Author at Work

Whether you want to or not, you are going to get a peek at the first page of the romance Fiorella is now working on. She wrote half of it a couple of years ago, but her publisher said it was too hot to handle so Fio put it on the--uh--back burner 😉

     The bartender was johnny-on-the-spot when the tall, tired-looking man stepped into the hotel bar for a quick drink before going up to his room.
     "What can I get you, bud?"
     Cotton's eyebrows went up. Damn. The kid didn't look old enough to belly up to the bar himself, and here he was selling the stuff. Apparently the usual middle-aged staff had been augmented by the younger generation to handle the crowd tonight.
     "Tequila sour. Put it on my room tab. Bogart, 516."
     "Comin' right up."
      Cotton gazed absently at the long mirror behind the bar. Like probably every other venue in Austin, the Peplum was full to overflowing with Capitol City Community College students who were  enjoying their last night of freedom in the record-busting summer heat before second semester summer classes began--and with CCCC's enrollment up over 40,000, that made for some very happy barkeeps.
     Suddenly, his eyes caught a group of giggling girls sitting a couple of tables behind his back to the side--a bright blonde, two brunettes, and two in-betweens, who were staring at him, putting their heads together, squabbling, then staring at him again.
     What was their problem? Didn't like his sweat?
     Sorry, sweet things, but that's what happens when a guy works eight hours straight in hundred-degree heat clearing acetylene torches out of a supply closet to make room for boxes of petrified bones and plaster casts.  
    He gave himself a cursory glance. Yeah, his T-shirt was streaked with grease, his cargo shorts looked like he'd been on a month-long dig, and his Birkenstocks had absorbed enough strata to take him back to the Mesozoic.
     Rubbing his hand across his stubbly jaw, he realized he hadn't shaved today either.
     He took a taste of the drink the bartender had plopped in front of him, then hunched his shoulders and studied the intricately-carved wood railing above the mirror.
     The Peplum was a classy place. Maybe the ladies were planning to get him kicked out.

WARNING: Fio will be adjusting this page as she writes further.