One day I woke up with a sudden urge to go to Las Vegas. Why? What would make me want to hop a plane to some strange land where I clearly had no idea what to do once I got there? I’m not a gambler. I don’t gamble. Mid-life was the only answer I could come up with. And, clearly, it had hit me square between the eyes.
Not that I’m complaining … for an hour after arriving in Vegas, some unseen force made me plop my butt into a chair beside a gigantic carousel, where a shiny red T-Bird convertible sat waiting for some lucky soul to hit the jackpot. Me! I was that lucky soul! The stars must have been in perfect alignment, because five minutes later, so were the reels on that slot machine, and ding! ding! ding! the little red T-Bird was mine!
I swiveled around in my chair—I’d like to say in glee, but it was more like confusion, as there was no ding! ding! ding! Spinning white light, yes; ding, ding, ding, no. Nor was there any other sound, announcing my good fortune. And then I saw it. The dreaded machine malfunction notice, which indicated I might not have really won, after all. Say it isn’t so, I bemoaned. But there it was—or wasn’t—that sexy little car was slipping from my fingers, before I’d even had a chance to feel its soft red and black leather seats on my backside.
Was all hope lost? I looked up and did a 360 degree turn, wanting, needing, someone to tell me I was wrong. Then there he was. Security Guy. My Security Guy. Gorgeous. Tall. Smiling and walking straight toward me. Little ol’ me. Honest to God, I felt my heart do a back flip. And it was only partly because I’d just won a car.
After a brief conversation, where I spilled my entire life story to him, he said, “Why don’t you write your next book about winning this car?” Then I melted. I mean here I’d only known this man for one minute and he was giving me a car and suggesting things to me that no man had ever suggested.
“Uh, huh,” I said, nodding my dumbfounded head.
“You’re in shock,” he said with his voice all husky and sultry. And then he touched my shoulder, maybe even squeezed it a little. And it didn’t help matters any that he had dark hair and a slight lip curl that reminded me of, gulp, Elvis. I was a goner. Heck yeah, I was gonna write that book. Thus, my next book, KISSES DON’T LIE, was born … and my Security Guy had won the starring role.
A little piece of advice … if something exciting or crazy happens to you, be sure and take notes because you never know where it might lead. One thing I know is if I get any more sudden urges, like to buy a new house or even another car, I hope I choose something in black or silver, ’cause those colors look really good with my blond hair.