Everly After

by Rebecca Paula

  If you enjoyed Everly After, keep reading for a sneak peek of my next New Adult release, Between Everything and Us, available January 2015.

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  -Between Everything and Us-

  Matisse Evans is determined to make her sophomore year of college successful after failing out of a prestigious New York City art school and spending a horribly boring gap year at home. Despite her focus, time isn't on her side as she struggles to hold down three jobs so she can afford her first apartment while juggling course work. In the chaos of it all, Beau Grady moves in and shakes up her world. A college dropout and tattooed bad boy, the rumors about Beau mean one thing for Matisse—trouble. Paralyzed by the fear that she's missing out on life, Matisse discovers plans may unravel, but what rises in their wake can be worth the uncertainty.

  After spending the summer couch surfing, Beau Grady moves into an empty room at his ex-girlfriend’s Portland bungalow, skipping his senior year of college to spend his days working at a Vietnamese food cart instead. Once a star hockey player and gifted student, he’s put his life on hold after receiving a life-altering diagnosis, complacent to live in the moment. Hiding behind false rumors and bad habits, Beau falls for Matisse, letting her believe the worst until their relationship blooms into something they both can’t ignore. Falling for her means having to face a future he’d rather forget, but loving her just might be worth it.

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  Between Everything and Us, is the first book in a new series about four college roommates in Portland, Oregon. This New Adult romance is recommended for readers 18+ due to mature content.

  Excerpt of Between Everything and Us by Rebecca Paula

  Chapter 1

  Beau

  I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding out on my mattress. Whoever is pounding on my door is basically taking a pickaxe to my head and prying apart my skull.

  Damn.

  Quiet wins for a few seconds, enough for me to get my shit together and not puke all over the floor. The mattress dips next me before a hand slowly creeps across my waist, then slides lower. I open one eye and tilt my head over the pillowcase, trying to bring last night’s hookup into focus. It’s usually a good thing to know, not that I’m complaining about the present course of things. Except for all the noise.

  “I’ll use the air horn,” the voice threatens from the other side of my bedroom door.

  Not a pickaxe then, just my roommate, Matisse, the human wrecking ball.

  The hand that was seconds away from a great idea, freezes, then falls away. But the girl’s cheap perfume rolls over my jersey sheets and suddenly I’m stuck on a roller coaster, trying to keep my stomach down while I’m assaulted with the overwhelming smell of cotton candy and stale cigarettes.

  “Beau!”

  I swear my roommate’s found a battering ram.

  “You use that air horn, sweetheart,” I yell back, clearing my throat. “I’ll piss in your precious paints.” Apparently bourbon has the magical ability of transforming my throat into sandpaper. My voice sounds just as smooth.

  I remain still, but the world gives a chaotic swirl around me anyway. Everything’s blurry, even the blond and pink head beside me, the girl’s hair tangled and wild.

  Fuck, what’s her name?

  “I’ll key your bike,” Mati shouts back, not missing a beat. Before I can tell her that she won’t lay a hand on it, my door swings open and crashes back into the wall. “You promised, Beau.” I hear her trip over my crutches by the door. “Shit, I’m sorry.” My door slams shut again. “I didn’t think you were…” Her voices dies off from behind the other side of my door.

  I snort, pawing for the sheets to cover up. Mati might have guessed I had company, I usually do. But judging by the sound of her colliding into the wall before her hasty exit, I don’t think she counted on me being naked.

  The blonde next to me makes an angry hiss at the interruption. The fact that she hates me now instead of in a few hours really doesn’t make much of a difference. In fact, this is easier. I won’t go as far as to thank Mati, but having her barge in might be helpful in the future. Helps speed along the unpleasant goodbyes.

  “That’s what you get for barging in.” I should sit up or something, maybe find out who’s next me since I can’t remember. “Stop yelling and come back in.”

  “No, get out!” the girl beside to me yells. Her voice is rough like she’s been smoking for eighty-five years.

  Seriously, what’s her name? Jules? Britney? Cammy? No, definitely J…something. I think?

  “Will everyone stop with the fucking yelling?” I groan and prop myself up bit, searching for my center of gravity, which never arrives.

  “You promised,” Mati repeats, opening my door again. Light from the living room spills into my dark room and I regret this too. I regret so much about this morning already.

  I rub my eyes to push her into focus. The red on her cheeks stands out the most.

  “Get out,” my bed guest shouts. Again. Her voice drowns out whatever comeback my roommate makes. I peek over my shoulder as the girl hikes the sheets up the rest of the way to her chest. Her face is all but running away with makeup smudged and smeared like some sad out of work clown.

  “Well?” Mati pops her hip to the side, then flails her arms into the air with an exaggerated sigh. “You need to leave.”

  “Can someone tell me why she’s here?”

  This is the problem with hookups. They can be good, but when they go bad…they go south quick. I wish she’d get the clue and get out of my bed. Too much noise and that perfume is gagging me.

  I smile, even if Mati is ruining my morning. “I paid rent.”

  When you move in with an ex-girlfriend like Reagan, you make sure your shit is paid on time. Reagan is anything but forgiving, even if she did offer me a last minute spot in the bungalow when another roommate bailed. Ethan’s cool, and then there’s Mati. Gorgeous trouble is what she is.

  “My parents are coming. You can’t be here, Beau.”

  The hot mess next to me throws her arms out. “The door was closed. For a reason. Can you give us some privacy?”

  I apparently thought it’d be a good life decision to bring home a concrete wall.

  She throws her thumb in the air at me like she’s hitchhiking for a ride and declares, “We were in the middle of something.”

  I push up further onto my elbows, ignoring her and wave for my roommate to step closer instead. Mati doesn’t budge from her spot at the foot of my bed. “Come here,” I say again.

  Lisa? Well whoever she is, rolls away, prepared to make a welcomed escape. I’m more than willing to help shove her out of my bed. Yeah, I think it is Lisa. Lisa with blond and pink hair. The eighty-five year old raccoon who’s washed up in my bed. The hand that was so gloriously close to paying me a bit of attention this morning.

  I shake my head at Mati, trying to hide my frustration through an exaggerated yawn. “What time is it?”

  “Eleven,” she bristles. “And it’s Friday if you’re wondering. You need the weather forecast too?”

  “That would be very accommodating of you.”

  “You’re pathetic,” the girl says, gracelessly tumbling out of bed. She curses under her breath. “A waste of my time,” she mumbles. “You couldn’t even get it up, whiskey dick.”

  I shrug and wink at Mati. Play it off like the insult doesn’t bother me. “Catch you next time, Lisa.”

  “It’s Jessica, asshole.” She tugs on her jeans in an awkward one-legged jump as if my floor’s on fire.

  The bedroom door slams shut when she storms out. Expected. It’s not the first time.

  Well, one problem solved.

  “You were saying something, sweetheart?”

  My roommate bends down and flings a dirty sock at my face. “Oh my God, get out! Please. They’re going to be here in,” she glances down at her beloved phone, “ten minutes.” The thing’s her keeper. I haven’t seen her without it since I moved in three weeks ago. “I’l
l pay for your coffee. You just have to leave.”

  Bribing me with coffee is all well and good, but the fact remains—I need pants. “You need me to save the day?”

  “It’s not like you have anything else to do.”

  Not at the moment. Nothing much except working at the Vietnamese food cart downtown now that I’ve dropped out of school. No senior year for me. My parents are going to shit a brick when they find out.

  It hurts like a bitch to move, so I wait Mati out, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth. Her decision plays over her face with a determined set to her brows as if she’s about to run through a minefield. She’s like this, fearless with the unknown. I reach forward and grab a fistful of her flowery skirt, and yank her down beside me.

  She doesn’t smell like an overspun sugar. Mati smells all fresh like she’s stepped out of the shower. She reminds me of hiking Mount Rainer with her evergreen eyes and black hair. Like she belongs lost in the woods, stuck between the infinite layers.

  “Beau! You’re such a pain in the ass.”

  I like how her New England accent cuts through her words, too. Mati reinvents the alphabet when she’s mad.

  I nudge her shoulder, fighting back a grin when I catch her eying up my sleeves. I haven’t met a girl yet who doesn’t like my tattoos.

  The feel of her skin against mine sends her bolting. She shies away, bumping over the mattress, far from me. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

  I might throw up too if she keeps moving as though my mattress is a bouncy house. “Only a little? I must be growing on you.”

  “Will you get dressed? And leave.” She sucks in another deep breath. “Please?”

  I’m waiting for her to collapse onto the floor from being lightheaded. The girl needs to slow down or she’s going to suffer from life whiplash.

  Another quick glance at her phone. “You have five minutes.”

  Teasing aside, I don’t like the way she says please, as though she relies on me to do something and if I don’t, her world will shatter. I’d rather not be responsible for that. “Fine, throw me my jeans.”

  “I wouldn’t touch those with a ten foot pole.” She rushes for the door, her skirt swishing behind her. “They’ll be here soon and I can’t—”

  I sit up a bit straighter and roll my sore neck from side to side. I guess today’s going to be a shitty, painful day because my body hates me. “Can’t what?”

  The last thing I’d expect to happen, happens.

  Her shoulders drop and she tugs at the short hair by her chin, avoiding my stare. “My parents think I room with three girls.”

  Ah, so Miss Perfect is a bit of a liar. “We could have used Amanda for that show.”

  “Her name was Jessica.”

  “I know that.” I pretend to be interested in my phone, while I’m propped up against the headboard ducked taped to the wall. For a minute we’re both quiet, then the two of us break out laughing. The kind that tumbles out and goes on until you forget why you started in the first place. “I really thought it was Lisa.”

  The doorbell buzzes. Her green eyes pop open, dark and endless. That blush I had caused disappears too, then her face pales.

  “Are you going to get that or hop into bed with me?”

  Mati and all her elfin mightiness appears seconds away from rushing over and wiping the smug smile off my face. I like her a bit more for it. I could use a good smack.

  She stomps out.

  I catch her peeking when I shuffle across my room to get dressed, piece by piece. She crosses her arms and glances away when our eyes meet. I kick my shitty forearm crutches out of the way and shut the door after that, pretending I’m offended she looked. I’m not.

  The battle bludgeon to front door continues because the world hates me. Apparently it’s a family trait, her parents have the same determined rap. I want them all to step on Legos and go the hell away.

  Mati doesn’t answer.

  I crack my door to find her frozen in the middle of the living room, frantically snapping the rubber bracelets circling her wrists. She’s tall, taller even in those ridiculous heels she’s wearing. I didn’t notice it before but she’s dressed as though she’s about to march into a hostile boardroom takeover. All except for those bracelets and the way her face is frozen, her features stretched wide because she’s terrified.

  “C-coming,” she calls out to her parents. The knocking dies out.

  I crack the door open a bit wider. “What’s the hold up?” I wave for her to go answer the damn door before my head explodes. Before I go out there and show her that contrary to everyone’s opinion, I’m not an asshole. “I’ll slip out when you show them your room.”

  She reaches up and shakes her hands up into the air, jazz hands style. If she’s not careful, she might catch some air and fly away.

  I chuckle to myself and step out of my room. As I expect, she detaches from the floor and rushes up to me, her slim hands cool over my worn t-shirt. I stumble back a step, letting her think she’s won at talking herself into opening the front door. Except it’s the threat of me that does it, like I’m a big bad secret.

  Forget hungover, I must be drunk still. At least with her hands on me, it feels that way. The room spins. I shouldn’t notice this, I told myself I wouldn’t let it happen again. And the last thing I need is to get kicked out of the apartment.

  I grin, transfixed on her lips— shiny and red and full. As much as I want to lick them and kiss her up against my door, I shake it off. Bad idea.

  Bending down, my mouth brushes over her hair as I whisper, “Answer the damn door.”

  Mati sways closer, her hands slipping up my chest until her fingertips burn against my throat. Her eyes meet mine when I pull back and tilt my head toward hers. Mati’s lips part, her tongue darting out to wet them. I don’t know what’s running through her head. I shouldn’t care. For a hot minute though, I fool myself into wanting to know. She must have the same realization because her fingers suddenly stiffen over my chest, her arms straighten, and then Mati shoves me backward into my room and the door shuts in my face.

  Matisse

  His dimple is unnecessary. Completely.

  I mean who has one dimple? Charming shits, that’s who.

  My heart still hammers against my chest as I wrench open the front door and force on a smile.

  “We were waiting forever,” my mother says, pushing her way inside. I can’t help but glance back over my shoulder to make sure Beau’s stayed put. I don’t put it past him to stroll out commando style and announce to my parents that we’ve hooked up.

  I rub at my eyes to get rid of image of him strutting across his room naked. Stupid open door. Stupid hot Beau.

  “Where did you go?” my mother asks, bracing her hands on my shoulder to give me the once over. You’d think I’d turned into an ogre by the way her eyes narrow and examine me in disapproval. “You cut your hair. And it looks like you’ve lost weight. Have you? Are you taking care of yourself?”

  A bob is not the end of the world, a whole generation survived that haircut. And a month into classes and work, and my life hasn’t imploded yet. I’d like to think of that as relative success.

  I lean in and kiss her cheek, ignoring her questions, then get trapped in a tight bear hug by my father. They’ve brought a box of Voodoo Donuts as if they’ve forgotten I live in Portland and can go whenever I want. I’ve made it a month before the privilege of this parental visit. The 3,000 miles I’ve placed between us doesn’t matter apparently, or the seven hour flight. If there’s a will, there’s a way to helicopter your daughter well into her twenties.

  I set the box down on the coffee table, brushing my hand over my hair. I’ve been up since six scrubbing this place clean so it doesn’t look like I’ve moved into a worn down bungalow. As long as they don’t start poking around in the hall closet where I stashed anything that hinted of male roommates, I’ll be set. I think. There’s still the possibility my mother is going to whip out so
me bubble wrap from her purse, bundle me up, and ship me home to Maine. I see the threat play out from behind her rimless glasses.

  “Glad you could make it this weekend,” I say. If they notice my lack of enthusiasm, they don’t mention anything.

  I peek down at my hands expecting to find them on fire. They feel that way. My palms are so warm that it feels like the rolling heat of a campfire is licking them as I roast marshmallows.

  My parents are discussing their flight and their hotel, complaining about the inundation of hipsters in Portland. I’ve learned it’s easier to let them talk sometimes. They like the sound of their own voices.

  I brush off their comments and grab the small rolling suitcase my mom is dragging behind her. I’m sure it has all sorts of art books to help me with my studying. Since I was born, they’ve believed I’m not living up to my full potential. It’s always been expected that I can do better. I’m not sure where that success threshold is, but judging by the weight of this bag, it’s not in my near future.

  They’ve flown in to visit for Parent’s Weekend. I’m happy to see them, I am. I only wish they would believe me when I tell them I’m going to my classes this semester. My mom doesn’t believe that I’ve secured three part-time jobs so I can afford rent, either.

  I didn’t slip up once while I was home last year. Not once. I spent what was supposed to be my sophomore year locked away in my childhood bedroom, painting.

  Painting. Oh right.

  I nervously dance around on my feet, waiting for Beau to open his door to spite me. “I’ll show you my room before we head out.”

  “What about the rest of the…house?” my dad asks. He’s combing the place over, recording every fault no doubt by the way his lips are pressed into a tight line. I’ve cleaned, but I wasn’t going to bust out the ladder this morning and paint over the water stains on the ceiling or remodel the kitchen that’s a time capsule from the ‘70s.