bookfan – The Girl Who Whispered

Author Interview – David Arrowsmith

Hello, my little demons,

Here’s the seventh installment of author interviews! Wow, seven already? Today I am here with another short story author; David Arrowsmith. I have to admit, not only does his book, Nevada Noir sound extremely interesting, but David himself is!

About David

David is half Colombian and half British, having been born and raised in London, England, but also having lived in Hong Kong and Manchester.

He puts me to shame with his degrees in English Literature and Script Writing, and I’m in awe of his 20 years TV Executive experience creating award-winning factual television!

Nevada Noir

I can personally relate to the birth of Nevada Noir; starting life as mere rushed notes on a smartphone as David travelled to work one morning. His first published book, a collection of three short stories, was inspired by a trip to Nevada with his wife. Nevada must have had a big impact… road trip anyone?

Cool little fact about the book; the photograph on the cover was taken by his wife; a professional photographer (now I’m jealous of two people!)

Synopsis:

In these three dark and brooding short stories, set in and around the US state of Nevada, a cast of disparate characters struggle with greed and temptation, and the cursed lure of easy money…

an old man goes in search of his son in the aftermath of a terrible storm, a couple down on their luck make a life-changing discovery and an ex-cop has one last impossible decision to make…

Buy the book here!

Interview

Without further ado… here’s the interview with David.

Where do you get your ideas?

Nevada Noir started pretty much as a dream, an image I awoke with and needed to write down. Often my ideas start like that – I “see” a scene, a tableau, and want to describe it and populate it and then expand it from there.

Have you always wanted to be a writer?

Thinking about it now I’d have to say yes. The first thing I remember wanting to be as a little child was an underwater cameraman like Jaques Cousteau. Or a writer.

Do you have a schedule when writing? Or do you try to fit it in when you can?

If and when I can – there are too many things in my life that demand my time and attention to carve out regular extended stints to write, but I’m working on it…

How do you deal with criticism?

I’ve been lucky not to have had too much so far, but I’d have to say not brilliantly… writing is so personal and you’re so invested that criticism, even if correct or well-intended, definitely makes a mark. I feel like most writers have some element of sensitivity, it’s not a pursuit that attracts the thick-skinned I suspect.

Do you Google yourself?

Don’t we all? I’m sure you wouldn’t even ask this question of you didn’t too… (busted!)

Are you working on anything at the moment?

I’m currently co-authoring a new Nordic Noir novel with a Swedish crime author (I was the UK winner of her competition to find co-authors) as well as editing my dystopian fiction novel (working title Corona) and planning a prequel trilogy to my Nevada Noir stories as well as some other noir story ideas.

Was writing your dream job as child, or was it something else?

The first thing I remember wanting to be as a little child was an underwater cameraman like Jaques Cousteau. Or a writer. And I definitely dreamed about being a professional footballer for a large part of my life. It’s not too late, right? I mean I’m only 41…

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

Travel (thanks Covid!), cook, eat, read, watch films and TV series, play games (video and board), play and watch sport (especially football). And spend time with my daughter – although lockdown has tested that on occasion!

Can you tell me a little about your book?

Nevada Noir : A Trilogy of Short Stories is a dark, atmospheric trilogy of intertwined tales of greed and temptation in the Nevada badlands. It’s short, pacy and action packed but also somewhat poetic and evocative. I really wanted readers to see, smell, taste, hear and feel the place – to make reading the stories a vividly multi sensory experience.

Can you tell me a little about the main character(s)?

All the characters are flawed, prone to greed and liable to temptation. I love that people aren’t all good or all bad, we’re all somewhere in between and fate and bad decisions can change a life forever.

Do you write every single day?

Not at all. Maybe I should, or at least try to, but with a toddler and everything else going on I just don’t find it possible or even desirable.

What is the most difficult part of your writing process?

Finding time and space – both literal, physical space but also mental and emotional space to really focus and be creative.

How do you use social media as an author?

Probably very badly! But I do try. I’m very active on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. Do check me out!

Do you have any projects you’re working on at the moment?

Too many – see my earlier answer!

If a film were made of your book, who would you like to be cast in the leading roles?

Great question! And one I’d need to think long and hard about… here’s hoping I get to one day! I’d love my readers to engage in some fantasy casting with me – I’d be delighted to hear who they think would be good in the lead roles!

~~~

If you would like to learn more about David and his books or follow him on social media.
Here are a few links:

Find him on Amazon

Facebook.com/davidarrowsmithauthor
Instagram.com/davidarrowsmithauthor
Twitter.com/mrwriterman79

~~~

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Calling Authors: Do you want to be featured on my website?

Hello my little demons,

Last year (it feels weird saying that) I decided to interview a few fellow authors with the intention of helping them get their work the recognition they deserve. It’s been pretty successful too, I’ve had a few people approach me and I’ve had some nice comments. I’ve also made some good contacts, found some really interesting books and even learnt a few new things along the way.

Keeping up with my daily life as well as writing and blogging has been pretty difficult lately, and I’ve struggled to keep to a schedule – and let’s face it, book marketing isn’t the easiest either – I’ve decided to create this blog post so that I can reach more people easily and help their hard work get recognised.

So, if you are a writer/author, would like your short story/novel/true story/memoir featured on my website, please feel free to get in touch! I have listed a few questions below and a contact form. Feel free to email me between 5-15 questions and I will see if I can get your featured on my website!

Questions:

What got you into writing?
Where do you get your ideas?
What inspired you to start writing?
Have you always wanted to be a writer?
Do you have a schedule when writing? Or do you try to fit it in when you can?
How long does it take you to write a book?
Do you use a pseudonym? If not, have you considered it?
How do you deal with criticism?
Do you Google yourself?
What was your hardest scene to write?
Which one of your works is your favourite?
Are you working on anything at the moment?
Are there any themes in your work you are trying to portray?
What’s your current book about?
Is your book based on a real person?
What is your most unusual writing quirk?
Do you play music while you write – and if so, what’s your favourite?
What’s your favourite under-appreciated novel?
What, to you, are the most important elements of good writing?
How many unpublished or half-finished books do you have?
Do you prefer to read the book first, or watch the movie first?
What is your favourite word, and why?
Was writing your dream job as child, or was it something else?
What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
Can you tell me a little about your book?
Can you tell me a little about the main character(s)?
Do you think the LGBT+ community in literature is unrepresented?
Do you have a LGBT+ book you’d recommend everyone read?
What is your upcoming book about?
Do you write every single day?
What is the most difficult part of your writing process?
How do you use social media as an author?
What’s your favourite and least favourite part of publishing?
How much research did you need to do for your books?
What do you need in your writing space to keep you focused?
Do you have any projects you’re working on at the moment?
If a film were made of your book, who would you like to be cast in the leading roles?
What advise would you give to someone thinking about writing?
Do you have any good blogs you’d recommend for writing?
Anything else you’d like to add?

Please submit your answers (between 5-15) via the contact form below.
Alternatively, you can contact me on thegirlwhowhisperedauthor@gmail.com.
If you have any images of book covers, marketing images or even wish to have a photo of yourself, please feel free to email these over to the email above.

NB: Please note, if you submit more than 15 questions, I may not publish them all and will pick 15 at random.

Here are a few interviews I have done already:

Author Interview – A.C Thomas
Author Interview – Jethro Weyman
Author Interview – Noir Hayes
Author Interview – S.D. Reed
Author Interview – Havelah McLat

~~~

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It’s My Mistake – Chapter 2

If you’re new to the story, please read chapter 1 here.

~~~

“Alice!” my startlingly beautiful, long blonde haired friend gasped in shock. Her gorgeous blue eyes twinkled at me, her mouth slightly ajar in surprised after I told her the train-wreck of an interivew I had yesterday. “You did what?”

“I know! After all that, I told the woman outside to fuck off too,” I said, before burying my face in my hands and groaned.

Olivia and I were sat in a café round the corner to where she worked. I decided to meet up with her before her shift started and I had explained what had happened with the interview from start to end in surprising vivid detail. Well, leaving out a few details; like the handsome man that was behind the table. That was something Olivia would have wanted to know more about rather than the interview itself. She had a bit of an obsession with men.

I liked Olivia, she was the closest thing I had to a best friend. She was originally my roommate for a few months after I moved to the city. She had a small spare room for rent, and luckily she had it up for quite cheap too. We hit it off quite quickly, which I was extremely surprised about. She was a beautiful blonde girl, only a year younger than I was, and was extremely outgoing. I was the complete opposite, but she was surprisingly easy to get along with. Our little arrangement only lasted a few months though, I had found out she was actually renting the apartment herself and wasn’t actually allowed to rent out the other bedroom. The landlord had kicked us both out and we had to go our separate ways. But our strange friendship lasted.

“That’s amazing! At least you fucked it up in style!” she giggle hysterically.

“It’s useless! I’m never going to get a job in a hotel! Maybe I am better off going back to care?”

“Don’t be silly, there are still loads of hotels out there, or maybe you’re better off starting somewhere smaller? Like a hostel or something?” she said, touching my hand in sympathy. “Just don’t yell at the interview panel and tell people to fuck off!” she suddenly smiled.

I groaned again. I realised after having a good long think about what I had done—the whole Miss/Mrs mistake—there was still chance to salvage the interview; just laugh it off as an administration error. But no, instead I decided to yell at people and storm out like a spoilt brat.

Plus, to make matters worse; I really wanted that particular job. Yeah, the role was just entry level, probably only filing and paper pushing. But the company was supposed to be a really good company to work for. I heard rumours that people who started at the company would be well looked after and they really helped you progress. I had dreams of going far in the company. I needed to go far in the company. I needed to prove myself. It was also a social enterprise too, so it helps the community, something that had caught my attention in particular. Global Elite, the company was called. That hotel was just one of two in London, and one of, probably lots around the world. I had done a bit of research, hoping my knowledge of the company and its history might have won me some brownie points. Not that I even got that far.

Olivia open her mouth—probably about to comfort me in her usual sarcastic way—but closed it when my mobile phone rang loudly next to me. I stared at the caller ID but I didn’t recognise the number. It wasn’t a saved contact, so I didn’t rush to answer it. Besides, I had a feeling I knew who it was.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Olivia asked, her well-manicured eyebrow rose at my curiously.

“No, it’s probably Simon,” I replied, still staring at the mobile as it danced and sang at me.

“I thought you like Simon?”

Simon was my ex. Well, he was and he wasn’t. We didn’t officially break up. I just walked out on him a while back and stopped talking to him. I guess that consitutes as an ex. We weren’t together for long anyway. Either way I didn’t tell Olivia the whole story. In fact, I didn’t really tell her anything. She didn’t even know I had stopped seeing him. She didn’t exactly ask.

“I did.”

She watched me silently for a few seconds as if trying to digest a hidden meaning in those two words. “Then what’s the problem?”

I sighed. “I’ve stopped seeing him,” I explained, and Olivia’s eyebrows rose together this time. “He came across… desperate,” I continued, when Olivia didn’t say anything.

Olivia burst out laughing. “Maybe he was just horny and wanted to get in your knickers?”

I gave her a look, which was supposed to be a don’t-be-so-gross look, but she clearly read it wrong. I hated the word ‘horny’ and Olivia knew it.

“Wait!” She gasped. “Did you two—”

“No!” I snapped. “I didn’t sleep with him!”

I had told Olivia that I wanted to wait, at least until I knew that he and I would go far in a relationship. Plus, I was a little shy in that department. Unlike Olivia, I wasn’t so confident. But I guess it was a while since I last spoke to Olivia about Simon. Knowing Olivia, she probably thought I did sleep with him and that was why I dumped him.

Olivia just held her hands up in defence. “Can’t blame me for asking, he is fairly attractive. I would. Even if it was just for a quick shag.”

“Olivia!” I gasped in shock at my friend. Although I wasn’t sure why I was still so shocked, she was always like this. But Olivia was a young, beautiful blonde woman, and she always had men after her. I was just lucky that I met Simon on my own and not when I was with her. I had visions of him going off with her instead. “You know I’m not like that!”

She shrugged. “Nothing wrong with it.”

“The guy wanted a serious relationship, not just a quick shag,” I said, lowering my voice slightly so the couple on the table next to us wouldn’t hear me. Which was pointless, they had clearly overheard Oliva. She was so embarrassing sometimes.

“I know, I know!” She nodded. “But you should at least consider it, you never know, you might enjoy it!” She winked.

But I ignored her, my mobile rang again.

“Hey, if it is Simon, wouldn’t it come up on your phone as Simon’s number?” she asked, pointing at the phone.

“No, I deleted it,” I said.

“You deleted his number from your phone?” she asked, her eyebrows rose again.

“I know, it was a mistake. I forgot I did it and he tried ringing me. I accidentally answered it, not realising it was him, until I heard his voice wheezing down the earpiece—”

“Wheezing?” Olivia asked, looking confused.

I shrugged. “Sounded like he was wheezing, maybe he’s asthmatic?”

“Or he was—”

“Don’t!” I said, stopping her saying something crude that I really didn’t want to hear. I knew she was about to say something crude, it was the look on her face that gave it away. She just laughed. “The point is, I ended up having to block his number in the end because he kept rining and kept for—” I stopped. I had Simon’s number blocked. He couldn’t ring me! I looked at the mobile which was still ringing.

“What?” Olivia asked, clearly not getting why I stopped.

“I have Simon’s number blocked!” I said. “He can’t ring me!”

“Then answer it!” she said quickly. “It might be another hunky desperate man wanting a shag!”

I ignored her and picked my phone up from the table, but just before I was about to answer it, it stopped ringing. I groaned.

“Well, I guess he’s got fed up and found someone else!” Olivia chimed, and took a sip of her coffee.

I ignored her and continued to look at my phone. I was quietly trying to decide what to do. Maybe if I sat and waited for a bit, the caller would ring me back, or maybe leave a voicemail. I liked the idea of someone leaving me a voicemail, if they gave me a hint of who they were, I could decide whether I wanted to ring back.

But after a few minutes ticked by on my phone, no one rang back and no voicemail was left. So instead I decided to ring the number back. Olivia’s attention was on something else—or shall I say, someone else.

“Hello, this is Daniel’s phone. Jason speaking,” someone with a rather lovely deep voice said on the other end of the phone. I didn’t recognise any of the names; I didn’t know a Daniel or a Jason, nor did I recognise the voice.

“Err, hi, I just got a miss call on this number?”

“Ah, yes. Dan did look a little flustered while trying to ring you. Let me find him,” the deep male voice said. I said a qiuck thank you but I got interrupted when I heard the same deep male voice yell in the background; “Oi, you cunt, you have one of your bimbos on the phone asking for you!”

My face dropped and I hung up quickly. Clearly not someone I wanted to know anyway. I silently hoped neither of them rang me again. Annoyingly, Olivia hadn’t even noticed what had happened.

~~~

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I also recently had my hair cut off for charity! Read about it here!

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Rose Garden Sanatorium – Chapter 7

Note: If you’re new to the story please read from the beginning here.

Chapter 7

Officer Jennifer Finley

The young female agent slid through a dark internal door as quiet as a mouse, keeping every one of her senses alert for sounds, sights, smells, strange touches on her body, or maybe even changes in temperature. She stepped silently and slowly through the Sanatorium, but her mind was running one-hundred miles an hour going through the training sessions; move slow, check corners, especially dark ones, don’t trust anyone or anything. She held her P90 out before her, her grip tight on it, her focus through the infrared scope, the torch illuminating the way, and felt that little bit safer knowing that it had been modified specifically for these sorts of situations.

But she still felt defenceless, even with her specially modified gear and her extensive training. She had been told about the horrors of the enemy she faced; some were able to inhabit your body, take control of it, some were large, strong and ruthless. But there were those who were just so clever, stronger, quicker, able to take most living shapes, able to control fire, make things move with just their minds, knock people unconscious with just a flick of their hands, that Finley doubted her average intelligence and physical fitness along with all her modified equipment was enough to beat them.

She slowly kept her breathing under control in an attempt to steady her heartbeat as she looked around a corner. The only way she was able to keep herself from panicking was to continue with her job, to keep moving. She just hoped no one, or nothing, could hear the panic swelling in her chest. Part of her training was to regulate her heartbeat, to keep it steady; her instructor told her that the panic was a reaction from high levels of cortisol running through her body; the fight or flight syndrome, and it affected concentration, but she always had trouble keeping it down.

Ahead of her, she noticed a wall had fallen, opening up the next room. Slowly she moved, carefully avoiding the rubble on the floor as she did, to investigate the next room.

As she made her way towards the opening, however, she heard a noise. Her skin prickled at the sound; something was shuffling. She stopped dead in her tracks and listened out. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears, and she felt a roll of sweat run down her face. She doubted it had anything to do with the amount of gear she had on, keeping her safe but unavoidably warm. The sound continued as if what ever was making it didn’t know she was there. The shuffling was also complimented with what sounded like heavy breathing and rubble being moved. Suddenly her body felt heavy with fear.

She put her eye through the scope, not picking up any heat signatures yet—not that she could pick up anything through the thick walls of the Sanatorium. She didn’t have a visual. It could be anything. It could be the wind. She willed herself to continue towards the gap in the wall.

But as she moved again, the shuffling sound stopped. She stopped herself. She pursed her lips together to stop her from breathing heavily, not even noticing the grip on her gun had tightened, her knuckles going white. The sound started again only a few seconds later, as if what ever was making it had stopped to listen out but hadn’t noticed her. She moved her hand slowly up to the gun and turn off the torch accessory, then up to her smock and turned off those lights, her sole visual was now through the infrared scope—although she still saw various shades of blue, no oranges or reds to indicate a living being.

She continued to move slowly towards the break in the wall, keeping tight to the remainder of the wall that was still left standing, using it as a guide with the use of her elbow and being careful not to accidentally knock something on the floor, either resulting in her making a noise or tripping over. She shuffled her body towards the hole and stopped for a few seconds to listen out.

There certainly was something just there, only a few feet away. All she had to do was to take one large step to her right and she could swing herself round to see her enemy. Within a split second before changing her mind, she committed to her manoeuvre. She stepped and span her whole body round and saw the classic oranges and reds in her scope.

Something barked and the orange and red blob ran off. She turned on the light attachment on her gun just in time to catch sight of a red bushy tail flapping as it ran out of the door.

Finley sighed, relaxed slightly and let out a small laugh. It was just a fox. Although she was told to be vigilant of all living things, she was sure if it was anything but sinister, it would have just attacked her, and it didn’t.

Rubbing her face with a hand and letting her gun drop a little from her grip, she steadied her breathing to slow her heart and relaxed her tight muscles. She snorted suddenly in amusement at the situation, the fact she got so wound up over a fox.

She turned around to go back out of the room she had just recently deemed now clear, but she turned around to face a grotesque and inhuman face mere millimetres away from her face. She screamed and automatically stepped backwards, her heel hit a loose brick and she fell backwards, smashing her head—which was luckily protected in her helmet—on the debris of broken wall.

~~~

Next chapter coming soon!

If you liked this story, please check out my other works!

New Story Idea – “I fell in Love with a Psychopath”

It’s My Mistake – Chapter 1

Ender’s Love – Chapter 1

New Story idea! – Butterfly House

Check out these other posts about Rose Garden Sanatorium!

New Full Book Trailer! For Rose Garden Sanatorium

Rose Garden Sanatorium Top 10 in the Cryptic Awards 2018!

Rose Garden Sanatorium – Chapter 6

Note: If you’re new to the story please read from the beginning here.

Chapter 6

Henry Blackburn

The sound of Highway to Hell from AC/DC filled the air, filling out into the garage and which was loud enough to hear from the office. It was still quite early so not everyone had arrived yet, but there was just the one person there to appreciate the classic music; the owner of Blackburn Garage.

A man with mousy brown hair, mid-thirties, an unshaven face, navy overalls that looked overused with the patchwork of oil, dirt and rust marks, stared out through the window into his workshop, mouth agape as he was mid-yawn.

He was wondering about when his delivery would arrive. He had gotten to work early that morning, much to the dismay of his wife, to attempt to finish a customer’s car. It was a lovely Mercedes-Benz C220 AMG in a deep blue and he had already delayed the customer as he found the front brake-pads had to be replaced—someone loved their breaks! The customer was quite okay with it, being appreciative that he had checked, but Henry wanted to get there early to make a start anyway.

Blackburn Garage was well known in London, it came highly recommended and specialised in German cars as the owner was a big fan of them. A lot of Audi, BMW and Mercedes drivers preferred to go to Blackburn Garage, it was cheaper than going to the dealership and it was actually guaranteed not to get ripped off. Even if you sold the car, local people would prefer to buy a car that had been serviced at Blackburn Garage over the dealership. Of course, they got a lot of other cars; Fords, Jaguars, Toyotas, Hondas, they even had a lovely 1967 Chevrolet Impala once, a local guy had moved over from the States and brought a few from his collection over from America.

Henry Blackburn loved his business. Ever since he was a small boy, he loved cars and loved learning how they worked. He was adamant from a young age he wanted to be a mechanic. Dreaming of owning his own company, hiring staff, ordering tools, having a large house and his own private collection of interesting cars, teaching his own son mechanics. He spent ages one night looking through a catalogue of tools with his brother listing out all the tools he would get.

Part of his dream came true, he now owned his own business; Blackburn Garage, but he didn’t own any of the cars in it, they were all customer’s cars. He personally only owned two; his own E90 BMW M3—which he was sure the clutch was on its way out—and his wife’s Fiat 500 which he wouldn’t admit to her, but he hated. He also didn’t have a son, he didn’t have any children, mostly because his wife decided she didn’t want children and he was talked out of the idea of having them too, made to think it was his idea. Although a part of him felt he was missing out. But she was right, it wasn’t a good idea bringing children into this world.

Henry’s daydream of the time before was broken when he heard his mobile phone go off, he dug it out of his overall’s pocket, ignoring the large crack on the screen and opened the message. It was his younger brother, who had no concept of time, and laughed at the childish and crude picture he had decided to forward to him. He sent a quick reply back before pocketing his phone and remembered he was making a cup of coffee.

Henry’s brother, Dean, had gone a completely separate way to him. Dean wasn’t really interested in cars and mechanics like Henry. In fact, Henry couldn’t really remember Dean being enthusiastic about much when he was young. He had a troubled life, struggling to fit in. Both the boys had been home-schooled, their family deciding it was for the best. This didn’t really bother Henry, he easily made friends, always outgoing and bubbly, but Dean wasn’t so lucky. Although Dean seemed to have figured out his calling in the end.

Henry finished making his strong cup of coffee; a dark mess in a questionable hygienic mug with a Ford Capri on the side and headed back into his workshop. He placed the coffee on top of his big black toolbox and got back to taking the wheel off the deep blue Mercedes.

~~~

Click here to read the next chapter

If you liked this story, please check out my other works!

New Story Idea – “I fell in Love with a Psychopath”

It’s My Mistake – Chapter 1

Ender’s Love – Chapter 1

New Story idea! – Butterfly House

Check out these other posts about Rose Garden Sanatorium!

Ender’s Love – Chapter 2

Hello, my little Demons! I posted Chapter 1 to Ender’s Love a while ago now and I feel you’ve been waiting long enough for Chapter 2!

Click here to read Chapter 1 if you haven’t read it already

Note: May contain strong language!

~~~

Chapter 2

I sat trying to busy my hands and focus my attention on my laptop. That was most important to me. So what if I just royally embarrassed myself? It was a moment. It would pass. I’d walk out of this bar and that guy would never see me again. My laptop, however, had all of my university work on it and I had not yet had the chance to back it up.

But as soon as I took the laptop out of my bag, cursing slightly as I saw the wetness had unfortuantely seeped through slightly, a figure loomed over me. I jumped slightly and turned around. But my face went bright red as soon as I saw that handsome man was standing there waiting for me to see him.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, when I noticed him. His voice was deep, it matched his masculine features perfectly.

Panic swelled in my chest as I stared at his stupidly handsome face. I noticed for the first time he was actually wearing a suit. I hadn’t noticed before, mainly because I only noticed a white shirt. But now he was in front of me, I could see he was wearing suit trousers and a deep navy tie hung undone around his neck. I also noticed he was a little big around the arms. I gulped.

“Sorry?” I asked, having to put the laptop down as I hadn’t even put it on the table yet. It was a little too heavy in my hands, holding it up in the air.

“The drink. Why did you give me one?” he asked again, scanning my face. I noticed now that he had beautiful green eyes.

I shrugged. “I didn’t have any change and needed to boost up the bull to over five pounts so I could pay for it,” I explained.

He frowned at me and went to open his mouth to say something else when panic coursed through me and I cut across him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude! I just saw you drinking whisky or something and it was nearly empty, you looked like you needed one. You were frowning at your work laptop like someone had just given you bad news. I didn’t really want to drink another one. One is enough for me. I’m not a huge drinker. So, I figured you could do with it more than me. Don’t feel like you have to drink it, I won’t be offended,” I blurted.

As soon as I stopped talking, the guy rose his eyebrows at me. So much for approaching men first. I should have started with someone else, rather than a guy who looked busy. I had clearly jumped in the deep end without learning to swim first.

“I’m sorry, I don’t normally do that sort of thing!” I continued nervously. “Normally I’m quite considerate of people being busy and I leave them alone. Clearly I’m having an off day today!” I gave a small nervous laugh.

The guy suddenly snorted in amusement but then turned on his heel and walked off back to the bar.

I started at him in amazement, suddenly annoyed at his attitude. He just walked away? I shook my head and looked back at my laptop. He wasn’t worth getting annoyed about. I did a nice thing. Yeah, okay, it might not have been the best idea I’ve had. I wasn’t very good with this sort of thing. Guys like that were usually popular and I always imagined there was a way to speak to them; a code of conduct around the stupidly handsome men or something. Unlike me; there was no code to speak to me. I was usually friendly with anyone.

But as soon as I put my laptop on the table in front of me, a shadow loomed over me again. I looked up and the guy was back. But he was standing next to the seat in front of me, leaning on it slightly. Anger welled up inside me.

“Look, I said I’m sorry, I—”

“Oh no, you don’t need to apologise! I was just shocked, that’s all. I’ve never had some random chick buy me a drink before without actually wanting something in return.”

I felt my cheeks go warm at what he said, I had an image suddenly of a beautiful woman going up to him and wanting sexual favours from him after buying him a drink. I noticed at this point he had brought the glass of whisky with him and was holding it in his hand.

“I’m not after anything from you,” I said. I wanted to say I wasn’t like those women; trying to just sleep with the hottest guy at the bar.

“I figured,” he said, giving me a small nod and then taking a sip of the whisky. I noticed for the first time that his access wasn’t Scottish, he was English like me. “I also have to thank you for introducting me to Dalwhinnie, I’ve never tried it before. Good choice not to have ice too.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, curious to know why he was being so nice to me. Or was he just being polite?

He suddenly shifted his weight and I saw a small twinge of pain run through his face.

“Are you okay?” I asked. He frowned at me, so I added; “You look like you’re in pain or something.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s nothing, just a bit of a bad back.”

“Lower back?” I asked as I turned back around to my laptop bag and dug my hands into it.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“You look like a business man, my guess is you sit around on a laptop or computer all day in an office and you probably sit in one of those cheap seats with poor lumbar support,” I said as I managed to find what I was looking for; a heat patch. “Here, take this.”

The guy looked at what was in my hands and then looked up at me curiously, before taking his left hand out of his poket and taking the clearly soggy box. I scanned his hand again out of habit, noticing there certainly was no wedding ring on his finger, not even a white mark where one might have been.

“Thanks,” he said, although sounding a little hesitant.

“Keep the box, there’s only one left.” I smiled. “Sorry it’s a little wet, my laptop bag clearly isn’t waterproof! But the heat patch will still work.”

I was expecting him to just wander off at this point, I didn’t expect him to stand around too long if he had a bad back. But to my shock, he sat down on the seat opposite me, placing the whisky on the table between us and looked right into my eyes. I gulped again.

“Is your laptop wet?” he asked and then looked down at my laptop in front of me.

“Err… yeah, a little.”

“Do you want me to have a look at it?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m just going to clean up most of the water and let it dry out. If it’s too wet I’ll just take it home and take it apart, make sure no water got onto the motherboard and hard-drive.”

His eyebrows rose again. I felt a small smile creep involuntarily on my face.

“You know computers?” he asked.

I nodded. “A little, dad was into his computers.”

I was suddenly aware of how warm I was, although I was sure it was because I was still sat in my leather jacket, but it could have also been the gorgeous man talking to me and looking quite at peace doing so. Either way, I decided to take off my jacket before I started to sweat and smell.

“You know you can void the warranty if you take it apart?” he asked as he took another sip of the Dalwhinnie and eyed me taking my jacket off.

I smiled, hoping he hadn’t noticed that I was extremely nervous raound him, especially after seeing him eye me curiously. “I think I voided the warranty a long time ago, after my hard-drive decided to fail on me and I had to replace it.”

“You are full of surprises.” He smiled at me and suddenly leaned his arms on the table.

I smiled back and nervously took the glass of whisky that was sitting next to my hand and took a large sip. I felt I needed to have a bit of alcohol in me to calm my nerves.

“So, do you know anything about these heat patches?” he asked, before I had a chance to say something myself.

“Sorry?” I asked, trying desperately not to cough as I had accidentally taken a large sip of the Dalwhinnie and it had decided to catch the back of my throat with its harshness.

“The heat patch,” he said, holding it up in his large bear-hand. “I’ve never used one before.”

“Oh!” I said and let out a small laugh. “It’s easy, the instructions are on the box, but you basically just strip back the plastic protection and place it on the area that’s sore. It should stick and peel off easily afterwards.”

“You say that, but knowing me, I’ll end up messing it up,” he said, leaning back as he pulled out the remainder heat patch from the soggy box and took it out.

I laughed. “You sound like me. Put m e in a room with a computer and tell me to get on with analysing data and I could do it with my eyes closed. But any simple instructions like that and I’m useless. If someone was to give me instructions on how to make porridge, I’d still find a way to fick it up.”

He laughed. “I’m curious to know how you can fuck up porridge?”

I felt the heat rise to my face when I heard him laugh and curse. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, with me. Once I had the heat up too high and it burnt to the bottom of the pan, I had to throw it all away.”

“The porridge?”

“Well, obviously that, but I meant the pan too.”

He nodded and I felt like I was being studied. I was just concentrating on trynig to smile politely enough but not too much to look creepy, and act normal around him; say the right thing, do the right thing, sitting up without slouching… I didn’t understand how someone could have a conversation like this and be so calm. It was exhausing trying to look normal and confident.

“Did you want anything for it?” he said suddenly, breaking me out of my musings.

“Sorry?”

“You’ve given me your last heat patch, did you want me to give you some money for it, or maybe buy you another drink?”

“Oh, no.” I smiled and shook my head. “Don’t worry about it, I have more heat patches at home, and I shouldn’t really drink any more than the one glass of whisky.”

He nodded. “Well, I had better go put this on.”

“Did you, err… want a hand?”

He raised an eyebrow at me and smiled, it sent a shiver down my spine. “I think I’ll be okay.” He winked.

I inhaled suddenly and coughed as if trying to cover up the fact he had a strange impact on me. “Sure, just let me know if you change your mind, they’re a little tricky to put on your back.”

“Sure,” he said, and then stood up from the booth. “Thanks again.”

“It’s not a problem.”

He stood there for a few short seconds as if he had something else to say, but he clearly thought better of it. Instead, he turned around, walked back to the bar where his laptop was left forgotten, put down the glass of Dalwhinnie I had bought him and muttered something to the barman. The barman nodded while he was drying glasses and the handsome man vanished into the toilets. I sighed and looked back at my own laptop while trying to calm my shaking hands.

I did it; I had spoke to a guy first and managed to survive. I blew out my cheeks as I took out the paper towels and started to clean up my laptop. Although, absentmindedly, as all I could think about was that guy trying to apply that heat patch to his back, wondering what his body was like underneath that white shirt.

Click here to read the next chapter!

~~~

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Here are some links to my other works:

My Normal – A Short Story
Rose Garden Sanatorium – Prologue
No one likes you! – A short story.

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Protected: My Proof copy arrived!

Beta-Readers needed!

I’ve been working hard on re-editing my book ‘It’s My Mistake’ as my main challenge is to get it into a paperback format. I want to do this by making the book the best I can.

I’m a bit of a perfectionist though, and there is something final about a real physical book that I don’t want to have a book riddled with mistakes and plot holes. So, I need beta-readers.

I have asked friends to read, but I don’t have many friends that are willing to a) read a book in general and b) let alone one that is a romantic story!

So, for anyone who likes reading, please feel free to read my book ‘It’s My Mistake’ here:
https://www.wattpad.com/story/124947755-it%27s-my-mistake-%7E-completed
And let me know what you think. If you find any errors, plot holes, or anywhere that generally needs work, please let me know!

Here’s a blurb:

Alice wants a carrer change, especially after a terrible incident at her last job. Her dream job has always been to work in a hotel, maybe even own one. But after messing up an interview very spectacularly for a vacancy at a well-known hotel chain in London, she wasn’t expecting to hold the attention of the Global Business Manager; Daniel Jeffries. And in more ways than one. Does Alice take the risk and accept Dan’s offer or does she play it safe?

Who knew that that interview day would be the day that changed Alice’s life? But is it for the better? IS this alluring Global Business Manager as amazing as he seems? And who is that mysterious yet amazingly handsome man at the hotel?
By the way, if Romance isn’t your thing, or this blub doesn’t catch your eye, there are other works on my WattPad page, feel free to check them out!

I fell in Love with a Psychopath – Chapter 5

If you’re new to the story, please read the prologue here.
This work is my first draft and thus unedited, so may be subject to changes.

Chapter 5

Just before the guy was even able to even think about what to do in that moment, Xander lunged for him. I didn’t really see much, only really a flash and a loud gasp from someone, because I had fallen onto one of my knees and held onto my foot instinctively.

When I looked up, I just caught Xander punching the guy in the face who was knocked to the ground by the force of Xander’s punch. I saw Xander pick something up from the floor and then walk over to the guy, now in possession of the knife.

“Now let’s see what your intestines look like,” Xander sneered.

He was about to bend down when his mate rushed over to him in a panic. He looked white as a sheet. Unlike Xander who looked red from rage. “Leave him, mate, just let him go.”

“Like fuck will I, after trying to steal my watch?” Xander replied, not even looking back at his mate. “Do you even know who I am?” he sneered again at the guy on the ground. He pointed the knife at him like an extension to his own arm.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the guy started to whimper.

“Listen to yourself, you’re pathetic!” Xander huffed and shook his head in disgust.

At this point I had noticed that my foot was actually bleeding, and I cursed under my breath. The rock had caught two of my toes as they had broken its fall to the floor. One of them had started to bleed and I was worried the other one, my little toe, was broken because it was excruciatingly painful. So much so that tears were starting to appear in my eyes. It took a lot for me to cry.

Because I had muttered though, Xander looked over at me and must have only just noticed I was hurt. At this he stood up a little straighter and appeared to talk to the guy on the floor; “Leave.”

“W-what?” said a small voice from the floor.

“Leave,” Xander repeated, looking back round at him. “Just go before I change my mind and cut you open from your throat to your naval.”

The guy clearly got the message as he stood up and rushed away, without even taking his knife. At first he tried to scurry away on all fours and then managed to stand up properly and made a decent run for it, nearly tripping over as he was in a panic to get away.

“Are you hurt?” Xander asked, walking over to me suddenly, not even watching the man run away. He walked passed his friend who was standing stock still in fright and passed him the knife. He took it without hesitation and just stared down at it in his hands as if shocked he now had possession of the offensive weapon.

I laughed. I was laughing at myself. I felt stupid for what I had just tried to do. “That bloody rock fell onto my foot.”

“Why are you bare footed?” he asked, as he towered over me from where I knelt. I was starting to wish I had sat down on my backside rather than kneeling. My knee were hurting as the road was digging into it. Not to mention I was worried about flashing anyone who stood in front of me. Luckily Xander was standing by my side, otherwise it could have been a lot more embarrassing.

“I took my heels off so they wouldn’t draw attention to me.” I gasped in pain as my toe twitched. “Are you going to help me up or what?” I accidentally spat, half in frustration and half in pain.

I heard Xander laugh slightly and he held out a hand for me. Just as I placed mine into his, he turned to his friend; “Get some ice from Mario’s.”

“W-what?” the guy stuttered.

“Ice, Devon, from Mario’s,” Xander demanded, just as he helped me effortlessly into a standing position. “It’s not a hard request.”

“Oh, sure,” the guy called Devon said and then went to wander off down the street back to where Mario’s front door was waiting.

“Devon, don’t take the bloody knife with you!” Xander snapped at the guy.

“Oh!” Devon stopped, turned round, looked at Xander and then at the knife and just placed it on the floor carefully like he was handling something that might explode and just walked away.

He wobbled slightly as I watched him. I was worried he was going to faint and collapse on the hard floor, but he disappeared round the corner and out of sight, and was momentarily forgotten about. Xander was just shaking his head at his friend as he had just placed the knife in the middle of the street.

I gasped again as a pain shot up my foot and up my leg like an electric bolt. It reminded me of when I once been bitten by an ant in Australia. Although double that pain – no, probably triple it. I remember sitting drinking a small bottle of beer the Australians called a ‘stubby’ under a slight canopy in my rented house. I hadn’t noticed there was an infestation of ants right next to my bare feet – what is it with me and bare feet? They were these huge things with blue abdomens, horrible little buggars they were. One had bitten me on my big toe. The pain had shot right up my whole leg. My toe even throbbed for at least an hour afterwards.

Although the pain I felt after dropping a rock on it was worse, the idea was still the same; the pain travelling right up my leg. Although unlike the ant, I was suddenly feeling a little sick from the pain.

“It’s probably best you move out of the street, Jo,” Xander said, his voice seemed to have gotten softer in a matter of seconds. Although I was mostly concerned with the fact Xander had taken his hands out of mine and I was now standing on one leg.

“Yeah, before I fall over,” I snorted, and put my foot down. But as soon as I did, I wobbled dangerously because I didn’t want to put pressure on it and the pain had made me a little dizzy. Xander had to grab me to stop me from falling over.

He had quick reflexes, but he didn’t seem too bothered where his hands landed when he grabbed me. Although, luckily he didn’t grab anywhere inappropriate, but he did have one hand on my arm and the other on my waist.

“I’ll help you,” he said.

I muttered a thanks and allowed him to guide me over to the side of the street.

Just as we reached the side and I was able to lean against a wall – Xander taking his hands off me again – he asked me a strange question.

“Did you not care that guy had a knife?” he asked.

“What?” I asked, looking back at him in confusion, unsure I heard him right.

“The mugger,” he said, “he had a knife. Did you not care?”

“Err… I guess not,” I shrugged. “My main concern was stopping him, I was worried he was going to hurt you.”

“You didn’t have to step in like that, you could have been hurt yourself.”

“If I didn’t, he could have hurt you. Were you not scared?”

“I’m used to it.”

I laughed. “You’re used to people attacking you with knives?”

He looked at me, his deep green eyes seemed darker for some reason. “I’m sort of used to-,” he paused as if choosing his words carefully, “people trying to threaten me.”

I stared at him for a few seconds wondering what that meant. He was used to people threatening him? Why?

Check out the next chapter here!

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If you liked this story, please check out my other works!

Rose Garden Sanatorium – Prologue

It’s My Mistake – Chapter 1

Ender’s Love – Chapter 1

New Story idea! – Butterfly House