I’d like to welcome Jamie Lee Scott to First Sight Saturday. Jamie shares a first meeting scene from her book, Let Us Prey, one of her Gotcha Detective Agency Mysteries. I say that any man who can make you forget you are at a murder scene is a keeper!
THE SETUP: Mimi Capurro, owner of Gotcha Detective Agency, has found a dead body and called the cops. This is when the cops arrive.
EXCERPT: I couldn’t have imagined I’d ever see the man in front of me again. Nick Christianson, wow, a blast from the past. I didn’t know if I wanted him to be in my present.
Nick’s clean smell took me away from the murder scene and back to my college days. He always had a freshly showered smell, not weighed down by cologne. I love cologne on men, but in subtle amounts, and Nick didn’t even need that.
He’d been my on-again and off-again lover in college. He’d come from Ohio to play football for the junior college, and we’d turned to each other when our respective relationships went to hell. We talked, had sex (what I thought was great sex back then), and went on our merry way. We even ended up at the same university, San Jose State, where Nick was a star defensive back, and I was nobody after the school cancelled their track program. There went my scholarship. But Nick still had his.
I thought he was the most handsome guy I’d ever seen. A six-three Adonis in his football uniform. His olive skin and wavy black hair made his blue-grey eyes sizzle. And that wasn’t the only thing sizzling. He claimed his heritage to be Greek and Irish. Talk about hot. In the beginning I always wondered why he was with me, this guy who had every girl in the school ready to lift her skirts, was with me. At San Jose State, I didn’t have to wonder anymore, since he never spoke to me.
I studied Human Performance, with an emphasis on prevention and care of athletic injuries, so I saw him almost every day during football season and spring training. He didn’t ignore me as much as avoid me. I missed our talks. I knew more about him than anyone, and then I didn’t know him at all.
Looking at Nick now, he’d changed very little. He looked older; naturally, he’d had a rough fifteen years. From college, he’d gone on to play for two different NFL teams. After six years with the NFL, he’d violated their drug and alcohol policies, and they booted him. Can we say stupid? After that, I’d lost track of him. Not that I was keeping track exactly, but his name and face had been in the sports section almost daily while he tried to fight the charges.
I’d had a long day, and with the adrenaline hangover ensuing, I felt nauseated. If I had to see Nick again, I wanted to look my very best. Between the head on the table and Nick standing in front of me after all these years, I’d reached my daily limit. I turned and barfed into the potted palm. I hardly even noticed the liquid that had splattered onto the floor and my pants. My stomach roiled again before I even lifted my head.