My Mind’s Eye: EXCERPT


“Who the hell is that?” I laugh. “Naomi being her klutz-assed self again? Shit never changes around here,” I say, shaking my head and picturing Naomi all flustered.

Levi shrugs as he polishes glasses for tonight. I crane my neck to see what the hell is going on. I freeze, not at what, but rather who I see. It’s not fucking Naomi. Shit, this girl is gorgeous.

“Holy shit, Levi, I’m serious, man. Who the fuck is that?” I nod toward the door again. My eyes are glued to the girl who’s just come barrelling in. “Fuck me,” I mutter, more to myself than to Levi. I feel like I’ve seen her before, and the more I look at her, the sooner I realize it’s the same girl I saw not twenty minutes ago. She’s still wearing that fucking jacket in the middle of summer, but those killer legs, I’d recognize them anywhere. Shit, I wonder if she spotted me too and followed me here? It wouldn’t be the first time a girl has followed me to work. Goddamn clingers. But as she unzips her jacket, I catch a glimpse of the Pub Fiction logo stretched across her impressive rack. Fuck, are you kidding me? She works here. “Levi, dude, again, who the hell is she?”

“Newbie shooter girl,” Levi says, then growls the next bit, “and keep your fucking hands off her, brother. I need this chick, and I can’t afford to lose her ’cause you’re an asshole.”

Asshole. I slap his back. “Ha, okay. Whatever, man. Like you’ve never fucked your own staff.” He ignores my jab, but shakes his head.

Turning back just in time, I smile, ’cause I’m such a lucky bastard. I catch the sweet curve of this chick’s ass as she bends over to retrieve her keys. Fuck me, that ass is perfection, instantly giving me wood, even from a distance.

I’m staring, completely rooted in place, unable to peel my gaze from her. She is, without a doubt, the most stunning creature I have ever laid eyes on.

I see her pausing, nervously taking in her surroundings. The reaction I’m having to this girl is not one I’ve experienced before. Never have I been this stunned by a woman to the point of near immobility. Yep, I’m gonna need this one beneath me. And soon.

As if he can hear my thoughts, Levi leans in. “Easy there, fella. Don’t go scaring off my newly hired help before she gets through the door. Like I said, I need her, man. I’m short-staffed as it is,” he says, turning toward the dishwasher, beginning to empty it.

“No, I know Levi, it’s a crazy time. I’ll be good.”

“I hope so, Ryk. Marie moved back to Toronto for work in her field, and Stacey quit because Luke doesn’t want to give her the time of day after they slept together.” He raises his eyebrows, knowing I’m shocked he knows about those two. “Yeah, yeah, don’t think I don’t know. Fuckin’ Stacey told me when she quit. Told me how she was in love with the little shit and he didn’t want her. Said she couldn’t bear to look at him every day. So yeah, I need the new girls, especially this one and the new bartender, Claire, who happens to be her roommate.”

“Okay, okay, man. I get it. Relax, Levi,” I tease, “I’m just looking…for now.” I grin.

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Call Me by Gillian Jones
Coming September 19th, 2016
Add to TBR:


Some know me as Chanel69.
But to my friends and family, I’m simply Ellie Hughes.
A university student who’s in desperate need of money. A lot of money, and fast.

I’m about to start a new job.

Three nights a week, I’ll be the star of your late night fantasies, bringing your fetishes and fucked up scenarios to life.
You’ll listen to my voice while you get off on your dirtiest desires.

Truth be told…this job makes me nervous. Regardless of the money, I don’t know if I can do it.

But when he calls, I feel an instant connection.
Over time, he becomes my regular, my friend, and my confidant.

The problem is…he seems familiar…I think I know who he is.

And if I’m right, how will he react when he discovers that I’m Chanel69?


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First blog post

“The most important sentence in any article is the first one. If it doesn’t induce the reader to proceed to the second sentence, your article is dead. And if the second sentence doesn’t induce him to continue to the third sentence, it’s equally dead. Of such a progression of sentences, each tugging the reader forward until … safely hooked, a writer constructs that fateful unit: the lead.”

— William Zinsser, On Writing Well