Hi Delilah Fans! Spring has sprung and it’s sending our pulses up. Ready for some fun?

All of us authors who write sexy romance have a problem that you can help solve. It’s all about WORDS! I’m running a little contest right now on my Facebook page. If you enter, you’ll have a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift certificate. How to enter?

Like I said, it’s about words—those pesky scribbles we use to convey our thoughts, emotions, and activities. These essential bits of modern civilization are especially bothersome when you’re a romance writer. How many different ways can you say ‘sex’?

Yes, we’re probably even more tired than you of hearing all those terms for body parts or acts of passion. But what other words are there? Writers are pretty much limited to anatomical terms (clitoris, penis, ejaculate—you get the idea), or common nicknames (pussy, cock, seed)—and yes, I know the clit is not the same as the pussy, a term which describes the vulva and/or vagina. Or your favorite feline.

Flowery terms are also overused: bud, petals, folds, center, arousal, manhood… What’s a writer to do?

So please, give me a hand. Visit my Facebook page [https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLizzieAshworth/ ] and add your vote. What do you prefer—anatomical, nickname, or flowery? Your comment enters you to win that gift certificate and, more importantly, gives me some important feedback. THANKS!

Now for the teaser excerpt from my novel Faint Heart:

Morgan Woods took his time rambling back to his office, sorting through the last of the pink message slips. The phone rang, and he collapsed into his chair before answering. Somebody from the Chamber asking politely but persistently about this year’s dues. He made excuses and let the phone down gently before pulling open the bottom drawer and taking out a bottle of scotch. He poured a generous dose into his well-used tumbler and leaned back.

A familiar anxiety coursed through him. No matter what he did or how hard he worked, he never felt like he’d done enough. And it never was enough. For years, he’d held on believing he could build a successful business, take over for his dad, and support them both so his dad could enjoy retirement. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he even toyed with the idea of finding someone to love and maybe raise a family, his dad’s idea more than his own. When Cara Carson crossed his radar, that thought popped to the surface.

But he wasn’t any closer than he’d ever been in opening himself to a serious relationship. Farther away, really. Maybe he needed to face reality and admit it might never happen. Marriage and family were highly overrated, anyway.

He should know.

The whiskey’s heat warmed his neck and almost immediately began relaxing muscles that had been screaming at him since sometime before lunch. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe sitting at a desk or behind the controls of a big Cat had made him soft. Shoveling mud had put his whole body to work. It almost felt good, in a self-torture kind of way, like a vicious deep massage or a too-hot sauna. He looked through the messages again, sorting them by priority.

The front door slammed. “Back here!” he shouted. He waited to hear the footsteps, one man or another coming in late off a job to unload gear or get the work sheet for the next day. He hadn’t checked the clipboards. He stood up and started out of the office, and came face to face with Ms. Carson.

“Oh!” she began. “What are you doing here?”

Damn, she had a way about her. His jaw pulsed. “What am I…? I work here. What’s your excuse?”

She glared at him and peeked around him toward Dutch’s office. “Is Mr. Woods here?”

“No, he’s out sick. I think Margaret told you that each of the nine times you called. Didn’t she?”

Another glare. Well, let her glare. He was too tired and stressed out to care much about this little princess or her project. Unfortunately, she hadn’t lost any of her appeal since he last saw her. Her dark hair had partly come loose from the tie on the back of her head, and wafted in strands along her cheeks. The same petulant expression on her lips made him instantly crazy. It might not be a good idea that she was here when he was exhausted and rapidly sinking into the cozy glow of good scotch.

In spite of his more honorable intentions, his gaze traveled over her body, the proud jut of her breasts inside that nondescript shirt, the curve of her luscious ass, the long legs that had been draped over his arm… He cleared his throat and brought his stare back to her indignant face, fighting to keep a lascivious grin off his face.

~~~

Visit my blog [ http://lizzieashworth.com/2016/04/02/spring-bargain/] for the rest of this hot excerpt.

SPRING SPECIAL!  I’ve got a discount going until April 9. The regular $2.99 price for Faint Heart is knocked down to 99¢ at Smashwords. []

Thanks for reading!

I live in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains with my cats, hound dogs, and whichever child has taken up temporary residence between grad school and relocation. I’ve been writing my entire life and can’t express how wonderful it is to share stories with readers like you. Every book comes from my heart in the hopes that you’ll find a bit of pleasure within these pages. Thank you for your kind words and appreciation! You make it all worthwhile.

Sign up for my free monthly e-newsletter. Gift certificates, excerpts, pre-release deals, and much more. Sign up at http://eepurl.com/bHOyS9

Follow me for free erotic short works, hot photos, and the occasional rant on my blog at http://lizzieashworth.com/

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So, you know from the title alone that this story’s gonna be hot, right? I had fun brainstorming the series name–Stepbrothers Stepping Out. I knew I wanted to combine not one, but two, taboo themes—Step-siblings and Ménage. I had thought I was out of step scenarios, but then you all came up with a treasure trove of ideas for me to continue with. But I think after I write one more, I’ll take a break. I want to do several step-daddy fantasies too, but have yet to find that perfect series title. Do y’all have any suggestions? 🙂

Shorties are never going to make me rich and famous, but I enjoy writing them so much, I can’t stop. Thank goodness, y’all seem to enjoy reading the bite-sized goodies too! Remember, there are four other step-stories. And I bet you can’t stop at just one…

Answer for your chance to win your pick from among the many short stories I’ve published. I will pick three winners! (Sorry, not this stepbrother story!) You can check out the list here: Short Stories

Which sport’s players do you find the sexiest? Football, soccer, basketball…?

When a college student changes her appearance and follows her brother and his teammates to Spring Break in Mexico, she’s ready for adventure… It’s game on!

Purchase your copy here!

Excerpt from With His Team…

Moisture spilled into the crotch of my panties. I could have him. I could have them all. The ugly sister. The girl they thought only good enough to do their laundry or their homework. I could be the thing they’d fantasized over for weeks. And I was dying to know what exactly they’d dreamed of doing.

Who was I kidding? My decision had been made the minute I’d decided to follow them to Cabo. “Empty the ice bucket. I want all the phones inside it.”

Indrawn breaths sounded all around. Then the guys sprang eagerly into action, doing as I had asked, filling the bucket then walking toward Harry and me. He dropped his hands and stood back, his gaze sliding away as the guys gave me the bucket. I counted the phones, then added my own, making sure they understood how seriously I was taking their precautions.

They had plans. Likely expected to take control and move me around like a doll to be shared. I had other ideas about how this should go down. Starting now.

I balled my fists and placed them on my hips, then gave them a steady stare, touching on each of their faces. Harry’s expression was impossible to read, shuttered, his blue eyes narrowed. Mal’s darkly furred chest was rising and falling swiftly; his cock was already pressing against the front of his trunks. Sam stood, arms akimbo, a cocky grin stretching his lovely mouth. And Karo looked so fierce more moisture wet my folds.

“I’d like to see what I’ll be playing with,” I said softly.

They all quickly reached for their waistbands—all except Harry, whose expression was turning darker by the minute. He was the one who’d sealed the deal. Shouldn’t he be happier?

“Wait,” I blurted.

They halted. Mal groaned.

“Do you have condoms? Foam?”

“A fucking case,” Sam said. “No foam.”

A case? Seriously?

Sam shrugged. “Four guys, five days… We had to be prepared.”

But a case? I shook my head. “All right. You can continue.”

Shorts and trunks dropped to their feet, Harry’s a little more slowly. Not a one of them wore underwear. All their cocks were erect, rising upward. A creamy ball of pre-ejaculate sat on the tip of Mal’s nearly purple cock.

My heart galloped, and I sucked in a deep breath, and then another to calm myself.

“What about you?” Harry said, raising his chin.

“Guess that’s only fair.” Oh fuck! It was time to commit. I could turn tail and run, or I could really do this. Mary the doormat would have quivered in her Converse tennis shoes. Instead, I turned to give Harry my back. “Unzip me.”

His hands moved my hair forward. The zipper eased. I stepped away to face them, holding the fabric against my chest, and then slowly pushed it downward.

Every gaze went right to my breasts. All breathing ceased. I pushed the dress past my hips and let it puddle around my feet. Then I tucked my thumbs into the thin band of elastic riding my hips and shoved my panties down. When I was as nude as they were, I held still, letting them look.

Mal was the first to shake himself from his stupor. He took a step forward, but I wagged a finger. He fell back in line.

I walked to Karo, standing at one end of their lineup. I reached out a hand, surprised it wasn’t shaking, and smoothed it over his chest. His pecs tensed beneath my touch. I glided my fingers lower then wrapped them around his huge, blunt cock.

He eased his feet apart and pulsed his hips. I let him glide his cock through my fingers then dropped my hand and moved down the line.

Sam sucked in a breath that tightened his already ripped abdomen. I gave him a similar caress, this time boldly tugging on his dick.

He lifted on his toes to follow the motion then gave a little moan when I moved away.

The head of Mal’s cock was well-lubricated. I stood in front of him and grasped him with both hands, one cuddling his balls, the other stroking his cock. When I moved my hand upward, I rubbed my thumb in the creamy moisture, smearing it over the cap.

I aimed a glance at Harry whose gaze was smoky. “I think I need more assurances,” I said softly.

“What do you want?”

“We need a secret. One you won’t want breathed to anyone outside this room.”

His gaze hardened. “What do you want?” he repeated, his voice harsher.

I glanced sideways at Sam. “I want you to blow Mal.”

UPDATE: The winner is…Pansy!

* * * * *

When you wish upon a star…

The dream that you wish will come true…

Once upon a time…

These are three phrases I love and that have inspired me over the years. I’ve always loved Disney’s fairy tale movies, and being a romance writer, I’ve always wanted my characters to have their fairy tale romance.

It wasn’t until November or so of last year when I had an idea. Why not write my own fairy tales? If you’ve read my work, you know how I enjoy twisting my stories up until my readers can’t guess the endings. So why not twist fairy tales around and make them more interesting, romantic, and suspenseful?

What is it about fairy tale stories that nearly everyone seems to love? Is it because in real life those types of romances usually don’t happen? Well, what if they do, but you just don’t realize it?

When the idea came to me to write fairy tale stories, but make them seem real (well, as real as could be even though some of the stories have wizards and witches), I decided to give it my all. Thankfully, by the time I’d gotten this idea, I had already started writing a young adult fantasy about three teenagers who were sucked into a book that was from a very early era. That’s when I decided to throw a Hansel & Gretel aspect to the story…and a witch, of course. I called my story, The Witch Hunt.

Once that story was finished, a few more fairy tale ideas came to mind. I had a previously published story that was a modern-day Cinderella romance, so I just added a few more scenes and fixed it up to be more of a Cinderella story. That romantic comedy is titled, Her Own Fairy Godmother, which is book #2 in the series.

The next book in the series was easy to write, especially when I saw the awesome book cover my cover artist had premade to sell. That specific book cover screamed Robin Hood, so naturally, I bought it, and wrote my story, Champion. At that point, I decided to start figuring out what fairy tale stories I wanted to write—and then find book covers for them. Within a week, I had all of my book covers (thanks to my cover artist, Sheri McGathy) and an idea about how I want their stories to flow.

Book #4 was my historical Cinderella story, Keep on Believing, which was released March 20^th, 2016. I’m currently writing book #5, Once Enchanted, which is about Rapunzel. That will be released in April. It’s my goal to have a fairy tale story released nearly every month this year. So far I have eleven book covers. I’m sure I’ll think of more fairy tale stories to write for next year.

Here is the tentative schedule for my other stories in my fairy tale series, “Where Dreams Come True”:

Bella’s Beast (Beauty and the Beast) – May

Cloak of Red (Red Riding Hood – she’s not little anymore) – July

Saving Snow (Snow White) – August

To Love a Mermaid (Mermaid – she’s not little, either. lol) – September

Golden Heart (Rumpelstiltskin) – October

Beyond Imagination (Sleeping Beauty) – November

For those who do not know me, I write more than just fairy tales. The genres I’ve had published are: Colonial, Regency, Victorian, American Western, Titanic Era, contemporary, mystery/suspense, paranormal, time-travel, and romantic comedy.

GIVEAWAY

Leave a comment on this blog and tell me which fairy tale you enjoy reading – and you’ll be entered to win a FREE copy of my latest release, Keep on Believing (either Adobe PDF or Kindle formats).

About the Author

Marie Higgins is a best-selling, multi-published author of Christian and sweet romance novels; from refined bad-boy heroes who make your heart melt to the feisty heroines who somehow manage to love them regardless of their faults. She’s published over 30 heartwarming, on-the-edge-of-your-seat stories. She broadens her readership by writing mystery/suspense, humor, time-travel, paranormal, along with her love for historical romances. Her readers have dubbed her “Queen of Tease”, because of all her twists and turns and unexpected endings.

Visit her website / blog to discover more about her – http://mariehiggins84302.blogspot.com

Find her on Facebook – facebook.com/marie.higgins.7543

And Twitter – @MarieHigginsXOX

Rose’s Online Plotting Bootcamp

Permission granted to forward

This message is for any authors or aspiring authors who might be interested in some intensive help developing their next stories.

Don’t let that word “intensive” scare you away; I’ve led newbies, as well as multi-published authors, through our plotting process numerous times. Everyone comes away with new knowledge and insight, or at the very least, some terrific brainstorming support!

While lessons and exercises will be posted throughout the month of June, this is truly a self-paced class. We all have busy lives, and the workshop is designed to accommodate any schedule.

Enjoy the pitch below!

Back by popular demand!

ROSE’S ONLINE PLOTTING BOOTCAMP

Dates: June 6 – July 1, 2016
Last date to register: June 6, 2016
Cost: $50.00—cheap, considering everything you get!
Your DI (Drill Instructor): Delilah Devlin
Offered through: www.rosescoloredglasses.com

What you can expect:

LOGLINE (Lunges)
PREMISE (Pushups)
CHARACTER (Strengthening exercises)
CONFLICT! CONFLICT! CONFLICT!
Breaking through the STORY STRUCTURE stronghold
Battling the PLOT LINES

We do more in one month than some people do all year! Get tough! Get motivated! Get plotting!

Join your Drill Instructor, Delilah Devlin, to learn a methodical approach to harness your creativity in order to produce an in-depth plot for your next novel.

Sound scary? It is!!!! Especially when you’re staring at an empty page without a compass and a map to guide you through the novelistic jungle. Your DI will lead you through four weeks of tactics, exercises, and training that will help strengthen your abilities. Delilah will accomplish this with weekly lessons, bi-weekly chats, and daily online communication. Join her for bivouac in June!

Join this elite force now!

For those who don’t know, my sister and I co-founded the website for writers called Rose’s Colored Glasses in 2004. From that site, we run a critique group and provide workshops—some free and some for pay. In June, I will be leading a month-long plotting bootcamp. It’s a great time to join—something you can do for yourself during the hot summer months! Join me if you can!

How’s our workshop different from every other one out there? I’ll provide feedback and brainstorming every step of the way!

Interested? Follow this link to sign up:
http://www.rosescoloredglasses.com/Online%20plotting%20boot%20camp.htm

And feel free to pass this along to anyone else you think might be interested with my thanks!

Delilah Devlin
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author & Freelance Editor
Get in bed with Delilah. Everyone else has!

Can you believe this is the last day of March?! I feel as though I blinked on New Year’s day and now I’m here!

Ready for another wild ride with my naughty steps? The fifth step-sibling adventure in a series of edible little shorties is ready for you to enjoy.

He should be taboo. A place a girl should never go. But he’s there, always in your life. Accessible, and yet, not. Until proximity and availability inspire lust–and then he’s irresistible.

Click on the meme above to see all the step-stories on Amazon!

While you’re here, be sure to see what was new in March and what’s coming in April–I promise it’s hot!

And thanks for being here. I love hearing from you. Love that you’re still buying my stories. Here’s a toast to March–tomorrow’s a new month!

Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Team

When a college student changes her appearance and follows her brother and his teammates to Spring Break in Mexico, she’s ready for adventure… It’s game on!

Purchase at Amazon

Love on the edge of the galaxy… For Captain Adam Zingh, the mission is simple–acquire one hundred wives for him and his crewmates to help colonize a new planet, far from Dominion rule. Rescuing prisoners from penitentiary in deep space should have been a simple in and out operation. The women would be grateful for a second change at freedom, or so he thought. However, he hadn’t yet encountered the stubborn captain of the prison ship. When pirates overtake their ship, Evena McClure resists, mindful of her duty to protect the women under her command as well as her impending pardon. The pirate and the prisoner have only a week to seduce the other side to their will. A pirate’s parlay has never been so sweet! Buy at Amazon ~~~~~~~

A female soccer player, who is also a Domme, has more at stake than scoring points on the field. Win or lose, she’s making her move today… Buy at Amazon

Hello! *waves*

Babylonia Jones came to me by mistake or should I say it was by fate. I was at a conference and was walking past a table when I noticed this drawing on a flyer of a statuesque African-American woman with a city back drop and with guns strapped to her. I did a double take, backed up and grabbed the flyer. Later, when I got home I set the flyer on my nightstand and kinda forgot about her. Then one day she called to me again. I picked up the flyer and thought about who she was and what she was about. Ideas just started coming to me. I knew she was a paranormal, but I had no idea which one.

I later sent the picture to some author friends, told them her back story and had them help me brainstorm some ideas. Thus, Babylonia Delilah Jones was born.

Babylonia Jones has never fit in the human world. She can do things that regular people can’t. Her mother had always taught her to hide who she was for fear that someone from the government would come to take her away. When Babylonia found Amelia, her best friend who also happens to be a Vampire, she thinks that she has finally found her place in the world. Unfortunately the paranormals think she too human and don’t really accept her either.

Babylonia will do anything to fit in the paranormal world known as The Undercity. As a PI, that means taking the jobs that the other PI’s won’t. In the first book of the series, Babylonia has to follow after one of the most powerful Vampires in The Undercity to see if he has the Guiciai Talisman, which was stolen from a Witch. Babylonia finds herself in a world of trouble because, Zaid, the Vampire really doesn’t appreciate being followed and Tina, her employer isn’t what she claims to be.

The Undercity Chronicles of Babylonia Jones, P.I.
The Guicai Talisman

Here’s an excerpt:

Zaid finally sauntered out of the club.

There he is.

He looked the same as he did on the previous nights I’d watched him; tall, about six-foot-two, nice sleek body covered in an expensive suit that I guessed was tailored to fit only him. He was lean, but by no means skinny. His shoulders were broad and the few times I’d seen him without a jacket I noticed he had well-defined muscles in his arms and pecs. The cinched belt around his narrow waist highlighted a flat stomach and showed off a nicely formed ass—yes, on a couple of occasions, while I was cataloguing his looks, I did let my eyes linger on his ass, which was a very nice one, round and firm. The kind of ass a girl could take a nice bite out of.

My mouth salivated at the thought of doing just that. Not a for real bite, but a nice little playful nip. I’m sure he’d appreciate that. To hear Melia tell it, Vampires were into some pretty kinky stuff.

I shook my head.

Get your mind out the gutter and back on the target Baby D.

I snapped back to attention and put my hormones in check. Raging hormones plagued me ever since I took this job, but it’s an expected hazard. Vampires had something in their makeup that made women and men want to fall at their feet. Dealing with Vampires isn’t like how it’s portrayed in the Hollywood movies, where terrorized people run kicking and screaming away from them. No. In reality people go to them willingly.

Case in point, there were two creamy-skinned blondes, one on each of Zaid’s arms. Arm in arm, they walked along the red carpet that led to valet parking. To me the women looked like the cookie cutter versions of the women he’d taken home last night and the night before that; they were all pale, tall, blonde, gorgeous and wore tight clothes. These two had on dresses so short I could see the bottom of their butts hanging out as they walked.

“Have some pride ladies,” I muttered to myself. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you that your dress should be longer than your vagina?”

Zaid stopped at the curb and looked from left to right. I didn’t bother ducking past the rim of the cement rooftop barrier. Even with his great eyesight he couldn’t see me nestled on the rooftop more than a block from where he was, scoping him out with my high-powered binoculars. And, even with his sensitive hearing, he definitely couldn’t hear me talking to myself. There were too many other distractions between us for him to even get a lock on my location. Plus, he didn’t know he was being watched anyway—why would he be looking for me?

He was probably trying to figure out if any Witches were in the area. Vampires could sniff out Witches and, while they weren’t scared of them, usually tried to avoid them. And if he did have Tina’s talisman I’m sure he wanted to steer clear of her.

Zaid lifted his chin and turned his head in my direction. He then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shuddered on an exhale.

What the hell is that all about?

He opened his eyes and if I didn’t know any better I’d think he was looking right at me.

Impossible.

Amazon US | iTunes | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | ARE | AmazonUK | AmazonCanada

About the Author

A. M. Griffin is a wife who rarely cooks, mother of three, dog owner (and sometimes dog owned), a daughter, sister, aunt and friend. She’s a hard worker whose two favorite outlets are reading and writing. She enjoys reading everything from mystery novels to historical romances and of course fantasy romance. She is a believer in the unbelievable, open to all possibilities from mermaids in our oceans and seas, angels in the skies and intelligent life forms in distant galaxies.

Where you can find me:
Website: http://www.amgriffinbooks.com/
Subscribe to my Amazon page 
Email: amgriffinbooks@gmail.com
Like me at:
www.facebook.com/amgriffinbooks
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Follow me on Twitter:
https://twitter.com/AMGriffinbooks
Follow me on Instagram: amgriffinbooks
Subscribe my newsletter for updates giveaways: http://eepurl.com/TZzXv

I have another short story, and by the end of the week, I’ll have one more ready to go. First, Playing the Field is an LGBT story about two female soccer players. If you read the Cleis anthology, Girls Who Score, then you read the original version before I decided to expand it. Enjoy the excerpt I provide below. And no, I’m not a soccer player myself, but my daughter was, so she helped me with the “choreography” for the scene. Hope you enjoy! By the end of the week, I’ll have the next Stepbrothers Stepping Out story ready! Be watching for the announcement!

And because I love to do it, I have a question for you now. Answer for your chance to win your pic from among the many short stories I’ve published.

You can check out the list here: Short Stories

Do you like to watch or play sports? If so, which one(s)?

Playing the Field

A female soccer player has more at stake than scoring points
on the field. Win or lose, she’s making her move today…

Buy at Amazon

Enjoy the excerpt!

Sweat stung my eyes. I lifted the edge of my blue jersey and wiped my face, never losing sight of the black and white ball flying across the grass field.

“One minute left!” Coach shouted from the sidelines.

It’s just a damn game, I reminded myself, but still my stomach plummeted. We needed one point to enter the penalty phase. One lousy point to tie this game up.

The Sharks were playing like damn minnows, letting the Vipers kick our asses up and down the soccer field—our home field. And from their grim expressions, every one of my team members felt the same urgency. If we didn’t win, this would be the last game of the season.

For me, it was about more than just the game. The last game was also my last chance to work up my courage to do what I’d been fantasizing about since the team had first started training in early spring.

A green jersey bumped past me, the Vipers’ player turning her head to give me a smirk before loping on her coltish legs down the field to follow the ball. Anger flared.

One lousy point. I stretched my shorter legs, heart pumping so hard inside my chest the shouts from the sparse crowd in the bleachers faded away. My focus narrowed to the ball zigzagging from one Viper player to the next, my own blue-jerseyed teammates showing the strain in their grim expressions as their movements lost fluidity and grace, and they clumsily tried to muscle close enough to steal away the ball.

I stretched one last time, edged up to the player dribbling the ball between her clever feet, then swept out my foot, catching her ankle and sending her sprawling, then stole the ball.

I wasn’t the most graceful player, wasn’t the star, but I had the goddamn ball now. I lowered my shoulder and bumped a Viper out of the way, then pivoted on my toes and aimed myself and the ball toward the opposite end of the field.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her, backing up toward the other team’s goalie box.

Vicky Moldina gave me a little wave, and I tipped my chin, but didn’t want anyone catching my intent, so I ran to the right, skirting their players, lowering my shoulders and putting on the bull dog face I’d been told intimidated the hell out of other teams—something that always set my own team laughing, because they knew me better.

However, if they’d read the deadly intent in my heart, the searing determination, they’d have wondered who the hell I was.

My thoughts and heart slowed. I repelled the next player who moved in to steal the ball with a sharp, sly elbow. I charged forward, then zagged to the left, leaving two opponents to tumble over one another, and then headed on a parallel path with their goalie.

Vicky backed up again then shot toward the goalie.

I kept on my parallel path, then tried a move I’d failed more often than I’d completed, kicking the ball with my heel to send it like a bullet to Vicky who was poised in front of the goalie’s box.

Our star striker grinned, swept out her foot to catch it—but something happened.

Usually so graceful, her foot rolled over the top of the ball, her ankle turned. She fell in a heap to her knees, then beat her palms against the grass as a green-shirted bitch gave a whoop and stole the ball away, racing toward the other end of the field.

Three short whistles blew. I bent at the waist, hands braced on my knees as I dragged in deep breaths. My gaze remained on Vicky who pushed up from the ground.

She met my gaze and mouthed, “Fuck.”

I shrugged and forced a smile. “Just a game.”

We shared small smiles while our teammates pulled together, remembered their manners, and gave Vicky half-hearted pats to console her before lining up to run past the other team, slapping hands and offering insincere congratulations.

I ran behind Vicky, wishing I hadn’t passed the ball to her. Not because I was disappointed with the outcome, but because I didn’t want this to be the memory she took away from the game. I didn’t want our friendship tainted even a little bit. Not that it was a deep one. Or even very personal.

After my teammates huddled with the coach and offered each other hugs and promises to meet for lunch or dinner during our break—none of which would happen—I trudged toward the showers in the rec center.

“Dinner at Hooters!” Coach called out.

I grinned. We’d have had Outback if we’d won; the threat of Hooters had been meant to spur us toward victory.

As players headed to their lockers, Vicky limped toward the coach’s wire equipment cage. She dug beneath balls and netting then pulled out the first aid bag.

I didn’t like the little wince she gave and moved toward her. “Did you hurt yourself when you took that tumble?” I asked, my voice a little thick because hell, it was her I was talking to.

She wrinkled her perfectly shaped, narrow nose. “It’s my knee. I felt something pull.”

“Do you need to go to the emergency room?”

She shook her head, sweaty tendrils of dark hair shaking against her cheeks. “It’s probably just a sprain. I’ll wrap it after I shower.” She pulled a rolled ACE bandage from the pack and started to put the bag back into the cage.

I reached for the bag, taking it from her and rummaging inside. I pulled out a small jar of Tiger Balm and held it up. “I’ll massage it before you wrap. It’ll feel better faster.” Lord, my cheeks began to burn. Had I given myself away in my eagerness?

Her brows furrowed—just a subtle motion, almost indiscernible, but the glance that swept my body was less so. Subtle, that is. “All right. After we shower.”

After we shower. I know my jaw sagged just a bit at the way she’d emphasized that one little word. Drool pooled in my mouth. I followed her as she turned away, heading to her locker to pull out a plastic bag with her toiletries and a fluffy white towel. I did the same, hurriedly, a little nervous now.

I was reading too much into her words. Still, when we entered the open shower room, I hesitated before setting my items on the slatted wooden bench beside hers. When she raked her jersey over her head, I followed suit and stripped.

Most of the girls were already finishing up. One by one, spigots turned off, towels slid around nude bodies, and they trailed out the door, leaving us alone.

Good locker room etiquette would have been to choose a spigot on the opposite side of the room, but when she strode to the far corner, out of sight of the open doorway, I followed, choosing one right beside her and trying hard not to let my gaze linger on her gorgeous frame.

A small half-smile kicked up one corner of her mouth before she turned her head, closed her eyes, and let the hot water sluice over her hair and face, giving me the perfect opportunity to ogle her long, lithe body.

Which I did until she opened her eyes. I quickly glanced away.

She squeezed shampoo into her palm then handed me the bottle. Her fingertips glided against mine before dropping away. Swallowing hard, I squeezed shampoo directly onto my hair, then set the bottle on the floor.

With our gazes locked, we began to soap our hair.

Nothing had ever been this hot.

We’d both no doubt showered in open stalls in high school—naked women with slippery bodies—but I, for one, had never been this aware. With her hands raised, massaging her scalp, soap slithered down in long, winding ropes that caressed her shoulders, her small round breasts, and taut belly. Her legs parted, widening her stance a little so that I could admire the small, smooth labia framed so perfectly by her muscular thighs.

“My knee’s throbbing,” she whispered.

My gaze darted up, and soap slid into my eyes. I grimaced and turned my hot face into the spray before blinking back at her. Her lips were pursed in a smile; her eyes wrinkled at the corners with silent laughter.

God, if she was teasing me because she knew I was queer I thought I might never get over the embarrassment. But she turned, showing me her ass, and then glanced over a shoulder, one dark, arched brow raised. “It’s okay for you to wash it. The others are gone.”

“You sprain your hand, too?” I blurted.

Although my voice was gruff, she didn’t seem put off. She squeezed soap from her short hair to trail down her back then faced the white tiles.