Crushed (Evermore Book 1)

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Well, we surely are,” my grandmother replied. “Is everything okay with you, Neilah?” she asked, her forehead creased with concern.

  “Oh, yes, Grandma. Just homesick I guess.”

  “Well of course you were, darlin’,” Mama said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as we walked towards the escalator that would take us to the lower level to Baggage Claim. “Why, a whole month away from your family is just too much. I was sick with worry about you, wasn’t I Mama?”

  My grandmother gave a nod, which told me that Mama had likely been hitting the bottle again.

  “Tell me, Neilah Grace, tell me the truth. Did your father bring that whore around you while you were there? Did he?”

  I stopped and turned to her. “No, Mama. He did not. I mostly hung out with Seth. I never saw Tiffany Blume, I swear it.”

  I saw her visibly relax. “Well, at least he hasn’t totally lost his mind, I guess. Did he ask about me, Neely? Your daddy—did he want to know how I was?”

  We started walking again, getting onto the downward escalator. “Sure he did,” I lied, “and I told him you were just fine, Mama.”

  “Well good for you,” she replied, laughing. “I’m betting he regrets the day he ever set eyes on Tiffany Blume. Yes sir, he is surely realizing just how much his infidelity has cost him now!”

  I looked up at my grandmother who had just stepped onto the escalator. Our eyes met and she shook her head back and forth as if she’d been listening to this kind of talk from Mama the whole time I’d been gone. She probably had been. I could only imagine how my Mama’s manic behavior had grated on their nerves. It had become a pattern with Mama. Always manic before the despair settled in again.

  “Neely, honey,” my mama piped up, “I want you to promise me you won’t go back there next summer. I just can’t take it when you leave me like that. I did nothing but fret over you the whole time. If your daddy wants to see you, let him take time off and come out here. He can stay at a hotel and visit with you here in Tennessee. You tell him that, okay?”

  “Okay, Mama,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll let him know.”

  “And tell him not to bring that slut with him either. I don’t want the likes of her around you. You tell him that too, okay?”

  “I will, Mama. I promise. I will.”

  We waited about ten minutes until my luggage came down the chute and landed on the moving carousel. Mama picked up one of the suitcases, and I grabbed the other.

  “Your granddaddy is out front with the car. He’s gonna drive us to our new place, honey. Grandma helped me get settled in. You’re going to love our new apartment. It’s an old Victorian house on a well-maintained street with lots and lots of shade trees.”

  “It sounds nice, Mama,” I replied, as we stepped outside the terminal and the hot humidity of Tennessee assaulted us. “Wow, so different than California weather,” I commented.

  “Of course it is. Much better, don’t you think?” she asked. “But don’t worry. Our apartment has window air conditioners. We’ll be comfortable there. Oh, and I got a job!” she squealed, clapping her hands together. “I got a job as a receptionist with a lawyer downtown. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Yes, Mama. That is fantastic news,” I replied, trying to sound enthused.

  The ride to our new apartment from the airport went achingly slow. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

  My head was throbbing from the plane trip, and the fact that my father had been confused and angry when I told him I needed to go home immediately because my mother needed me.

  It hadn’t totally been a lie. When I had called Mama once I’d gotten back to Daddy’s house to see if she could pick me up at the airport, she had truly sobbed in happiness that I was coming back early. She went on and on telling me how miserable she’d been since I’d gone to visit him, and how much she needed me back there where I belonged.

  “Neely, the court says I have you for a month. It’s been just two weeks, I—”

  “Daddy, I need to go home now. Are you gonna take me to the airport, or do you want me to call a cab?” I’d interrupted, getting mouthy which was something I’d never done before.

  “Fine!” he’d spat. “Get in the car. I’ll take this up with my lawyer.”

  And so he’d driven me to the airport in silence. Content with being angry with my mother who he blamed for my early departure. I allowed him to believe that because it was easier. Yeah, it was a shitty thing to do, but at that point, I couldn’t deal with baring my soul to anyone. Not even him.

  And my heart ached knowing that I wouldn’t go back next year, partly because Mama had begged me not to leave her like that again, but mostly because I couldn’t face Seth after leaving the ring and the note for him like a coward.

  But it had been the right thing to do for everyone concerned. I was too young to feel this way. Too young to commit to anyone emotionally.

  I had a lot to figure out on my own. I doubted if Mama was going to be of any help, so it was up to me to sort things out. To make the best choices and decisions I could at my age, and to learn from past experiences and mistakes going forward.

  The ache in my heart would eventually diminish. I would start at a new school in a few weeks, which would hopefully be full of new promises for me.

  A clean slate.

  A blank canvas.

  A fresh start.

  “Mama,” I said as my grandfather pulled off the interstate and on to our exit, “did you find all my art supplies? My paints, brushes, and canvases? I think I want to start painting again.”

  “Well, I’m sure they are there, honey. We’ve got at least twenty boxes left to unpack. We’ll get to it as soon as we get home, how’s that? What’re you thinking about painting?”

  “I’m not sure, Mama. I’m thinking about getting into some expressionist art.”

  “Expressionist?” she asked, her forehead creasing in confusion. Mama didn’t know much about various art themes or styles. “What’s that?”

  “It’s kind of hard to explain,” I replied. “It’s sort of like taking a subject, and painting it in a distorted way. Making it more of an emotional expression on the canvas versus the physical reality of it. Making it totally subjective.”

  “I see,” she replied. “Well, who will your subject be in your first painting, Neely?”

  “That’s easy,” I replied with a pensive smile. “Seth Drake. He’ll be the perfect subject for my very first oil expressionist painting.”

  The End of Book 1

  How About a Sneak Peak of Book 2?

  Here’s an excerpt from Book 2 in the Evermore Series, entitled “Claimed”

  “Neely,” Professor Andrews said, gazing at the collage I’d placed on the wooden easel for my presentation, “that’s a very interesting choice of media you’ve selected. Not to mention risky.”

  “Risky?” I asked, quirking a brow in confusion. “How so?”

  “Well, to start, you veered a bit from the assignment details which clearly articulated that everything was to be in black, white, or shades of grey. The lack of contrast was important. You’ve included some color in your abstracts.”

  “Only the eyes, Professor,” I replied, standing back and admiring my work. “I couldn’t bear not to show the ice blue of the eyes. It doesn’t detract from the overall message though, does it?”

  I watched as Professor Andrews cupped his chin, rubbing his fingers along the bristle of his neatly trimmed beard and considered my expressionist collage thoughtfully.

  When he’d give this particular assignment, it had taken me all of a nanosecond to know which of my pieces I’d be using to compile the collage of emotional turmoil he’d outlined. And yes, I’d known that it was supposed to be void of color, but the eyes wouldn’t have shown the emotion had I not brushed a pale shade of blue over them.

  “I’ll tell you what, Neely,” he said, “stay after class and let’s discuss this in a bit more d
epth, shall we?”

  “Of course,” I replied, taking my seat so that the next presenter could uncover his or her submission for this assignment. This was the third class in two years at Brantley School of Art & Photography I’d taken with Eric Andrews as my professor.

  I knew him well. He was a superb teacher in every way. And yes, he was a stickler for adherence to detail on the projects he outlined and assigned for his classes, but he was also a fair and flexible man. Let’s just say, we’d had issues like this before and always found common ground.

  I’d stay after as requested. He’d pull a copy of the assignment details he’d provided to all of the students four weeks ago, and go over each one with me, point-by-point.

  I’d sit at my table and remain silent as he ticked through each one, his deep, rich voice resonating the fact that he indeed had the upper hand in deciding whether or not my submission which had, technically, strayed from the parameters he’d set, would be accepted for credit.

  In the end, he would allow me time to explain my reasoning for veering from the instructions, and defend my position as to why I felt it still complied with the overall spirit of the assignment, and therefore should be accepted for grading and credit.

  He would ultimately concede, with a stern warning that I needed to focus more on adherence on future assignments. I would thank him for his consideration and flexibility, to which he would chuckle and tell me that it was now my turn to be flexible.

  At that point, he would make sure the door to the art room was shut and locked. And then, he would pull me up from my seat against him. I would wrap my legs around his hips and allow him to carry me to a table or desktop, or maybe to a paint-splattered tarp that was heaped into a corner of the room. Whatever location he chose was where I would show him my flexibility.

  Clothes would hurriedly be discarded in a frenzied fashion, and he would take me roughly, which I always demanded, and we’d fuck until we couldn’t fuck anymore.

  I knew the script by heart. We’d played to it more than once. Probably more like a dozen times over the past year. It still wasn’t boring. Neither of us had grown tired of the foreplay we called Perspective Painting 201.

  Everything unraveled just as usual. The classroom emptied, a couple of students lagged behind to suck up to him for projects presented this evening that were less than stellar. It was always pretty obvious. Eric did his best to assure them he would be fair and objective in his evaluation of their work.

  Sure he would.

  They were slackers.

  They only took this class because they were required to as part of the curriculum for their Graphic Web Design certificate program. They had zero interest in art, expression, or theory.

  At last.

  We were alone.

  Eric shut and locked the classroom door, and then quickly stalked over to where I was still sitting, gazing up at him. He was strikingly handsome with perfectly chiseled features and a great body definition for a man whose career didn’t involve physical labor of any sort. Dark brown hair and eyes. Thirtyish with a scholarly look that his dark-framed glasses perpetuated nicely.

  “So, Professor,” I said in a throaty whisper. “Shall we debate the particulars of my non-compliance to the assignment once again?”

  He didn’t move any closer to me. In fact, he leaned back against the table in front of my desk, and stretched his legs out in front of him. His arms were crossed against his chest and he gazed at me for a moment, not saying a word.

  This was different.

  For a moment I worried if quite possibly he wasn’t open to our usual negotiations. He surely wouldn’t fail me on this assignment, would he?

  “Why him?” he asked me, his eyes searching mine. “Why is it always him?”

  “Wh-what?” I asked, my nose crinkled up in confusion. He was deviating from our normal script. What the hell was up with that? “I’m…I’m not following.”

  “For Chrissake, Neely. No matter what the assignment, the required subject matter, the requested media, every goddamn one of your projects has some part of him included. Be it an eye, or lips, or a nose, or a full fucking face, it’s always him. Why?”

  “Why does it matter?” I flung back. “Art is subjective, right? Maybe he’s my art. Maybe he’s the only subject matter I’ve ever done right.”

  “So what? You simply keep drawing and painting him—or parts of him, over and over again in different themes, different styles, with different media rather than try something new? Something unique?”

  I stood up quickly. “Every piece I’ve turned in to you has been freshly created! It’s all been unique! It’s not as if I keep turning the same pieces in over and over again, is it?” I was pissed now. What the hell was Eric trying to do? Why was he straying from the script?

  “You might as well be turning the same piece in over and over again!” he shouted, startling me enough that I jumped. “I want you to turn something in, anything, that he’s not a goddamn part of!”

  I was shocked by his words, stunned by his anger. I backed away from where he sat, one arm outstretched behind me to make sure I didn’t collide with a desk. “I don’t understand. Why are you so angry with me, Eric?” I whispered.

  He ran a hand through his mass of thick hair as if frustrated beyond his limit. “I’m not angry, Neely, I’m confused. Who the hell is this guy to you?”

  I felt my muscles tense. My stomach clenched. I didn’t have to share any of this with Eric Andrews. He had no right to even question me about it. It wasn’t any of his business. His job was to teach and offer guidance and support for his students. His job was most certainly not to try to get into my head or to figure out what makes me tick, or why I chose the subject matter I did for my projects.

  That was my shrink’s job, right?

  “Listen,” I said, my voice holding a nervous lilt. “Are you going to accept my submission for this assignment or not? I need to know.”

  He blinked a couple of times, still studying me as if his reading glasses had suddenly morphed into a powerful microscope that was unpeeling each and every layer of my psyche for his own personal examination.

  “Yes,” he finally said, releasing a heavy sigh. “It’s accepted for grade.”

  “Okay then,” I whispered, still watching him, a feeling of relief seeping over me. “So, are we going to fuck?”

  He removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, massaging away his obvious frustration. “No, Neely. No we’re not.”

  I shrugged and grabbed my backpack from the top of my desk, and hoisted it up and over my shoulders. “Goodnight then, Eric. See you in class tomorrow,” I replied as I left his classroom and headed out of the building.

  It was just as well we stopped having sex anyway, I thought to myself as I walked along the paved parking lot toward my car. It had run its course, and in the scheme of things, it wasn’t a long-term fit. I’d already concluded that a while back. Now I could focus fully on my curriculum.

  My next semester’s course load was going to be a killer. But I relished the challenge. I longed for anything and everything to occupy a place in my mind. Thankfully, this would be my last class under Professor Andrews.

  Literally.

  End of excerpt from “Claimed”

  Releases August of 2016

  About the Author

  Andrea Smith is a USA Today and Amazon Best-Selling Author of the G-Man Series! She has a wicked sense of humor, and no matter the genre, she is able to infuse laughter throughout.

  She self-publishes Contemporary Romance, Romantic Suspense, and Sensual Romance with a paranormal twist. She also writes New Adult Romance, and has recently collaborated with Author Eva LeNoir on two M/M Romances, with the third releasing Fall 2016!

  Here is a listing of her published fiction to date:

  Baby Series (New Adult Romance/Suspense)

  These Books should be read in order:

  May
be Baby (Book 1)

  Baby Love (Book 2)

  Be My Baby (Book 3)

  Baby Come Back (Novella)(Book 3.5)

  G-Man Series (Contemporary Romance/Suspense)

  Can be standalones, but are most enjoyable if read in order.

  Diamond Girl (Book 1)

  Love Plus One (Book 2)

  Night Moves (Book 3)

  G-Men Holiday Wrap (Novella) (Book 3.5)

  These Men (Spin-off) Part of the BEND anthology. (M/F/M)

  My Men (Sequel to “These Men” (M/F/M)

  Taz (G-Man Book 4)

  G-Man: Next Generation (New Adult Romance)

  Walk of Shame (Book 1)

  WTF? Series

  Jaded

  Limbo Series (Contemporary Steamy Romance)

  Silent Whisper

  Clouds in My Coffee

  September Series (New Adult- Taboo)

  Need to be read in order.

  Until September (Book 1)

  When September Ends (Book 2)

  M/M Romance

  Black Balled (Co-Authored with Eva LeNoir)

  Guns Blazing (Spin-Off from Black Balled)

  Hard Edit (Sequel to “Black Balled” with Eva LeNoir)

  YA Suspense

  Southern Comfort

  Social Media Links:

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  GOODREADS:

  www.goodreads.com/author/show/6869343.Andrea_Smith