Troy Cummings is the boyfriend of Libby Taylor, my main character. Boy, have Troy and I come a long way. He started out as Libby’s best friend whom she wanted to date. Recently, he transformed into being Libby’s boyfriend just so that I could be a little more sadistic to Libby. Sorry, Libby, that’s just how us writers roll: we must torture our main characters to get them to transform adequately by the end. Making him her boyfriend and first love makes the conflict that much better!
Today’s prompt was inspired by Marilyn at the WellFed Muse. Marilyn runs Writing Pad, the group from which I take all my writing classes. For the next few Sundays I will be occupying her living room taking classes on how to write the third act of my YA project. I love Writing Pad. I would not be here without them.
*Funny story about this image. I was at Starbucks (as per usual) but in a completely different part of town. There was this very good looking and charming barista who had just the right look for Troy. He humored me and allowed me to take a picture of him. He even asked what my book was about. It was the very first day that I was able to articulate exactly what my project is about. Yeah for Starbucks and for inspiration.
“You worry too much. We’re not doing anything bad.” His arms around my waist, I follow his steps as he walks backwards towards his bed. He doesn’t let go as he falls backwards. Trying to hold myself upright as he drags me forward, I only end up bent over his body as he lays out on the bed. I hold myself with my arms while I look down at him. “Yet,” he added and smiled up at me.
I shook my head and straightened myself up. He moved over and patted the sliver of space next to him on his bed. I looke back at the door, closed tightly, the sounds of the local news still managing to come through. An explosion could go off in the back of the house and Mrs. Cummings wouldn’t notice unless it messed up her cable connection. Troy gave me a curious look that asked what I was thinking about. That or what what taking so long.
What would Amber do? I asked myself. Jesus would not be caught in this situation, alone in a girl’s room. Alone with a girl that everyone expected you to marry or at least be having everything-but-sex with. Amber, she’d make a decision worthy of my father and the church.
I sat next to Troy instead of laying down. I pressed my back straight against the cool wall causing the hem of my skirt to move up my thigh. I didn’t bother to pull it down or brush away Troy’s hand when he turned over on his side and placed it there. I eased under the heat of his hand. He massaged the soft skin of his hand against my leg causing my breath to catch in my chest. A tingle of energy moved through my abdomen. The smell of christmas was stronger as he sat up on his elbow and leaned up to kiss the underside of my chin. I smiled and leaned in to meet him halfway. I’m conservative. Not dead.