Where to start after all this time? To my fans/readers wondering what the hell happened to me (or maybe it’s entirely possible that NO ONE gives a shit where I’ve been and/or missed me, which is more likely the case! 🤣) I’ve taken a HUGE step back from not only writing but reading as well. I think life ebbs and flows and sometimes I’m really on top of my writing game, banging out words like a motherfucking machine, responding to emails, posting on social media, etc., and other times, well, I’m not. Nothing in particular happened; no major personal or family issue, no unexpected financial burden, nothing out of the ordinary…I’ve just been busy living my life.
Hobbies change, interests change, and I know everything will return full circle. For the past six, seven, eight, months, where I would have spent reading and/or writing, I’ve spent focusing on my health; preparing meals (doing this thing called cooking, rather than grabbing takeout!) and sweating my ass off riding my Peloton cycle bike every freaking day (and loving every second of it btw!) Which is awesome, amazing, fantastic, but it also takes time. A HUGE amount of time.
Writing is a passion of mine, but (unfortunately) it’s not the way I support myself. I *wish* I could spend more time writing all the words, but after working a full-day, cooking, cleaning up after dinner, exercising, and showering, I’m freaking exhausted. <– Working women I know you can relate!
That’s not to say, I’ve stopped writing completely, I’m just not as fast I’d like to be 🙂 I’d like to share a snippet from one of WIPs (you read that correctly: WIPs. As in more than one work-in-progress because I start a million different projects at once!)
This WIP is a standalone college romance, sports romance that I’m anticipating releasing late March/early April.
I have a title in mind, but I’m not fully committed to it yet, so for now, let’s call it Untitled. 😉
Please remember that this is raw, unedited, and subject to change!
I’d love to hear what you think in the comments 🙂 Happy reading!
Disclaimer: This work is Coypyright © 2018 by CJ Martín. All Rights Reserved
No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of CJ Martín. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All characters and storyline are the property of the author and your support and respect are appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Untitled – Excerpt
Her eyes flash with surprise as I continue to stare at her. I hold her gaze a few moments longer than is comfortable, but I don’t care because she’s fucking beautiful in the most understated, best possible way. She looks nothing like I remembered her from the locker room yet exactly how I remembered her: tiny, delicate, sweet yet spicy.
I’m not gonna lie, I looked her up on Snapchat. And when I couldn’t find her profile, I checked Instagram and Twitter. I felt like one of the team Tigettes creeping on her profile like some stalker, but I had to know more about her. Had to know what she was about.
Unfortunately, when I did find her, after twenty minutes of searching no less, her profile was set to private. I’d expected that. What I didn’t expect was her profile pic to be a painting. You’ve got to be kidding, I muttered to myself after clicking on the link. All that work and I couldn’t even get a lousy picture of her.
But today, seeing her in person, I’m actually glad that I couldn’t check her out online because I know without a doubt a picture wouldn’t have done her justice. My eyes drag across the length of her body. She wears slim black pants and a dark grey sweater with the word “love” written in white across the chest that flows into an infinity sign. Her heeled black boots add a few inches to her height, but she’s still tiny. I can put her in my pocket.
Her chestnut hair is down, tousled and loose from the wind. She shifts awkwardly and stretches the ends of her sweater over her hands. “You’re staring.” She half-says, half-whispers and her voice jolts me back to the present.
“I’m…” I start but the reporter calls our names cutting me off. “Jax. Brook.”
“Brooklyn.” The heat in her voice as she corrects him surprises me. I arch a brow but she ignores my silent question and moves toward the space that the news crew has cleared.
“Okay. Let’s get a couple of shots with Coach Paulson and the two of you.” Brooklyn stands stiff and rigid, face unsmiling. Truth be told she looks like she’s about to throw up.
“Relax,” I whisper as I smile at the camera. “This won’t take long.”
She keeps her body angled forward but directs her words at me. “Is that what you tell all of the girls?”
Shock courses through me at the jab. I was not expecting that. But it takes me only a moment to come to my senses. “Why don’t you come back to my place and find out?”
She snorts but it dies on her lips when the cameraman directs. “Okay, just Brook and Jax now.”
Her eyes dart to the cameraman and if looks could kill he’d be a dead man. “Brooklyn.”
The cameraman ignores her and snaps a few photos. “Okay,” He changes the angle of the lens. “A little closer.”
“Gladly,” I murmur. Deciding to push my luck, I sling an arm around her shoulders.
“Try not to get your sweat all over me.” She huffs as her body stiffens alongside me.
“What?” I pull her a little closer so that my we’re pressed together from heel to chest. I resist the urge to rub against her, but only because it’d be totally inappropriate and I don’t want the gesture captured on film. “Nothing wrong with a little sweat.”
“Great.” The cameraman says and as soon as he’s turned away Brooklyn swats my chest. She makes a face when she realizes that I’m still wearing my protective pads and I’ve felt nothing. She stomps her foot. She’s so fucking cute. I’m still stuck on that thought as she begins to walk away.
Finally, my body catches up with my brain. “Hey.” I jog to catch up with her. Holy fuck her little legs move fast. “Hey!” I call again. “Wait up.”
“What?” She stands alongside a skinny dude who can only be described as a hipster. I don’t recognize his face from around campus. Fuck, the art department is like a whole other species. But then a more sinister thought occurs to me. Maybe this guy is her boyfriend.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” I question, gesturing to the hipster dude, the entire time hoping, praying, she’ll say he’s only a friend. Or a cousin. Or a… I don’t give fuck who he is so as he’s not her boyfriend.
“No.” She shakes her head. “We were just leaving.”
The guy’s eyes dart between Brooklyn and me. After a moment’s pause, he says, “Corey Winters.”
“Corey!” Brooklyn shrieks.
“Nice to meet you.” I tip my chin. “You a student here?”
“No.” Corey laughs and shakes his head. “Not at all.”
My eyes drift to Brooklyn who looks like she’s ready to throat punch Corey. Based on their body language they don’t seem as though they’re together but I can’t be sure. Some people aren’t into PDA.
“Good game,” Corey says.
There’s an awkward pause and finally, Brooklyn says. “We’re gonna go.”
“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. I’m debating whether or not it’d be a dick move to ask for her number. I mean, if Corey’s her boyfriend then yeah it would be, but neither of them has given any indication that they’re a couple. Don’t you think one of them would say something? Fuck it. “Can I get your number?”
Her nose scrunches. “Why?”
I look at her and Corey. No jealous outburst. No clenched fist. No reaction, at all. I smile at Brooklyn. “So I can call you.”
“Why?” She questions again.
Seriously? I may be tired but I know I’m not that off my game. It’s more than obvious the reason I’m asking.
“Jesus,” Corey hisses. Shit. Maybe I misjudged the situation after all. But goddamnit if I didn’t think Brooklyn would have better taste than to date a guy with a man bun. Maybe she’s into artistic dudes.
I’m just about to walk away when Corey speaks. He holds his cell phone in one hand. “What’s your number?”
I repeat the digits without thought, but then it occurs to me, Why does her boyfriend want my number?
“Done.” He says and slips his cell back into his jeans. I watch, closely, as he stuffs the phone into his pocket because honestly, I don’t know how it fits. His jeans are tighter than my football pants.
“I texted you her number.” Corey spins toward Brooklyn. “Can we please go now?” His voice is dramatic and a touch whiny.
“Thanks, man.” I hold my fist up for Corey to pound, which he does, rather reluctantly.
“Unbelievable,” Brooklyn mutters and turns to me. “Don’t call me.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t.” I draw an “X” over my heart. “I promise.”
She grumbles under her breath and loops her arm with Corey’s.
A huge smile lights up my face as they walk away.
A phone call may be off the table. But she never said anything about texting…