Summary:
My name is Mark O'Neal, author of published fiction novel titled Ulterior Motives. I've learned that life is not a sprint, it is a marathon. We live in a society where everything is a race to the finish line. We are judged on how fast our careers take off, how fast we settle down to raise a family, or how fast we achieve the American Dream. The fact of the matter is many people don't stop to smell the roses because they are too busy running the dead-end rat race. I spent twenty years running on a treadmill and not getting anywhere before discovering a passion for writing. It took having some very intense life experiences to realize my calling, and I tried to mold these life lessons into writing that is bold and captivating to many avid readers. I also realized that if a person is never faced with real obstacles and challenges, he or she will not grow mentally or spiritually.
Ulterior Motives is a crime drama that takes place in the city of Chicago. Maurice Ousley is the main character, and he's a rising pro basketball star who comes back home for Mother's Day weekend to spend time with his family. Soon afterward, he is faced with the ultimate life altering decision that will change everything as he knows it. He experiences heartache, betrayal and love in this fast-paced thriller. Ulterior Motives is available at Amazon.
Ulterior Motives is a crime drama that takes place in the city of Chicago. Maurice Ousley is the main character, and he's a rising pro basketball star who comes back home for Mother's Day weekend to spend time with his family. Soon afterward, he is faced with the ultimate life altering decision that will change everything as he knows it. He experiences heartache, betrayal and love in this fast-paced thriller. Ulterior Motives is available at Amazon.
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Excerpt:
PROLOGUE
I grabbed a seat at the bar in Billy’s Bar and Grill, my favorite restaurant, and ordered a beer and a shot of whiskey. It was unusually empty for a Friday night, and all of the giant plasma televisions had the Houston Lightning vs. the Phoenix Rattlers basketball game on. The Lightning disposed of my team, the St. Louis Wolves, in seven games, and I couldn’t bear to watch them play because the wounds of defeat were still fresh. I would always go to Billy’s when I arrived back in town from college, or when I finished playing pro basketball by summer. I haven’t taken a drink in five years, but today’s drama gave me a good reason to drink.
“Would you like some hot wings or some other appetizer with your drinks?” the waitress asked.
“No, thanks,” I said, still in a state of shock from the inauspicious events that happened hours ago. I was in a daze, and I felt no signs of snapping out of it in the immediate future.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not. I just want my drinks, please.”
“What happened, honey?” the waitress inquired. “Do you want to talk about it?” She was a stunningly attractive young woman who looked at me with eyes like a nurturing and concerned mother. She also looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her face.
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to get to the embryonic stage of intoxication right now. If you don’t mind, I rather not talk about it. Thanks for asking though.”
“Very well. I’ll bring your drinks right away. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She had a perplexed look on her face like she knew me and was baffled because I didn’t recognize her. Maybe she’s from the old neighborhood, or maybe we went to the same church, I thought.
I looked and felt like a train wreck—the kind of feeling you get when you find out that your best friend is cheating with your girlfriend. But this felt a hundred times worse. I was also angry, confused and heartbroken all in one instance. What would you do if somebody betrayed you in the worst possible way imaginable? Moreover, someone I haven’t seen in over twelve years was responsible for taking from me the most precious thing that can be taken from a person.
The waitress brought my drinks, and I gulped the whiskey shot down without hesitation. The whiskey burned as it went down my throat, and it burned even more as it entered my stomach. I haven’t slept or eaten much since Thursday morning, and I began to sweat profusely.
“That will be seven dollars and fifty cents, sir.”
“Here’s a ten. Keep the change.”
“Thank you. Let me know if you need anything else, okay? Anything.”
I nodded as I wiped my face with a napkin. I immediately followed my shot up with the beer and finished it in a minute flat. I flagged the waitress down for another round. She just finished taking orders from people who arrived a few minutes after I did, and the crowd was starting to pick up.
“Hit me again,” I requested.
“Okay,” she said. "Do you just want a shot or a shot and beer?”
“Give me a double shot with the beer. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll bring your drinks right away.”
Feeling inebriated would numb the pain that I was feeling temporarily, but I knew I’d pay for it later. I also hoped no one would recognize me—I was in no mood for autograph signing. That wouldn’t have been a problem a season ago when I was at the end of the bench. I would have just blended in by looking like the stereotypical tall and lanky young men of my generation with a t-shirt, baggy jean shorts and Nike sandals on. I figured that as long as I stayed in my seat, nobody would notice me. However, that was going to be next to impossible because I felt a bathroom break coming on very soon as the beer and whiskey began to take a toll on my bladder. I also started feeling lightheaded because of the alcohol and sleep deprivation, and I was certainly not thinking clearly—rage has totally consumed my mind at this point.
I was at a crossroad. There I was, Maurice Ousley, a twenty-five-year-old rising NBA star faced with the biggest decision that I would ever make in this juncture of my short existence. Whatever happens next will change my life forever.
I grabbed a seat at the bar in Billy’s Bar and Grill, my favorite restaurant, and ordered a beer and a shot of whiskey. It was unusually empty for a Friday night, and all of the giant plasma televisions had the Houston Lightning vs. the Phoenix Rattlers basketball game on. The Lightning disposed of my team, the St. Louis Wolves, in seven games, and I couldn’t bear to watch them play because the wounds of defeat were still fresh. I would always go to Billy’s when I arrived back in town from college, or when I finished playing pro basketball by summer. I haven’t taken a drink in five years, but today’s drama gave me a good reason to drink.
“Would you like some hot wings or some other appetizer with your drinks?” the waitress asked.
“No, thanks,” I said, still in a state of shock from the inauspicious events that happened hours ago. I was in a daze, and I felt no signs of snapping out of it in the immediate future.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not. I just want my drinks, please.”
“What happened, honey?” the waitress inquired. “Do you want to talk about it?” She was a stunningly attractive young woman who looked at me with eyes like a nurturing and concerned mother. She also looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her face.
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to get to the embryonic stage of intoxication right now. If you don’t mind, I rather not talk about it. Thanks for asking though.”
“Very well. I’ll bring your drinks right away. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She had a perplexed look on her face like she knew me and was baffled because I didn’t recognize her. Maybe she’s from the old neighborhood, or maybe we went to the same church, I thought.
I looked and felt like a train wreck—the kind of feeling you get when you find out that your best friend is cheating with your girlfriend. But this felt a hundred times worse. I was also angry, confused and heartbroken all in one instance. What would you do if somebody betrayed you in the worst possible way imaginable? Moreover, someone I haven’t seen in over twelve years was responsible for taking from me the most precious thing that can be taken from a person.
The waitress brought my drinks, and I gulped the whiskey shot down without hesitation. The whiskey burned as it went down my throat, and it burned even more as it entered my stomach. I haven’t slept or eaten much since Thursday morning, and I began to sweat profusely.
“That will be seven dollars and fifty cents, sir.”
“Here’s a ten. Keep the change.”
“Thank you. Let me know if you need anything else, okay? Anything.”
I nodded as I wiped my face with a napkin. I immediately followed my shot up with the beer and finished it in a minute flat. I flagged the waitress down for another round. She just finished taking orders from people who arrived a few minutes after I did, and the crowd was starting to pick up.
“Hit me again,” I requested.
“Okay,” she said. "Do you just want a shot or a shot and beer?”
“Give me a double shot with the beer. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll bring your drinks right away.”
Feeling inebriated would numb the pain that I was feeling temporarily, but I knew I’d pay for it later. I also hoped no one would recognize me—I was in no mood for autograph signing. That wouldn’t have been a problem a season ago when I was at the end of the bench. I would have just blended in by looking like the stereotypical tall and lanky young men of my generation with a t-shirt, baggy jean shorts and Nike sandals on. I figured that as long as I stayed in my seat, nobody would notice me. However, that was going to be next to impossible because I felt a bathroom break coming on very soon as the beer and whiskey began to take a toll on my bladder. I also started feeling lightheaded because of the alcohol and sleep deprivation, and I was certainly not thinking clearly—rage has totally consumed my mind at this point.
I was at a crossroad. There I was, Maurice Ousley, a twenty-five-year-old rising NBA star faced with the biggest decision that I would ever make in this juncture of my short existence. Whatever happens next will change my life forever.
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