Bad News / Good News (and Teaser #3)

Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?

Okay, let's go with bad. Stick with me, because there might be a quiz at the end.

I'm having a rough time with this WIP. I don't believe in writer's block... then again I didn't believe in morning sickness, either, because I didn't have it the first pregnancy. And then I spent the second one throwing up pretty much every day for three months and losing weight the first trimester, at which point I thought, "Huh. Maybe there is something to this morning sickness thing..."

So. Really Bad News: My initial May 25th self-deadline might be pushing it. I don't demand perfection, but I do demand the best that I can do. And if I see that isn't going to happen by that date, I'll adjust accordingly. This isn't just some story I'm telling - this is my career, and it's important that I do it to the best of my ability. For me, that means time to let the manuscript sit, and time to revise. I did this with my first three (two of which took a year plus to write), so if you like what I've written so far - well, that's my process.

Good News: The BTL paperbacks are almost done. I swear.

Better News: There's not a quiz below, and there is a teaser exerpt from Easy. I usually do Tuesday Teasers on my facebook page - but this one is too long to post there. So I'm mixing it up a bit and posting it here:

Tuesday Teaser #3:

I’d barely let anyone else touch me at all tonight, adamantly refusing all slow dances. Dizzy from weak but plentiful margaritas, I closed my eyes and let him lead, telling myself that the difference was the alcohol in my blood, nothing more. A minute later, he released my fingers and spread his palms across my lower back, and my hands moved to his biceps. Solid, as I knew they would be. Tracking a path, my palms encountered equally hard shoulders. Finally, I hooked my fingers behind his neck and opened my eyes.

His gaze was penetrating, not wavering for a moment, and my pulse hammered under the close scrutiny. I stretched up toward his ear, and he leaned down to accommodate my question.

“S-so what’s your major?” I breathed.

From the corner of my eye, I watched his mouth pull up on one side. “Do you really want to talk about that?” He maintained the closeness, our torsos pressed together chest to thigh, ostensibly waiting for my answer. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so full of pure, unqualified desire.

I swallowed. “As opposed to talking about what?”

He chuckled, and I felt the vibrations of his chest against mine. “As opposed to not talking.” His hands at my waist gripped a little tighter, thumbs pressing into my ribcage, fingers still at my lower back.

I blinked, one moment not understanding what his words implied, and the next knowing unreservedly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied.

He leaned closer still, his smooth cheek whispering against mine as he murmured, “Yes, you do.”

Tammara Webber

New York Times and international bestselling author of contemporary romantic fiction