Tracy’s Writing

Guy-Wired is a sexy, 80,000 word women’s fiction novel of catty women, lying men and the people who live among them. Set in a quiet Dallas suburb where apple pie is served up with a big ‘ole scoop of deceit, it is a tale of cat and mouse dinner conversation, suspicious glances, and lots of hot sex.  A place where you discover things are never quite what they seem and the most amazing transformations come from the most unlikely of circumstances.

Short Blurb:

Abby Winslow almost has it all; beautiful kids, the two-story in suburbia, a growing bank account, and at the young age of thirty-four, the body of a college cheerleader. But when a strung-out mess of a woman comes knocking on Abby’s door, she soon discovers the one thing she doesn’t have. A faithful husband. Suddenly, the numbing rut of a life this housewife’s been living is thrown into a tailspin, as truths become lies and trust is harder to find than a good babysitter.

Drew Winslow denies all and pleads his innocence. But Drew’s a power-playing, hot shot lawyer who makes his living off flashy smiles and quick answers. Who’s a woman to believe?  To find the truth, Abby must use more than her Yard of the Month gardening skills to dig into the past and uncover things best left forgotten. With the help of her estranged sister, headstrong best friend, and a fast talking psychic, can a quiet soccer mom outwit the man she loves, but no longer feels she knows? And at the risk of losing the picture perfect family, comfortable lifestyle, and amazing sex, should she even try?

Excerpt:

Chapter One

He invaded my senses from across the room. With eyes still closed I breathed him in, slowly, savoring. The subtle scent of aftershave, citrus and earthy spice, made me feel warm and tingly in places accustomed to feeling warm and tingly when he was near. I heard the distinct rattle and click of his watch as he fastened it around his wrist.

Drew quietly approached the bed. Feeling his presence, I opened sleepy eyes and smiled. He wore a dark suit and blue, confidence-inspiring tie. The sexy dimple on his left cheek deepened when he smiled back, causing totally inappropriate thoughts to enter my mind. I tucked them away and vowed to return to them later, when I wasn’t crowded between two toddlers.

“I love you, Abby,” he whispered as he bent to kiss me, careful not to wake the kids.

I winked in response while he pushed the hair off my forehead. His smile turned sympathetic, taking in the full depth of my current position. But I wasn’t as uncomfortable as I imagined I looked. By now I’d lost all feeling from the neck down, so it wasn’t so bad. Drew kissed me again and tiptoed out the door, off to work.

The sudden jerk of Ben’s foot slamming into my nose made me see stars. Blood pooled into my nostrils. I quickly raised myself out of bed, causing Hayden to roll over in dazed confusion. Their peaceful slumber disturbed, both children wailed. I did my best to staunch my bleeding nose and soothe my scattered kids, thoughts of blissful sex with my husband forgotten.

Twenty minutes and two balls of tissue shoved up my nostrils later, peace was restored. Thanks in part to Dora the Explorer and the promise of frozen waffles. I pulled breakfast out of the freezer, popped it into the toaster then onto plates, ignoring the mommy-guilt that nagged me for feeding my children processed poison.

Just as I was setting breakfast on the table, the ringing doorbell broke up our goofy singing of “Backpack, Backpack” and my own mental ass kicking. “Pizza’s here!” Hayden stood on her chair and clapped her hands.

“No sweetie, no pizza this morning.” I laughed while ruffling her hair. “Stay with Ben and eat your breakfast. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, mommy.” She stuffed a giant forkful of waffle into her mouth and I threw a silent prayer up to the frozen waffle gods that she wouldn’t choke before I returned.

At the front door, I looked out the peephole to see who could be on my steps this early in the day. An obviously lost bleached blonde in desperate need of a touch-up peered back at me.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said once the door was open.

I paused, waiting to hear her spiel about the demo carpet cleaning she wanted to offer or her testimony as to how much she loved the Lord and how miraculously He’d changed her life. She looked like she’d be more comfortable hanging from a stripper pole than worshipping the Holy Trinity.

“You’re sorry?” I cocked an eyebrow thinking she’d gotten the wrong house.

She cleared her throat and ran one hand through unkempt hair, as if trying to collect herself. “Please. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Intuition crept its way up my spine, telling me this visit would lead to nothing good.

“I didn’t know he was married.”