I’m almost ready to send my edits back in on Candy, Stripped, my New Adult Contemporary book releasing Dec. 9th and I’m SO EXCITED about it I wanted to post a snippet here.
Candy, Stripped is the story of a graduate creative writing student and teaching assistant who writes erotic romance under a pseudonym. She struggles to keep her identity hidden from her academia life while also trying not to fall for her cute student.
My editor called this scene- HOT! Enjoy!
I logged in to my Candy Facebook Fan Page and posted, “Sorry for the absence lovely readers, but I’ve been steaming it up a little in real life so I can be even steamier for you on the page.” I copied and pasted it into my twitter.
It was the most truthful I’d been to anyone in weeks and it wasn’t lost on me that it was because my readers who I loved and interacted with had no idea who or what I was actually like in real life. I could tell them that because it was a Candy truth.
Too bad a Candice truth was that after Candy posted that she was going to cyber-stalk the guy she was steaming it up with. Who she should have just called to ask him how he felt instead of trying to decipher it through the language, likes and (no pun intended) pokes of Facebook.
I clicked into my friends and then into his page. James Walker: Student at the University of Miami, 506 friends—more than half girls, which considering he was like a modern version of James Dean minus the angst wasn’t surprising. What was surprising? That even with all these little lady-faces stacked up like a Jenga game on his profile, he wanted to be with me.
I scrolled down, relationship status: It’s complicated. That was the understatement of the year and different than it had been when he first friended me.
What I didn’t know was when exactly he changed that. What I couldn’t know unless I told him I’d been stalking him was if it about me. I kept scrolling down. Looking for something, anything that would give me some shred of information.
I almost fell out of my chair when a chat window with James’ picture popped up.
You’re checking out my profile aren’t you? It said. The little green circle next to his avatar almost mocking me, a circular mouth singing na-na-na-na-na I caught you.
It felt like my heart had popped out of my chest and was flopping around on my keyboard. How could he know that? Could he know that?
I might have just ignored the message, but he knew I was online. My little green circle was lit up too—stupid Facebook chat default. It was also the first contact we’d had since the restaurant and I did want to know what he was thinking even if I didn’t want to admit it.
What? I wrote. As in what are you talking about? My heart still thumping on the keyboard with a beat that repeated yeah right, yeah right, yeah right.
You’re an even worse liar in print, he wrote.
My face ignited, scorching down my neck and chest, especially when I realized that I was still clicked into his profile. That our chat window was right on top of it; could have been making sweet, sweet love to it. I switched back to my profile quickly.
It’s okay, he typed, I was looking at yours.
He meant my Candice one, which I never used except to stalk other people.
Really? I typed before I could stop myself. It was what I was thinking, but wow, I was so not following my roomate Mandy’s advice.
Yup, I have been since you friended me. You don’t post a lot.
I could make you a lot busier.
He didn’t directly bring up what happened in the alley behind the restaurant, so I didn’t either. Truthfully I was kind of glad.
I’m listening. I could have played hard to get, but considering how easy I’d played it already, it seemed silly.
I’m surprised you haven’t changed your relationship status.
I don’t have a status to update, I wrote, a buzz filled my chest, a fever flitting like a bee, spreading warm and gooey honey into my stomach and down to my thighs.
I can tell you right now. You’re not single.
What am I?
Why don’t you come over to my apartment and find out?
I watched my cursor blink once, twice unsure what to write back. I wanted to, badly. I checked the clock. It was 2:00am. Mandy wasn’t here, so I couldn’t use her car.
What was worse? Accepting a booty call via Facebook and walking miles to get there, or doing it out in an alley and then going back in and eating your dinner like nothing happened?
Did it even matter at this point?
It’s late, I wrote.
How about a little nightcap? he typed back, like we’d rehearsed this before.
I understood he wasn’t asking me to go to his apartment anymore. He was asking me to be with him here, on Facebook staring at his little avatar while he stared at mine. He was asking me to do what I’d done alone in my dorm room in college at the same time he did.
I heard Candy’s voice, It’s just Cyber-sex Candice I mean you already jumped the guy, twice.
I couldn’t hear Candice’s voice over the buzz in my head.
Sounds hot, I wrote, suddenly feeling that way.
It is hot tonight. I only have my boxers on. How about you?
I could see him. That body: the perfect circle of his pecs and lines of his abs, the triangle of his waist. I felt my breath start to get heavy. The familiar tug and ache in my abdomen.
Panties and a bra, I wrote without even thinking about it. I guess Candice could be Candy when she was typing the words; when a guy like James was on the other side of the screen.
I looked down. I was in black yoga pants and a ripped Foo Fighters T-shirt. I thought about lingerie I owned, Pink, pale rose pink.
Sexy, he wrote. Describe them.
Underwire lace push up bra, matching sheer lace thong, thin as tissue paper, I wrote, wanting to do everything he told me to do.
Take them off.
You take them off, I wrote because it was definitely sexier than okay, even if it was what I was thinking.
Slowly my hands search the skin of you belly. I slide one finger in the waist band of your panties and snap them before gripping them and pulling them down to your pelvis; rolling them off of one leg, then the other, my lips, my tongue, my breath, following the whole way.
I couldn’t even write back. I just needed him to tell me what he was going to do to me next. I found the small blue vibrator I’d gotten at Eroticon and slid it under the fabric of my pants. All the way down to where I wanted James to touch me.
You know that Chekov quote about putting a loaded gun in the first act? I guess this was what happened when you put a vibrator there.
They’re off, he wrote, on the floor next to you. I also unhooked your bra.
And you’re just sitting there?
No, he wrote, I’m checking out every perfect part of your body, absorbing you, trying to keep myself from consuming you too quickly.
I don’t think I can wait much longer, I wrote. Surprised how adept I was at typing with one hand. It was me touching me and him touching me. What happens now?
Now? he typed, I’m coming over.
ADD CANDY, STRIPPED ON GOODREADS: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18183828-candy-stripped