...or maybe not. But I like to think I am sometimes.
I do my best writing when I can't actually write anything. You know, driving in the car, while I'm in the shower, on eternal hold with the insurance company, etc. Since I almost always have my phone with me, I've found that it's great for taking notes (thank you Siri!). I got an app for writing, too, for when I have that stroke of genius in the middle of a boring meeting. It wasn't the greatest, and I actually just replaced it with something else, but it did the job for a while.
And that's how I found the awesome little tidbit I'm about to share. Before I deleted the app I wanted to make sure that everything important was retyped into a format I actually use (Word instead of .rtf). As I clicked on each of the files, I discovered several great ideas I'd forgotten about, a few things that didn't make it in to my first draft of The Choice, and the following, from Omega 5 (which only really has a title and this, but it's going to be awesome, I promise!).
“Why won’t you take your shirt off around me?” I asked, tugging on the hem of his cotton tee.
“You won’t like what you see underneath,” Adam whispered.
“You sure about that?” My hands slipped under his shirt and slid up his chest, exploring the planes of his muscles, hidden away by the offending piece of clothing.
“There’s a tattoo I don’t want you to see,” he whispered. His muscles tensed under my fingertips. He was barely holding on, and I knew it. I pushed him further. “Damn it Jen! Fine! I’ll show you.”
He stepped back and pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion. My jaw dropped open. He was beautiful. And ripped. And tattooed everywhere. My eyes grew wide as I stepped forward and traced each one with my fingers.
“These are beautiful,” I whispered, still in awe at the artwork inked across his canvas. “Why would you hide these?”
“Because it’s the one on my back I don’t want you to see.”
I arched an eyebrow, and he pushed me away as he turned his back to me. My mouth dropped open and all the air gushed from my lungs as I read the name written in black ink across his back.
My sister. My little sister. My dead little sister.
“Why is her name on your body?” I tried to mask the gut-wrenching pain of his betrayal from my voice. I bit my lip, trying to keep it together until I could get out of the room.
He shook his head and turned away, donning his t-shirt.
“Adam, why is my sister’s name written across your back?”
“Because she was my wife, Jen.”
I laughed. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t funny. But he had to have been joking.
“Marissa wasn’t married. We would’ve known.”
“She didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I thought we should tell you but she insisted on keeping it a secret. I almost felt like she was ashamed of me, but I pushed it away and tried to forget. I got the tattoo to prove to her how much she meant to me. It was stupid.”
“You’re damn right it was stupid!” I yelled at him. The tears I had so valiantly tried to hide flowed freely from my eyes. “Do you know how long I have loved you?”
He shook his head, refusing to look at me.
“For years! Since we met, actually. I always knew it would be you and me. I understood when you dated Natalie – everyone did – but it only lasted a week before you were mine again. But this? This is the ultimate betrayal. My sister, Adam! My sister!”
He raised his head and looked at me from across the room. Tears glistened in his eyes. He was hurting and I was being insensitive. But, my sister! I couldn’t get past it.
“Jen, let me explain.”
“No, I don’t want to hear your excuses,” I stormed past him and flung open the door. “I love you Adam. Always have. Always will. But this was low even for you. It’s going to take a lot for me to forgive you for this. I need time. I need space.”