by Potter, LR
FLAWED BEAUTY
By LR Potter
Copyright 2013 LR Potter
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyediting and Cover Art By:
C.J. Pinard
[email protected]
Photos used with permission by iStock Photography
Dedication
When people discover I’m a writer, the first question always asked is: Where do I get the inspiration for my books? For me, it’s never one thing but usually a series of small, non-related things. For this story, for example, I was visiting my sister, who is a school teacher/ librarian, and is always a fountain of random information. Through our discussions over a period of several days, she brought up the word ‘squalid’, which I had to immediately look up in the dictionary. During another conversation, she brought up how prevalent human trafficking was in the United States, another thing I wasn’t aware of. I dedicate this book to my sister, Pam, and the many others who, usually unbeknownst to them, feed me tremendous inspiration. For all of you who know a writer, be forewarned – be careful what you say and do – you never know when it’ll turn up in a book!
Author’s Note:
Dear Reader, Flawed Beauty was originally entitled “Squalid”, and after reading the story you will understand why. However, after much consideration, my editor and I decided to rename it to something people could better identify with. We hope you enjoy Flawed Beauty!
~ Squalid ~
Marked by filthiness and degradation from neglect or poverty; morally debased. ~Webster’s Illustrated Contemporary Dictionary
Prologue
“Dandelion, dandelion, dandelion wine; this little girl is mine, all mine,” the big, burly man sang as he spun round and round with the little girl on his shoulders. He made sure to hold her hands tight within his own.
“Sing it again, daddy,” the little girl with big, bouncy blonde curls squealed.
Heaving her off his shoulders to hug her tight to his chest, he said, “Aren’t you tired of that song?”
The little girl giggled in delight and threw her arms around his neck. “No, daddy.”
“And why not?” He grinned as he tweaked her nose.
“Because it’s about me,” she enthused.
“And why do you think it’s about you, little girl?”
“Because I’m Dandelion,” she laughed.
“And how do you know that?” he asked with a grin.
“Because you told me and you wouldn’t lie,” she said in such a serious tone, the man couldn’t help but laugh.
“I love you, Dandelion. Are you going to stay with daddy forever and ever?”
“Yes! Forever and ever and ever,” she squealed as she threw her small arms around his neck once more and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on his smooth cheek.
Chapter 1
Two hundred, twenty-seven dollars, and thirty-three cents. Two hundred, twenty-seven dollars, and thirty-three cents. The cost of the computer software package needed for her Graphic Arts college class rolled around Tate Morgan’s mind. While she’d worked hard to receive a scholarship to the University of Florida, it didn’t include books, living expenses, or apparently costly computer software packages. The cost might as well have been two million dollars. Even if she saved every penny she earned at Zeal’s as a waitress, or from G-Force, one of Gainesville’s many 24/7 gyms where she taught self-defense, she’d still never be able to afford the software program. It wasn’t like she didn’t have other living expenses. Her boss at Zeal’s, Ezekiel Croft, (called Zek by all who knew him), had graciously rented her the apartment above Zeal’s at a reasonable rate, but still, it was an expense which had to be paid. She’d already cut back on her weekly food allowance and lived mostly off inexpensive instant ramen noodles for most meals. Just for an instant, she considered calling Toby, but quickly dismissed it. She and Markus could barely make ends meet as it was.
Tate was brought back to the present as the pert, slick-haired blonde, Tiffany Baker, who sat next to her in their Photography Lighting class, continued on with whatever trivial matter consumed her at the moment. Normally, with Tiffany, all she had to was nod occasionally and offer a few uh-huhs.
“… And so, I was like, I don’t know why I can’t have the three-hundred-twenty-five dollars for the boots. I mean, everyone has them. It’s not like we live in the dark ages, right? Don’t they want me to be happy? Don’t I deserve them? I mean, I maintain a solid three-point-two grade point average. I think that warrants a little consideration, don’t you?”
To Tate’s way of thinking, Tiffany was what happened when a hummingbird was crossed with a Valley Girl. Three hundred, twenty-five dollars for boots? Really? Tate gave a small shake of her head, but didn’t comment. Tuning Tiffany out, Tate’s mind once more pondered her plight. If she didn’t buy the software package, she couldn’t take the class. If she couldn’t take the class, she wouldn’t be able to graduate at the end of the semester. Raising a hand to rub the pressure building at her temples, Tate exhaled deeply.
So lost in her reverie, it took Tiffany poking her in the arm for her to realize the class was over.
“Where were you, Tate? Come on. If we hurry, we can get a snack before next class. What do you say?”
Tate gathered her books and put them into her off-brand book bag.
Knowing she’d have to conserve every penny now, she answered as they walked out of the room, “Uh, I’m not really hungry, you go on and I’ll meet you in class. Okay?”
They’d just cleared the door when Cary Olsen, a guy in the same class they’d just exited, placed a restraining hand on Tate’s arm.
“Hey, Tate, can I talk to you for just a second?”
She tensed a little at the contact but didn’t flinch or jerk away from the touch.
“Sure, what’s up?”
Cary glanced uncertainly at Tiffany.
Taking the hint, Tiffany said, “I’ll meet you in the next class.”
Tiffany skipped off after giving Tate a small, knowing smile.
Cary rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet nervously. “Uh, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go the movies or something sometime?”
As she had many, many times in the past, she responded with her pat answer, “I’m sorry, I have to work. But thanks for asking.”
Before Cary had a chance to speak again, Tate turned and made her way to her next class.
She’d barely sat down before Tiffany jumped her. “Well, what’d he want? As if I have to ask.”
“Nothing.”
Tiffany stared at her for moment. “You turned him down, didn’t you? Why? He’s the perfect guy for you. He’s good-looking, he works out like you do, and he makes good grades. You could do worse.”
Tate just shrugged her shoulders. Tiffany came from a nice, normal family. She’d never understand why Tate felt the need to keep people – men specifically – at arm’s length. They couldn’t be trusted… not one of them.
§§§
Tate tugged at the hem of the purple T-shirt with the very sparkly Zeal’s embossed across the front. She flipped her curly blonde hair away from her face as she made her way back to the bar. Zeal’s, a thriving nightclub in downtown Gainesville, catered to the younger coll
ege crowd. With its deep purple walls and pulsating lights, it spoke of excitement and fun. Open six nights a week, a crowd could be found on any of those nights, but the weekends were always twice as busy. Tonight, the nightclub was unceremoniously busy; even for a Friday night. Tate had lost count of the numerous trips she’d made back and forth to the bar.
She was thankful Thor was the bartender on duty, or things would have really gotten backed up. Thor – Thornton Graham – one of several bartenders employed by the nightclub, was a big wall of a man who kept his head shaved and shiny. He had the greenest eyes Tate had ever seen. He was a retired Marine who’d done as many had done before him and retired to the land of liquid sunshine – Florida. He’d found retirement lacking, however, and after taking a class on bartending at the local vocational school, had come to work at Zeal’s.
Thor was also the reason she’d been encouraged to come to Florida for college from her small town in Illinois. Thor and her foster father, Markus, had been in the service together. Markus and Toby, her foster parents, had felt confident Thor could keep a keen eye and a strong hand on her. Thor had been instrumental in getting her the job at both Zeal’s and G-Force.
Slinging her round tray onto the bar’s shiny, polished surface, she waited patiently until Thor finished preparing his signature sangria.
With a quick wink and a smile, he said, while chewing aggressively on the gum in his mouth, “What can I get for you, darlin’?”
Blowing her unruly hair out of her tawny eyes once again, she responded, “Three drafts, two house reds, and a Jack straight up with a water back.”
With swift and economical movements, Thor compiled the order and set the drinks on the tray. Reaching into her black apron, she pulled out her bank and quickly added the cost of the drinks up in her head before giving him the required amount of money.
“I’ll be back,” Tate murmured, irritated to see her hair had once again fallen back into face. She was going to have to stop and re-fashion her hair back into its elastic band. Maneuvering through the maze of tables, Tate made her way back to her awaiting customers and began placing the drinks in front of the requesting patrons. As she set down the last beer, she felt the slide of a hand up her leg and land on her butt. Gently, but firmly, she removed it, and placed it on the table with a strained smile. While she was used to this type of behavior, it was still frustrating. She’d dealt with his kind her whole life.
“Oh, baby. The things I could do to you,” the young, blonde guy said salaciously.
She rolled her eyes and stepped away from the table. Over her shoulder she replied, “Some things are better left a mystery.”
Hoots of laughter followed as she hurried off to the next table. She cringed at the thought of Blondie touching her. As she hustled around the room, she became aware of the band setting up on the dais in front of the dance floor. Internal Heat, a local band made up of a group of medical professionals – usually interns, hence their name – from the nearby hospital, had been playing every Friday and Saturday night for the past two months. The band was always in a constant state of flux, as its members rotated in and out of the band according to their erratic hospital schedules.
On her way past, Tate stopped and checked in with the only consistent member of the group, Dave Thompson, a local dentist. Looking at Dave tonight, no one would ever guess his true profession. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt with Black Sabbath proclaimed across his chest. His dark hair was spiked up and he wore wide leather bands around each wrist. While he was dressed like a rocker from a hardcore rock band, the music they actually played was specifically to inspire people to get onto the dance floor.
“Hey, Dave. Can I get you guys anything from the bar?” she asked.
Placing a hand over his heart, he said with exaggeration, “Tate, you are an angel. Can we get some waters before the first set?”
“Of course. I’ll go now while I have a lull.”
Many male heads turned in her direction as Tate made her way back to the bar. Her five-foot-four-inch frame and rounded figure was the stuff men dreamed about. Her soft long, curly blonde hair made her tawny eyes seem even sultrier. The fact she seemed shy and awkward just added to her charm and desirability.
“Hey, Thor, can I get a dozen bottled waters for the band?”
“You bet, doll.”
In less than a minute, he had a dozen bottled waters on her tray. Moving quickly through the crowd en route to the band, she’d gotten almost to her destination when the young, blonde guy with the roaming hand grabbed her elbow, stopping her momentum. The stop jarred her and sent her tray with the water bottles flying in every direction, and her crashing to the floor. She watched as one of the bottles hit a dark-haired guy in the back of the head.
Blondie reached down to help her up, but she swatted his hands away.
“Please go back to your seat, sir,” she said, with as much patience as she could muster.
“But I want to help you,” he slurred.
“I think you’ve helped me enough, don’t you?” she all but snarled at him. Patience be damned!
From the corner of her eye, she saw Thor clear the counter and make his way to her.
“Is there a problem here?” Thor asked.
Intimidated by Thor’s height and bulk, Blondie slowly backed away. “Nope, no problem.”
Thor leaned down and lifted Tate off the floor as if she were as light as a feather.
“Thanks, Thor.”
“It’s what I do,” he said with a smile.
When he bent to retrieve the waters, she pushed him toward the bar. “I got this.”
Tate bent and began to pick up the bottles, trying to shake off her frustration at Blondie. Lost in her own internal battle, it took her a moment to realize someone else was helping pick up the waters – the dark-haired guy who’d been bashed by one of them.
“Sir, you don’t have to do that,” she said to the guy’s back.
As the guy turned in her direction, Tate raised her eyes up to his and paused, forgetting whatever she was about to say next. A strange tightening grew in her chest. Quickly, she looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. But no matter how quick she was to divert her gaze, his image seemed to be scorched into her brain. There was no other word to describe him but… breathtaking.
His dark hair was cut professionally short with bangs, which swept to the side. The silky texture of his hair urged her to want to run her fingers through it. His piercing blue eyes seemed almost luminescent. He had a day or two worth of stubble on his face, which only emphasized his eyes even more. He was easily six-foot-four and towered over her when he stood. His worn jeans were casual, not too tight and not too loose; and his black hoodie was very nondescript. His sleeves were pushed back, revealing his tanned, muscular forearms, a look Tate found particularly sexy. He was dressed average – but he was anything but average. Tate felt a peculiar sizzle from him, even at her distance. She felt it low in her belly like the hum of electricity which fills the air seconds before lightning strikes.
Unable to resist, she lifted her eyes back up to his face. Her heart stopped when he flashed a knowing, white-toothed smile, which caused dimples to appear. It dawned on her, he was smirking at her. He knew the effect he had on women. She blushed when she realized how she must look to him, staring up at him like a lovesick puppy with her mouth open.
So lost in him, she forgot her own previous question. “What?” she was forced ask.
He flashed another grin. “I said, no problem. Glad to help out,” he told her as he leaned down and set the bottles he’d gathered on the tray she’d placed on the edge of the stage.
Dave Thompson made his way down to them. “Well, Jace, I see you wasted no time hitting on the most beautiful gal in the bar,” he said with a grin.
“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” Jace replied.
Dave turned to Tate, “Tate, this is our newest recruit for the band - Dr. Jace Staton. Jace, this water goddess is Tat
e Morgan.” Turning to Jace, Dave said, “I think you might have your work cut out for you here. Tate doesn’t date doctors or guys in the band.”
With a brief nod to Jace, she blushed, waved Dave’s comment aside, and said automatically. “Hi. Welcome to Zeal’s.”
“Thanks, it’s certainly been exciting so far. I thought I’d have to actually sing first before getting beamed by a flying bottle,” he said with his dimpled smile.
She found it hard to form complete sentences when he smiled at her. It was like her brain misfired or something. So instead of answering, she just gave him a quick, embarrassed smile and turned back to Dave. “There’s most of your water. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
At Dave’s nod, she turned and began to circle back around her assigned tables. As much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t keep her eyes from glancing repeatedly to where Jace Staton stood, helping to set up the band’s equipment. There was something about him, some unknown quality he exuded that drew her attention to him. Not that it mattered – even if she actually dated at all – there would always be two things she avoided: customers with grabby hands, and guys who played in the band – even if he was a yummy doctor – especially since he was a yummy doctor.
Within the next half hour, the band began to play and people began to migrate to the dance floor, thus giving Tate a much-needed break. Not that her work stopped just because there weren’t as many drinks to sling. Walking around the room, Tate began to police her tables in her easy, efficient manner, picking up the empty bottles and glasses and wiping down the vacated tables.
She’d stepped behind the bar to help Thor wash glasses when the pulsing music slowed and the lights dimmed. Tate looked up from her task to find Jace Staton sitting on a backless barstool, spotlighted on the stage, with one heel caught on the bottom rung of the stool, and the other foot planted firmly on the stage.