First Meeting - Love Among the Lumber

I am a big fan of first meetings, or the Meet Cute as they are called in romantic comedies. These often set the tone for the relationship, and tell us a lot about how the couple will interact with one another later in the story. It certainly is for Jak Foster and Arden Templeton. Arden is a college art professor, newly hired at a college in Florida. She meets Jak at a party for new faculty, where they are introduced by mutual friends.

Reed came over, sitting heavily on the arm of Ianna's chair. "Seen Jak yet?"

"No. He promised to be here."

"Just like him to be late as hell, stick around for five seconds and leave."

"That's what happens when you insist that I come to a party like this," a man's voice said behind them. "You know I hate these things. Since I'm not on the faculty, I really don't see why I'm here."

"I told you. President Preston wanted to meet you."

The other man groaned. Arden tried to focus on his face, but couldn't see much since he was almost directly above her. He was just over six feet tall, with rusty brown hair. She thought his eyes might be green, but it was hard to tell in the muted golden outdoor light.

"Jak, this is Arden. Arden, my pal Jak. He hates parties."

"All parties or just this kind?"

"All of them. I'm antisocial," Jak said, smiling down at her. "Pleased to meet you, Miss—?"

"Doctor," Arden corrected. "Templeton," she said carefully, finding her tongue didn't want to work properly. She set her glass down unsteadily, licking her lips. They felt numb. "Doctor Arden Templeton." She touched the tip of her tongue with her fingers. "Oh, damn," she said, holding the appendage. "I can't feel my tongue."

Her friends laughed as she giggled at herself.

"Yuck." She wiped her fingers on the napkin. "No more of that."

"Is that a Charlie special?" the new man asked.

"Yes. I think I'll be drunk for a year. . . ."

"Mind if I have some? I'm thirsty and I don't want to go back inside."

"Sure, if you don't mind sharing germs."

"Baby, there's so much alcohol in this, nothing lives. Including brain cells." He took up the drink, tossing it back like a shooter. He sighed happily, smacking his lips. "Those always taste like more."

"I'll get you one," Reed said. "Go, mingle."

"I'm fine here," Jak said from behind and to Arden's left.

He was just far enough out of her line of vision, that even if she turned her head, she couldn't exactly see him. She had the impression he was well built, muscular and tanned. That was all she could really tell. He smelled good too, or maybe that was the honeysuckle on the fence to his left.

"So, Jak," she said slowly, enunciating carefully. "If you're not one of us, why are you here?"

He chuckled, shaking the ice in the glass. "I keep asking myself that. It's a great place to pick up women?"

Head wobbling slightly, she forced herself to focus on him. "You're kidding, right?"

He paused and his lips twitched, his green eyes twinkling. "Most of the young, attractive ones are married to my best friends. You're not with one of the wonder geeks, are you?"

Reed brought the drink, handing it to him as Ianna dragged him off to dance. Jak drank it much the same way, tossing it down with a jerk of his head.

"Nope. I'm a wonder geek myself. Got my Masters and PhD simultaneously."

"That's a lot of school. How'd you manage?"

"Doubled up on everything."

"Didn't they tell you you were supposed to take when?"

"I had an adviser who didn't pay attention to me. I got a lot of lousy advice, followed by more rotten advice. By the time I realized what was happening to me, it was too late. I graduated with a 3.85, so I don't think I did too badly."

"Oh, hell no. You put smart people to shame." He grinned down at her.

"Can you do me a teeny favor?" She said, trying not to slur as she struggled to hold her fingers half an inch apart.

"Sure."

"Can you stand over here where I can see you? I can't seem to move my head."

Laughing, Jak walked around to face her. At this angle, his features were in shadow, the setting sun behind him. The lights in the yard were dim enough to keep his face concealed. There was a flash of white teeth and a deep chested chuckle. He was wearing a pale brown jacket and pants that moved like linen. His shirt might have been white. No tie, just a hemp macrame necklace with wooden beads.

Arden grinned up at him. "Thanks."

© 2016 Dellani Oakes

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First Meetings - Portrait of Love

I am a big fan of first meetings, or the Meet Cute as they are called in romantic comedies. These often set the tone for the relationship, and tell us a lot about how the couple will interact with one another later in the story. When Vik Windsor meets Gemma Reinhardt, she is actually dating his best friend and roommate, Ken. Oddly, though, Ken isn't so much interested in dating Gemma as he is in painting her portrait. She reluctantly agrees to sit for him, and he is expecting her to arrive when Vik comes home.

There was a knock on the door. Vik was closer, so he opened it.

"I'm sorry. I'm looking for Kendrick."

"That's very disappointing," Vik replied, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm Vik. Ken's right here, pining away for you. He wasn't sure you'd show."

Kendrick made an exasperated sound behind him. Vik laughed.

"I'm telling his secrets. Please, come in."

He flashed a charming smile. Gemma smiled hesitantly in return, walking around him timidly, giving him a wide berth. She scurried past him to stand by Kendrick.

"Vik is my roommate. He's also an artist. The other half of the two man show."

"The less talented half," Vik said with a smirk. "And you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He walked closer, hands in his pockets, a cheeky grin on his face. His eyes examined her pointedly, admiringly.

Gemma wasn't sure how to react to that. She retreated from him slightly, standing closer to Kendrick, who gave her a peck on the cheek.

"I wasn't sure you'd come. I hoped."

"Bernie, the maid, you met her last night. She told me I owed it to myself to discover the adventure."

"I'm not sure I know what that means."

"Me either," Gemma admitted. "But I'm here. I won't go nude," she said hastily. "But I brought some dresses that might work. Including the red one from last night because you seemed to like it so much."

"Thank you," Kendrick said, giving her another kiss on the cheek.

Vik's brown eyes watched the exchange with interest. His friend was clearly interested in Gemma, though not in the way that Vik was. Ken found her a fascinating subject for his art. Vik found her fascinating in a variety of different ways, none of which pertained to art in any discernible way. She was clearly struggling with her decision, but determined to embrace the new experience.

"Shall I change?" She held up the dresses, casting about for a place to go.

"In a little while. Why don't we talk about what I'm looking for?"

"Okay. I thought a portrait?"

"Not exactly. I want to explore your essence."

Vik couldn't control a snort. Kendrick glared at him. Gemma looked up, surprised that he was still there.

"Sorry. Sorry. Don't mind me. I'm gonna get a beer. Ken? Gemma?"

"No, thank you," Gemma replied, tersely. Her dark eyes looked him over, categorized him and dismissed him.

Vik had never felt so innocuous before. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling. He'd never had a woman blow him off like that. He was more than passably good looking and charming. He never lacked for female companionship, yet she wouldn't give him the time of day, he was sure.

"No, thanks." Ken blew him off too.

Shrugging, Vik walked into the kitchen and got himself a beer. Popping the cap off against the counter, he took a long pull on it. He'd been on the go steadily for a week, drumming up sponsors for their art show, as well as customers for a new web design business they hoped to start together. Kendrick was the major talent, but Vik was the smooth talker, the charmer. He could sell people the moon and stars if he tried hard enough. It had been a very successful venture and he felt pretty good about it. It was obvious that he wasn't going to have a chance to talk to his friend while Gemma was there, so he went upstairs for a shower.

Ten minutes later, they were still sitting in the living room area, talking. Hungry, he fixed himself a sandwich. It seemed rude to eat in front of the others, so he fixed them sandwiches too. Ken often wouldn't eat unless someone shoved food at him, particularly if he was in an artistic mood. Vik served them sandwiches and iced tea. Ken barely noticed, but Gemma thanked him with a smile. After taking a delicate bite, she licked her lips.

"Delicious," she said quietly. "Thanks."

© 2016 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting - Schooled by Love

I am a big fan of first meetings, or the Meet Cute as they are called in romantic comedies. These often set the tone for the relationship, and tell us a lot about how the couple will interact with one another later in the story. In the case of Lake Palmer and Brooke Preston, their first meeting is a little bumpy, but luckily for them, they smooth things over. When Brooke walks into the library where he works, Lake sees a tall, gorgeous redhead and is immediately attracted. Unfortunately, his unintentional leer puts her off and she overreacts.

Tucking in my shirt and running my hand over my hair, I walked over, smiling.

"May I help you, Miss?" My mama raised me to be a Southern Gentleman. It mostly took.

Her expression was chilling, making all those glib remarks I had planned to say dissipate like clouds in a stiff wind.

"If you think you're man enough," she smiled coldly. "Sure. I need to do research on human sexuality."

I gulped, thinking how I'd love to help her research the good, old fashioned way. That line of thought halted abruptly when I was the cold challenge in her icy blue eyes. She wanted me to make just one scandalous comment. She'd be all over that. Crappy as it is, I need this job, so I swallowed my tacky comments.

"Certainly," I cleared my throat and rubbed my hands together nervously. "Are you familiar with our computer catalog system?"

"Would I be asking for your help if I was?"

"Big no, Jobu," I muttered as I led her to the computers, thinking that was totally unfair. I had offered my help.

"It has listings of everything we have here, the specialized collection next door, the city library and all the college libraries in the state."

"Peachy," she sat down in the chair I held for her. "Just show me how to work it."

I wouldn't normally have tolerated her attitude, but my boss was watching me. He's sure I'm a slacker and sometimes he's right. He has this sixth sense and knows when I'm about to screw up. So instead of telling the beautiful, lethal, frigid bitch exactly what I thought of her human sexuality, I sat next to her, careful to keep my hands in plain sight so my boss wouldn't get the wrong idea.

The computerized catalog is buggy and opened up slowly. Ice Princess acted like it was all my fault. She checked her watch for the third time as it finally filled the screen. She relaxed slightly, wiggling in her seat to find a more comfortable angle. Impossible to do in these chairs. They are molded plastic and must be made a Calvin Klein model or a five year old's ass, because no one else fits. I sensed that was about to become the new complaint, so I waited impatiently for the search engine to load.

"Could we speed this up? I've got a class in an hour. I don't want to be late."

"Is it my fault it's the shittiest computer program in the history of man? Try Zen meditation, Princess. It's working for me."

Mentally kicking myself in the balls, I typed in her subject quickly, hitting the enter key harder than necessary. I could feel a flush of anger and embarrassment burning my ears and knew she could see it too. My brown hair is clipped short for the summer heat. Even with my tan, it's obvious when I blush, because I turn a nasty shade of vermilion.

A sneer of satisfaction tugged her full, luscious, lips. The first page came up on the screen. I turned to Ice Princess with a fake smile plastered on my face, giving her the shtick about how to use the system.

"Use the function keys to move between pages. There's a sheet at the base of the monitor to help you navigate. Don't use the web page back button, use the on screen commands or it will crash on you. The program is buggy as hell. If you need any further help, I'd be happy to assist you."

"Will you really?" Her tone was snotty and condescending as hell. "I doubt that."

Smiling as nicely as I could, a cold fury burning in my eyes, I forced myself to speak politely. "If it will help to speed your research, Miss, I'd be more than happy to help you."

If it will just get you out of my fucking library, I'll research your subject myself! That's what I was thinking, but I didn't dare say it. My boss would be all over that like flies on shit. He can read lips. Even if I whispered it, he'd know.

"Peachy," she said again, tossing her long, wavy, hair practically in my face.

She smelled fantastic and her top was cut to reveal way more cleavage than it was polite for me to look at over her shoulder. This girl was a walking human sexuality research project all by herself. Why she needed any books on the subject, I didn't know. Something about her made me want to slobber all over her and do nasty things to every part of her body.

I forced myself to walk away before I said or did something outrageous and got myself fired.

© 2016 Dellani Oakes

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First Meetings - We Are the Champions

I am a big fan of first meetings, or the Meet Cute as they are called in romantic comedies. These often set the tone for the relationship, and tell us a lot about how the couple will interact with one another later in the story.

Asher Wilkinson is an actor with an improv group, much like Whose Line Is It Anyway, that performs at a local club. They each take turns acting as MC and this night, it's Hansel's turn. Gay and in a committed relationship, Hansel always likes to look out for the romantic interests of his friends. As MC, he chooses participants from the audience and tonight, he chooses the lovely, poised Ruby for Asher to improvise a song about her job.

Asher grinned, waving as the ladies cheered. Hansel made a big show of choosing someone from the audience, but Asher knew he'd made his decision before the show even started. An attractive, well groomed woman rose from her table three tiers up. Hansel met her, holding her hand as he asked her name and profession. She was average height, with walnut brown hair and melted chocolate eyes. Her full lips were tinged ripe cherry red. Her figure was trim, but well padded in all the right places.

"Hi, I'm Hansel." He held out his hand, taking hers.

"Ruby," she replied in a well modulated alto.

"What do you do, Ruby?" Hansel asked.

"Spend other people's money," she said with a toss of her long, brown hair.

"Oh, really? That sounds fun. Are you an identity thief?" Hansel teased.

"Yes, is it that obvious?" She pretended to be shocked.

Hansel chuckled.

"Actually, I'm a personal shopper for obscenely wealthy people."

"They pay you—to shop?" Hansel put his hand on his chest. "Be still my heart! That's a dream job!"

"Free trips to Paris, Milan, New York—Yep, it's pretty sweet!"

"Well, Ruby, the Personal Shopper. Asher here is going to sing you a song. Would you like that?"

"I can't think of single a thing I'd like more." Ruby walked up the two steps to the low stage, stopping in front of Asher. Her dark brown eyes gave him a once over from his short blond hair, to his blue eyes, brilliant smile, broad shoulders and down. Did her eyes linger on his fly a moment longer than they had on his face? Biting her lip, she took his hand. Asher grinned, ducking his head, trying to keep his face from showing his delight in meeting her.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Ruby." He let the slow, Southern drawl elongate his words.

"Ooh, a Southern Man! Sexy," she whispered as she sat.

Marissa glared at Asher before beginning to play. Hansel hadn't specified what genre the song was to be, so she chose the one she knew Asher liked the least, boogie-woogie. It wasn't that he objected to the genre, per se, but he found the rhythm hard to put lyrics to.

"This might take me a second," he whispered to Ruby.

"Take your time. I'm easy," she replied, winking at him.

Suddenly, the lyrics began in his head. "Oh, Miss Ruby, you done stole my heart. Oh, Miss Ruby, you done tore me apart. Fly home, Ruby, from Milan. Tell me, baby, that I'll be your man. My girl, Ruby, she likes to spend money. I'm sure sorry, I ain't got much, honey. . . ."

Instead of sitting still on the stool, Ruby got up, took his hand and started dancing. Asher took full advantage of the situation, swinging her around the stage, showing off his dance skills. The lyrics forgotten, they danced another minute or two until Marissa got to the end of the song and abruptly stopped playing.

Applause was uproarious. Ruby's friends started a standing ovation. Asher twirled Ruby under his arm, catching her before lowering her into a dip so deep, the ends of her hair touched the floor. Raising her slowly, he held her close. Ruby lost her balance, swaying toward him. He steadied her and she pressed one palm to his chest. Asher closed his eyes for a second, inhaling her scent, before releasing her. Hansel saw her back to her seat and Asher stood on the stage, watching her walk away.

© 2016 Dellani Oakes

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First Meetings - It Takes a Thief

I am a big fan of first meetings, or the Meet Cute as they are called in romantic comedies. These often set the tone for the relationship, and tell us a lot about how the couple will interact with one another later in the story.

Jason Banes is a thief, however, he's found himself on the wrong end of a murder charge. He admits to the accompanying theft, but maintains his innocence in the multiple murders he's charged with. When compelling evidence comes out that he's telling the truth, he's released into FBI custody in order to help them find the person who is ultimately responsible, the elusive Orchid. Unfortunately, Special Agent in Charge Taylor Driscole, doesn't seem very happy to meet him.

The woman was medium height with an athletic build. Her hair was an average shade of light brown, worn in a sloppy bun as if she couldn't be bothered to style it. Her eyes were a common shade of blue, her complexion and looks attractive, but not impressive. She carried herself like a professional and her silvery gray suit coat bulged slightly under her left arm. She wore loose fitting, low riding pants that matched the jacket. Her shirt was stark white. She wore a tie; narrow, silk, gunmetal gray. Her makeup was minimal, severe. She had dark sunglasses perched on her head.

Putting the glasses to her teeth, she bit on the end a moment before speaking. "So, this is him, huh?" She looked at Jason like she was inspecting disappointing livestock.

"Jason Banes," he said, stepping forward with his hand extended through the bars.

The men flanked the woman putting themselves in front of her like a wall.

"Cool it, guys. He can't hurt me from in there." She stepped forward, extending her hand.

Her nails were short, unpolished, well manicured. Her grip was strong, her fingers and palms calloused. Jason got the impression that she could kick his ass too. He took her hand, meeting the intensity of her grasp with equal pounds per square inch. His disarming smile flashed, making no impression whatever on the young woman.

"And you are?"

"Special Agent in Charge, Taylor Driscole."

"You're Agent Driscole?" He grinned, still holding her hand. The other hand went immediately to his head. Long fingers brushed his curly hair out of his face. "I was expecting a chap. Nice to meet you."

"This isn't a social visit, Mr. Banes."

"Jason," he corrected automatically.

"Mr. Banes," she said firmly. "You're to be released in my custody. The men and I will escort you to a secure location. They're setting up surveillance and checking security now."

"All right. How soon do we leave?"

"I've got a few more papers to sign, then you're officially my headache."

"I won't be one, I promise. I'm house broken and I do know how to treat a lady."

He wasn't really trying to flirt, but Special Agent Driscole seemed to think he was overly familiar. She snatched back her hand, glaring at him.

"Get him ready," she told the men with her. "Move into position," she said to the cuff of her jacket.

"Yes, ma'am," her entourage replied in chorus.

Driscole strode to the door, slapping it with her palm, knocking it aside angrily.

"What's biting her?" Jason asked the men quietly.

The meat shield shrugged, exchanging a knowing look. Jason wasn't sure, but he had the uneasy feeling they might be laughing at Driscole, him or both.

He was cuffed, with his wrists in front of him, and escorted to the elevator. Driscole was nowhere to be seen, but she and more security men were waiting in the parking garage. Jason was led off the elevator, surrounded by a walking wall of muscle. He'd never seen so many big, well armed men in his life. Each man had a weapon in his hand. They all looked around carefully, checking for unknown menace. Jason didn't know whether to feel very safe or very, very afraid.

Two black SUV's were waiting a few feet away. He was taken to a vehicle and put inside. He was flanked by two members of the meat shield. Agent Driscole climbed up front and the rest of the team got in the second vehicle. She contacted the other driver and they took off.

"Why is it you lot like black?" he asked the agents.

"What?" the man on his left asked.

"Black," Jason replied airily. "Could we be anymore obvious? Do you chaps buy every black SUV in America?"

The man on the left looked puzzled, the man on the right and the driver chuckled. Driscole stared straight ahead. Jason shrugged. He wiggled around trying to get comfortable, but his companions took up most of the seat. He was more of a wiry build himself, but he had very broad shoulders. Feeling slightly claustrophobic, he wiggled some more.

Mr. Left gave him an evil eye. Mr. Right eased slightly toward the door, angling his shoulders so the each had a little more room.

"Thanks," Jason murmured, smiling a little.

The man said nothing, but nodded and a smile flickered for a second and was gone.

"May I ask where we're going?" Jason directed at the group.

No one said anything. Driscole shifted in her seat, ignoring him.

"Oi," Jason said rather more loudly. "I know I'm a criminal, but I think I've got a right to know if I'm going to be safe. Might I point out, that you need me—rather a lot?"

Driscole glared at him over her shoulder. Firming her lips, she inhaled slowly. "Look, Mr. Banes. I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here to protect you. The less you know about our destination the better."

"What? Am I going to yell out the windows and give it away? Who am I gonna tell, Special Agent in Charge Taylor Driscole? Eh? And while we're having this lively repartee, perhaps you could ask one of the kind gentlemen to undo the handcuffs? I assure you, I'm not inclined to go anywhere. Besides, they'd break me in two before I even got to a door or disabled the driver—not that I know how to do that in any case. I'm a thief, not an assassin."

© 2016 Dellani Oakes

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The Meet Cute from Crime Makes an Entrance

The movies call first meetings, in romantic comedies, the Meet Cute. I think that's a stupid term and didn't even know what it was, until I heard it mentioned in some program and had to go look it up. Even if I'm not a fan of the Meet Cute term, I am a big fan of first meetings. These often set the tone for the relationship, though not always. One such meeting springs to mind, from my (as yet unpublished) novel, Crime Makes an Entrance.

In this novel, I was trying something different. I saw so many romance novels that started with the two main characters hating one another, I thought I'd give it a try. I couldn't sustain it, mostly because the characters wanted to be together. Yes, there were still misunderstandings and arguments, but they genuinely wanted to be together and not fight. I thought that their first meeting was really fun, though, despite the fact that it doesn't go well.

Dino chuckled, enjoying Deacon's frustration too much. "I guess it's fine to tell you now. I was able to get Hillary K. Du Champs."

The name was not unknown to Deacon, he had heard it often enough in theater circles up north.

"Hillary Du Champs? Sounds like a little, old French lady with a bad accent."

Deacon went on in some detail watching Dino's smile suddenly fade. Turning around, he saw a petite, auburn haired woman glaring up at him. She held three or four large bags which she dropped almost on Deacon's feet.

Dino's smile was artificial, his tan turned a few shades lighter. "Deacon Stewart, I'd like to introduce you to our lighting designer," he gulped. "Hillary Du Champs."

Deacon held out his hand, taking his cap off his head. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Du Champs."

She glared at him and didn't take his proffered hand. "Don't mind me," she said with a strong Australian accent, "I'm just a little, old French lady with a bad accent!"

Deacon sighed, realizing he had put his foot in deeply this time. As penance, he picked up three of the bags, Ms. Du Champs snatched the smallest off the floor before he could touch it.

"Who's the flunky?" she directed impolitely at Dino.

She walked ahead of Deacon, beside Dino who shortened his stride to compensate for her lack of stature. She couldn't be much over five feet tall, Deacon thought. He'd never gotten along well with little women. They tended to be bossy and arrogant, with something to prove.

Deacon was around six foot three and lanky of build. His dark blond hair was curly, unruly and a constant source of aggravation to him. His blue eyes were rimmed with dark eyelashes, giving him a sleepy look. In high school, he'd been mistakenly accused of being stoned more often than he could count.

In an act of defiance of his military foster father, he'd gotten plugs in his ears and an eyebrow pierced. Several tattoos decorated his arms and another on his right buttock, a challenge from a college friend one night when they were too drunk to give a shit. He was sure he presented a bedraggled figure to the compact, attractive and well groomed woman ahead of him. Not quite the picture of a well qualified professional man.

He noted absently that she had a great figure and a nice, tight ass, which distracted him so much, he nearly ran into the door jam as the automatic door slid open. He set the bags down as they waited for the elevator and looked down at Hillary.

"I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't realize you were there."

"And that makes it all right to insult me, as I can't hear you? You're an uneducated buffoon, Mr. Whatever. I hope to have as little contact with you as possible. So just do your job, tote the bags and don't talk to me!"

Deacon's temper nearly got the better of him, but the elevator arrived giving them a few moments of struggle as they pulled her bags on board and hit the button for the parking garage.

Getting to the car, Dino opened the back and Deacon loaded the bags into the luggage space. He tried to open the door for Ms. Du Champs, but she walked pointedly away from him. He slid in the front seat himself, shutting the door in her face.

"Now see here," she reprimanded him. "Since when does the flunky sit in the front seat and the professional woman sit in the back seat with the cooler?"

Deacon rolled his eyes in her direction, giving her a scathing look before lowering the brim of his cap over his eyes, resuming his relaxed travel position. "Since the flunky is the technical director of the theater and the professional woman is being a snooty bitch." He said firmly, fastening his seat belt with an abrupt snap.

Dino started the car and took off in his usual cavalier style. Ms. Du Champs was silent for some time, just trying to stay in an upright position while Dino drove down the ramps at forty miles an hour. He cut into the outgoing traffic and sped into the night, zipping in and out of traffic seemingly at random.

"Really, Dino, do you have to drive so carelessly?" She was griping at him now, leaving Deacon off the hook for the time being.

"It's better when you don't look," Deacon murmured, sliding lower into the seat.

Fortunately, they get over their snit and develop a tightly bonded relationship. I have to admit, I really like this pair. They have some spark and fire to them that some of the other couples don't have. I haven't gotten this story out yet, but I will one day. Yes, I keep saying that.... But yes, it will happen! I promise!

© 2016 Dellani Oakes