Romance Shorts: Love Stories

By Lori Schafer

Romance Shorts: Love Stories by Lori Schafer

“Delayed Connection”
“And before I had even dared to let go of the heartache of my humiliation, he enfolded me lovingly in his arms and pressed his lips passionately against mine in what I suddenly knew was to be the first of many such kisses.”
Flash fiction. Includes author commentary on the single scenario that generated two romantic stories – one clean and one dirty.

“The Sublet”
“On my other side, a man I’d never expected to see again was crawling into bed with me.”
When there’s nothing tying you down, how do you decide whether to stay or go? A short story excerpt from my first novel My Life with Michael: A Story of Sex and Beer for the Middle-Aged.

“Fluffy Robes and Slippers”
“They spoke to him of warm feet and cool hands, of the sheets that they had defrosted together, of the cozy softness of her front-door farewell on chill autumn mornings...”
Flash fiction. Includes author commentary.

“Beach House”
“This is how I want to remember the beach house,” he said, his deep voice breaking. “This is how I want to remember you.”
Flash fiction. Includes commentary on how I made an incredibly sad story slightly less depressing.

“Careful”
“On bad days I wondered how old people ever even did it. Sometimes walking seemed like too much effort, let alone all the aerobicized contortionism that went with sex.”
How older people do it. A self-contained short story excerpt from My Life with Michael.

“Last Date”
“I’d drawn him to me, fully, frontally, my hands pressing against his torso and pulling him towards me, almost into me, forgetting for a moment that I was no longer young; forgetting everything but the inexplicable lust that had so lately overwhelmed my aging body as if it were not yet willing to sink peacefully into sexless oblivion.”
Flash fiction. Includes author commentary on the losses that come with age.

“Missed Call”
“He stared at it, a solitary word framed in black, gray, and white; pulled from his pocket in the depths of despair. Ambulance.”
Flash fiction. Includes commentary on the inspiration for this story – and how the cell phone has revolutionized relationships.

“Anything Can Happen”
“I figured I’d better backtrack fast before he started thinking I liked him or something. But it’s hard to backpedal when you’ve got your foot in your mouth.”
Is it really over when it’s over? A short story derived from my first novel, My Life with Michael.

Author’s Note on Content: While not sexually explicit, this work of fiction contains suggestive language and may be inappropriate for readers under the age of eighteen. All characters depicted are eighteen years of age or older.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lights Out Publishing
• Release date: Jan 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311853325

Book preview

ROMANCE SHORTS

Love Stories by Lori Schafer

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 Lori Schafer

All rights reserved.

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-311-85332-5

Discover other titles by Lori Schafer at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/LoriSchafer

Author’s Note on Content: While not sexually explicit, this work of fiction contains suggestive language and may be inappropriate for readers under the age of eighteen. All characters depicted are eighteen years of age or older.

CONTENTS

Delayed Connection

The Sublet

Fluffy Robes and Slippers

Beach House

Careful

Last Date

Missed Call

Anything Can Happen

DELAYED CONNECTION

Christopher, I breathed aloud. That name I had so often uttered in my lonely silence, seemingly without prompt or inspiration. The name that sometimes still involuntarily escaped my lips, as if intent on betraying the subconscious longing I’d so carefully kept concealed, all throughout the course of the intimate friendship that had never succeeded in developing into more. It came to me as I disembarked, dragging my suitcase behind me, the unhappy relic of a solitary vacation spent dreaming he was with me. Here I was again, at the melancholy scene of our last meeting, the very airport where he had left me, that fateful day of our final farewell nearly a year before. How sadly I’d delivered him to the gate packed with other passengers who were coming home, or leaving home, or perhaps, like him, flying off to some other state after having accepted a big promotion hundreds of miles away from the woman who secretly loved him.

Well, it was nice knowing you, he’d said, with agonizing lack of feeling, as if we’d merely met at the gym or the train station; were no more than casual acquaintances. Evidently entirely ignorant of the lump growing in my throat, like an expanding rubber balloon threatening to pop and then deflate like my dwindling hope that he’d asked me to take him to the airport with the aim of confessing his own secret love. How sweet and bittersweet it could have been; the perfect speech for our last moment together, before he flew out of my life forever.

But he’d had no confession to make. Had hoisted his suitcase with a sigh as if concerned only with making his plane; had hugged me gruffly with his one free arm and then torn abruptly away, towards the automatic glass doors that eagerly beckoned the traveler to faraway destinations. Had turned back with surprise only when he’d felt my hand clutching his arm, my fingers stroking his chest, my lips pressing unexpectedly against his in the first, last, long-awaited lingering kiss that many months before should have been mine; that many times since should have been ours. Had looked at me, speechless, bewildered, still holding his bag awkwardly in a single fist while I’d backed slowly away, whimpering like a wounded animal suddenly lacking the courage to fight.

And then I’d run. I’d sprinted away, flushed and shaking; pretended the sharp pain searing my chest