The 7 meme

I was tagged to do this 7-7-7 me!me!, which involves going to the seventh page of your manuscript, counting down seven lines, and posting the next seven full sentences. I don’t usually do these, but this one seemed like fun. I’m not, however, tagging anyone else—writer-friends, if you’d like to participate, I look forward to reading your entries!

From urban fantasy Ghosted:

I did not know that acoustic tile ceiling.

Everything came into focus slowly, including my brain. I took in the IV—the source of the pinching—the whiteboard on the wall across from the foot of my bed with the date and time and “your nurse’s name is Jeannie”; the annoying puffs of air in my nose that turned out to be an oxygen feed; the streaking sunbeams that made me squint.

I felt kinda floaty, and yet my head hurt, which seemed unfair.

I’d learn later that I had a very nice private room in a wing of the hospital most people don’t even know about. The rich-and-famous wing. The spare-no-expenses wing.

From spicy romance Love, in Stitches (the “sequel” to Out of the Frying Pan, both written with Teresa Noelle Roberts under the name Sophie Mouette):

She was tempted to stop at Starbucks, a familiar one between the parking garage and Luscious Couture, but the usual barista didn’t know how to make proper sweet tea, and technically Luanna couldn’t even afford a bottle of water right now. Tap water for this girl, damn the contaminants, full steam ahead.

Tears prickled behind her eyes (where had she found the moisture?), but she fought them back, pressing her lips firmly together and straightening her back. Her parents wouldn’t approve of her getting hysterical in public, though they’d have different reasons for it. Daddy would remind her that she’d made the honorable choice, even if it was hard, and that meant there was no point in crying. He’d also recommend a bourbon and branch water once she got home to make the hard choice easier to swallow.

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