Ugly Truths: A Contemporary YA Romance (Astrid Scott Series Book 2)

by Blake Blessing

  “Yeah. I had two beers, two hours ago. I’m just fine to drive me and princess here home.”

  Jonah rolled his eyes. Now that I knew they were half-brothers, I could see the resemblance. They had the same face shape, the same eyebrows. Okay, it wasn’t like they were twins, but there was a familiarity in their features. Beck seemed like he had come to accept it, but Jonah was still fighting it hard. Not hard enough that he went to stay somewhere else, but enough that he refused to talk about it with Beck, and when they were at Beck’s, I’d heard their conversations were nonexistent.

  An annoying mechanical tone came from my phone on the counter. Leaving the guys to get their shoes on, I walked into the kitchen and checked out the caller ID.

  Unknown.

  “Hello?” I picked up.

  “Thatch.” My father’s best friend Jim wailed down the phone. It was disconcerting, given he was six and a half feet tall, and one of the meanest drunks I knew. Good company for dear old dad.

  “What?”

  “Don’t talk like that to me. It’s your dad. Your dad’s dead.” He sniffled and choked back a sob.

  I didn’t hear that right. “Say that again?”

  “Your dad is dead, boy. Dead.”

  My brain short-circuited. What did this mean? What did I feel? Relief? Happiness? Grief was is there somewhere, but only for the person he could have been. He was never that person with us.

  “How?” I fell back against the wall, letting it brace my weight.

  “I don’t know. Overdose, I think. I called 911. An ambulance is on its way. Not sure what they’re going to do now.”

  Overdose. Over fucking dose. Trinity hadn’t mentioned anything about drugs. I’d kill her if she stayed there while he and friends got high, or shot up, or whatever drug addicts did.

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  I hung up. Beck and Jonah were staring at me hard. They thought something was wrong, but I didn’t want to share anything just yet. I needed to let it sink in before I accepted their pity. I straightened up and offered them a small smile, hiding all of my mixed-up thoughts and emotions behind a blank mask.

  A key scraped against the lock on the door, and a moment later Trinity walked in.

  “Yo, buttface.” She grinned, and it morphed into something completely different when she spotted Beck. I wouldn’t tell Astrid about that smile. Beck would never go there, but it would make things strained between Astrid and Trinity when they met. Then her gaze stopped on Jonah.

  Her smile took over the bottom half of her face, it was so big.

  “Jonah.” She purred. My fucking sister purred.

  He flicked his gaze at me before clearing his throat and tugging on his collar.

  “Hey.”

  “I didn’t know you were friends with my brother. It’s been months since I’ve seen you. I’ve missed you.” She rushed over and gave him a hug. “Still getting tattoos?”

  He awkwardly patted Trinity’s back while I shot death from my eyes. My next painting would be of his funeral. My sister was off fucking limits.

  “Uh, sorry. I’ve been hanging around other people. Your brother. I mean not just your brother. Beck you ready to go home?” He sent pleading eyes to Beck, who took mercy on him. He was going soft now that he’d accepted Jonah as part of his life.

  “Trinity, I’m Beck. Nice to meet you, but we have to get going.” He gently untangled her arms from around his neck, shook her hand and hauled Jonah up off the couch.

  Without another word from either of the bastards, they walked out.

  My dad was dead, Trinity would move in with me, and she had some kind of relationship with Jonah. Or used to.

  This ought to be interesting.

  Fuck.

  To be continued in Busted Dreams…

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Astrid and her fellas as much as I did! If you did, please consider leaving a review as it helps promote the books you love.

  You can stalk me on my Facebook Author Page, Bookbub and you can also find me in my closed reading group the Lusty Legion. In the LL you can interact with me directly, find excerpts and information on upcoming releases, as well as play games and enter for giveaways. I’d love to have you join me!

  Turn the page for a peek of Full Glasses & Burju Shoes, a contemporary romance. This is not an RH novel, but does have bachata and a sexy Dominican American army veteran. <3

  Full Glasses and Burju Shoes

  Perrin

  As I run down the sidewalk, my flip-flops slap against the pavement. Sweat beads on my forehead as I greedily suck in air. You’d think with all of my extracurricular hobbies, I would be in better shape.

  My breath comes in short gasps as I round the corner. Muted music starts to drown out the sound of my own breathing. I slow down and grab the stitch in my side as I catch sight of a demonstration happening through the glass walls of the campus dance studio.

  Completely captivated by the couple in the middle of the crowd, I come to a full stop. Damn near pressing my nose to the glass, I push up to my tiptoes to see through gap between students. I can just barely make out the words to…“Drunk in Love?” A club remix, or maybe a Latin remix.

  There isn’t an inch of space between the pair. The woman has on a sports top and black leggings, sporting seriously cute high heels. The way she moves is so fluid she completely steals the show from her partner. He moves effortlessly with her, only a prop to her final scene.

  Their hips are more than gyrating. No, not gyrating at all. Swinging, rotating, rolling. They are two coordinated waves, moving in synchronized grace but never actually touching.

  They stop moving for a beat. The man barely touches her high on her sides as he guides her into a rolling pattern, back and forth, as smooth as the rising tide. The beat kicks up at the same time their entire bodies twist in a tight circle, sharing breaths, noses grazing.

  This has got to be the hottest dance I have ever seen. So intimate. We shouldn’t be watching this sensual moment. But we are.

  The music stops, and the couple ends in an embrace. The duo holds the pose for several seconds, inhaling deeply. Secret smiles are exchanged when they look into each other’s eyes. They break apart, face the crowd with their clasped hands raised before taking a bow. The crowd erupts into loud cheers and catcalls.

  They felt it too.

  It’s the flush in their cheeks and the brightness in their eyes, glowing with emotion the dance provoked. I only caught the last minute, and even I’m moved by the energy in the air. It’s fucking contagious.

  Before I even know what I’m doing, I pull open the glass door and step inside. Cool air rolls over me.

  “Thank you! Thank you so very much for attending our bachata demonstration. We have flyers on the table by the door. If you would like to learn and/or enter the contest during the 2019 Latin Festival this winter, please contact us via email. It’s listed on the flyer. We will be here for the next fifteen minutes answering questions. Please don’t be shy!” The man’s rich voice projects easily around the room, a heavy Spanish accent lacing his words.

  I am one of the first people to reach the table. Easy for me since I’m still by the door. The flyer has a picture of this duo with Bachata scrolled across the top in elegant script.

  Backing out with the flyer in hand, I kick back into a run. Danny won’t care that I’m ten minutes late, but I don’t want to take advantage of his grumpy kindness. It was finals today. He cares more about my grades than I do, so I know the stink eye is all that’s in store for me.

  I try to hold the flyer steady as I run. My pounding steps jar the paper, but I don’t have time to slow down.

  Bachata Contest, December 22nd for all levels, held at the convention center, downtown Denver.

  My mouth lifts into a smooth grin. Hells yeah, I just found my next obsession. Bachata. I can just imagine myself moving as if I’m a goddess among men, worshiped by my faceless, nameless partner. I can totally see it.

  I
reach the entrance to The Cracked Door, the best restaurant in Denver and my current place of employment. I blindly reach out for the handle to pull the door open, still focused on reading the rest of the flyer.

  “Omph!” I grunt.

  A stranger about tramples me on the sidewalk, forcing the air right out of my lungs. I almost died right there in front of my work. How inconvenient.

  “Watch it, carajita,” the stranger growls as he stomps towards the parking lot. He even looks angry from this angle. His shoulders are shrugged up by his ears and the veins in his arms stand out, running all the way down to his clenched fists. He’s not half bad from behind. A good six inches taller than my 5’5. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, and hips accentuated nicely by his black t-shirt and tan cargo shorts. He has a nice neck, too.

  It’s weird I would notice this, but for some reason a nice neck makes or breaks a man’s attractiveness. If he has a straw neck, it looks like a like a clay head stuck on a toothpick. If he has a tree trunk neck, then he just looks like he has no neck at all. No, you need one that’s in the middle.

  “Rude much, buddy?” I call after him.

  His only response is to flip me off.

  Yowza, people these days. Don’t they know that negativity isn’t worth it?

  The man forgotten, I rush into the restaurant looking for Danny. It’s early afternoon so there isn’t really a crowd here. That will start around four o’clock. The shades are half open, filtering in orange sunlight through the slightly tinted windows. The place has an old western feel, with bull horns hanging on all the walls. You would think Danny’s a collector.

  Only Stace and Andrew are on the floor, so Danny must be in the back. I stop by the bar to stash my stuff before my shift, pulling out my non-slip waitress shoes. Sam Hunt’s Body Like a Back Road comes on, inciting me to hum along and sway my hips. I keep stealing glances at the flyer on the counter as I hop around trying to lace up my shoes without having to sit down.

  “What are you doing?” Danny bellows from behind me.

  A small shriek escapes me as I whirl around. Danny is the crazy uncle I never had. He was in the Vietnam War and has definitely done his fair share of living, shown in his rough tanned skin and spiderwebbed wrinkles deeply etched into his face. He’s lived hard and played hard and gone back for seconds.

  He looks hard, but he’s about as mean as Santa Claus, and resembles him too. He has scruffy white hair and a salt–and-pepper beard that’s two inches too long to be neat. He ain’t skipping any meals, not with his gut hanging over his belt.

  “Danny!” I give him my best smile. “Finals are over and guess what?”

  He doesn’t answer, only quirks an eyebrow. Pulling the flyer from the counter, I slap it to his chest. “Bachata, baby!” I back away, hold my arms up as if I’m dancing with a partner, and do a damn good imitation of a salsa dancer.

  “What the hell is that?” Danny says gruffly as he reads the flyer.

  “The hottest, sexiest dance you could ever imagine. My new hobby, just in time for summer.” I start to twirl in a small circle as an arm wraps around me and I’m roughly pulled around. Andrew, my dorky, younger co-worker is grinning boyishly at me as he tries to move his hips side to side. Poor Andrew. Dancing just isn’t his thing. It’s also his bad luck he has a toothpick neck.

  “I’ll be your partner, Pear Bear.” I laugh and push him away.

  “In your dreams, Randy Andy.”

  “It says here that Bachata is a Dominican Republic dance. Looks racy, that’s for sure.” Danny scratches his stomach as he flips the flyer over. “You trying for the competition?”

  “Nah. I just want to learn. It looked like my kind of thing.” I stop dancing and lean against the counter.

  Danny looks deep in thought. While he’s thinking, I take a second to tie my shoes.

  “Ya know, kid. I think I might know someone that could teach you. He might would do it for free as a favor to me. Let me mull it over.”

  “Sure.” I shrug. The bell on the door clanks, a couple of men come in looking around to scope out the best seating. I make my way around the counter to snag them and start my shift. No official clock in for us. Danny’s old school like that. We get paid for the hours he schedules if we aren’t too far off from time.

  “Kid. What’s the best advice I ever gave ya?” Danny calls.

  “Keep the glasses full. Never let the drinks go empty.” I yell back.

  Marks of the Mazza

  Thunder booms in the distance as rain pours down from the heavens.

  Damn.

  Damn, damn, and double damn.

  If there is truly a god out there, he’s spitting on me right now. That’s how bad my day sucked. The rain is coming down in torrents where only moments ago there wasn’t even a sprinkle in sight. Ducking into the closest alcove, I shake off the water as best as I can. Water seeps through my lightweight hoodie to my skin.

  In the last hour, a rando walked into the book store and wouldn’t leave. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but this man walked around for twenty-five long minutes after we were closed and didn’t even buy anything. I waited to balance the drawer until after he checked out but no, he left empty handed. Someone should teach him common etiquette. If you are going to make someone stay late, you should at least support their business.

  Then when I balanced, the drawer was fifty dollars short, emptying most of the cash from my wallet. We aren’t supposed to replace missing funds, but you get written up for coming up short, and there is no way I can afford to possibly lose my job. I’ll take the small loss now.

  My current options: wait for the rain to stop or order an Uber. At 11 p.m. I don’t really want to take my chances and wait it out, but I also don’t want to waste any of the last twenty dollars in my account either. I enter the address of my studio apartment in the app to gauge the cost. I’m going to do it. Only seven dollars, and I waitress tomorrow at the diner, so I’ll at least refill my cash stash a little bit.

  Two minutes. Not bad. I blow out a sigh, slide my phone back in my bag, and glance up and down the street. Fog rolling in from the mountains slowly blankets the town. Shivering, I wrap my hoodie tighter around my body as a sleek black car pulls up to the curb.

  Sweet! My ride’s here.

  Running out through the rain, I pull the door open a crack and slide into the back seat. Already I feel better in the heat that’s on full blast. I take a few seconds to check out the car and notice two guys sitting in the front seat. Two very good looking guys. Both are turned around and staring at me with somewhat confused expressions.

  “Umm… Hi.” Wow. So eloquent. Internally, I give myself an eye roll.

  A warm blush creeps up my cheeks. Good thing it’s so dark back here and these two don’t have a clear view of me. I get the distinct feeling that something isn’t quite right.

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “This is an Uber, right?”

  The man in the passenger seat gives a smile that’s friendly if a bit mischievous. I take him in for the first time. Shoulder-length, wavy blond hair is tucked behind his ears. At least I think it’s blond.

  The driver does not have the same welcoming reaction. I feel like he is staring right into me and definitely finding me wanting. Where the passenger is light, the driver is dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression. Yeesh. Someone must have taken a sharpie to his fancy Italian loafers. My body temperature starts to rise as we sit here in silence. I run my fingers along the seat on either side of me, flitting across the seams.

  Both men are still staring at me. I clear my throat again, dig my phone out without looking, and unlock it. Finally breaking eye contact in this bizarre stare down, I glance down at the app.

  “Ughhh…” I groan and drop my head on the back of the seat. Looks like I missed my real Uber while participating in this little…whatever this is here. Wonderful. I still get charged five dollars even though I missed the ride. “Look, sorry I barged in on you here. I’ll…ah…I’ll just be going.” I
hook my thumb back at the street. Scooting over toward the door, I reach for the handle. Before I make contact, the door swings open, and a third man jumps in and slams right into me.

  “What the…” The man grabs my shoulders to keep me from falling over. His weight pins my leg, forcing me to shift away from him. I twist my shoulders to disconnect the unnerving contact. His voice is deep and has a slight accent that I can’t place. Either he is from somewhere I don’t recognize, or his accent is weak.

  “Sorry! I jumped in the car by accident. I thought this was my Uber.” I’m mumbling because there is most definitely something going on here, and I don’t know how to escape the situation. They don’t have any lights on. At all. No headlights. No interior lights, not even when the doors opened. The only light is the glow of the clock on the dash.

  I turn on my phone again and check the time.

  11:08 p.m.

  The last eight minutes feel like an eternity has passed and yet no time at all.

  The man next to me sucks in a breath as he stares. I scoot away and grab the handle on the opposite side of the car. Again, my attempt to escape is thwarted. It’s the guy next to me again, this time with his hand on my arm. It’s a gentle grip, but tight enough to show that he absolutely means to keep me here. I whip around and look at him with my heart running a stampede inside my chest.

  The glow of the street light filters in behind him. I can barely make out any of his features, but his hair is a burnished red, or appears to be in this light. His hair is short on the sides but has a longer wave on top. His ears are actually pretty adorable, as they stick out a bit with almost pointed tips.

  He raises a hand, and the tip of his index finger grazes the strange, purplish birthmark under the outer corner of my left eye. It resembles a fuzzy letter K. There is a vertical line, with the little arms fanning out toward my left ear.