What can I say about WIP Wednesday besides it being the day of the week designated for sharing works in progress? By next week I hope to have graphics made for each of our themed days of the week. At this time, I would also like to extend an invitation to authors who might want to share their WIPs to drop me a line at Layladorine13@outlook.com or message me through Facebook at Author Layla Dorine. We would love to feature your work here at Rainbow Lyrics and Mellow Mushrooms.
Today I bring you A Little Christmas: Ajay's Secret which will be coming to you on December 1. The A Little Christmas collection is a shared world in which a secret must be revealed as a Daddy and his little come together during the holiday season.
That
had been the part that rankled Walker the most. He’d bared his heart to Micha
and told him things he’d never shared with anyone else. He’d trusted him, loved
him, and been so callously betrayed by him that even now he couldn’t spend time
with another without dissecting everything they did, looking for those hidden
tells he’d missed with Micha.
Never
again.
He
would not be led around and made a fool of.
No.
You’ll just sabotage a good thing.
Ren’s
words echoed through his mind, one part admonishment, the other disappointment.
That was fine. He could live with it far more than he could handle wasting his
time with another gold digger.
As
he crossed the final street before the office, he caught sight of a stunningly
handsome young man with purple hair and a shimmering twilight hued guitar.
Rising and falling, his voice drew out the final words to Please Come Home
for Christmas to the delight of the crowd that had gathered around him. They
weren’t stingy with their applause, or the crumpled bills and change they
tossed in the open guitar case on the ground at his feet. There was no denying
that his voice was beautiful. Even Walker, who abhorred the predictably
repetitive carols that haunted the season, was tempted to linger.
Brilliant
green eyes met his as the tip of a pierced pink tongue flicked out and ran
along the edge of the guitarist’s lips. Had he been on his knees, with all that
long, purple hair held tight in Walker’s fist, he’d have called it a fuck me
gaze and given the guitarist all he could handle and then some, but out here it
just read as a plea for money.
When
the guitarist launched into a soulful rendition Silver Bells, Walker froze, the
low, sad, mournful request to let them ring, wasn’t a part of the
traditional song, but that wasn’t what had stolen his attention. Something in
the tone and that voice sent a shiver down his spine as a memory swum up from
the depths of his mind.
Cold
pavement beneath his knees, damp seeping through the cloth of his pants, his
hands, frantic, clutching Eli’s fingers, pressing his coat over the multitude
of bleeding wounds that covered him while be pleaded for Eli to hang on. Those
eyes, always so bright and filed with joy and life were pain filled and dull,
fading as they fluttered open and closed. A song echoed through his mind,
unfamiliar words haunting him even now. Someone slammed into his shoulder and staggering
he shook his head, trying to clear it of the memory.
“Get
a real job ya looser!” someone bellowed, jarring Walker free from the past and
bringing him firmly back into the present. Frowning, he turned away from the
sight of the singer, who’d launched into the more cheerful and upbeat chorus of
the song, and nearly bumping into a man in an impeccably tailored overcoat in
the process.
It
took Walker a moment to realize that the voice, and coat, belonged to Greg
Chambers, a fellow executive in his firm. The man had been a boil on Walker’s
ass for almost as long as he’d been with the company. In the early days, Walker
had been drawn into his circle, accepting the back slaps and gregarious
laughter until he’d come to recognize the spirit it was done with. Everything
had taken on a different context then, and a sense of wrongness coupled with the
echo of his mother’s admonishment his head, reminding him that he hadn’t been
raised to treat others that way. He’d distanced himself from the man after that,
which had resulted in several verbal jabs being lobbed in his direction and the
loss of a project he’d hoped to have the chance to lead. They’d had it out over
that organic soda account, with Greg coming out the victor, much to Walker’s
chagrin. Since then, Greg went out of his way to point out Walker’s few, and
often times minimal and inconsequential mistakes, which irked him to no end.
Now,
however, Greg was shooting him a sidelong glance that just reeked of something dark
and conspiratorial. Whatever it was, Walker wanted no part in it. Not when the
man already made his skin crawl.
“What
the hell are our tax dollars going for if the police can’t keep derelicts like
that from cluttering up our streets?” Greg grumbled as they headed up the steps
outside their building.
“He’s
not hurting anything.”
Greg
snorted and narrowed his eyes at Walker as they stepped into the lobby of the
building. “No, just disturbing the peace and expecting descent folks to pay him
for it so he can avoid making a proper contribution to society. Do you think he
pays taxes on what he collects? Of course he doesn’t, but the rest of us sure
as hell have to pony up.”
As
much as he wanted to, it was impossible to argue with Greg when he’d had the
same uncharitable thought himself at seeing the young man out there on the
corner rather than engaged in proper work. Of course, that bright hair coloring
and smattering of facial piercings were likely to make it difficult for him to
land any meaningful employment. As he took the elevator up to his office,
Walker found himself wondering what the young man’s parents thought of his look,
or if he had no one to warn him about the dangers of standing out like that. Such
a shame, he’d be truly stunning without the dye and bling.
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