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The books you’ve been waiting for from T.W. Schuett…
DRAGON
He was spoiled. They’d been married barely six months, and ‘together’ only a few weeks longer than that. Every day they’d made love, often twice, sometimes more than that. He missed the feel of the delicate skin on her inner thigh against his face. He missed the ruby earrings he’d given her. In public, at a restaurant, or a concert, he’d catch her earlobe between his teeth, and that was their signal it was time to go home to bed. She’d reach over and rub that spot in the small of his back, and it told him she understood and was willing. Sometimes he’d notice somebody watching them, and if it were a guy, he’d look at his own wife or girlfriend and wonder if he was going to get any that night. Those earrings felt so much like Liz’s rock-hard nipples in his mouth, a couple of times they didn’t even make it home. Once they did it in a shopping center parking lot, late at night under the big lights, like a couple of kids in the back seat and laughed all the way home…
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Friends to the End
“Have those babies you wanted, Mare—and do me a favor.”
“Huh?”
“Love that perfect future guy. Take care of him. You’re so good at that.” He looked at the clock and said, “I better get the hell out of here.” He got up and went to the kitchen to get his clothes.
She followed him into the kitchen where he was dressing. He was sitting on a chair tying his shoes, with his shirt on the table. She noticed some red marks on his back up near his shoulders she hadn’t seen before. She knew every inch of his back from dozens of summer massages. Random rows of four aligned red dots, like recently healed injuries. Farther down was what was clearly a raggedly healed cut. What they were didn’t register then.
…He held out his arms, with something close to a smile, and she went over for a last hug. Hugs had always been allowed. So softly she almost didn’t hear, he said, “I’m sorry, Mary.”
She was crying too much to answer.
Then he was gone, the door closing behind him without a sound. He’d been there for exactly 32 minutes…
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Sweethearts and Monsters
Behind her she heard the door to the convention hall, a brief snatch of music, and the squeak of footsteps. Running shoes. It was nobody she knew, so she did not turn around. “Bitch,” a male voice came close to her ear. “Godless heathen,” he growled. His breath was awful and he needed a bath. She moved away, involuntarily, but he grabbed a handful of her hair and stopped her from moving.
…Frantic, she looked around for the maintenance guy, but he had gone back inside. She felt the point of a knife or something on her throat, and a sharp, tiny pain. The knife moved, he pulled her head back, and slammed her face into the metal strip holding the glass in place. The metal bit into her forehead, and she heard a cracking sound. She could not think, or she would have tried to get away as he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, tearing the buttons off her blouse. In the back of her head, just before she was slammed against the glass again, she heard Alan’s voice saying, “Firefly, I’ll be right there.” She knew that was impossible, but then everything went red and black…
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About Trudy W. Schuett