by Jeremy T. Ringfield
GENRE: New Adult Contemporary Romantic Suspense
This story is about Abram, a hopeless romantic who enrolls into college and begins leaving love notes for the girl, Jec, who works at the front desk of his student apartments. About why they know each other when neither have even met. That's right, she had seen his face only two weeks earlier, when he tossed his book bag in the middle of the street, holding up traffic like a mad homeless man. But what she doesn't know is that just before he came to grab his keys to move in, the handsome albeit strange eyes and the person they belong to had just been released from the county jail.
The jail cell talk without any cameras around to record make his last 51 minutes in the pen with a sketchy bunkmate a do or die conversation that may explain why he became homeless, why he wrote the love letters in the first place, and if both were random at all.
It is the guy from the fire pit of whom Bobby was just joking about that is now approaching the front desk where I sit, and my heart rate begins to decrease as I feel the baritone boomp-boomp in my chest getting slower. But I cannot not look away, for he looks as if he got ran over by a train this morning from this closer view and I am not sure what is about to happen next.
I think, have we not already asked what of vanity is so serious? Or is our ultra-modern scientific understanding unresponsive to the inward call of good will? Does it need a new face?
But there is something underneath the wreckage that is dark, and handsome. I’ve got a secret thing for bad boys, and this one looks like just the right amount of danger.
I inhale a deep slow breath of air just before he begins to speak.
“May I ask for the keys of the apartment I am renting please? Here is my check. My name is Abram Wedger and I am two weeks late from my move-in date.”
I let out a long slow breath.
He is gazing directly into my eyes and for a brief moment I felt I knew.
“Of course” I tell him, and then proceed to retrieve the keys to his apartment in the file cabinet. As I turn in my chair, I clumsily knock the pen holder onto the floor, scattering a few pens and pencils. I blush, then kneel to the floor, placing a knee on the ground as I pick up the utensils that are nearer to my front foot. I hastily return the pen holder to the counter trying to save face before walking to the back office and realizing one of my earrings fell out of my ear.
What is wrong with me?
When I return, he is still standing in the exact same spot, facing in the exact same direction, as if stoic in time, space, and emotion. I swiftly pick my earring up off the floor, and place it into my ear lobe.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Jeremy lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He grew up in the south Atlanta area, where he eventually earned a football scholarship to Duke University. After experiencing enough life to form his own opinions, he enjoys sharing some with friends, reading, watching fantasy riller and romance films, listening to music, and jogging when he is not writing. He writes new adult fiction.
Jeremy would love to hear from you. Follow him on Twitter @JTRingfield, friend him on Facebook, or visit his webpage at www.jeremytringfield.com
One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.
- Character Interview + Where do ideas come from?
(I wanted to combine two of the blog topic ideas into one, since my character, Abram, is a writer):
Hi reader, whoever you are.
I don’t know why I am writing on this blog, but I wanted to take a break from walking outside all day so I stopped by the library to search the internet for a while. I guess this question was appealing, so I’ll share a few thoughts with you reader. I’m not sure where ideas come from, but I’m pretty sure it has a rap sheet. And a long one at that. Let me tell you, every time I come across these ideas, something is going down. Like last year for instance, I met this idea about writing a book. Right off the bat, it was strange as change sitting in the middle of a gas station parking lot. I don’t mean a spare coin or two here and there. I mean, a pile of change big enough to grab a handful. You know that someone had been there before, and its presence both begged my attention as well as shunned me to stop looking. On the one hand, I knew all too well what happens if I approached it. Nobody seemed to be looking so I figured it was safe to just nab a few without seeming so desperate. How wrong it would be to take from someone else’s stash had not occurred to me. I was too focused on what it is that I was saving all these random coins for. But never mind that. I took a few steps, got tunnel vision on the way the sunlight glistened off the metal, thought how I could make use of a few extra quarters, and suddenly that one person that always shows up out of nowhere was staring at my every move. I fake tripped on a flat piece of parking lot that I hoped looked uneven from the bystander’s view to save face. Did you just see that on the ground (wink wink)? Of course I wasn’t grabbing that five dollars and twenty-five cents worth looking pile of change.
So I turned around and heard the voice before I connected the face with the origin of the oratory. “Did you want something to eat? I can buy you something from inside.” Almost bumping into her made my eyes close involuntarily as a thought erupted its way to the surface of my mind.
“Listen you crazy buh-buh, ugh!” – Thud!
And then my eyes opened.
Her beauty was as genuinely pure as the gesture, and I could not have been more embarrassed at the same time for being so wrong about how real I played that stumble off. The homelessness of my attire didn’t even give my fake tripping act a chance to conceal my motivations for being so close to those coins. But if meeting her is like two wrongs not making a right, I’d be happy if this gets worse. Real worse. It turns out that the bad history of these ideas quickly lead to the most wondrous encounters, strange yes, but a beautiful beginning that I never saw coming. I wish I could say the same for my rap sheet. I replied without revealing anything that might give me away, “You sure? I mean, thank you. I’d be grateful if you don’t mind. ” I’d tell you more about what happened to her, reader, but the library is closing and the computers are about to shut down. See ya.