Under the Western Sky is my new retro romance. Why retro? Because it's set in 1976 when hip hugging bell bottoms and fros were the rage. Bands like Carlos Santana, Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix set the music world on fire. It was a time of endless possibilities and promises waiting to be fulfilled. Bobby Menedez and Libby Marshall are poised on the edge of something wonderful. Their senior year looms in their future and their newly found love blossoms. Unfortunately, something ugly looms over them, obscuring their happiness -- Under the Western Sky
Libby Marshal leaned over the pool table, slender hips twitching to KC and the Sunshine Band. She hummed distractedly as she lined up her shot.
She made her shot, long distance across the felt top, nearly nailing him in the balls with her pool cue as her arm drew back.
"Shouldn't stand so close," Danny said, across the table from her. "Oh, man, the view!"
Bobby held his hands the width of her hips apart. He bit his lip as she faced him, a frown on her face. Her green eyes flashed at him. With a toss of her short, blonde, curly hair, she moved away from him with a glare. His dark brown eyes followed her, longing on his well-tanned face.
"View's damn good over here, and safer," Danny grinned.
He'd been looking down her top as she bent over to shoot. He loved the fact that it was 1976 and even in this small, conservative, western Nebraska town, girls were liberated, freeing them from the confines of establishment undergarments. The no-bra look was great! And Libby had such perky tits. Bobby could have his dangerous ass view, Danny went for tits every time.
"Boys, behave," Toni's father said, from his office behind them.
Funny thing how Toni's old man always had work to do when the boys came over. He would casually follow the four of them down to the pool room in the basement and sit in his workroom fiddling with some electrical components while they played pool and listened to music. He didn't mind them coming over, but they weren't going to be unchaperoned either.
"Yes, sir," they chorused.
They stepped back, snapping to attention, not quite saluting. Each with military fathers, it was hard not to when he talked in that tone. He’d been fifteen years as a Marine before a shell shattered his right leg. Everyone in town called him Captain Cristo. Only the very brave called him Grant.
"Girls, Mom's got dinner almost ready. Why don't you hustle up and help her set the table?"
"Yes, sir," Libby replied, setting down her cue.
"Sure thing, Daddy." Toni leaned hers against the wall, leaving a blue streak of chalk.