Tracey Kitts asks Why vampires and do they have to be naked?
Friday, October 5th, 2012

A lot of people (relatives in particular) have asked me why I write so much about vampires. I write werewolves too, but vamps seem to draw the most attention. At least, it gets the most questions. The truth is, I write what I like. When I was in school I read every book that had anything to do with vampires. Anything I could get my hands on that had vampires in it, I read it so thoroughly it could be considered studying. I also wrote a few short and semi-erotic stories about werewolves just for fun. Of course, they weren’t up to par with what is considered erotica now, but it was pretty sexy to me and my friends.
I always knew that I wanted to write professionally some day. It wasn’t something that just came to me out of the blue or something I did on a whim. Everything I have ever done in my life I have viewed as “good writing material.” I knew that each experience, whether it was a job or a relationship that went wrong, would somehow end up in my books. In the case of bad relationships, it could be considered therapy. Ha. Ha. Of course, names have been changed to protect the guilty, but there are a few of those along the way.

Since I always knew I wanted to write and I have always been drawn to vampires, it seemed only logical to me that’s what I’d write about. The other question I get even more often than, “Why vampires?” is “Why sex?”

The short answer: Why not?

Now, for something more in depth:  I love science fiction, but find it grossly lacking in sex. Ha. Seriously, I enjoy a good story but what I also enjoy is a good romance. I used to read the really old romances, the ones you could find at garage sales and such. So, they were really outdated and for my tastes, too … sweet. I wanted a heroine who could kick ass and take names. I wanted someone I could identify with. Someone who wasn’t “pure as the driven snow,” and all that crap. I wanted someone real.

Of course, I also wanted a hero who was sexy beyond imagination. I don’t want the guy next door. Let’s face it, unless Hugh Jackman lives next door, none of us are really interested in normal guys, are we?

I also have a deep love of fantasy. So, you take all that, mix it together (shaken, not stirred) and you get paranormal romance. Paranormal romance is really an adventure for women. We just happen to find romance to be part of the adventure.

I write what I like to read. Why would I try to sell something to someone if I didn’t even like it myself? That’s ridiculous. I love vampires and if we get them alone in the story, someone bettertell me what they look like naked! I don’t know about you, but I’d feel cheated otherwise. Of course, I’m okay with waiting for such a moment (like in the case of a series, which I enjoy writing). But once we get there, I want details. Ha. Ha.

The last and probably best answer I could give is this: Writing is wish fulfillment and so is reading. Who hasn’t fantasized about living forever with some gorgeous hunk? Tall, dark and immortal sounds pretty darn good to me. To never grow old, never get sick and die. And let us not forget, eternal love. I think these are all pretty strong fantasies that most people can identify with, even if they don’t get into the whole, “Bite me,” thing.

Unfortunately, in the area where I live most people just see it as macabre. For the rest of the fang baitout there (like myself), please check out my latest release. LOL For everyone else, I do hope we can move beyond that some day.

My latest release is Bitten and it’s available at Amazon.

For more information me and my books, you can find me at www.traceyhkitts.com

Meet the sexy female sheriff!!!!!
Wednesday, October 3rd, 2012

No one writes sexy westerns better than Cerise Deland. Check this out. It’s great bedtime reading.
I Caught the Sheriff
There’s a new sheriff in town with a strong need to show folks who’s boss. But rancher Lex Coltrane has steered things his way too long to let the sassy redhead with the curvy bod run wild. He figures he’d better catch the luscious sheriff and lay down the law.

Lana jumps at the chance to get Lex into her bed and show him what’s really beneath her badge. Show him how she wants him—tough, tender, attentive. Show him how she needs him— fierce, eager and dominant.

Lana knows Lex is always in charge in bed. But who will be in charge out of it?

Excerpt:   

On a one-hundred-degree Fourth of July in south Texas, Lex Coltrane gazed out upon his two burning problems. One stood across the street glaring back at him. He was the crusty old dude who’

d bought the ranch down the road a piece and hogged all the water in High Maria Creek. The other headed toward Lex on a horse. She was a long, tall drink of cool tea by the name of “Red” Foster, the newly appointed local sheriff, who filled out a pair of j

eans like she’d been born in them and who, if she did not help him soon with his neighbor, needed a whipping something bad.

“And I am just the man to give it to you, too,” Lex murmured as he watched her ride past, waving to the Fourth of July crowd like a

prize filly at a beauty pageant.

“Nice piece of horseflesh.” Lex’s buddy Zack Christianson nodded toward the redhead who sat her quarter horse as regal as the barrel-racing queen she had been at fifteen. “She looks even better than when she was the captain

 of the cheerleading squad. That was more than ten years ago. How does she do that?”

“She’s used to the saddle, Zack.”

The way her thighs hug that mount, she’s an expert at controlling animals. Too bad she has failed to ride herd on my new idiot neighbor.

 

“Working as a deputy down in Zapata County, she patrolled the Rio Grande border every day on horseback.” Lex knew because he sat on the county council that had reviewed her resume.

Zack cocked a brow. “She could patrol me every day and I’d be just fine abo

ut it.”

“Dream on, man.”

I do.

 Shifting to calm his cock, Lex watched her pass and kept his eyes glued to her firm little ass. “Word around town is she’s not looking for a man to keep her bed warm at night.”

Zack pushed his white Stetson up his forehead an

d grinned. “Hell, that’s fine by me. I just want a taste of that sugar, not an all-night meal.”

“Your divorce has got you down, Zack. Not good to limit your time with a woman before you’ve even talked to her. Come on,” Lex urged his friend, “let me buy you

 a beer over at the fairgrounds. I want to take a look at a few of the entries in the 4-H competition.”

“I never refuse the offer of a beer and I’m always looking for good stock.” Zack fell in step beside Lex as they strode through town toward the pens on

the fairgrounds.

The crowds were thick, and it just so happened that Lex and Zack kept pace right behind the end of the parade. This, Lex noted with a twist of his lips, allowed him a continuing view of the rear end of the Bandera County Sheriff’s Posse an

d the tight butt of their new boss lady.

But Ted Plumber stepped right in front of him and obstructed his vision.

“Hey, hey, hey, Red!” he called to her above the din of the brass band and the happy crowd. “Hey, baby!”

“Drunk at eleven in the morning?” Zac

k winced. “Hell, Ted’s getting worse every day.”

Lex saw him reach up to pull the sexy sheriff from her saddle. “Oh, brother. Look out now. She won’t stand for that.”

Zack growled. “She shouldn’t either. The long arm of the law doesn’t want to be cuddled.”

“Or manhandled. Come on.” Lex thumped his buddy on the shoulder and plowed his way through the crowd to get to Lana Foster.

He and Zack got to her side just as their very drunk pal was tugging at her long, white shirt sleeve.

“Sir!” She leaned over in the

 saddle to frown at the man who plucked at her clothes. “Take your hands off me.”

“Lana! Baby!” Ted grinned like a slobbering kid. “Come on down here, girl, and gimme a big smacker. Right…” He tapped his puckered lips. “Here.”

“Sir, I am very sorry,” she t

old him in a no-nonsense tone, “but please remove your hands from me.”

“Aw. You remember me! Ted! From high school! Math class. You were so good.” He swept his wide-brimmed cowboy hat from his head in a gentleman’s gesture of respect. “A kiss. Let’s get to

 it.”

“Ted!” Lex looped an arm under Ted’s while Zack took the man’s other arm. “What say we take you home?”

“No! Party’s jush getting started, Lex. Lemme go.” He tugged to get loose.

Lex held him tighter. “You are making a scene here, Ted. Time to go.”

In a wrench that broke him free of Lex and Zack, Ted lurched toward Lana Foster who had, in the meantime, climbed down from her horse.

This time when Ted went to grab her, he got her around the neck.

She yelped, but braced her legs and in a lightning move,

 shrugged and threw the man off her back.

Zap.

 Ted was on the dusty ground, scrambling up, dirty and mad as a wet hen.

Well I’ll be Switched!!!!!
Tuesday, October 2nd, 2012

 Is submission the answer for strong men looking for relief? Is a role reversal the answer for a couple set in a BDSM relationship? Can a woman in control learn to savor submission? Here are six stories in the BDSM anthology switched which Switch is the key word. Come on. Take a walk n the wild side.
Top or Bottom?’ by Desiree Holt


When you think something is missing from your BDSM relationshiop, maybe it’s time to ask ‘top or bottom?’

Both Keith and Shea were looking for something a little different in the BDSM world. Their chance meeting in an adult toy store gave them the opportunity to switch for an afternoon.

But when their playtime was over, would they be fulfilled? And could they go back to their normal roles or would they still crave something more?

Reader Advisory: This book contains active BDSM play and a high degree of smuttiness.




’Mastering Maya’ by Lisabet Sarai


Behind the mask of control hides a spirit aching to surrender.

Mistress Maya bears the nickname ‘The Ice Queen’. Her precision in administering discipline, her skill in evoking a submissive’s devotion, and her unshakable self�control are legendary in the small but active Boston kink community. From the moment newcomer Master Shark sees Maya flogging a sub at Club Inferno, he’s obsessed with her beauty and power. He’d determined to break through her defenses and bring her the same release she grants to the lucky slaves she tops. When Maya dismisses Shark as young and inexperienced, he offers her a challenge: a night together, during which he’ll show her what it means to be mastered. If he fails to bring her to new heights of sensation, he agrees to become her slave. What begins as a test of wills evolves into something deeper and more intense. As the younger man uses his insight and skill to coax Maya into submission, he comes to understand the wounded spirit hiding behind her mask of control. Can he make Maya trust him enough to surrender? Or will the flawless, untouchable dominatrix take possession of his body as well as his heart?
Reader Advisory: This book contains references to gang�rape and the ignoring of a safe word, which take place prior to the start of the book. It also contains scorching scenes of D/s and pain play.


’

Wagers of Sin’ by Elizabeth Coldwell

Selina will never be a true dominant until she learns to submit…and Marcus bets he can show her how.

Selina prides herself on her skills as a dominatrix, with a string of pretty slave boys as her lovers. But these affairs never last, and her equally dominant best friend, Marcus, knows she needs something more. He claims she’ll never be a true dominant until she learns what it means to submit, and during a day at the races, he offers her a wager to prove it. If his horse wins, she must submit to him for a month. If it loses, he’ll switch and become her slave. When the horse takes first place, Selina’s world is turned upside down. Mistress becomes servant, as Marcus puts her through her paces, issuing instructions she’s forced to obey and making her endure the most public of punishments. But Selina can’t deny she loves the feeling of submitting to her gorgeous friend, even as he tests her to her limits. She might have lost the bet, but has she won the love of a true master?
Reader Advisory: This book contains anal play and all the excitement of a day at the races!



‘Still The One’ by Wendi Zwaduk


She’ll be his salvation if he’s willing to switch.

Being stressed out sucks, especially when you’re in charge of a team. Just ask Eric Trask. The pit crew of the Fifty�Four truck team depends on him. The stress of keeping things running smoothly is wearing Eric down. What’s a guy to do to get a little relief? Janine Walters knows exactly what Eric’s up against. She’s the public relations face of the team. Pressure is all a part of the job. Her outlet for stress just happens to be wielding a crop. Can Eric embrace her methods for stress relief or will her suggestion tear their fragile relationship apart?
Reader Advisory: This book contains the use of a crop, spanking, a little bondage, a little pegging, some toys and a woman who knows how to use a strap on to pleasure her man.


’

Switching Off’ by Amy Valenti


With his collar around her throat and her pulse pounding through her body, can she switch off enough to submit to his every whim?

Nina loves her job in middle management�her dominant personality and organisational skills make her indispensable to her employers. But, when her boss puts too many demands on her department, she finds it impossible to leave her job at her desk and enjoy her weekend with her sexy best friend, Jon. When Jon takes away her phone and tells her she’s not allowed to check her emails until Monday morning, Nina challenges his right to order her around. His response is to kiss her into silence, then to order her to her knees. What’s even more startling is that Nina finds herself obeying although not without a fight. Can Jon succeed in getting Nina to switch off her managerial self as well as her phone? Or will she safeword before she can reach the sublime subspace he’s promised to guide her into?
Reader Advisory: This book contains BDSM play and a woman who shirks her duties at work for a kinky two hour lunch tryst shocking!




‘Who Compels My Strength’ by Lauren Gallagher

’
Can switching roles restore their confidence in their Dom/sub relationship, or are these doubts happening for a reason?

After some seemingly open�minded friends turn up their noses at Bridget and Ian’s kinky lifestyle, both start having doubts of their own. Ian wonders if he truly is mistreating his wife, and Bridget can’t shake her friend’s accusation that she’s a wimp and a doormat for letting her husband beat her. To put their worries to bed, Bridget and Ian switch roles. Tonight, she’s in charge, and they’re each walking in the other’s shoes.
But what happens if those shoes don’t fit?

Reader Advisory: This book contains Dominance/submission, pain play (nipple clamps, flogger)


http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1787

Check out the Secrets of a Dangerous Woman
Monday, October 1st, 2012


SECRETS OF A DANGEROUS WOMAN

By

pm terrell


BLURB:  

In Secrets of a Dangerous Woman, Dylan Maguire is back in his first assignment with the CIA: to interrogate recently captured Brenda Carnegie. But when she escapes again, it’s obvious she’s had help from within the CIA’s own ranks. With Vicki Boyd’s assistance, Brenda is back in Dylan’s custody. And now he must find out why some in the highest levels of our government want her dead while others are willing to risk everything to help her. And when he discovers Brenda’s real identity, his mission has just become very personal.

EXCERPT:
  “Who are you running from?” Vicki asked.
Brenda took a deep breath. “I amin trouble. Big trouble.”

“What did you do?”

“Depends on who you ask.” She took a deep breath. “I’m tired, Vicki. Really tired. I need to get off the street. Stay inside for a day or two. Regroup.”

“I’m living in Lumberton now. The woman who owned the house where I’m staying passed away. Her nephew inherited it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah? Where’s he?”

“I live with him. Come home with me. It’s a big house, three stories.”

Brenda frowned as if she was deep in thought. “It’s just you and him there?”

“His name’s Dylan. I’ll tell you all about him on the way.”

She half nodded. “He won’t be taken aback by you bringing me home? I’m a bit more to handle than a stray cat.”

“He’d love to meet you. I promise. He’ll take care of you.”

“He will, will he?”

Vicki blushed. “He’s got a strong sense of family. Besides,” she said as she started to rise, “it’s suppertime and you need to eat. We’ll get something in your belly and you’ll get a good night’s sleep.”

Brenda hesitated only briefly before she rose from the table. “You sure you can handle the intrusion?”

“Positive.”

As they made their way toward the door, Brenda whispered, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

 
AUTHOR INFORMATION:


p.m.terrell is the award-winning, internationally acclaimed author of more than 16 books, including Vicki’s Key, a 2012 International Book Awards finalist, and River Passage, 2010 Best Fiction & Drama winner. She is the co-founder of The Book ‘Em Foundation whose slogan is “Buy a Book and Stop a Crook” and the co-chair of Book ‘Em North Carolina Writers Conference & Book Fair. For more information, visit www.pmterrell.com.

 LINKS:
 www.pmterrell.com
www.pmterrell.blogspot.com

Twitter: @pmterrell

Facebook: Patricia M. Terrell

Can a cover really hurt or help a book? you decide.
Sunday, September 30th, 2012

Never, Never, Never Give Up

It had to be the worst book cover I’d ever seen.

A young, lovely, curvy woman, getting her boobs cupped from a guy who stood behind her as he nuzzled her neck. Her jeans were barely above her see-you-next-Tuesday line and her come hither smirk told anyone looking at the cover that there would be sex a-plenty in this story.
The problem with that, there was hardly any sex in this story, but how would I know that? Because the story was mine.
When I first wrote Worth the Weight, I knew I’d written the best contemporary romance in the history of the romance genre and the best romance deserved a fantastic cover, right?
I looked at the screen again, seeing the woman, the man, and the cupping and I couldn’t do anything but sob.
This isn’t my story.
I called everyone I could think of to ask their advice. One of them was none other than my critique partner, Desiree Holt.
“What am I going to do?” I cried. “It sucks. It totally sucks.”
“Yep, it does,” she answered. “So what do you want to do?”

I didn’t know. I had no idea what to do. I wanted my story in print so badly and yet, I just knew if I let this cover on my baby, it would fail miserably.
Desiree added, “If you want to get published, you’re going to have to have some crappy covers. I know this sucks, but you can accept the cover or pull your book.”

Sucky and suckier—great choices.
I tried to talk to my editor, tell her how the book didn’t match the cover. Her response? “We know what we’re doing. The cover stays.”

After a bottle of wine and a box of Kleenex later, I thought I would suck it up and keep the cover. Ironically, rumors of the publisher filing bankruptcy started circling over the loops and again I asked Desiree for help. “Pull your book,” she told me.
So I did and for years, my book sat there.
The economy tanked and publishers weren’t taking chances on new writers as much as they were before.
I looked over the book again, revised it, and revised it again. I entered it in a few contests and it won one. The agent requested the full manuscript, but never even acknowledged she received the file. Again, a dead end.

Is this book ever going to be sold? Am I just a glutton for punishment? Am I simply nuts to be a writer, especially in a down economy?

About the time I started thinking I should just throw in the towel, walk away, I attended one of my writer’s group meetings. Again, a wonderful friend, Desiree, handed me a refrigerator magnet with Never, Never, Never give up—Winston Churchill on it.
It’s what I needed to keep pushing myself forward. I worked on other stories, kept submitting to critique groups, and continued to push forward.

By this time, I’d revised Worth the Weight and pitched it to a new publisher. Within six weeks, I’d sold it to Soulmate Publishing.
Now, being in the second round of edits, I get my book cover and it’s lovely.
Although it’s been a long journey, it seems my momentum hasn’t wained. My editor wants the next two books as well as another series I wrote while waiting for my first baby to be sold.
Everyday, I see that refrigerator magnet and know no matter how hard things get, no matter how frustrated I feel or how badly book covers might suck, good things do happen for those who weight…I mean wait.
Worth the Weight will be released November 14th, 2012 from Soulmate Publishing.

Excerpt: With brand new cover!!!!!!!

Chapter One

Every new adjustment is a crisis in self-esteem—Eric Hoffer

January 2nd—Saturday

Ever end up in a bathroom stall, in the men’s room, wearing your wedding dress on your wedding day?

“Are you okay in there?” A low voice echoed off the white tiles that decorated the room from floor to ceiling.

I could taste the salt from my tears, as I tried to answer without sobbing … again. “Si.” I followed it with a quick, “Yes, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Um, because you’re in the men’s room.”

“I know.”

He cleared his throat. “You’re in drag … that’s cool.”

“Nope, just a bad day.” I lied through sobs.

My sticky hands still bore the result of a quick get–away. When I grabbed my steering wheel during my escape, I discovered it covered with Vaseline. It certainly made gripping the wheel frustrating. With nothing to wipe my hands on, I’d turned into the first place I found.

A full service car wash.

After deciding on the quick wash, I’d handed over the keys to the attendant and made a beeline to the bathroom, but didn’t bother looking at the sign. It wasn’t until I’d locked myself in the stall, the urinals registered. But before I could leave, I’d heard a cough.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I tried to clean my palms with toilet paper, but the one–ply shredded in my hands. “Dammit. I’m fine. Just peachy.”

“Okay.” The sound of running water helped end the conversation and gave me a minute to collect my thoughts, remembering what transpired not half an hour earlier.

There I was, back in the church, the scene of my disaster.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the man in the starched collar asked.

I answered.

The sparkle in my fiancé’s eyes faded before it dawned on me that something had gone very wrong. He stared at me.

“Did you say no?”

I blinked a few times. “What?”

Glancing sideways through my veil, I saw the pastor biting his lip.

“Did you ask me something?”

“Yes. I. Did.” His enunciation of each word, with staccato precision, made my brothers snicker.

Images of the drunk sister in Sixteen Candles went through my mind as he continued. “Do you.” He pointed to me. “Megan Antonia Sayla, take this man.” He looked at, “Travis Michael Joseph Daniel Carter, to be—“

Travis’ mother cleared her throat. “The fourth.”

“Right.” The minister looked up, mumbled something, then returned to the service. “Travis Michael Joseph Daniel Carter. The fourth.” He smiled in her direction. “To be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I could feel the corners of my mouth lift as I took a deep breath, gazed into Travis’ eyes, and replied, “No.”

Yeah, I heard it that time. “Crap.”

Travis dropped my hands.

“What?” Mom screamed.

“Holy shit.” Dad stood up.

“I toll you, this not work. He not Italian.” My Italian grandmother, Nonna, crossed herself and started saying Hail Mary’s in her native tongue, as her husband, Nonno, woke momentarily, then fell back to sleep.

“Mama. Zitto, per favore.” Turning to his mother, my dad placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back into the pew. “Be quiet.”

Mom’s Danish parents, we affectionately call her Bedste and him Morfar, began to speak to each other in their birth language, saying things like “What the hell just happened here?, Should we call the caterer?”, and “Can you freeze all that rice pudding?”

With all the sudden chaos, I don’t remember much until I ended up in this car wash bathroom talking to a total stranger. I shivered as a gust of frigid, January air whipped through the room. Looking up, I noticed a row of open windows.

The water stopped running and the automatic paper towel dispenser hummed.

“How do I get out of this?” I rubbed my arms with my hands in an attempt to get warm. “Now what do I do?”

A low, masculine chuckle brought me back to reality. “Probably need to get out of the men’s room, first.”

I leaned against the cold, tiled wall and deeply inhaled the cool, lemon–scented air. “Did you ever have one of those days you wish you could start over?”

Silence.

“Are you talking on the phone or to me?”

“You.” Don’t ask what possessed me to talk to a stranger. Being in that stall, I blurted out, “I feel like I’m at confession, so just go with me on this.”

He laughed this time, his rich voice resonating. “That’s a first.”

“What?”

“For me to be referred to as a priest.”

“Seems like a day of firsts. This is the first time I left a man at the altar. The first time I’ve been in the men’s room.”

“Busy day for both of us, especially me, now being a priest and all.”

Silence filled the room, again. When he said nothing else, I assumed he’d decided to leave, until I heard, “What’s troubling you, my child?”

“Seriously?” Did he really want to know? Why? Was he really a priest?

“Sure, unless you’re not Catholic. Then you’re better off going to therapy or drinking.”

I crossed myself. “Forgive me Father, it’s been six months since my last confession.”

“Is that a long time?”

“If you were a man of the cloth, you’d know that’s a horribly long time.”

“Touché.”

I suppressed a giggle. “It can be. Most people go weekly. Daily.”

“Geez, who has time for that much guilt?”

“Apparently, Catholics.”

“I guess I only know happy, guilt–free Catholics.”

“No Catholic is guilt–free. Guilt is part of the tradition.” And I felt plenty guilty today. I twisted the beading of my wedding dress between my fingers.

“You’re Catholic?” he asked.

“More like a Cathalutheran.”

He chuckled. “What’s that?”

“Catholic dad, Lutheran mom. We combined the two to get the best of both worlds.”

“Best of both worlds? Sounds very Hannah Montana–ish.” He cleared his throat. “My niece watches the show.”

“Right. During religious holidays, we have all the traditional food, but we pretend to ignore the sin of gluttony and gossip.” I bit my lip as my heart pounded in my ears. “Hence my six month absence from confession.”

“Right. I’m supposed to say something like ‘Six months? How many sins could you have committed in six months? Come back when,’ um … what does he say again?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Trying to remember how they did it in Zorro.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Which one? The one with Tyrone Powers or with Antonio Banderas?”

“Aren’t they the same? Girl in a box. Guy isn’t a priest. He’s making it up as he goes.”

“Yeah.”. Rarely had I met anyone who knew of the first talking Zorro movie, much less the confession scene. I smoothed down my dress. “Do you need help with the movie line? I’m pretty good at them.”

“No, wait. Next, he asked her if she’d broken any of the Ten Commandments.”

“Something like that.” The corners of my mouth rose. “Forgive me Father, I have broken the fourth commandment.”

“You killed someone?” His accent changed to the melodious sound of the Spanish actor.

“That is not the fourth commandment, Father.”

“Oh, okay. Tell me in what way you broke the most sacred of God’s commandments?”

My parents’ faces flashed across my mind, my brothers, my family. A sob rose in my throat. “I dishonored my mother and father today.”

“That’s not so bad. Maybe they deserved it.”

“What?” I shook my head as I placed my hands over my mouth in an attempt to keep from losing it, again, but tears ran down my cheeks. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Tell me more, my child.”

“I … I don’t know what to say.” I depleted a roll of toilet paper as I tried to dry my face. After a few moments, I realized he’d been silent for a while. “You still there?”

“Yes. This is when he sees her through the screen, isn’t it?”

“Yeah?”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think you want me looking between the stall doors.”

His chivalry surprised me. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’s at the end of the scene before the captain of the guards shows up and screws it up.”

“Yeah, he’s a good bad guy.”

I took a deep breath as I tried to think. He may not want to look through the doors, but I’m generally nosy. No matter what this guy looked like, I was too curious to walk away without seeing his face. Kindness from a stranger had been an unexpected gift in my chaotic day. I needed to put a face with the voice.