So I was a bit skeptic at first because she didn't have any work I could judge because you can tell a lot by how a person writes. I also read over the Table of Contents and saw that she (Dark_Temptation the author) had all these really good subjects to go over and I wasn't sure if I would learn anything. I though it was another place were they would just tell me things I already knew or just listed a bunch of stuff I wouldn't understand.... Well I am happy I'm wrong.

Surprisingly, she broke everything down into simpler terms and gives examples for almost everything she writes down. Plus she writes in First person (like me, but she writes in present tense and I do past tense) and I was technically sold there, but wait there's more. She's not just focusing on one genre of uality but everything from Straight to Yuri. So everyone is happy, especially me.

She also has this thing where she gives out project, (totally optional and she states that everywhere) and this weeks project is about the five senses, and the prompts are really cool. I think the thing I like the most is that she is going over the basics of writing and not just throwing us into a pool when some are barely learning to swim.

I really believe others can learn something there so I just had to share this. Honey Trap! The Romance Guide. Check it out, what's the worst that can happen? I also got permission from the author herself(if you want to ask) to copy a part of this weeks lesson which I just adore and can't really express in words what it does for me, so read for yourself. [Everything written below are her words, none are mine] Also I want to say Happy Early Thanksgiving!

Show, don't tell: Means just what it says. Show the readers through your words what you want them to see; don't just tell them about it. It is like a download from your imagination into someone else's.

Writing blogs always tell us that it is vital that we "show, don't tell," but then don't explain what that phrase actually means. So here's a quick guide to Show, don't tell.

The idea is if you tell someone something, they might remember it and they might believe it -- or they might not. If you show them it so that they can see it in their own mind's eye, they are more likely to remember it and, more importantly, believe it.

Don’t say they are nervous - show them refusing food, or repeatedly going to the toilet. Show them tapping their feet, drumming their hands, pacing the room. Show them checking their watch over and over, playing with their hair, or biting their lip. Or maybe he sweats excessively or is constantly blinking more that usual.

Don’t say they are sad - show them retreating to their bedroom, show them listening to sad songs, or not paying attention to the television in front of them. Show them hugging a pillow, hiding under the duvet, writing angsty poetry. Show them crying, wailing, shaking, rocking. Show them eating ice cream, chocolate, cake.

Don’t say they are excited - show them chattering away, jumping up and down, clapping their hands. Show them grinning, laughing, hugging their friends. Show them dancing, running in circles, doing cartwheels.

Don’t just tell your readers what your characters are feeling; show them the physical effects of the emotion - physical effects that your readers can relate to. It will make your characters more real, more animated, and it will bring your readers closer to them.

Let's use Wyatt as an example.

“Dr. Stacy Klay will be with you shortly.” The small nurse smiles briefly, her name tag hidden from my prying eyes, before closing the door behind her.

He's going to find out. He probably already knows I'm here.

The smell of harsh chemicals, disinfectant, and rubbing alcohol scrubs the back of my throat and lungs with its aroma. As if they are trying to erase any proof that I inhaled smoke, like that would help me. It's just too clean here and I am only corrupting the flow with my ash and grime covered turn-out pants. My nails scrap at the filth rapidly, but it only results with dirt shoved under my nails. Hurry up doc.

My eyes dart around the small room, my gaze focusing on a poster diagram of hair and skin layers tacked into the white wall. After reading it for the nth time, I let out a sigh and lay back on the examination bed, the paper covering the bed crinkles and hisses under my movements. I release one of my own, my left side throbbing in protest with each breath. Then everything is quiet.

What's taking so long?

The need to bounce my left leg was clawing at my sanity, but the weightless splint protecting my ankle at this moment felt like it is crafted out of concrete. With a swipe of my tongue across my lips, the skin now dry and there is a half healed cut in the corner, I remember what is at stake. He's going to demand I quit.

I run my fingers through my sweaty hair and feel the tender bump near the base of my skull. Another quick inhale of breath and I drop my hand on my forehead, dragging it down my face. The sweat, dirt, and ashes that's clings to my skin, only to smudge more. Forcing me to let my hand fall to the bed, to contain myself from rubbing it further. My body is steadily getting use to the board of a bed, especially after today's events. It's solid, sturdy and not going to collapse with me on it.Come on lady.

I sit up, fire and needles attacking my left side, the muscles in my leg quiver as I tense. God, I should have moved faster. I could hear the wood splintering, see the fire eat at the floor. There was so much commotion, Captain yelling in my radio, the little girl crying... I should just leave.

A hiss slithers out when I slip to my feet, most of my weight shifts to my right leg. Acid races through my veins when I try to slowly collect my helmet from the chair to my left. My eyes pinch shut when my finger grazes the hard surface, just as a hard force smashes into my right shoulder.

A gasp ripples through the air that doesn't belong to me. And who the hell puts a chair directly behind a door, this is a safety hazard.

“Goddamn it.” I growl under my breath, squeezing my eyes even tighter as I turn towards the door that had recently assaulted me. Now the doctor shows up, how was I going to tell her I was leaving, without her causing a problem? “Listen babe– and you're not a girl.” The words rush out as my eyes land on guy who looks both concern and amuse.

And what do you know, there on his name tag pinned to his white coat in clean, bold and black letters is printed, Stacy Klay.

“I'm sorry.” I think my headache came back because I couldn't tell if it is me or him that just spoke.

I know I told the nurse to bring me any new attending doctor, but I didn't mean fresh out of high school. He looks kind of young to be a doctor.

He closes the door and steps deeper into the room.“I'm terribly sorry, I don't know why they'd put a chair behind door.” He sits on the wheeled stool, his eyes dart from me to the exam bed as if he is trying to use some Jedi mind trick to control me. “Leaving?”

“I-um yes.” That was as smooth as a cactus rubbing against sandpaper. “Sorry to have wasted your time doc.” I look back over at my helmet. “I'm just going to head out now.”

“Was it because I hit you with the door?” He suggests.

I whip my head back around. “No! Of course not, it's just that I'm feel fine now. A little rest does the body good.” I chuckle flatly as I duck my head and scratch this spot behind my neck that is suddenly irritating.

“So I should ignore the air splint around your left ankle and the way you flinch every time you lean to the left?” He interrogates. “Selena said that this is special case.” He must of known what I was thinking as I raise an eyebrow. “The nurse.” He offers and I nod my head. “So is there anything else I should know that I don't already? Everything is confidential here at Walter Gold Memorial Hospital.” I cringe internally at the name.

I glance at the door, Stacy doesn't seem like he's going to stop me, but then He will find out what happened if I go around limping everywhere. He won't find out if I'm not longer in this hospital.

“Thank you but I'm fine.” I went to pick up my helmet, fighting back a wince.

A sigh rattles the silence, “I know this is a special case, but this doesn't mean I'm going to judge you for what you do. You're not my first patient to work in this profession and I think you guys are the bravest people for doing this despite what people think.” I look back to see a sincere smile pull at his lips.

If only my father would say the same.

He laughs and apparently I said that out loud. “Parents will dislike everything you do that could possibly cause you harm, but this is a tough world.” Stacy adds, “So please reconsider leaving.”

“Does anyone know I'm here?” I press.

“No one but me and Selena.”

Well, what the heck, it can only get worst from here.

I sigh, “Sure.” I toss my helmet back on the seat, biting the inside of my cheek. “What are we going to get started with first?” And I could swear he didn't have a clipboard a second ago.

“Tell me how you sustained those injuries.” He clicks his pen. “You don't have to go into details. Just a rough summary so I know what I need to assess.”

“I fell through the second floor of a three story building.” I mutter, my eyes darting towards the door as if someone was trying to claw their way in. “I landed on my left side as you can see.”

If he is shocked or mortified he keeps it to himself. “I see you have an air splint, was there medical assistance at the site? Did they give you a diagnosis.”

“Yes, an ambulance was there. I had a slight concussion, but nothing to worry about. They said I have a grade two sprained ankle but I'm only here because they suspect I might have cracked a rib. But I already told the nurse that I don't want an x-ray.” I explain because an x-ray means I'd get admitted and that means my name will be written on a board for the world to see. Stacy says nothing as he scratches at the paper with his pen. “Um, whose name is this going under?” I cut in after several moments of silence.

“John Doe like you requested.” He glances up from the paper and seriously the guy looks like he should still be in college. “Alright let's take a look.” He rolls his stool backwards and sets the clipboard on the counter. “I'm going to need you to remove your shirt,” He pauses, “Do you need help?”

“I got it.” I assure him with a weak grin before turning my head to look at the wall on the other side of the room.

I got the suspender strap off of my left shoulder with little resistance, but when it comes to pulling the right, my left side protests. The sound of wheels rolling closer fills the room, and there is a light pressure on my hand.

“Let me.” He offers, standing so close I fear he didn't know what boundaries are.

His eyes, golden brown, like the afternoon sun shining through a glass of whiskey. And I was trying to fight down the urge to make a cheesy pick up line about his eyes but I forgive my brain because its undergone trauma and can't help but send blood to places that have no business getting hot over this.

“Um, thanks.” And it comes out like syrup, thick and sugary, and I am sorry I can't control my body with all the adrenaline from my recent near death experience.

“No problem.” He gives a small smile before gently lifting the strap off and down my shoulder until it was resting against my hip. “Raise your arms.” His voice is warm but it sounds like he's speaking to a child and not a grown man.

Yet I comply, but as I go to lift my left arm, he grabs my wrist and raises it slowly, eyes roaming my face as he does so. “How tall are you?” He suddenly asks, pinching the sides of my tucked-in shirt as he tugs it out of my pants. “I'm six foot one.” He answers his own question, and that is when I notice he is two inches taller. “You look to be about five foot eleven or maybe six feet flat.” And now I think he's trying to distract me from the future pain with conversation, and there is a expression of guilt etch on his face as he looks at everything but my abdomen when he pulls my shirt up my chest.

I try to assure him that I'm fine, “You want to speed this up doc?” but I don't think I got my point across correctly. And when the corner of his mouth twitches, no one can blame me for staring because he's pretty close and this is a natural reaction for anyone. And if I happened to study how his much his lower lip is plumper than the top, that's nobody's business but my own.

His eyes narrow slightly and then I realize I might be making him nervous with how intensely I am staring at him. A normal stare does not include seeing micro expressions pass over someone’s face. I believe I might have hit my head pretty hard to be feeling all of this, with a doctor.

He bent my elbows as he forces my limbs out of the arm holes, the shirt now hanging around my neck like a necklace from the Egyptian era. I hunch over an inch and bow my head, trying to hide the bolts of pain shooting up my spine when a cold hand presses against my bruise. Like the moment when you run a hot pan under the faucet, it just feels right mentally and physically. Sending a shiver through my body and a sigh of contempt from my lips.

“Sorry if I mess up your hair.” He grabs the rim of my collar and stretches it over my ears, sliding it down the rest of the way. “Here you go.” He holds out my shirt and I go to retrieve it.

Then the door burst open.

Stacy flinches back and I just let out a sigh, it was only a matter of time.

“Chief of Staff? Dr. Gold, what are you doing here?” Stacy asks, and I can't tell what expression he is making because if I look that way –

“Dr. Klay would you please leave the room.” A voice like nails scratching a chalk board speaks.

“But I'm with a patient--” Poor Stacy never gets to finish because the bomb that just entered the room had now detonated.

“That is no patient, that is my son!” And I can't do anything but roll my eyes at the way he spits out son, like the word has a revolting flavor when spoken.

“This is your son?” I can feel the doctor's eyes on me, but I ignore them both and grab my shirt, throwing it on the bed.

“Glad to hear you haven't disowned me yet.” My voice becomes tight and my palms sweating.

“If it wasn't for your mother you would be.” I finally look over at him as he steps closer to me.

“Well god bless her soul.” I retorted flatly.

Red spills into his skin. “You better show some respect for the only person who has any for you and your bastard child.” He sneers, and my jaw locks as I step forward with a deadly purpose.

“You son of . Don't you dare say anything about Oliver.” The words scramble pass my teeth in a growl and I am a hundred percent sure that if he so much as blinks I will swing my fist at him. The devil is breathing down my neck and the only thing keeping me from tasting temptation is because there is a witness.

“If I may,” Stacy slides in between us, “I believe he's worthy of your respect. He risks his life everyday with what he does. He needs your support with all the tough days he faces.” And I want to laugh and tell Stacy to save his breath because me and respect in the same sentences don't sit well with him.

“Nobody is telling him to do it.” He narrows his eyes at the black and purple sploshes on my side, like he pities the bruises for having to form on at person like me.

“ion is not a choice, it– ”

“ion?” We say in unison.

“I knew it was only a matter of time.” He says in a tone that a judge would use when sentencing a person to life in prison. I could hear the bars slam shut in the back of my head.

There is too much fire in my veins and I am never able to control myself, so I shoot at every thing in my path til I run out of ammo.“You and this doctor can go yourselves.” I spit out and watch Stacy's eyes widen, in all fairness that was me being gentle. “I'm not a goddam e.” I snarl at both of them.

I now know how Stacy looks when he's mortified, “But-but I don't understand. Selena said it was a special case and that it was meant be handle with secrecy and caution. I only thought that was for working girls.” Stacy looks between him and me, but he appears to have made up his mind about the situation and looks uninterested in this conversation.

Which crawls its way under my skin and stabs at tender nerves. “My uniform wasn't a sign?” The words are laced with more venom than I want, but my hands are trembling and talking is the only thing keeping my fist at bay.

“I though that was part of the getup. You know, role playing.” Stacy is making it seem like my job is a joke like he does, and my fingers curl into my palms as I glare. “Your helmet said , all the signs were there.” He tries to defend, but his words are drowning in a sea of fire. “I apologize. I should have never assumed that. Forgive me.” And somehow that is all it takes to cap the wildfire within me, but them he has to light a match.

“You see! You and this-this- this fire company, how can you respect yourself with a name like that printed on your forehead?” He snatches up my helmet and shoves it into my face. “Your mother may be able to tolerate this but I won't.” I grab my helmet from his clutches and toss it on the bed.

I'm tired of this.

“Be glad I didn't go to ville.” I say, but there is no fire in my words, only pain coating my body as the adrenaline disappears like smoke, no evidence it was ever there besides a heavy scent of destruction.

“You'd be the last person they'd let wear their label.” I guess he feels the same because he is back to his usual monotone voice as he turns towards the door. “Dr. Klay I expect his assessment on my desk immediately.”

“With the lecture I'm sure you're prepared to say later, I should transfer to blue ball.” I say but the door is already closing behind him before I reach the end of my sentence. He is always such a drama queen, forever needing to have the last word.

The sound of a pen clicking breaks the quiet. I really should apologize, I probably would have been confused too if I was Stacy. Well I guess this calls us even, I assumed he was a she and he thought I was a e. I turn toward him, only to find him facing the sink embedded in the counter.

“Doc, I'm sorry,” I break off because the guilt is slowly seeping in and I feel the need to apologize for my very existence at this moment.

“For what?” Stacy questions, turning around only to sit on his stool.

“For calling you an doctor.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling empty in my own skin, nothing to fuel me now but the pain as I try to shift my weight off my throbbing ankle.

“That's okay.” He says softly, eyes darting behind me. Most likely to my helmet, but he says nothing. Doesn't comment about what had just transpire or how horrible of a relationship I have with my 'family'. He's not judging me and that just scratches my bones in a weird way.

I need to say something, “Even though, technically, that is what you are.” I add, but there is no heat behind my words.

Stacy understands that and gives a smile. “You know,” He begins, as I lower myself on the edge of the bed. “You look too young to be a firefighter.” And I laugh to myself as he rolls the stool closer so that he's practically in between my thighs.

“Well if that isn't the pot calling the kettle back.” I snort and he blinks. “But I look old enough to be a e?” I give him cheeky grin.

He says nothing as he pumps his stool up higher so that he is eye level with my throat. He picks up the stethoscope from around his neck, sticking the ear-tips in his ear. His fingers pinch around the diagram as it hovers over my chest, his eyes focused on the instrument. Then he looks up at me through dark eyelashes.

“I am honestly sorry about that mix up. It was really the helmet that got me. I'm new to this area and I didn't know.” His eyebrows push together. “You have to admit, is an odd name for an establishment meant to keep people safe. You look like you barely reach twenty and you're handsome. I thought it was a fabricated costume. The pieces were all there, I just placed them wrong.” He sighs, his face turns gloomy.

And now I feel like a jackass. “y enough to be a e, you say?” His lips twitches when I rub my chin as if I'm musing it over. “I guess I'll take that as a complement.” I say it as if that is the last option the universe can come up with.

“I don't believe I said y.” His lips mush together as if he's fighting back a smile and then I curse internally because I shouldn't be staring at anyone’s lips this much that I don't intend to attack later.

“It's the bruises, isn't it?” I reply, looking down a the dark mess on my skin. “Come see me in a few weeks, maybe that will change your mind.” The words just slip like putty from my mouth. Though as I try to go clean up my mess...

“Is this your way of asking me out?” Stacy his head to the right, the light above brings out the specks of gold in his wet sand-colored hair, and I can't tell whether or not it's natural but his eyebrows match. Though I guess the only way to really know would to see if the carpet matched the drapes – No Wyatt.

Sorry but it's second nature to me and his hair is a mess of curls, you could see the spacious tracks in front that shows he is always combing his hair back with his fingers. I know I should be getting off the subject of his hair, but I've been trying my hardest not to stare at it since he hit me with the door. It's the type of hair that once you look at it you're hooked because it appears soft and silky like water and I crave to touch it. But it also looks he just woke up, wild and everywhere. One head shake away from attacking anything by it. And now there is a curl just right there that seems to glisten. And god, I told you it was entrapping.

“I don't date doctors.” And it's true, but the longer I stare at his head the more I want to know if that is his birth given hair color. I can just ask him, but where is the fun in that? And just when I finally manage to tear my eyes away from his tresses, they go straight to his lips, which curved into a smile on the borderline of becoming a smirk.

“Just doctors?” He asks, but there is another question hiding within his words.

“Are you asking if I'm gay?” Might as well drag the elephant out of the closet. He blinks and I apparently hit the nail on the head. “I like who I like, gender has nothing to do with it.” That is also true, I got over that fear of being judged in high school. Girls or boys or both or none, you like who you like and if anyone has a issue, that's their goddamn problem. Nobody likes a judgmental prick.

“So it's the job description?” He hums to himself, and he doesn't even tell me whether or not he likes men, but since he believes I'm asking him out on a date, that can only really mean one thing. “Well I don't date patients anyway.” He tosses that out like expired food in a fridge, and he still has the stethoscope hovering over my chest and I'm beginning to wonder why he's taking so long.

“Good. I don't date doctors.” And now I want to press the backspace button for my mouth, but science hasn't invented anything yet so I have to settle for Stacy giving me that slow head shake you give little kids when they ask if Santa Clause is real. Or when people say they've been abducted by aliens.

Yet when I examine Stacy closer, his eyes aren't even directed at me. They're a bit unfocused, his pupils are blown wide and pointed at my chest. “Good. I don't date patients.” He repeats, but it's as if he's not even aware he's talking, like he has mentally left his body. And just when I go to wave a hand in his face, he blinks and his face is back to normal. Except his pupils have eaten the color of his eyes, you can't even see an inch of brown. I wonder if the honey color of my eyes is noticeable or do I mirror his expression.

“Glad we're on the same page.” I say, and I am, but my lips are thinning out like they can't stand the crap I'm saying.

“Probably for the best.” He nods his head.“Lean forward please.” And I guess that was the beginning and end of that conversation.

I lean forward and it's when I get a whiff of something citrus, oranges maybe, and a close up of Stacy's face do I remember he is still squeezed between my thighs.His bone structure is strong, chiseled by an artist who knew what he was doing. There is a deep scar, but it's small, right at the cupid bow of his lips. What could have caused that? And there is a faint shadow along his jaw, he must of shaved this morning. He doesn't seem so young now.

I must smell awful and look absolutely wrecked with my face covered in dirt, my hair is probably even a darker shade of black with all that stuff. And I wiggle my fingers to stop myself from touching my hair. My skin begins to crawl and I really need to wash my face. When was the last time I shaved, last week? Not that I need to with the rate my facial hair grows, it takes almost a month to see anything. I guess I do look a bit young.

I laugh to myself as he stretches his arm out and reaches around to press the diagram of the stethoscope against my back.

“You know, you look older up close.” I looked at him, but his eyes are directed behind me, yet that doesn't stop him from giving a small smile.

Stacy moves the instrument more to the left of my back.“Oh?” His voice is deeper than before. “Take a deep breath.” And I do, which feels like someone is stabbing me in the side. “Again.” His voice seems to get heavier as he moves his hand higher. “Again.” He looks directly into my eyes as I exhale and he probably notices the increase in my heart rate. What can I say, my body is a traitor.

“Doc aren't you suppose to start with my chest?” And I want to high five my brain for bringing that up because now I'm not the only one out of their element.

A smile creeps it's way across my lips as he tenses. I hum with satisfaction and stare up ahead at the faucet when he retracts his arm, but something catches the corner of my eyes. On the shell of his ear, it appears clipped, like someone had some scissors and just snipped. The cut is pretty wide, probably be able to swipe two coins through the space. And that is the last I see of it. Stacy must of caught me staring because he combs back his hair, causing it to hide his ear.

I want to ask but it's none of my business. “Things happen when you're named Stacy.” He says carelessly but his tone goes dark like the ocean and who doesn't want to go down farther and discover what harbors below the surface. “Sit up please.” And I do.

He presses the diagram against my left pectoral and asks me to breathe. Everything is back to normal except the fact that he has his left hand flat on my chest. And if anyone asks why my s poke out, it's because I'm cold and his hand and stethoscope aren't any warmer. And if you try to argue that my rapid heartbeat means my body temperature should be rising, I hope you have evidence to prove that theory.

When he gets finished with my chest, he doesn't tell me to lean forward. No, he glides his left hand across my skin until he reaches my shoulder blade and presses forward. It's a brief and innocent action honestly, but there is a trail of fire and ice following his fingers, battling with my flesh.

“So doc,” I say with a deep breath. “How old are you really?” I am genuinely curious.

He moves the stethoscope, “Twenty six.” He says and I watch his face for any signs of lying but there are none. “Breathe.” And now I want to know how he became a doctor so quick.

“Huh.” I breath out. “Legal to drink.” I state but it comes out sort of like a question and his eyes tear away from the spot on my shoulder he has been zoned in on the entire time.

He blinks at me.“Thought you weren't asking me out.” He reminds me and there is a hint of a smirk at his lips. And then my damn heart decides to sneeze or whatever because I know that it did not just skip a beat.

“Wasn't offering.” I say but that doesn't wipe his smile away, and maybe it even grows. Now I fear that he might of heard the train wreck going on in my chest.

He hums and pulls the stethoscope away from my skin and places it around his neck. “How old are you?” He asks as he runs his hand through his hair.

I wonder if that is a habit of his, “Twenty two.” Then again if I didn't always gel my hair back I'd do the same thing as him.

“Newly legal.” Stacy says and tilts his head to the side. “You're allowed to be a firefighter at that age?”

A question I'm use to. “Eighteen is the lowest they'll go, but kids today don't find it worth their time knowing.” He nods his head, but still looks undecided. “When I was sixteen I joined the junior firefighter program for three years. Then volunteered at every fire station I could. I was twenty when I got recruit to my current fire house, though I only got to monitor. When I turned twenty one the fire chief let me go on my first call.” I sigh, captain is going to have my on a platter for putting the crew in danger.

“Why didn't anyone come with you today?” Stacy asks.

“People notice firefighters and that would only draw more attention to me. And you saw what happened earlier.” I motion towards the door.

“Oh.” And then he frowns.

Frowning doesn't suit him. “So are you some sort of baby genius?”

“Huh?” He blinks.

“Twenty six and already a doctor.” I hint. “You don't take me for a bookworm.” My stomach tenses as I chuckle.

His eyes travel down to my abdomen, staring like a cavemen seeing fire for the first time. “Photographic memory, some would say but,.” He blinks and looks at me. “I'm just really good a remembering what I see.”

“That's handy.” I say, but it comes out covered in dark chocolate and dirty ideas, I need to clear my head and it's not because he's still pressing against my thighs.

He shakes his head with a smile.“It's a life saver during hard times.” And I don't know if that is a ual innuendo or not, but that only helps my brain go to dirtier places. “Well the good new is you didn't fracture any ribs, everything sounds good. I can write you a prescription for a narcotic pain medication.” He offers and I nod. “Apply some ice to help with the swelling. Take deep breaths every now and then to help expand the lungs. Avoid binding the chest or ribs since this could increase the risk of pneumonia. Avoid vigorous sports or activities that can affect your ribs, which means taking some time off work.” He say as he plays with his fingers in his lap. “It may take three to four weeks for your bruised ribs to fully heal.”

I knew that already but it still sparks fire in my blood to hear it out loud. “Alright doc.” I sigh, no point in fighting. This will just give me more time with Oliver. “Will the medication help with my ankle as well?”

He nods. “Yes.” He places his hands on my knees and pushes himself back, rolling backwards until he's by counter. “Should I keep your name under John Doe?” He picks up the clipboard.

“No point in hiding anymore.” I groan, my side becoming stiff. “Wyatt Gold.” I say flatly because there is nothing luxurious about the last name Gold.

“It's a pleasure to meet you Wyatt.” He says as he writes something down.

“Are you going to kiss my now that you know I'm somehow related to the chief of staff?” I ask, just because I need something to do or else I'll just keep staring at him.

“No,” He answers and I assume that is it, “Not because of your father's position.”

If I ever repeat what he said to anyone, they would think he was just trying to confirm his statement. But it was the way he said it, the way the words track after each other only to fall over a cliff into a mysterious pit of temptation. It sounds like a proposition, a promise, maybe even a hint to something more. Or maybe this is just my brain finally shutting down because that seems plausible after falling through a floor, who could precisely say.

Goddamn, I need to get laid.

Well that was more than I was going to originally write, but once the creative juices started flowing I couldn't stop. Also I did not make up those fire station names. In Pennsylvania, , ville and Blue Ball are real fire companies which worked great for me.

You noticed I highlighted a few parts, those are there to show you how I used everything we covered in this chapter. I know there are plenty that I ignored but I didn't want to clutter the page. So let's get started, from the top.

In the beginning Wyatt seems paranoid. He keeps talking about a He that we don't know about and you can tell it's not someone he wants to see. Then Wyatt gets to a point where he can't seem to stop moving, either his hands or eyes seem to be doing something. As a reader we perceive that as someone being nervous or agitated and Wyatt appears to be both.

What did we learn, Wyatt never stated he was nervous but from his action we know that he is and that is basically show don't tell.

Next we meet Dr. Stacy Klay, but just like the nurse we don't get a physical description of either of them. Why? Because Wyatt doesn't seem to be paying any attention to anything other than the general picture. That Stacy looks young, but even that gives a drop of information. We also see that Wyatt is a bit estranged by the new presence of Stacy. The way he uses Um as a header in his sentences, and keeps looking away or needs to move are signs.

What did we learn, Wyatt doesn't tell us but we know something is up because of his fidgeting.

Now Wyatt cringes when he hears the hospitals name, why? He keeps looking at the door and now we know he doesn't want his name on record. We get the feeling that he has something to hide because he certainly doesn't seem to want to be found. First he keeps thinking someone is going to find him and now he needs secrecy. Something smells fishy...

What did we learn, Wyatt never hinted but the signs are all there. He's hiding from someone.

Wait, what happened to the nervousness? Notice how all thoughts of that mysterious person have suddenly evaporated. Wyatt doesn't seem to care, so why should we. Now his focus is solely on the doc. I like the way writers do this, they just completely drop the ball and it causes us to wonder when it will bounce back up but then the character is too busy looking a candy and so it makes us think about it too. They don't use the cliché, “I forgot about”, let me tell you. If your character ever says he/she forgot something, he/she wouldn't be thinking they did in the first place. We now know that Stacy is 6'1ft and that is 2 inches taller than Wyatt. Useful information. Stacy's bottom lip is plumper than the top? Sounds to me like someone is looking a bit to hard. Wink Wink.

What did we learn, Wyatt is paying the doc way more attention then when he first walked in.

Notice here how Wyatt describes the person who just burst through the door, does not sound like he is a fan. Wait a second, that's the chief of staff? Hold it, that's Wyatt's father? Wyatt Gold? Walter Gold Memorial Hospital? Starts to make sense now, he was hiding from a person that he clearly didn't think highly of and the way he never acknowledges the fact that Dr. Gold is his father sums everything up. And the way Wyatt sees his father just tells us a bit more about Wyatt's background. We can tell Wyatt really despises his father just as much as he does Wyatt with the way they talk and the tones they use. Notice how Wyatt takes a step, but wait isn't his ankle injured? There goes a big sign that he is so mad that he doesn't even notice the pain. His bastard son? Oliver? We know that he apparently has a son and that is a touchy subject for Wyatt and his family if his reaction is any clue. See he never uses the word angry, he just keeps describing how it feels to him to help us live through him.

What did we learn, Wyatt has dad issues and a slight anger problem, when Stacy says sorry Wyatt feels calm and that could be because he's never really heard it especially with a dad like his, and lastly Dr. Gold is a drama queen.

Now he feels the pain, another sign that he probably lives by emotions instead of logic. This says something about his character. Now back to Stacy, notice how Wyatt is slowly showing more interest Stacy. Now we know that Doc has dark eyelashes, that's useful. Just like that light help bring Wyatt's focus to Stacy's hair, which we know is a dark brown and hypnotic. Wyatt seems to be noting the small details, like figuring out that Stacy runs his hands through his hair a lot or the nature of his hair overall. Which helps us picture Stacy.

What did we learn, Wyatt has forgotten all about the stuff with his dad and the pain, putting his attention on Stacy who wasn't interesting enough to describe when they first met but now...

Wyatt doesn't date doctors? Well if we connect the dots, I believe it has something to do with his father... just saying. But remember when Wyatt was so interested in Stacy until he said he doesn't date patients, and then Wyatt suddenly remembers that he's at the hospital and wondering why the doctor won't do his job. It's such a small detail that if you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't know it was there. This tells us more about Wyatt as well. Especially when Stacy gets a dazed look on his face and then snaps out of it and Wyatt apparently knows what normal looks like on the doctor... And Wyatt seems to have brown eyes.

What did we learn, Wyatt has brown eyes, only pays attention when there's something to gain, and is an expert at Stacy's facial expressions now.

Oh yes, description time. See how the description was fanned out throughout the story in clusters instead of a big clump in the beginning. Personally I like when writers do this, it builds the suspense. When trying to describe a person it can become just a list of features, sometimes it's just dull. I think it's more realistic to spread it out in the story because our eyes only take in what we want and that says more about your character than you know. What does she/he look at first? Think about how the character would adsorb their surroundings or give him/her a reason to describe it all. Maybe he/she is jealous of a certain character so he/she compares themselves. Also take notice how Wyatt describes a bit about himself when he compares his looks with Stacy's.

What did we learn, spread out your description, when you look at a person you don't take everything in at once.

Wyatt is now an expert with Stacy's tone of voice too, what does that say? You don't pay this much attention to a person without something to fuel the fire. Know what I'm saying... Now we have all the information about Stacy. He's 6'1, has golden brown eyes, curly sandy brown hair with flecks of gold, strong bone structure, 5 o'clock shadow... And a thick slice of flesh missing at the shell of his ear? Also a deep cut on his lips? Confusing, but then “Things happen when you're named Stacy.” This one quote says so much and not enough at the same time. These are the type of details I love in a story. If your a writer who has quotes that seem innocent to the eye but strike a nerve in my heart because it can have so many different meanings, I will love the out of you. Where is that subscribe button?.... Alright I don't want to ruin this by describing what it means.

What did we learn, You tell me.

So now Wyatt has noticed Stacy's habits. Wyatt honey, you're just making this difficult. Now we have gathered a full description of Wyatt. He describes his hair as black, we know he has light brown eyes and that he's 5'11 from earlier. We also know that he can't really grown facial hair and that he gels his hair back. Boom and done. And now it's no longer just a mental reaction to everything. When Stacy touches Wyatt, he describes in such a way that you can't tell if it's good or bad. When Stacy first touched Wyatt, it felt physically and mentally good against his throbbing bruise. What does that say about Wyatt now? Fire and ice battling on his flesh? Somebody has some conflicting feeling right now. This is another thing I love, when you show how character thoughts change steadily.

What did we learn, Wyatt didn't care in the beginning how the doctor looked, but he seems to focus on every detail about Stacy now.

A question he's use to? So we can assume that he's always being constantly asked if he's even a firefighter. Possibly even had mental doubt about it himself, but why... Could it be because of his family or is there another player in this game we have no control over... I put my money on Dr. Gold. And now he seems a bit mad when he hears he is going to have to take time off work. What does that say about him. It's obvious that if he didn't quit his job because of his father, didn't bail when he's continuously questioned about whether or not he is really a firefighter, or becomes agitated when thinking about not going to work... He's a very dedicated man and that's all I can say.

What did we learn, Wyatt is very devoted to his job despite everything he has to go through just to do it and just imagine if he put that dedication towards other things in his life. And if that doesn't tell you all you need to know about Wyatt as a person, I will probably smash my face against my keyboard because I .

Credit goes to Dark_Temptation for the above work.