Tracy Price is living happily ever after in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
She is an accomplished researcher, a sane, sedate woman who likes her life to run like a PBS documentary. No car chases, intrigue, or passion. And definitely no rock star lovers.
Then, suddenly, none of that is true. Not one thing.
The reason? Jesse Elliot, a reluctant rock star who starts shedding pheromones and charisma the minute she meets him. Tracy figures things would have worked out differently if it weren't for a neon bra, a trip up the Sandia Tram, the mystery of a writer who vanished in the 1930s, and two best friends who keep changing their minds.
Also, there are some pesky life-sized M&Ms and a Barbie Doll who can't count to two without taking her shirt off.
And one more thing: Jesse and Tracy are hiding secrets that may be major betrayals. Or they may be the key to solving all their differences.
Here's how it all began, according to Tracy.
Excerpt from “Exit Signs” by Patrice Locke
Tracy meets Jesse
Jesse Elliot raked some strands of his blue-black hair away from his forehead. The hair fell right back onto the shoreline of his face like a wave on a beach. I thought of the cliché movie scene where the action cuts to an agitated ocean to symbolize sex. I cleared my throat, and ordered myself to get a grip.
Instead, I surprised us both by asking him my name. “Tracy Price?”
“Yes.” He confirmed my identity. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He was all-business; I was all over the place.
When he sat next to me I wanted to leap up and run away. Instead, I asked, “How do you like Albuquerque?” Very original, Tracy. What I wondered was, How does it feel to look like you do?
“I like it,” he said, answering both my questions. “I like it so far.”
I felt a surge of power. “I bet. And how long are you staying?” Or, more to the point, would it be too forward of me to sit on your lap?
“I can’t say yet. Maybe six weeks? This was kind of an unexpected trip.” Bingo. Both questions addressed.
This was working. Let me know when you decide about the lap thing. I covered my mouth for a fake cough to clear my head.
He told me he was working on a soundtrack for a movie about a Billy the Kid-like character who time-travels into the future to clear his name.
I nodded. “Billy’s still got charisma. People are drawn to the legend.” Much as I am drawn to you and your amazingly high, sharp cheekbones.
“That’s true, isn’t it?” he said.
Yes, it certainly is.
And then, as if he had heard me, he drew his right thumb and forefinger together across the bottom half of his face, calling attention to the sharply carved facial planes. Yes, those cheekbones. Exactly right. Women are supposed to have those facial planes. Don’t worry, though, you’re too handsome to be pretty.
We were silent. I was contemplating his perfection. Maybe he was, too.
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