Read Online Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) by Tiana Laveen - Free Book Online Page A

was begging to get mugged or worse. Besides, a craving had called. She had an urge to make margaritas—yes, at that late hour—so the limes were imperative but she’d never seen such an assortment before. Reaching across the carefully placed fruit and playing a silly game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe, she grabbed hold to one that looked vibrant and healthy, gave it a slight squeeze and hearty sniff, then placed it along with a few others inside her basket before strolling off to the candy aisle. She sighed with premature regret as she drew closer, hating her sweet tooth; the damn thing ruled her as of late.
    They said the cravings would get easier during menopause, not be as bad as when I had my period regularly…
    Whomever they were had lied. The cold sweats were sporadic but happened frequently enough to remind her that her womb was on strike with the rest of her body, and her eggs were standing on the picket line waving fallopian tubes as political signs in protest. She ran her hand across her forehead, feeling a moment coming on. Sighing, she practiced mind over matter as her body turned into a damn inferno.
    I’m forty-nine years old craving gummy bears and sweating like a human sprinkler system. Jesus!
    After another minute or two, the spell was over and she maneuvered closer to the chocolate bars. On a deep swallow, she wielded an anticipatory smile and reached for the large bag of assorted Nestle brand miniatures. Pleased with her selection, she let the big heavy bag slump to the far side, causing the weight to angle the thing in such a way that it now shoved and poked at her skinny jean clad legs.
    She paused and looked down at her thighs.
    She loved her legs. They were the one thing… well, two… on her body that reminded her that, no matter what happened, she was still a lady and had some great assets. Those legs took her to the places she wanted to go. They carried her into work each and every morning. Those legs would bend and dip and help a crying child who’d dropped their teddy bear in a state of panic. Those legs would run up and down the streets close to her townhouse in an effort to stay in shape, especially after taking Ben and Jerry’s to town the night before. She enjoyed threesomes of the dessert kind… Those legs still made men pause and women roll their eyes, and they were hers, all hers, and she loved every long, luscious inch of them.
    Even her twenty-four year old daughter would occasionally tell her, ‘Mama, you still got it going on!’ A wave of melancholy suddenly encompassed her as she paused a few steps away from the dairy aisle. Frozen, she just stood there, like the jugs of coconut milk and low-fat yogurt a few aisles over, curdling and getting old and unwanted as they approached their expiration date.
    Nikki, I miss you…
    Looking down at her cell phone, she noted the time. To be exact, she hadn’t shared a word, email, or text with the young woman in five weeks, three days, and twelve hours, but who was counting? On a sigh, she doubled back to the candy aisle, snatched the gummy bears off the shelf, balled the bag of those little bastards into the corner of the basket, and stormed off to the checkout line in a sweaty blaze, all the way daring someone to try and stop her…

    “Dad, you’ve got expired orange juice in here.” Joel’s long nose, reminiscent of his mother’s, wrinkled along the bridge as he sniffed the now open cardboard container. “And what’s this?” The young man unwrapped a wrinkled wad of foil exposing an old broiled piece of pale chicken, the skin rubbery and the meat hard, dotted with a smidgen of black pepper meant to make the flavorless dish a bit more consumable. “Gross.” Joel tossed the packet into the nearby plastic trash bin, slammed the refrigerator door shut, and slumped down onto the kitchen chair at the table.
    Sloan kept his schnozzle buried in his book, his glasses teetering on the end of his nose. The Time’s, ‘Gigolos Get Lonely