As promised last week, here is an excerpt from Banker's Hours, the contemporary romance I am currently writing.
The blurb (to be revised):
When
a banker’s hours leave long weekends for romance, cosmic intervention is
Grant’s only option when money doesn’t buy happiness and he’s got virginity in
spades.
Grant
Davis is a twenty-six year old bank teller who’s unlucky at love, yet
hopelessly hopeful. Every guy he’s ever gone out with ended the relationship
before the second date. It could be Grant’s bad taste in men, or it could be
his ODC and pedantic nature that’s sent them packing. Still, he’s convinced
he’s saving himself for true love.
Tristan
Carr has been in a holding pattern since his daughter was born. Fourteen years
later he’s still alone, and that suits his workaholic lifestyle just fine. He
hooks up occasionally, when long nights seem lonely, but honestly he’s never
wanted anyone interfering with being a weekend dad. To enter Tristan’s world, a
guy needed to be special.
Between
daydreams and wet dreams, a reticent skeptic can only find love when it shows
up at his window.
And an excerpt. Let me know what you think. Everything is sort of rough at the moment, but this gives you an idea of what I am currently doing.
Chapter
1
“Who’s the hottie?” asked a female
customer to my colleague Jessica. She “whispered” her question in a
none-to-hushed voice, as if it wouldn’t be overheard four feet away in the
adjacent teller cubicle. I kept my back turned, pretending to tidy my work area
because I wasn’t sure how to respond. I didn’t really know Jessica, since I’d
only worked in this branch of the bank for a week. I certainly didn’t know the
customer who asked the question, since I hadn’t seen her in the bank before. I
did, however, know enough to understand that I was the object of said question.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been
referred to as a “hottie;” although I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t have the
muscular and height I normally associated with hotties. I guess I was okay looking,
but after people got to know me, my looks never mattered. I was pedantic with
dose heavy dose of OCD, and I guess it was a little too much for most people
because I rarely got asked out twice by the same guy. Actually, I couldn’t
remember ever being asked out twice.
I almost threw a pity party for myself in
my cubicle, but knocked over my pens instead. They went rolling off my station
and I forgot to stew over the fact that I was twenty-six and never been kissed.
I wanted to think of it as “saving myself,” but the truth is I was a loser and
no one had ever liked me enough to kiss me.
“That’s Grant,” Jessica answered her
customer. “He transferred from another branch when it closed.”
I picked up my pens and set them back in
the round container and moved it to a different stop. I made the mistake of
glancing over and caught Jessica and that woman staring at me. Was this what
penguins felt like? No, they probably didn’t notice the humans staring through
the glass as they swam at the zoo. Monkeys were more intelligent. Maybe they
understood the uneasiness associated with being gawked at. It wasn’t merely the
staring, or the compliment she’d given me, my problem was because the remarks
never stayed on the complimentary level. Once they got past my dark blond hair
and blue eyes, people normally laughed at me for something.
I turned away from Jessica and headed
toward the restroom. Once I locked the door, I took out my phone and texted my
mother. I didn’t live with her, I wasn’t that pathetic, but we texted often.
How
are you, Mom?
She texted back quickly, as per usual. I’m fine, Grant, but you are supposed to be
working. Stop texting me.
I’m
on a five-minute break.
Stop
ducking into the bathroom every time something stresses you out.
Nothing
stressed me out.
Did
you pee, or did you lock the door and take out your phone?
“Shit,” I mumbled. I glanced at my
reflection over the sink. “I am
pathetic.” I texted my reply: I peed.
Liar.
Go back to work. You’ll settle I fine. Talk to people, make friends, and then
the new branch won’t be so scary.
But
it took me a year to make friends with Laura and then she moved across the
country and left me two months before they decided to close my branch. I feel
like my life is in turmoil.
Grant,
go back to work. Talk to people. The ones you work with and the customers.
Maybe one of them lives near you and will turn out to be a good friend. I need
to go. I have a massage in ten minutes.
Fine.
Bye. Have fun.
She didn’t text back. She probably
thought I was ridiculous. I pocketed my phone and washed my hands. I liked
clean hands, plus I enjoyed the smell of the pink grapefruit foaming hand soap.
Sometimes I washed my hands just so I could smell my fingers while I was
working. People may have thought I had an unusually itchy nose, but I only
rubbed the tip of it so I could smell the soap scent.
When I got out of the bathroom, I
returned to my cubicle to discover a line had formed. It was like that. One
minute I could be straightening my deposit slips and reorganizing my inkpad and
teller stamp, and the next minute fifty people show up in the lobby at the same
time. I put on a bright smile and called a woman over.
“Good morning,” I said to the older lady.
“It’s the afternoon,” she replied
gruffly.
I glanced at my computer screen. “Technically,
it’s morning until after noon.”
She glared and shoved a check my way.
“Cash that. I want it all in twenties.”
I took the check and flipped it over.
“Can you please sign the back, and may I see your driver’s license?”
She snatched up a pen and proceeded to
scribble her name. “My license is in the car, surely you can ask one of the
other tellers to vouch for me?”
“I could, but then how am I to learn your
name for the next time?”
“By memorizing the name on the check,”
she huffed.
“Well, I’m new here and it is procedure
to ask for a driver’s license for all transactions. Even with customers I know,
I am supposed to write the number on the check or at the very least double
check the name.”
She ignored my reason and fussed at my
coworker. “Jessica, can you tell this boy who I am please? I don’t have time to
follow his procedures.”
“You can cash Mrs. Caldwell’s check,
Grant. I know who she is,” Jessica said. She didn’t seem smug or condescending,
but I felt snubbed all the same. I had protocol to follow, and my first
customer of the day sidestepped it.
I grinned and nodded politely, but I
begrudgingly counted out twenties. “Will that be all, Mrs. Caldwell?”
“Yes, thank you.” The terse woman put the
wad of bills in an envelope before I even had the chance to ask if she wanted
one, and then stormed away.
The next person to walk up to my window
made my breath hitch. I swallowed hard. “Ca-can I help you?”
The man grinned, but only with the left
side of his mouth. “Yes. I’d like to deposit this in the account at the bottom,
and I’d like to withdraw money from a different account. I’ve written down how
I want that back on this slip of paper.” He slid a piece of paper to me across
the counter. His hands were soiled and greasy. I suddenly wanted to wash mine.
“Oh, okay. I can do that. I’ll just need
to see—”
“My driver’s license,” he said, sliding
across the counter. He half-grinned again.
“Oh, thank you,” I replied. I was
slightly startled by his compliance, and half nervous over his grin. I took his
personal license and wrote the number on the business check for Carr’s
Automotive. Tristan Carr. “Is this your company?” I asked.
“Yes. My dad started the business and I
took it over before he died. If you ever need an auto mechanic, I’m only
fifteen minutes north of here.” He winked.
My mouth went dry. Was he flirting or
just being friendly? “Um, okay. I bet you get harassed about the name.”
“Sometimes.”
I punched in his account number and
clicked the corresponding option on my screen. I ran his checks through the
scanning machine and then set them in the correct bid. I handed him the receipt
for his deposit. “How did you want that back?” I asked. He glanced down and
tapped the counter. “Oh, right, you gave me a list.” After I counted out the
appropriate amount, and zipped it up in his money pouch, I asked, “Is there
anything else I can do to—for you?”
I expected a smirk, or some facial tick
to reveal he’d heard my slip, but he only paused before answering, “No. Thank you,”
he glanced at my name placard, “Grant. I’m sure I’ll see you again. Perhaps the
next time you won’t need ask for my license.”
Why would he say that? He couldn’t know I
was checking him out. I barely made eye contact. “Perhaps,” I replied. “It was
nice to meet, Mr. Carr, of Carr’s Automotive.”
He grinned again and stuck out his hand,
but as I went to shake it, I bumped the container of pens I’d set next to the
window, after I’d knocked them over from their previous location, and sent them
rolling across the counter and through the window onto the floor at his feet. I
was so embarrassed. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.” I gathered them up and set them in
the container I up-righted.
He bent down and retrieved the pens from
the floor and put them into my container. Three were upside down so I took them
out and flipped them over. He smirked and said, “Until next time, Mr….” he paused,
picking up one of my business cards from the stack next to my name placard.
“Rush. Grant Rush,” he repeated. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He stuck out
his hand again and this time I didn’t knock over the pens when I shook it.
His hand was dirty and rough and completely
swallowed my tiny palm. “Likewise.”
He nodded and walked away, and I glanced
at my hands. They felt gritty.
I looked to the next customer and smiled
as she stepped up, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of his skin
touching mine. She set her money and checks on the counter, but I had to excuse
myself. “I’m sorry. I need to wash my hands.” I took a step backwards. “I’ll
only be a second.”
She gave me a questioning look, but
warily conceded, “Okay.”
I dashed to the bathroom and pumped three
squirts of foam onto my hands and lathered thoroughly. His hands appeared
greasy; and even though there was no evidence of grease or dirt on mine after
he’d shook it, I still had to wash. I rinsed and dried my hands. I looked down
at my open palms, fresh and clean. He’d touched me. A man I’d just met, held my
hand briefly. I’d introduced myself to countless people before, some of them
male, yet Mr. Carr’s warmth still lingered inexplicably.
I heard a knock on the door. “Grant? How
long are you going to be in there?” Lucinda, another teller, asked. I opened
the door and she said, “There’s a line. I don’t want to call Tracy over to
help.”
Tracy was the bitchy branch manager I’d
come to loathe from day one. She was not friendly by any means, but did her job
well enough to garner the customers’ adoration. Lucinda had been kind enough to
warn me about her before I got myself fired over nothing. Tracy was all
business and as long as I did my job to her satisfaction, Lucinda had assured
me Tracy would leave me alone. Only, I hadn’t been here long enough to earn my
reputation for excellence. Tracy hadn’t worked with me at the other branch and
apparently word of mouth wasn’t good enough.
“No,” I replied. “I’m coming.” I shut the
door and returned to my station. The same woman was waiting there. “Good
morning.”
“It’s twelve ten, therefore afternoon,”
she corrected, handing me her deposit.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Time flies when your
having fun,” I joked, hoping she would let my inattention slide.
“Or chatting up a customer,” Jessica
commented.
I blanched and hoped my customer didn’t
notice as I entered her account number into the computer. I couldn’t believe Jessica
would say such a thing with a customer right there.
“That man did look dirty,” the customer
said. “I don’t blame you for washing your hands.” She slid her license toward
me without prompt.
“Thank you. Although it’s not necessary
for a deposit.”
She smiled. “I come in here several days
a week. You’re new, so I wanted to make sure you got familiar with my name. It
will make it easier then next time.”
“True,” I read the name, “Ms. Gina
Snyder.” I chuckled. “I have Snyder’s pretzels in my lunch today. You don’t own
the pretzel company, do you?” Her deposit was
large, but there had to be hundreds of Snyders in the greater tri-state area.
“Mrs., and not directly, no,” she
replied, grinning precociously. Her eyes lingered on me and my face flushed.
“I’ll see you another day, my dear boy.” She winked and turned away.
Two winks in one day. If this was any
indication of the type of town Westminster was, I wasn’t sure I could handle
it. I was used to attention, but this was silly. I wasn’t sure I’d last in this
branch of every customer flirted with me. Although, perhaps I was assuming too
much. Mr. Carr couldn’t possibly know I was gay, and Mrs. Snyder wouldn’t flirt
with a guy my age, would she? I was probably young enough to be her son.
Jessica stepped up behind me and
whispered, “Be careful with her. She’s a cougar.”
I turned around sharply. “What?”
Jessica glanced at the lobby, before
saying, “She’s an aggressive older woman who likes to prey on hot younger guys.”
There was one guy filling out a slip and
another waiting to see the manager about opening an account, so I had a minute
or two to fuss. I protested, “I’m not hot.”
She snorted, “Oh, please. You’re hot. I
wouldn’t normally admit that, but since you’re gay my opinion won’t get
misconstrued.”
“Gay? I’m not….” I started to protest but
the look she gave me screamed “Stop before I smack you.” I glanced around and
whispered, “How did you know?”
She snorted. “I know this is going to
sound awful, but you drip gay. From your pink shirts—”
“Straight guys wear pink.”
“To your perfect hair—”
“Straight guys comb their hair.”
“And your obsession with cleanliness—”
“Straight guys can be clean.”
“There isn’t a single thing about you
I’ve seen that would convince me you’re straight. Maybe Mrs. Snyder can over
look your less-than-straight qualities because she wants to bag you, but I
pegged you from day one. I’m just saying… be careful and stop flirting with
everyone.”
“I’m not.” Besides the fact her
assessment of me was offensive, I couldn’t follow what she was suggesting. I
didn’t flirt.
“Oh right,” she laughed. “Then you better
get that blushing of yours under control because women like Mrs. Snyder will
eat you alive, and guys like Mr. Carr might punch the shit out of you. I saw
him at a Papa Joe’s once. He got off his motorcycle and walked across the
parking lot like he owned the place. It scared the crap out of me. He could be
a police officer or a general of an army. Believe me, you don’t want to mess
with him.”
I couldn’t imagine Mr. Carr punching me.
He seemed very nice. His half smile intrigued me; it made me think of trouble
brewing under the surface. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He didn’t
seen dangerous to me. Besides, I’m not flirting with anyone and I don’t blush easily.”
“The hell you don’t. Just watch yourself
or Tracy will haul you into her office and rip you a new one. She’s all about
policy, and dating customers is frowned upon.”
We were only standing in my cubicle, but
I felt as though she’d shoved me into a corner and was pointing her finger at
me as she yelled in her quiet tone. “Okay, okay. Jeez. I haven’t done
anything.”
She expression changed. “I’m sorry,
Grant. I like you. I don’t want to see you get fired or get hurt. You seem very
sweet, albeit a bit naïve.”
She had me there. My cheeks heated from
embarrassment.
“See, you’re blushing again.” She reached
up and touched my arm. “I’m sorry I commented about chatting up the customers.
I think it was my way of challenging what I’d seen. Part of me hoped it wasn’t
true because you are seriously cute. Being gay would ruin my chances.”
I sighed. “You’re right, I’m gay.”
“Then why be so defensive about it?”
“I guess because you deconstructed my
sexuality based on stereotypes. I don’t like labels and definitions because I
think there are too many people out there that don’t fit into a category. Some
get offended.”
“But yours are obvious. Tone down your
actions or expect people to assume.” She looked over my shoulder. “Customers.
Gotta go.” Jessica patted my arm and waved the customer in line to head over to
her window.
I greeted the next one, “Good afternoon.”
***
I went home after my shift and gazed at
myself in the mirror of my dresser. Was I really stereotypical? I liked pastel
shirts and I didn’t see a reason to wear white or black just to blend in. I
undid my pink and white striped tie and pulled from around my neck. I hung it
on the tie organizer in my closet and unbuttoned my shirt. My pasty white skin
sagged in my reflection. I flexed. The lack of muscle made my self-image worse.
I was scrawny and awkward, and my body was not one that guys like Tristan Carr
desired. Even with the point zero two percent chance he was gay, I highly
doubted I had anything he’d find attractive. In my suit and tie, I had the hot
young executive appearance in my favor. Out of the suit, I was a pathetic
twenty-six year old virgin with zero appeal.
And that's all you get. Come back another day :)
Currently this work sits at 50,776 words. It is coming along very well and very fast. I hope to submit it to Dreamspinner by the end of August (or sooner). Hugs <3
xoxox
