Two people pass each other in the darkness of a stormy night, courses locked in for separate disasters. Fate intervenes . . . but is it for good?

CHAPTER 37
We went to the Smugglers, of course, just four of us, Tom driving and promising to collect us if needed. Sod discos and stuff, we took a table in the usual bar. It had been occupied by a group of twinks, but Marlene had simply walked over and said something, quietly for once, and they had picked up their stuff and left for one of the other spaces.

She waved us over, and as we sat, she simply asked if we were her sister’s family.

I woke up with the sunlight blazing through the window, which it normally would not do until around nine.

I was late for school. Really late!

“Mom! What’s happened?” I yelled as I moved to throw the covers off, but there were no covers to throw. I sat up and looked at a bedroom with a lot of whites and grays with some shades of blue on a comforter that still covered the bed. I planted my hands on the mattress, vaulted myself off the bed and onto a hardwood floor.

I did not have a hardwood floor.

Chapter 1
The front door clicked shut, the latch catching with a soft, final thud.
Jane stood by the kitchen island, her hand still resting on the counter where Robbie had left his damp gym towel. She let out a long, slow breath—not a sigh of annoyance, just the sound of a lungful of air giving up after holding steady all morning.

Mark Lansing never wanted to stand out. He was perfectly happy disappearing into a football huddle with the rest of the team until one play made him the talk of the town. Thrust into a spotlight he never wanted, every choice can reshape his future, and every decision could transform him in ways he never believed possible. Mark’s destiny will be determined on the field … assuming he can figure out how to dress the part.

The rain had stopped sometime after midnight, but by late afternoon the city was still wet. Water clung to the black iron railings along the sidewalk and gathered in the shallow cracks between the paving stones, while cars moved slowly through the intersection, their tires whispering over the pavement and sending thin fans of dirty water toward the curb. Inside the coffee shop, the smell of fresh coffee hung beneath the warm air from the heating vents, and the hiss of steamed milk came and went behind the counter as people moved through the late afternoon rush.

The next morning, I faced packing and wondered if I could leave somethings that I had bought behind. I put the thought off as I prepared for my morning jog. Having gotten into a routing with my preparations it wasn’t more than 20 minutes before I was out the door. Although we sort of had discussed my coming back, I wanted to make sure that Sam was happy with me leaving stuff at the house.

I pushed the last ½ a mile and ended up a bit out of breath when I finished. Ted from next door was doing something to one of the cars and waved to me as I jogged up.

“Nice run huh?”

This is the first chapter of a 175 page, 8 chapter, completed book with 68 images, and 48 bonus images after the story. It is currently available in my shop.

www.patreon.com/SissyGirlSammi

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Charli and The “Chocolate” Factory

Chapter 62:

Three days before the cage

I returned from university in June with a second-class degree, no job and two suitcases full of ordinary male clothes.

Chapter Two

James should have known he was in trouble when Ashley started smiling.

Not her normal smile.

This was the smile she got when she’d already decided something was going to happen and was simply waiting for everyone else to catch up.

James stood in the middle of their apartment living room with his arms folded.

“I still think this is a terrible idea.”

Ashley sat cross-legged on the couch.

“You’ve said that seventeen times.”

“Because it’s a terrible idea.”

“You need a job.”

“I know.”

John was currently waist-deep in a cardboard box filled with crocheted doilies and yellowed newspapers from the seventies. The attic of his grandmother's house smelled like old cedar and dormant dust, a cramped space where the roof slanted low, forcing him to hunch his shoulders. He had spent the better part of the morning moving stacks of magazines and sorting through porcelain figurines that looked like they belonged in a museum of things nobody actually wanted.