Next book? Back to Detroit. Back to the silly. I have to shake my ‘book funk’ and the best way to do that is to write what I think I write best…
About the Author
Anlyn Hansell is a pen name for a 40-something year old lady that resides in a small town in South Central PA. She is married and has a very quirky and adorable daughter.
I began writing because I was reading, or should I say, devouring books at a record pace a few years ago. I read everything I could get my hands on; looking for an author that spoke to me and characters I wanted to root for. When I ran out of Jennifer Crusie novels, I found myself bummed out. I found the market flooded with novels about weak, self-conscious women being pursued by crazy, domineering men who I would rather punch in the face than make out with.
So I began to write.
Pure romantic type stuff at first, but I’ve branched out to more mystery and paranormal lately. It is truly my intention to write the type of book you cannot put down.
Drop me a line on Facebook or post a review. I have to be honest with you. I love reading the reviews on Amazon – especially the scathing ones! Some of the review writers are much more witty than the authors themselves. Sometimes, I spend an entire evening reading reviews instead of buying a book; they are that entertaining.
Thanks for taking a chance on an indie author. I hope you enjoyed what I wrote. I have many other stories and characters in my head that are all begging to be written.
Romantic Comedy
Davis Series:
The Trouble with Neighbors
Forget about Texas
Love, Business and Bad Ethics
Crazy about Her
Paranormal/Horror/Comedy/Romance:
Night Stocker, The Misadventures of Meghan Foster Part One
Dead End Girl, The Misadventures of Meghan Foster Part Two
Romantic Suspense:
There Goes the Neighborhood
Don’t Forget to Remember…to Forget
This Guy Kills Me
Absolute Zero
Village Idiots – Summer 2016
Village Idiots
“Take your hat off, Andie,” Ash stated, swatting her arm as soon as they walked in the front door. She reached out with her other hand to snatch the bill.
Andie immediately lifted her hand to her Detroit Tigers cap and shook her head no.
“It’s a club, it’s not church,” Andie jerked her head away from Ash’s hand as she shot her an irritated glare.
“Do you see anyone else with a baseball cap on in here? Even the men don’t wear them…”
“Good, I’ll stand out,” she replied sarcastically before giving a firm smack to Ash’s offending hand.
“She wants to look like a Ninja, let her look like a Ninja,” Candy stated, taking in Andie’s attire of tight, dark jeans, navy t-shirt and black boots.
“I was thinking SWAT team,” Liv piped up causing an exaggerated eye roll from Andie as she stepped away.
She cast a dissecting glare over her roommates’ attire of short, tight skirts, heels and barely-there shirts. Standard fare for the club, but still ridiculous considering they were making fun of her.
“I’m gonna go find a TV; you go hang out with the rest of the Cirque De Soleil rejects. I shall embarrass you no further,” she waved them off as her eyes scanned and locked on a large TV screen near the side of the huge U-shaped bar in the corner. Whatever they were saying was completely lost on her as her feet carried her toward the screen. As luck would have it, the Tigers game was still on meaning they were surely in extra innings, meaning she could still watch the rest of it, much to her delight.
At least one thing worked in her favor. It was bad enough that she could still smell the slightest tang of motor oil on her skin, although Liv attacked her with a bottle of Febreze as soon as she reluctantly walked back into the Living Room, showered and dressed.
See? I can’t go out. The game’s on, plus I can’t get this stench off me… she had said to no avail.
Between your outfit and your smell, it’s like man repellant. This is perfect for you. You can catch the next game, it’s not like they don’t play every other day… Liv had said right before the three of them converged upon her with Ash’s woe-is-me story, Liv’s snarky comments and Candy’s guilt-trip turned promise of an ass whooping if she didn’t ‘get over’ herself.
Whatever. She was here, the music was fairly good, the game was still on and best of all, there was a vacant seat right in front of the screen behind the bar. She immediately walked to it and plunked herself down between two couples in deep conversation.
“Hey, Andie,” she could hear a female voice, but her eyes were glued to the screen. The Tigers were at bat.
“Hey, Jackie,” she mumbled absently.
“You wanna a beer?”
“Nah. Give me a Diet whatever,” she stated without looking at the bartender.
“DD tonight?”
“Mmm hmm,” she responded, her fists clenching then relaxing as the Orioles pitcher threw a pitch so far outside the strike zone it made her smile. The batter jogged to first base.
A moment later, a large glass appeared in front of her, yet her eyes never left the screen as she blindly felt for the straw with her open mouth. Izzy Sambrosa was at bat and her face fell at the sight. Two outs, one man on base, and the player in the biggest hitting slump was waiting for his first pitch.
She bit her lip, willing him with her mind to do something spectacular. As soon as the bat made contact a loud “YES!” escaped her mouth only to turn into a drawn out “NOOO,” as soon as the centerfielder ran and caught it. A loud grunt of disgusted disapproval came from her throat. She looked down to the bar surface and back up, suddenly feeling conscious of the eyes on either side of her turned in her general direction.
“What?” she asked without looking at them. She shrugged them off and promptly ignored their attention as the teams switched places on the field. Heathens. How could anyone not be watching this? Seriously, every person seated at the bar was so engrossed in talking to the person next to them, she noticed as she gave a quick scan of her surroundings. Even the men – of course the women in this place all seemed to be in some silent competition to either wear the least amount of clothing or the tightest, so in a way, she understood. Boobs versus baseball. In a club like this, boobs win.
Speaking of boobs…
She could feel the convergence before they actually said anything, Maybe they shared some sort of mental connection from living together or maybe it was because they were loud and obnoxiously boisterous as they surrounded her.
“Can you watch my purse?” she heard before Ash’s giant bag appeared and overtook her vision. “Mine too,” she heard Liv state as her much smaller, ergonomically correct purse swung on the bar surface. At least Candy didn’t have one to dump on her. Actually, none of them needed a purse. Buying drinks was never an issue and the need for ID was non-existent since they knew pretty much all of the bouncers and bartenders on this particular strip.
“I’m not your pack mule,” she grumbled as Liv gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek and patted her cap covered head. “We’re dancing,” Liv stated the obvious as Andie hooked Ash’s bag under the bar. What on earth does she carry in this thing? No wonder Ash was so toned; her bag weighed ten pounds easy.
Liv’s smaller, lighter bag was hooked on the back of Andie’s stool as she was left alone once again.
Her beloved Tigers were positioned on the field after a brief round of commercials and she settled her body more firmly into the stool. The first pitch was a joke. The second wasn’t much better and the third ball thrown caused a forced “Come ON,” to escape her mouth. The couple to her right stood up and disappeared from her peripheral vision. Her fists clenched as the fourth pitch was thrown and a groan emanated from her lips as the batter threw the bat to the side and ran toward first base.
“It’s OK. Come on. You can do this,” she mumbled to the screen, her eyes l
ocked on the pitcher.
“His arm’s tired,” she could hear a deep male voice right before a body seated itself next to her in the recently vacated stool.
“No, it’s not,” she stated without looking at him. A half full pint of beer thumped on the bar in front of him but her eyes never wavered from the TV.
“Yes, it is. They should pull Martinez from the pen. He’s done,” she could hear.
“No, he’s not,” she answered with a twinge of doubt. “Think positive thoughts,” she stated to the TV screen. “Positive thoughts,” she added under her breath.
Ball one.
“See? We’re screwed. Perez is hitting .323 right now,” the annoyingly cocky voice next to her sounded.
The next pitch was clearly a strike causing a small ‘Ha’ to burst from her for the benefit of her unwanted companion. Her eyes were kept glued to the screen.
The next pitch resulted in a foul ball.
“One more,” she mouthed to the screen, quickly forgetting Mr. ‘Doom and Gloom’ next to her.
The next pitch was met with a distinct crack of the bat. The line drive shot over the pitcher’s head and bounced several times into the outfield before it was scooped up but it was too late. Two men on base and her heart was sinking.
“Told you,” she heard before an unflattering sound rumbled out from between her closed lips.
Go away, she mentally commanded him.
Another Orioles batter stepped up to the plate and his stats on the screen caused her already frayed nerves to flare.
“I hate to say it, but he should walk this dude. Simon’s up next. He sucks,” the male voice offered to her disinterested ears.
He was probably right, but she certainly wouldn’t respond.
She crossed her fingers without thinking, willing the Tigers’ pitcher to throw something brilliant.
First pitch, not so brilliant. The hit would have been a homerun if it didn’t land in the stands just a few feet from the foul line.
It was obviously not an intentional ball.
“Dude is six for six tonight. He’s on fire. We’re screwed.”
“Oh my god, would you shut up!” she grated before squeezing her eyes shut.
“Why don’t you relax? I’m just stating the obvious,” he replied casually.
“Why don’t you move to Baltimore?” she blurted, instantly regretting how immature that sounded.
“Why would I move to Baltimore?”
“Because you’re obviously an Orioles fan. Or maybe you could move to the other side of the bar? That would be a start,” she added in a low mumble that he obviously heard based on the laugh that just sounded next to her.
“Why would I want to do that? I wouldn’t be able to see the TV and I’d miss out on your charming company,” he stated in a flippant tone.
She ignored his obvious jab and silently waved him off with her wrist as she watched the screen intently. The wind up, the pitch and ultimately the crack that sent the ball sailing high over the infield, the outfield, and into the stands. Her forehead thumped lightly in the bar surface. It was over. The ten game winning streak was over. Disappointment coursed through her before another feeling overtook her body. He was patting her on the back.
“It’s Ok, they’re still in first place, the Royals lost tonight too,” he offered up.
“Don’t touch me,” she ordered before straightening up and turning toward him. He was big. She could almost tell that from his crowding presence next to her. He was tall, broad shouldered, scruffy dark hair in need of a cut and his beard. Holy hell.
She was sitting next to Grizzly Adams.
His hand dropped and his eyes crinkled at her. Maybe he was smiling. It was hard to tell through all that…hair.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“What does it matter?” she replied instantly.
“Hey, don’t take it out on me. I didn’t throw that pitch,” he remarked before taking a sip from the pint in front of him. Foam remained embedded on the pelt guarding his upper lip when he placed the glass back on the bar surface.
“You have…ah, stuff…” she waved her hand in front of her own mouth indicating the residue.
“Oh! Yeah. The dangers of facial hair,” he commented wryly before wiping the foam with the back of his hand and rubbing it on his jeans.
Yuck.
“I’ll buy you a drink. That should put you in a better mood, huh?” He rested one arm on the bar surface. One corded arm that would probably make any woman salivate until their eyes wandered up and they realized it was attached to Bigfoot.
“No. I’m good,” she replied immediately. “In fact, I’ll just go and find my friends, Thanks for the commentary…” she trailed off as her body slid from the stool, her feet finding purchase on the ground below. She started to turn.
“Wait.”
His big hand encircled her forearm and the pressure was light but her body reacted as if he were clenching too tightly. Her spine stiffened immediately.
“You didn’t tell me your name.”
“I know. I’m mysterious like that. Could you, um, let me go?” she asked as politely as possible as her own fingers extricated her arm from his grip.
“Oh! Sorry,” he stated as he released her much to her relief. She gave a nervous half smile before turning then remembering the purse slung over the backrest of the stool. Grabbing it, she registered that he was saying something else but by then she had already walked a few steps and the urge to turn around and ask him what he said was nonexistent.
She kept walking, her eyes scanning and immediately identifying Liv’s massive shock of hair in the middle of the sunken dance floor. As usual, her friends were surrounded by men and women, most she could identify, and a few newcomers that were sucked in to their orbit.
It was always like this. They were the quintessential party girls of the Metro Detroit area, and while that might not seem like much of an accomplishment to most responsible adults, it certainly was to this group of twenty-somethings. The thumping beat was morphing into another beat of a different song as she weaved her body through the crowd, acknowledging a few greetings from some of the bar patrons as she stepped down onto the massive dance floor. Whatever it was, it seemed to please Candy immensely as she bellowed out the fact that this was indeed ‘her jam’ and by golly, she was right. Some techno version of a Public Enemy song became identifiable and if anything could make a person forget that a ten game winning streak just ended abruptly, it was a techno version of a Public Enemy song.
Her body moved with the throng as she danced her way to the center of the floor, swallowed up by the mass of people surrounding her roommates. Candy was demonstrating some of her signature moves to the crowd’s obvious delight. A rather decent looking guy decked out in an expensive suit stepped into her ‘space’ before he was abruptly pulled back by another man she recognized. He gave a firm shake of his head indicating she was off limits and he was correct. Everyone knows that if you touch Candy, and Candy doesn’t know you, your ass will be on the receiving end of a painful beat down. Candy might be a stripper, but she also doubles as her own bouncer.
“Hey Andie! When’s the next party?” she could hear next to her as body bounced in unison with the rest of the crowd.
Good question. It was about that time anyway, she pondered as she turned toward the woman next to her. She had to tilt her head back to look at the other woman’s face. Erica was a good six feet tall, compared to Andie’s five foot seven. She was model thin, pretty and smiling broadly. The last time she saw her, they were in a bathroom in a club a block down from this one, Erica balling her eyes out over some jerk she was dating that dumped her that night for another woman. They sat in the bathroom, a waitress kindly bringing them drinks as they sat on the counter for at least two hours. By the end of their chat, the bathroom was full of women giving advice, yelling out reassuring words in slurred tones, fixing Erica’s makeup and sending her out in the club with a new sense of purpose.
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Ten minutes later she was in deep conversation with Pat, a guy Andie went to college with. He was staring at Erica from the moment they walked out of the bathroom, so it hadn’t been too much of a stretch to walk up and introduce the two of them.
“I’m not sure,” she answered the question, her eyes roaming the crowd for Pat. “Soon, though. Check the Facebook page,” she stated as her eyes continued to scan. Hopefully they were still together. “So, ah…how’s it going?”
“Great! We’re still together, if that’s what you want to know,” Erica stated with a smile. “I’m naming my first kid after you,” she announced loudly.
A look of a disgust marred Andie’s features before she smoothed it out. “Yeah, don’t do that,” she replied in a low tone. If Erica knew what her real name was, she would definitely rethink that promise.
“Andie!” she could hear Candy’s voice right before her wrist was yanked, causing her to trip before righting herself. Luckily the dance floor was packed so the only person that noticed would be the guy whose back she just head butted.
“Sorry,” she muttered as Candy gave another yank, causing her to stand in the center of their makeshift circle. “Here,” she removed the purse strap from her shoulder and swung it toward Liv before letting the music overtake her.
“Where’s mine?” she heard Ash ask right before a jolt of pure shock swept up her spine and caused her to stop mid-groove.
Shit.
Oh SHIT.
She had walked away from the bar, completely forgetting Ash’s purse, intent only on getting away from her hairy bar companion as quickly as possible. She blamed him. If he wouldn’t have grabbed her arm, she would have remembered the purse. It was all his fault. From the panicked look on Ash’s face, she quickly determined that even that excuse wouldn’t wash.
Absolute Zero Page 49