“He makes my skin crawl.” Why had she told Lily that? Jo poured another shot of tequila and sprinkled cinnamon on a slice of orange. Keisha’s breakfast nook was already littered with a half dozen naked strips of orange peel, flecks of cinnamon dust, and a quarter-sized puddle of spilled Don Julio.
Jo is not me, the author, although all my characters have traits I can relate to. However, I had fun making tequila Jo’s alcohol of choice because it is mine as well. Especially with cinnamon and oranges.
“Bottoms up,” she told Topaz as she licked the cinnamon, swallowed the alcohol, and bit into the orange. “Mmmm. Better than salt and lime any day.”
The cat blinked, bored, and licked the pads on one paw. She’d been sitting on the chair opposite Jo for the last half hour, watching her every move like a feline federal judge about to pronounce sentence.
“I’m only over here because it’s unhealthy to drink alone, you know,” she told her inquisitor. Then, noticing how slurred her words sounded, she added, “Shit. I better stop now or—”
She lost the thought, ate the rest of the orange pulp, and reached for another slice. Sans tequila this time. “Pace yourself, girl.” She picked up her phone and squinted at it to read the time.
Midnight. Jo spend a good ten minutes trying to figure out how that translated to Keisha’s time zone, gave it up and dialed her anyway. Topaz made a poor substitute for a best friend.
“Hello?” The groggy answer told Jo that no matter what time zone she was in, Keisha had been asleep.
“Sorry to wake you,” Jo said. “But it’s your fault really, for not teaching your cat how to talk.”
“Jo? You drunk, woman? ’Course you are. What time is it? Oh Lord, really? What’s going on? You okay?”
“You kidding? I’m great. Now, anyway. I made an ass of myself earlier today. Yesterday?” She pulled the phone away from her face to check the time. “Yep, yesterday.”
“What did you do this time? You didn’t call your boss a dick again, did you?”
Jo snorted. She’d been a reporter—barely a reporter, a gofer, really—for a short time at the renowned Chicago Tribune but had given that all up when she told her boss to get his fat hand off her fine ass.
“Nah. Nick’s not interested in my ass. Yours neither. Now Kevin Costner’s ass, that he could get behind.” She suddenly realized what she’d said and started laughing hysterically at her unintentional joke.
“Get some sleep, Jo. When you start thinking you’re a comedian you’re way past your limit.”
Birthing the Next Book 