s blue Subaru. So she’d beat him here. No big deal…except he’d wanted her to walk into his territory not the other way around. He shook his head at this latest bit of foolishness. Habit, and years as a Marine Scout Sniper, had him scanning the parking lot for any signs of trouble before going inside the squat brick building.
    A woman, her back towards him, waited at the counter. Quinn recognized the dark hair that fell to the middle of her back. His fingers involuntarily twitched at the sight of all that glossy silk. At five foot four, Hadley wasn’t tall, but she had long, shapely legs, legs that used to wrap around him.
    A dormant part of his anatomy stirred to life. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or pissed. His normal, healthy sex drive had nose-dived—during waking hours—after Hadley left and had yet to recover.
    She turned around and his stomach plummeted past his knees. He swayed as if buffeted by hurricane force winds. His breaths came in shallow gasps.
    The rattling of dishes, snippets of conversation, hiss of the espresso machine—everything faded away except for the harsh buzzing in his ears. Like cicadas on a sweltering summer night.
    Sweet Jesus, is this what she’d come to tell him? Bile rose in his throat, entered his mouth and coated his tongue at the site of her rounded belly.
    A baby.
    Her dearest wish.
    His worst nightmare.
    He forced his gaze upward where it clashed with green eyes. Her lips thinned, her chin jutted out. Quinn knew that contentious look, having witnessed it plenty of times when they’d been together. Vivid images of how he’d handled that stubbornness in the past flashed through his mind like an X-rated movie. He needed to shove those thoughts aside or risk a raging hard-on in the middle of the town’s coffee shop. Not the kind of publicity he wanted during an election year…or ever.
    Stalling, he glanced around the small café trying to gather his wits. The black and white tile floor, white walls and open shelving crammed full of coffee syrups hadn’t changed in the entire time he’d been coming here. And yet, the colors were brighter, sharper as if he was seeing the shop in glorious Technicolor for the first time. Life was going to change forever. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
    Only a few of the tables had customers, but he knew with the swipe of a thumb across a screen, the sheriff and his ex would be a hot topic. Granger, Georgia might look like a throwback to simpler times, but smart phones, Twitter, Instagram and all that crap, spread gossip faster than Rose Leland from her front porch swing.
    His attention snapped back to Hadley when she picked up her tray and took a step toward him. “Shall we sit or have you seen enough?”
    Her gaze flicked around at the scattering of people. Heart-breaking vulnerability darted across her features, but disappeared so quickly he would’ve missed her uncertainty had he not been watching. Did she think he’d humiliate her by walking out? Yeah, that thought had crossed his mind. But then, he hadn’t been playing with a full deck from the moment she’d turned around. Hell, he couldn’t even find the freakin’ cards. The curiosity vibes coming from the customers were palpable, as if everyone’s thumb hovered over send, waiting to see what he would do.
    Quinn crossed the short distance separating them and reached for Hadly’s tray. “Let me help you with that.

  8. C A Speakman

    Why is it that the paper covering the exam table always manages to fold over into a sharp edge? Chrissy tried rolling slightly to the left, her fingers groping for the edge of the paper. Oops, bad move.

    The twins rolled with her, the added weight and momentum carrying her right off the edge. The crappy blue paper gown caught on a drawer knob, bunching up under her armpits, leaving her literally ass out. Scrabbling to grab hold of something, anything, she prepared for the pain that would come when her knees and shins hit the cold linoleum floor.

    ***
    Dr. David Milfield pulled the chart folder from the door. Seriously, the practice still used paper? He added technology upgrade to the list of things he planned to implement as soon as the final signatures were on the contracts and all the lawyers were happy, or at least satisfied. Six months or even a year ago if someone had told him he’d be moving from Boston to Austin, he’d have laughed, yet here he was though damned if he knew why.

    Well, that was a lie. He knew exactly why.

    Opening the door, he checked the name on the chart, Christabelle Simmons. How long before he would see that surname without feeling the crushing blow to his heart? “Good morning, Miss Simmons. I’m – ”

    His patient was tumbling off the table, arms flailing. In two long strides, David was beside her, stabilizing her in his strong grip, slowing her fall.

    “Ow! Crap that hurt.” She tilted her head back, eyes widened first with embarrassment and then shock.

    “Are you …?” Any words that he originally intended to say congealed in this throat. Pressure built in his chest, as he got lost in her pale gray eyes. Her long brunette hair rumpled, nearly naked on her knees, with her fingers snagged in his belt almost exactly the same as in his Tahitian hotel room on New Year’s Eve. The last days of what should have been a romantic honeymoon trip.

    In a panic, he did the math. Thirty-one weeks.

    The drawer swung open and the Physician’s Assistant came in. “David honey, this is – ” her rubber soled shoes squeaked to a stop. “Christabelle Cricket Simmons what in the hell are you doing?”

    “Cricket?” he whispered.

  9. Margie Stewart

    ‘Someone needs a doctor?’
    She’d know that deep voice anywhere. From her position on the lift floor, Gypsy Rose cringed as the crowd of feet parted.
    Heart jumping hurdles, she prayed for the floor to open and swallow her whole.
    ‘She won’t let me loosen her clothing, Doc.’ The paramedic said as Doctor Danny Somersby knelt, his gaze assessing her bare feet and fists clutching the front of her long faux fur coat.
    At least he didn’t advertise the fact he knew her.
    ‘How long was she stuck in here?’
    ‘Since the fire drill– a good two hours with no air con. Pulse rapid. She’s close to heat exhaustion.’
    Muttering under his breath, Danny leaned low and Gypsy looked up into eyes overflowing with innuendo.
    She hated feeling as small as an annoying gnat. ‘I’ll be okay,’ she whispered almost out of breath, skin prickling, perspiration streaming from her hairline.
    ‘Take it off. Now.’
    ‘No,’ she hissed trying a weak smile that fizzled rapidly to mortification. ‘I don’t⎯’ She paused to look at the crowd of onlookers and he leaned in closer. ‘I don’t have anything on underneath except a G-string.’
    Danny stood. ‘Nothing to see here everyone. Stand back.’
    He swooped her up into familiar strong arms as though she were a feather, carrying her into a nearby room. Danny kicked the door shut behind him then made for the bathroom, swiftly placing her in a sitting position against the shower wall. He reached for the taps.
    Gypsy closed her eyes. ‘What are you doing here in the hotel?’
    ‘Saving your life.’ He turned the pressure up. ‘Surgeon’s convention.’
    ‘You don’t have to⎯’ She lost her breath as the first warm flush of water dumped on her then turned cool, plastering hair to her face, soaking everything. Lordy she must look a fright.
    Without avoiding the water, Danny tugged at her coat. ‘Now will you take this off?’
    At first, Gypsy resisted. What was the use? Danny had seen her naked more times than she could count. But that was then.
    Feeling less like a drowned cat and weightless, he draped a towel over her naked breasts. Her heart did a little jump. God she’d missed that feeling of being around him. Missed him.
    She could cry now and it wouldn’t be obvious. But she wouldn’t.
    Just like she wouldn’t ever forgive him.
    ‘Really, I’m fine.’
    His long warm fingers were on her wrist again, his gaze fixed on hers. Stuck like glue. ‘I won’t be convinced until your pulse drops and you stop looking like a glowing stop sign.’
    Charming.
    ‘I’m not going to ask what you were doing out in public practically naked, nurse Rose.’
    They were back to Doctor and Nurse. Good. ‘Well, you wouldn’t read about it.’
    He wasn’t into fiction and besides, it was none of his business. ‘Now your tux is all wet just like⎯’ like the day he fished her out of the pond during a staff party. After that they were inseparable for months. ‘Where are you going all dressed up? Hot date?’
    He smiled softly. ‘I’m working. Key-note speaker.’
    She wasn’t ready for his trademark soft smile that once upon a time had the power to turn her to jelly. ‘Now you’re all ruined. I’m sorry.’ No, she wasn’t really sorry. He deserved that and more for walking out on her without so much as a goodbye.
    ‘Feel any better?’ He searched her face.
    How could she tell him her flushed cheeks and treacherous high pulse had nothing to do with heat exhaustion…

    • Me too!! I wrote this for the challenge but think her ex Doc Daniel assumes she was having a ‘hot night’-in reality she was helping out a friend! x m

    • Sold Editors

      Who doesn’t want to be saved by their drop-dead-gorgeous surgeon ex?! He sounds just dreamy…but why did he walk out on Rose!? Great set-up Margie!

    • Doctor Danny Somersby didn’t take risks. Been there, done that and it didn’t turn out well. When his no-strings hot affair started chipping away at his hardened heart and ‘bottled-up’ past, he knew he had to make a break. He wasn’t prepared to risk being responsible for breaking her heart so decided to do the honourable thing and turn her against him. He accepted a twelve month overseas posting, thinking she’d settle down with someone reliable, with less baggage etc.
      Seeing her again, getting to know her emotionally, and learning of her painful childhood, makes her more irresistible than before.
      ‘The Doctor Is Back’ and in deep, deep trouble!

      Sorry- a bit long winded but thinking out aloud here. x m

  10. Fiona Marsden

    The sirens were getting closer, almost drowning out the insistent blare of the smoke alarms. Tara fumbled with the broken handle, hoping this time the catch would release. The acrid smell of burnt apricot chicken permeated the air. Not that the ruined meal mattered. All that mattered were the firemen who would be storming the building now the bells were silent. Someone had switched off the alarm and she could hear the sound of male voices yelling from below, the thump of heavy boots on the stairs.
    Desperately she scanned the bathroom for something to cover her naked body. Short of wrapping herself in toilet paper, the only thing left was the bathmat. She’d dropped her towel on the bed before returning to grab her hair dryer. Draping it across the front of her body, she looked up as the door burst open, revealing a large, very large, figure in yellow. Hell no. Fate couldn’t be so cruel.
    “Well, well. Don’t look surprised, Tara Fleming. You must have been expecting me. My favourite dinner burnt in the oven and you ready for me upstairs. Like old times.”
    Tara could feel the heat sweeping up her neck, flooding her face. “Damn you, Reid. Get your annoying as hell grin out of my bedroom.”

  11. Chris Buono

    Joyce Malik and Red Hays should have been over each other. And they were, but…they both had needs! Could they fill them together…again?

    “Caught in the Act”

    Joyce and Red’s sex life had become one big bore. Same day of the week. Same time. Same routine. Ho-hum.

    But at twenty-five, Flight Attendant Joyce Malik was in her sexual prime. At twenty-eight, Bodybuilder Red Hays was all man. Still, something just wasn’t clicking anymore between them. They argued more. They nitpicked each other. They couldn’t stand being in the same room together. So much for having become roommates six months ago — at Joyce’s insistence, no less.

    But it hadn’t always been like that.

    When they’d first hooked up, it had been sizzle, bam, hot damn — pass the fire extinguisher sex! And it all had started in the confined space of a 747’s bathroom — during a flight on which Joyce had been working and Red had been heading to the west coast for a bodybuilding competition. And they weren’t even members of the Mile-High Club!

    After having had a silent sparring foreplay session of goo-goo eyes and mouthing dirty talk, Red had met up with Joyce in the plane’s back bathroom. He had slipped a wallet-retrieved ribbed condom onto his “personality” that day. Then entered her in the unconventional way, as she faced the door, gripping the handholds. Her perfectly sculptured rear, holding its firm shape of two bowling balls side-by-side, that plane-bathroom quickie had been so intense, that Joyce even experienced an explosive, full-body rush of ecstasy along with Red at 30,000 feet!

    But today Joyce and Red would need a flint to start a blaze between the sheets. Their sex life had plateaued. Or so they thought. And that’s why they broke up two months ago — to seek other lovers.

    But the grass always seems greener on the other side.

    “Why are you looking at me like that?” Joyce asked the scrawny, curious-eyed, male salesclerk, as she placed the safety-sealed, boxed vibrator onto the countertop.

    “Just never had a gal as drop-dead gorgeous as you, ever make a face-to-face purchase of the Red Bullet before.”

    “Really,” Joyce said flatly, then nervously glanced about the sex boutique, and fingercombed her honey-blonde bangs more over her face.

    “Uh-huh,” said the clerk, ringing up the item.

    “Then…uh…why do you sell them?” Joyce whispered through her hair-masked expression, paying for the self-gratification device.

    “The Internet,” said the grinning clerk. “Anonymous purchases. Face-to-face ones are usually made by the guy. You know, for their girl — to spice things up. We have DVDs downstairs, too, if you’re interested.”

    “I’ll remember that for next time,” Joyce said plainly, picking up the bagged vibrator, forcing a smile, and turning to exit.

    “No guy on your arm, huh, sweetheart?”

    “Excuse me?” Joyce said, turning back to the clerk.

    And that’s when she saw him — Red, in all of his six-foot muscular glory. He was coming up the stairs with a casual glance on his face and DVDs in his hands.

    “Oh, no!” said Joyce, frantically looking around. “Do you have a back door?”

    The clerk smirked.

    “To this place, I meant,” she torpidly emphasized.

    “Why? What’s wrong?”

    “Only everything,” she sighed. “That’s my ex.” Her face reddened, but her eyes locked on Red as he neared her.

    “Uh…hey, Joyce,” Red said, clearing his throat, shame on his face as he attempted to hide the DVDs behind his back. “Shop here often?”

    Half anticipating Red’s answer, half dreading what he might say, Joyce asked through a wince, “No. You?”

    A spark of excitement filled both of their eyes as they stared at each other.

    Then Joyce snaked her hand behind Red’s back and slipped the DVDs from his hold.

    “We have a back room, folks,” said the clerk.

    Red snarled at the little weasel.

    The clerk swallowed hard. Then stepped away.

    Pulling the DVDs forward, Joyce sweetly read their titles aloud. “’Jamming Joyce’? ‘Joyce’s Jugs’? She’s got honey-blonde hair. Just like mine.”

    “That’s just what ‘I’ thought.”

    “So, you’ve been dateless, huh?” Joyce teased, giggling.

    “You, too?” Red asked, peeking into the bag in Joyce’s hand. Then added, grinning, “The ‘Red’ Bullet, huh?”

    “I liked the name,” Joyce teased, pulling the bag closer to herself.

    “I’ll bet,” Red said. Then called the clerk back over with a wave of his hand and placed the DVDs onto the countertop.

    “Ring those up,” said Joyce to the clerk, glanced at Red, then back at the clerk. “Fast.”

  12. Vicki Lane

    The wooden ladder teetered as Rebecca stretched on tiptoes to place the shoe box on the shelf. She held onto the rungs giving the ladder a moment to stop moving and sighed, only ten more boxes to go and she’d be done for the day. Glancing down at her blouse she knew it was ruined. Dirt and dust from the backroom along the sewing machine oil she’d spilt had found a home on the light turquoise top and she didn’t think any amount of soaking was going to take it away. She wished she’d given into her instinct in the predawn hours and taken the day off.

    “Well, if it isn’t Becca Martin.”

    Her eyes closed for a brief moment. Not Jack, not today, anyone but Jack. As soon as she’d heard he was back in town he’d staked claim to her nightly dreams, but she wasn’t ready to see the real him. Not yet. Rebecca opened her eyes, looked behind her and froze. He looked good, too good. Black tee-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, his signature look hadn’t changed.

    “I wasn’t expecting to find you here,” Jack glanced around the shop and ran his hand through his hair, “working in a bridal shop. Aren’t you allergic to anything that has to do with weddings?”

    “It’s good to see you. I didn’t know you were in town.” She lied. “Give me a sec and…” The rest of the words fell silent as she lost her balance and fell backwards.

    “Becca!” Jack raced around the counter and knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”

    Before she could answer a tiny voice came from the doorway, “Mommy?”

    Jack’s eyes darted between her and the dark haired child. Disbelief bathed in anger filled his face when he looked back at Rebecca. “You have a child?”

    “It’s not what you think.” She said and wished the ground would swallow her whole.

  13. Maggie Jones

    Jules took a firm hold of the foot-high carved Santa ornament, shut her eyes tight and smacked the intruder really hard over the head.
    He went face-down in a crumbled heap in front of her with a long sort of oof sound, the gun or knife or whatever it was still clutched in his hand.
    “Merry Christmas to you too,” she said.
    She was breathing hard and still shaking, her pulse rate crazy. She flexed her fingers around Santa’s booties, rebalanced herself and braced for a fight.
    But the guy wasn’t getting up.
    Maybe he was faking. Waiting. Then, when she got in close, he’d grab her…
    Okay. No panic – but how to know?
    She shoved Santa under one arm, snatched a bauble off the tree and lobbed it fast towards his hooded head. It bounced off and shattered all over the floor.
    “This so does not look good.”
    Maybe if she circled the guy, maybe about three feet away from him, so that if he wasn’t actually knocked out but just pretending, he couldn’t get her…
    Anyway, she had to find out.
    She walked slowly around him.
    Nothing.
    She took off her Blahniks, lined them up by the doorway and squatting down.
    All very well but the trouble was he was wearing such a big, downy coat and the hood had fallen over his face. She had to risk getting closer, even though it was pretty certain he was out for the count. Dead to the world.
    Or just plain dead.
    She shot upright.
    “Not on Christmas Eve!” No, not a charitable thought. Rethink. “Come on, at least it’s honest!”
    Bailey had said that to her before he’d packed her off on this weekend of cabin hell. “Get honest with yourself, Jules – and, for god’s sake, toughen up.”
    “How tough exactly were you thinking, Bailey?” she muttered.
    Unlikely that her father had meant get yourself sent to prison for murder, when he’d already achieved those heights for the family.
    Ok, if this burglar was dead, she just had to find out..
    Everybody had a mother – which, yeesh, she should know – and killing someone for Christmas wasn’t what she’d been planning.
    Which had been escape, mostly. Getting away from everyone mourning the death of her marriage. Nagging her about “one last chance”.
    Certainly not this – a body under the Christmas tree.
    She needed him inert, not dead. Just for a day. Until she wasn’t alone on an island any more with a stranger who broke into people’s cottages in the middle of the night.
    She’d heard the noise, even over the blizzard outside. She’d heard the glass shattering in the pantry and she’d just panicked and grabbed the first weapon that came to hand.
    “Tough, Jules, think tough.”
    She grabbed a tube of Nutcracker wrapping paper she’d brought, dropped to her knees, levered up the guy’s hood and screwed her eyes tight shut as she flicked it back off his head.
    Silence.
    She squinted through her eyelashes – then opened wide.
    Jake, unconscious but groaning, lay there with a gash on his forehead bleeding slowly onto the cream carpet and, in his hand, he grasped the divorce certificate she’d signed and returned to his team of solicitors yesterday.
    “My god, Jake!” She grabbed hold of his shoulder and shook him hard. “It’s too late. I told you that. I’m never coming back to you. Why don’t you ever, ever listen?!”
    This time, he groaned really loud, opened his eyes and stared at her from under scowling brows.

  14. Rebecca Laurence

    Falling in Love
    “Sasha you’ve had too many”.
    “No way!” Sasha exclaimed. “Just one more for the road.”
    “Well you will have to get down off the table to drink it. Promise me you will get down off the table.”
    Bridget thought it would be a good idea to take her friend out for a night on the town after the day she has just had. Sasha had just found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her and Bridget thought a good way to help her would be to have a few quiet drinks at the local bar.
    “I will get down if you get up and have 1 dance with me. Sasha shouted over the loud music. “1 dance and then I promise I will behave myself.”
    The way Sasha was stumbling around, Bridget thought the best thing to do would be to get up there and make sure she doesn’t fall down. “Okay just 1 dance, and only because I like this song.”
    Bridget slipped off her Stilettos and climbed up next to Sasha. The tables were only about half a metre off the ground but high enough to hurt yourself if you fell. Apparently the trick was to keep your feet touching the table at all times, something Bridget wasn’t told about. She wished she knew this as Sasha was swinging her hips and waving her hands about to the music so much that Bridget had to duck to avoid getting hit in the face. That’s when it happened. Bridget ducked as a Sasha flung a back-handed arm in her direction, as she ducked her toes caught on her other foot and she slipped backwards. “God I hope there is a chair to catch my fall” Bridget thought as she fell towards the ground. Then she felt 2 strong arms around her waist.
    “Hi” Bridget knew that low sultry sexy voice. It was Damien. “I was wondering if I would catch you here”
    Bridget felt the heat start to rise in her face.

  15. Yvette Martin

    Quinn stretched out on her brother’s couch and pulled out her cellphone to call her best friend. After four rings Chris answered “Hey girl.”

    “I see you made it to the middle of nowhwere.”

    “Good, because you did not want me to drive up there. Because, you know in horror movies the girl in the creepy cabin gets done in by the escaped psycho.”

    “You watch too much cable.”

    “It’s not my fault I have I have a vivid imagination.”

    “Well, miss vivid imagination, I’m staying here without distractions and that means you. Listen, I have a crackling fire, a bottle of wine chilling and a bubbling jacuzzi waiting for me.”

    “If ask me a hot man waiting in the jacuzzi, would be better.”

    “I didn’t ask you, this is strictly a man-free vacation, so I can get my head together.”

    Chuckling,”You’re no fun since you and Eric broke up.”

    “I’m a lot of fun!”

    “Yeah, but you were always giggling and too tired to go out with your girls, when you were with him.

    “I know let’s just say, Eric and any flat surface was all that I needed.”

    “Call him, maybe he could drive up and help ease your mind,”she chuckled.

    “No, crazy, but I would love to tie Eric to my bed one last time and have my way with him, one last time.”

    “Well, if I had known you wanted to have your way with me, I’d have come home a lot sooner.”

    “Eric? oh damn, girl I got to go, stop laughing.”

    Quinn stood up with her back to Eric and hung up her phone. Buyin time she slowly placed her phone on the table in front of her. Then she closed her eyes for a second to try and figure out how much had Eric overheard. Turning around to face him she tripped over the rug and fell on top of Eric.

    “Oh,I’m sorry,can you not do that!”

    “Do what!”

    Smiing at Quinn, “As much as I liked to stay here with you on top of me, I liked to get back to the part where you want to have your way with me.”

    “No, I don’t want to sleep with you,I was talking about a guy I’m seeing Rick, umm Rick Santiago.”

    “Quinn, I heard that last part of your conversation.”

    “Crap!”

  16. Calida Ally

    “Crap! Crap! Crap! And crap again!” Jemma muttered furiously under her breath as she hobbled as fast as she could into the lobby of Channing Corporations where she had been newly appointed PA, to the CEO.
    Could the day get any worse? She wondered as she made her way to the lift and jabbed at the button.
    After drinking three cups of coffee to calm her anxiety, she had driven to work only to have her car, her beloved Beetle, Bessie, one mile from her destination give a cough and a dusty splutter before packing up on her! So that she wasn’t too late for her first meeting with her boss, she had began to run. One of the pencil heeled shoes she had worn to add inches to her height of five foot three, had to give way, today, of all days, causing her ankle to sprain slightly but she had fought through the pain and managed to get herself into the building.
    What the heck was the matter with the lift? Why did it have to take so long? Jemma jabbed at the button repeatedly. As she tapped her feet rapidly with nervous tension, to her dismay she felt the pressure of the cups of coffee she had consumed, begin to weigh down on her bladder. Oh no! No! Not now! She couldn’t afford to get any later than she was already! Seeing a sign for the toilets seemed to increase the pressure. Jemma bit down on her full bottom lip. What was she to do? The conference was sure to last at least a couple of hours but could she hold on for that long? What if her boss didn’t allow a break? She had heard he was a bit of a tyrant. Memories of being in school and putting up her hand in class to go the bathroom and being told she would have to wait, helped her make up her mind. She would be quick. When she’d done, she rushed back to the lift and kept her finger firmly on the button until the lift arrived.
    “I’m Jemma Lambert, Mr Channing’s new PA.” Jemma introduced herself to an immaculately dressed woman, once she’d reached the very swanky office suite.
    “You’re late. Very late.” The woman stated, looking down her haughty nose at Jemma.
    “I know…”
    “Go in there. They’re all waiting for you.” The woman pointed to a door with the tip of her sleek silver pen.
    “Thank you.” Jemma said hurriedly and rushed towards the door she had been directed to.
    “Miss Lambert.” The woman was about to say something then changed her mind. “It doesn’t matter.”
    Puzzled, Jemma knocked on the door then walked into the boardroom. She gulped down her nerves as her eyes scanned the room. There was an enormous table situated at the centre of the room with several men seated around it. But it was the man sat at the head of the table who caught and held her attention. Nickolas! What was he doing here?!
    Familiar grey eyes trailed over every inch of her making colour stain her high cheekbones. His chiseled features appeared taut as he scraped back his chair and got to his feet. He was over six feet of toned muscle. Breathtakingly gorgeous. She stood frozen to the spot as she watched him approach her.
    “Miss Lambert, we’ve been expecting you.” His deep voice sent thrills skipping down her spine.
    Jemma let out an involuntary gasp as a steely arm went around her waist, pulling her lightly to him. Her startled blue eyes shot to his when she felt him discreetly give a sharp tug at the back of her dress.
    “Your dress was caught in your very fetching lace panties.” he murmured into her ear.

  17. Jean Barrett

    Her trip was spectacular – well, if you’re going to fall, do it in style. That’s what her mother used to say, but then she’d spent most of her time perfecting the art of falling without spilling a drop from whatever bottle was her go-to pick that particular day.
    After willing hands dragged her to a standing position, how she’d not broken her neck was the first question that came to mind. She was pretty sure she’d been groped too, but hard to tell in the confusion who did what to whom. The only certainty was her tumble from the top step all the way down to the bottom. A tumble that started the second she’d set eyes on Blake.
    If she’d not twisted her body to see the woman with him, then the next step would have been waiting for her Jimmy Choo three-inch heels. So much for arriving cool and mysterious. Now everyone knew the klutz in the green dress.
    ‘Melissa, are you okay?’
    Oh great. Let me die now. ‘Hi Blake. I didn’t see you here.’

  18. Sold Editors

    Poor Melissa! We’ve all been there and your heroine is no exception! And then looking up to see your ex… well, that’s the start of all the great rom-coms! Great job! 🙂

  19. Sold Editors

    Thank you all for your fantastic scenarios, we’ve had such a brilliant time reading them! This #WritingChallenge is now closed, but check back in on Friday 1st May for a very special writing challenge! Happy Writing!