It’s time for Tuesday Tales!
Welcome back! This week is our picture prompt week and all posts must reflect the chosen image. Today’s post is from Sugar and Ice, Arizona Raptors #4 written with RJ Scott. Our picture prompt posts have to reflect the chosen image and can be no longer than 300 words.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
The scrimmage had kicked my ass, as had the time spent in the showers averting my gaze from Tate’s tattooed body. This attraction was growing instead of lessening and I needed to gain some perspective and control. Freewheeling was not my preferred mode of operation. I was happiest when I had things planned out in advance. Spontaneity was not my “happy place” as the American’s are so fond of saying. Feeling the tension tightening my shoulders, I padded to the bar, poured myself two fingers of Stolichnaya, dropped one cube in the vodka, skipped the lemon zest as it was too much work, and went to Frank’s massive pen to set him free.
The macaw loved free time, stretching his bright blue wings he flew around my condo, coming to land on my shoulder after I’d dropped into the sofa.
“Vinograd,” the parrot said, bobbing his red head as his claws sank into my shoulder.
“Nyet, I did not get the grapes.” I reached up to pet him. He snapped at my hand with a big, black, hooked beak.
“Mudak! Mudak!” He squawked, taking to wing to sit atop his crate and glower at me.
“Yes, I’m an asshole,” I replied, holding my drink up as a toast to my asshole status before taking a taste. It burned a cold path down to my stomach. My brother had warned me that teaching the bird to cuss in Russian would come back to bite me. He’d been right, damn it. I’d never dreamed my own pet would fling curses at me, and everyone else, who didn’t feed him grapes on demand.
My gaze moved from Frank who was now preening to the oil on the wall. It was an old thing, a painting of a lady’s dressing room or something similar. My great-grandmother had owned it and it came to us upon her death many years ago. It had hung in our parlor for ages as my mother fancied it. For some reason when I’d left Russia I’d felt compelled to bring it with me. It did look oddly out of place in my masculine home, but seeing it reminded me of Russia, and my family. Right now the urge to return home was strong. Putting half a world between myself and my newest teammate would be good. Pity the new season was just about to begin…
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Copyright 2020 ©by V.L. Locey
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