Chapter Reveal: Fatal Beauty by Nazarea Andrews

Charlotte was a good girl. 

Sweet and innocent, a debutante with her Daddy’s credit card and a fiancée who doted on her. 

She was destined for a perfect picture life in Charleston. 

Until everything goes wrong. 

EJ grew up with everything she could ever want, and bored as hell. 

Nothing surprises her and nothing ever changes, and she wants out—whatever it takes. 

Getting involved with Anthony Jacobs is probably the worst idea she’s ever had—and that makes it irresistible.

Until Charlie needs her. 

New Orleans. Memphis. Vegas. 

Beautiful girls who know just how to get exactly what they want. 

It’s all fun and games, sexy nights and wild parties. 

But you can only manipulate your way out of so much, and the body count is rising. When their past catches up, not even a pretty smile will get them out of trouble this time.

Excerpt

Las Vegas Police Department, Interrogation Room B.

Detective Blackmon: State your name for the record.

Charlotte Brooks: (clears throat) Charlie Brooks.

Detective Blackmon: Your legal name, ma’am.

Brooks: Charlotte Suzanne Brooks.

Detective Blackmon: Have you been advised of your rights, ma’am?

Brooks: (soft laugh) you advised me of them. So yes.

Detective Blackmon:  Do you want to tell us how you came to know Ms Ella Jane Munro?

Brooks: Where is she?

Detective Blackmon: Ma’am, I need you to calm down and give your statement.

Brooks: Where the fuck is EJ?

Detective Blackmon: At night fifty pm the LVPD were called to a hotel room secured with a credit card in your name. Upon searching it, we found drugs, weapons and almost two hundred in cash. Do you want to say anything about that?

Brooks: I wasn’t in that room, and neither were my belongings. You verified that. My wallet was stolen. And I want EJ.

Brooks: Why the hell are you looking at me like that?

Detective Blackmon: Ma’am…

Brooks: (screaming) where the hell is EJ?

Chapter 1

If she could look at it, with the hindsight of everything that had happened, she would say that it all began six months before Wallace Bryce Talbert went missing. The day Ella Jane Munro sold Llewellyn Koonts a hit of blow in the locker room of her father's country club.

Of course, if she had the luxury of hindsight, she might have changed everything by simply going to lunch at the Greenhouse instead of tennis at the club.

Then again. Charlotte had never had much use for hindsight and even less for regrets.

*

Charlie Brooks was an institution at the Buringtree Country Club. She had grown up in the halls, played tennis early and well, swam in the summer and pranced around the greens in tiny shorts, her blonde hair bobbing in her signature braid.

She was a perfect debutant. Sweet as sugar when it suited her, and an utter bitch when it didn't. The staff at the club lived in fear of her temper. HR had to step in when she was in high school and they couldn't keep a staff--Charlie either terrorized them into quitting or demanded they were fired over minor infractions.

And because she was Travis Brooks only daughter, she usually got her way.

Ella Jane Munro was different from Charlie. Just as bitchy, just as demanding. Filthy fucking rich. But Charlie revealed in who and what she was born to. She never wanted anything but to be the queen bee at her private school, at the club, and Vanderbilt. Everything she did was carefully calculated for how it would reflect on her and how people viewed her.

It’s why she and Ella Jane had never gotten along, despite being in the same circles.

From the outside, they would have made the perfect frenemies. Self-destructive, the kind of too close back-stabbing that would fuel the wet dreams of high school boys with visions of love hate sexcapdes.

Ella Jane and Charlie didn't cooperate. Ella was bored to death with country club life and everything expected of a deb. And she might be an it girl, in her blasé way, but she never aspired to steal Charlie's crown.

They existed for most of their life, in a kind of live and let live détente.

No one could explain why that changed. It was whispered about, of course. Two of Charleston's favorite daughters, suddenly inseparable? Everyone had a theory. No one knew the truth, though.

No one would have ever believed the truth.

*

The door to her office opened and closed again, in the kind of way that was an announcement. She swallowed a smirk and layered another coat of pale pink on her nails.

Most girls would pay for a manicure, but she had always found the ritual of her nail care to be soothing.

The cash slapped down on her desk and she blinked at it slowly before letting her gaze slide lazily up to the woman across from her.

Sharp green eyes, long jet black hair with a single streak of magenta in bangs cut across her forehead. A pair of designer skinny jeans and a loose, sheer black tank top scattered with polka dot skull and cross bones, lace edged cami under it showing off her amazing tits.

Only Ella Jane could stalk into her office in designer jeans and a Walmart clearance top and look perfect instead of ridiculous.

“Your half.” She says.

Charlie finishes her last finger, admiring it briefly before screwing the lid on her nail polish and giving the other woman her attention.

“When are you meeting with Jacobs?”

“Tomorrow. Don’t be impatient, greedy girl.”

She bites down on the acidic response that wants to rise, and arches an eyebrow silently. EJ stares at her for a long moment, before she huffs a sigh and drops into the high back leather chair across from her.

“You can’t do anything until Monday anyway. Isn’t your engagement thing tonight.”

It’s posed as a question, but she knows damn well when it is. Charlie goes still and her gaze clouds for a heartbeat.

“Do you want me to come?” EJ asks, quietly.

The offer startles a laugh from Charlie and she grins, a dry, mocking thing. “And how the hell would I explain that? No. Stay on your side of the club, and I’ll stay on mine. I’ll be fine.”

There’ a tense moment, as they stare at each other, and Charlie wonders just how much EJ suspects.

They weren’t supposed to become friends—it was a business arrangement. One that benefited them both and made EJ’s supplier happy. But it had evolved.

It made her nervous, and nothing made her nervous. She didn’t like it.

“Don’t be a bitch, Charlie,” EJ says coldly.

“Then don’t fucking hover.” Charlie snaps.

Anger flares in EJ’s eyes, for a moment, and then it vanished, and she stands. “Fine. Have fun with your boy.”

Her tone is mocking and knowing and it stings a little as she watches EJ leave.

For a moment, it occurs to her that she should apologize. She dismisses it just as quickly and grabs the stack of cash, standing and moving to the wall where her safe is.

It’s crammed with cash and a small black revolver. As she adds the new stack to the others, she touches the gun.

It’s soothing, and her unease and nerves settle at the touch of the cool metal.

It’ a standard black Glock. Most of her girlfriends carry a tiny pink pistols they can tuck into their Coach bags with equally ridiculous sized dogs. But Travis Brooks always said that if she wanted to be man enough to carry a gun, she’d damn well carry a man’s gun.

“Charlotte? We have a meeting with the partners.”

She snaps the safe shut, keying the lock and spins to smile at her fiancée.

Wallace Bryce Talbert the Third. Tre to his friends and enemies alike. A golden boy in her father’s law firm, and the man she had promised to spend her entire life with.

He’s grinning at her, holding a hand out and she swallows her nerves and fear as she places her hand in his and follows him out of the office.

EJ pads out of her bedroom, her naked body wrapped in moonlight. A bottle of spumante sits discarded in a silver wine chiller, and she grabs it as she moves to her purse and pull out a pack of cigarettes. She smokes almost pensively, staring out the window. Behind her, she can hear him moving and she keeps her gaze trained on the window as smoke curls around her, dissipating slowly.

“You should come back to bed,” he says, and she can hear the tease in his tone. She barely manages to keep from rolling her eyes as she wraps her lips around the cigarette again, pulling one last time before dropping it into a forgotten champagne flute.

“You should go. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

Surprise and anger chase across his face, and she waits to see if he’ll follow through.

Clayton Poole was the heir of an ancient oil tycoon, and would be much more interesting if he would lose his temper every once in a while.

He was a fun fuck, always took care to get her off, and he opened doors even she couldn’t walk though. But he was boring as fuck when they weren’t naked.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says, lamely, and she flick a look at him as she pours a glass of spumante.

“Don’t. I’ll call you soon.” She gives him a smile and kisses his cheek before returning to her bedroom.

She lets out a sigh when the door shuts behind him, and settles on her bed. It smells of sex still, but she’s too drunk and lazy just now to strip the sheets.

Besides, she likes the smell of sex, even if Clayton isn’t her favorite fuck buddy.

There is a joint in her bedside table and she fishes it out and lights it, pulling on it deeply as she thumbs through her social media.

The entire newsfeed is abuzz with the engagement party of the year, and she grits her teeth. She should have been there. Clayton had been invited—Charlie will be pissed he didn’t show, a thought that strings a smirk across her lips—and she could have crashed it. Nothing to be done once she was there.

Once upon a time, it would have been amusing just to get a rise from Charlie.

When the fuck had that changed? When she realized that Charlie was just as unhappy in their fucking perfect life as she was?

Or was it when Charlie blackmailed EJ into sharing her distribution, earning her respect as more than another empty headed social climber.

She huffs, and takes another pull on the joint. The smell of weed fill the bedroom, covering the scent of sex. Her muscles are loose and relaxed against the bed and she let’s her phone drop beside her, drifting on her high, drunk and post-orgasmic relaxation combining to pull her down into sleep.

The room is pitch black, her body hot and sweating against the rough duvet when she wakes. Her mouth is dry and for a disorienting moment, she wonders where the hell she is, and what happened.

Her phone buzzes against her thigh again, and she fumbles for it.

“Charlie?” she croaks, and swallows. Reaches for the spumante on the bedside table.

“I need you.”

The whisper from the other end of the line chills her, and she shudders, rubbing away the goosebumps that trace along her arms.

That’s it—those three words and nothing more.

Sleep is forgotten completely as she sits up and nods. “I’ll be right there.”

About the Author

Connect with Nazarea via Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Street Team

Read an excerpt from Before & After by Nazarea Andrews

Rike and Peyton fell in love in college.

A boy from the wrong side of the tracks, covered in ink and crooning in a bar is the last person a straight laced girl with a art major should fall for, but his rough edges made her jagged, alive, shaving away the coddled southern princess and revealing a soul wild and brilliant.

They fell in love, despite her family and his past and all the reasons why it wouldn't work--and with their best friends, they made a life. Everyone was supposed to live happily ever after.
They, more than anyone, knows that life doesn't go according to plan.

Rike and Peyton fell in love in college. A boy with a guitar, and a poet's heart, and a girl with freckles dusted over her nose, a perfect fucking fairy tale.

But what happens when the fairy tale doesn't fall apart--but is forgotten?

EXCERPT

But there is nothing simple or mundane about Rike. He’s gorgeous, with his shaggy black hair and the beard that is growing on me. The tattoos curving on his long, strong arms and licking across the skin over his fingers.

He’s everything I never expected to want, but this feels familiar. He’s who I chose. This unconventional, beautifully confusing life.

Scott and Lindsay.

They are the life I chose.

“How did we get here?” I whisper, and Rike’s gaze snags mine. I shake my head, helplessly. “This isn’t what I pictured, Rike. This is nothing like I imagined my life. And I understand that it’s what I chose. But I don’t remember, and I can’t reconcile it.” His expression falls, and I make a tiny noise, reaching for him. “I am trying, Rike. I just—it’s a lot.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I want to help, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to give you the space you need when all I want is to bring you home.”

I reach for him and catch his hand, twisting our fingers together. He stares at our fingers, until the microwave dings and it jerks both of us out of our thoughts.

The soup and crusty bread he brings out is delicious, creamy potato broth with a spicy sausage. But the tension between us strings tight and uncomfortable, and it makes my stomach twist, until I finally put the food down.

Rike is waiting, because as soon as I stop eating, he shifts, gathering the bowls and taking them to the sink.

“There’s some stuff in your office. I think you should look at it. Will you come upstairs with me?”

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Paperback

About the Author

Nazarea Andrews is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. She loves chocolate and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, and overgrown dog.

You can reach out to Nazarea via: Website | Blog Twitter | Facebook Street Team 

Read Chapter One from Before & After by Nazarea Andrews

About the Book

Rike and Peyton fell in love in college.

A boy from the wrong side of the tracks, covered in ink and crooning in a bar is the last person a straight laced girl with a art major should fall for, but his rough edges made her jagged, alive, shaving away the coddled southern princess and revealing a soul wild and brilliant.

They fell in love, despite her family and his past and all the reasons why it wouldn't work--and with their best friends, they made a life. Everyone was supposed to live happily ever after.
They, more than anyone, knows that life doesn't go according to plan.

Rike and Peyton fell in love in college. A boy with a guitar, and a poet's heart, and a girl with freckles dusted over her nose, a perfect fucking fairy tale.

But what happens when the fairy tale doesn't fall apart--but is forgotten?

Chapter One

Prologue: Now

It's raining buckets and I don't want to go out in that. I stared at it from under the awning of the club and felt Lindsay sway into me. For a second, we both wobbled and another one of the girls banged against my side and I shrieked, sure we were going down.

Lindsay rights me, pulls me close. I lean my head on her shoulder and puff out a petulant, "Bitch."

Her grip tightens just a touch and she laughs.

I haven't been this drunk since senior year of college, when we did Christmas at her parent's beach house in Key West. I wouldn't be this drunk now except she begged.

Hung over and washed out wouldn't do for the wedding, and even after that insane night on the beach with jello shots and beer funnels and tequila body shots, I had woken up without a hang over.

And that's what you do, when your best friend begs the night before her wedding--you do her shots while the rest of the bridal party screams at the strippers and you slip her watered down beer that smells like piss.

You take the holy fuck never again drunk, because tomorrow, no one will be looking at me while she prances down the aisle in white.

Well.

One person will. And he'd think this shit was hilarious. I giggle against Linds' shoulder and she bumps me gently. "You good?" She murmurs as we wait for the cab.

I smirk up at her, the world spinning unsteadily. "I'm fucking wasted."

She laughs softly and kisses my forehead.

"Lindsay, get in," one of the other girls calls and she peers at the cab. It won't hold all of us, and I can feel a new tension settle over my best friend.

Lindsay doesn't have a lot of close friends. Partly because we came here, to this city neither of us knows, because of the boys. So we both started over.

And because when we have each other, and the boys, well. We don't need much else. But she's more social than I am. And she works at a small ad agency, where she's gotten close to the other girls.

So when she needed bridesmaids, of course she asked them.

I smirk as Lindsay shakes her head. "Y’all go. Peyton and I will grab the next."

There's a moment of rain splattered quiet and then the girl--I forget but I think she's one of the Jennifers--shrugs and slides into the little cab, slamming the door behind her.

"What a bitch," I mutter.

She laughs, that real noise that I know like breathing. Not the fake shit she's been shoveling at the other girls all night.

"Stop it," she orders and I blink up at her. "You’re thinking too much. Your drunk, Pey. Let go and enjoy it."

I lean into her, and murmur, "Wanna help?"

She laughs again, shoving my shoulder, and I giggle. "You are such a slut when you drink." She mutters.

I nod agreeably, and a cab pulls up. It's dingy and the driver is frowning at his phone even as it he pulls to a stop. He gives us a distracted look as we spill in and the world sways, dizzy for a long moment. Lindsay tugs me against her as I whimper and pushes my hair back, studying me. "The Embassy Suites," she says and he nods, jerking into motion.

Linds mutters under her breath and reaches for her seatbelt. "Sit up, honey. Belt. The rain is awful."

"Freaking mother hen," I grumble and she shrugs, implacable. I huff and shift to sit up and my phone goes off, the ringtone that only Rike has. I squeal and Lindsay reaches for me as I scramble for my purse, abandoned on the dark, dirty floorboard. I close my hand over it and hear her scream, my name a twisted noise that is almost unrecognizable.

It's the last thing I can't remember.

Chapter 1: Before

The bar is riding the line of slow and dead, which is depressing as fuck, because playing to an empty room is always a little bit of a letdown. Scotty doesn’t bitch—he doesn’t give a fuck who listens, as long he has a mic and his guitar with me to back him up.

Scotty could play to an empty room, and still be a happy motherfucker. He’s done it often enough.

Lamar swings by the bar with a fresh round of long neck bottles, and I stand from where I’m adjusting the drums to take it from him.

“Slow night.”

He shrugs. “It’ll pick up. You play, and it always does.”

True. But it’s been months since we had this low a turnout to work with.

Barrie’s is a dive and that’s putting it nicely. It’s a fucking hole in the wall in a college town, and has delusions about which college town it landed in. It wants to be a bigger deal than it is. But it’s our hole in the wall, and Lamar keeps the free beer coming as long as we keep the music playing.

There’s even a sticky dance floor, coated with spilt beer and other things I don’t want to name, and some nights, we manage to draw enough of a crowd that they pack that little floor and scream along to our cover songs.

And there’s another reason we keep coming back. The real reason I keep coming back.

I take a beer and glance at the little booth that sits empty and almost forlorn in the corner. It isn’t usually empty this late on a Thursday night. She’s usually here by now, and the absence strings nerves along my skin, making my foot tap anxiously.

Scotty is watching me, and I shove down the unease as I swallow more of the beer and tap my drums, a quick beat that pulls a low response from the small audience.

He gives them a sexy half smirk and I see a girl at the bar texting. I hit the drums again and he glances back at me. I cock an eyebrow at the girl and he grins, not the smirk he reserves for the audiences, but the shit eating grin I’ve seen on my best friend’s face so many times. The one that promises trouble and good times, and the distinct likelihood of getting laid.

A grin crooks one side of my lips, and I nod at him. Slam my sticks together twice before throwing myself into the beat of a popular summertime anthem.

Scotty follows my lead, crooning about summer and trucks, beer and good times and the girls who are pouring in off the street scream our names.

Scotty lives for this shit. He always has. For the high of the girls and the crowd, the ones who for a few hours make him forget that we’re two months behind on rent. That everything outside the circle of bright lights is a world of shit and heartache.

Because here, it’s not. Here we’re fucking untouchable, and as they sway to our music and the beat I’m keeping with my drum sticks.

He loves this. And I get it. Not because I care about the girls—I do, in a abstract sort of way. I love it because for a few minutes every night, between covering the bullshit on the radio, we roll out a song that no one has heard before. Sometimes, they love it. Sometimes, I come out from behind the drums, and croon to the room, a song that bares my fucking soul, and even  with the lights so bright they’re blinding, I can see her in her little booth, hair pulled up and messy, eyes half lidded as she listens.

It’s the closest I’ve come to talking to her. Because I know better. 

A girl like her isn’t meant for me. She’s poise and pearls, peaches and cream skin and private smiles.

I’m covered in ink and scars and hiding from my own fucked up past, and so far below a girl like her that it’s stupid to even consider it.

I do though. Every fucking time I see that tiny smile when I sing.

She doesn’t know I write for her. But I do. It’s the only way I’ve allowed myself to talk to her. At night, when Scotty and I stumble home drunk and high off the performance, when one of the barflies don’t end up in bed between us and—sometimes—on the nights when one does.

Scotty changes the rhythm and I shift, matching him as he slides into a ballad, crooning to the crowd. A group of sorority girls in a uniform outfit of tiny shorts, hooker heels, and tops that flash smooth curves are on the dance floor, writhing and singing along, and I wonder which Scotty will tap to come home with us.

She isn’t coming in. It’ll be the first Thursday night in almost three months that she hasn’t been here and it bugs me. I want her here.

Even knowing how bad an idea it is, how different we are—I want her here.

I miss a beat, stumbling on the rift and Scotty sends me a sharp glance, kicking in with a solo to cover me. I shake my head once, and he shifts his attention back to the crowd as we give in to the music.

It’s the third song of the second set, when I’ve shoved her out of my mind almost completely, that the door swings open, and she stalks in.

She’s out of place in a blue sundress and white sweater, an oversized bag at her side, her long red hair swirling around her face in a halo of angry curls.

She’s fucking gorgeous and the sudden release of tension is almost dizzying.

And right then, I decide. Fuck all the reasons it’s a bad idea. I’m tired of giving a shit about that. She can shoot me down if she wants—but first I’m going to give myself a shot.

***

“You’re girl was late,” Scotty rasps as we land on two stools at the bar. It’s late and the crowd of sorority girls has thinned to almost nothing, although a pair are nursing Cosmos and watching us speculatively.

Surprisingly, Scott’s ignored them completely.

“Need anything, boys?” Manda asks as she sways past, giving Scotty a flirty smile. He grins at her, letting his gaze sweep over her.

My best friend is a fucking slut. But with Manda, it’s all flirting and no action. She’d take him up on it—she’s made that very clear. But Scot doesn’t fuck where he works, and Barrie’s has been too good for us to risk screwing it up for a quick fuck.

Which is good, because I’d have to kick his ass if he touched her. She might be a little too friendly and a little desperate, but she’s a cute kid and I like her.

"Bourbon, Manda," he says and she glances at me questioningly. I nod and she pours the drinks. Scotty glances at me. "What are you waiting on?"

I shrug and grit my teeth. Scotty twists and gives her a look over his shoulder. "Fine. Stay here and keep Manda company. I'm going to introduce myself to your siren."

I jerks him back by the collar of his shirt before he can take more than two steps and throw him back against the bar. "Back the fuck off, Scott." I growl.

He grins, a challenge and a taunt in that expression. "Then make your move, Rike."

I snatch the bourbon from Manda and take a deep breath before walking to her table.

And wait.

For a long. Fucking. Time.

It takes almost a full minute for her to look up, almost long enough for my courage to fail. I'm  ready to retreat when she blinks and looks up at me, her blue eyes widening a little as they find mine. She looks startled, and sleepy, and as gorgeous as she looked at a distance, is nothing compared to how fucking flawless she is this close.

There are freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and dusted over her nose.

I swallow a groan as she licks her lips and gives me a tentative smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I say, and then go blank.

Because in none of my fantasies did I ever consider we’d actually ever get to this point. And the smirks and smooth lines won’t work—not on her.

“What do you call a group of unorganized cats?” I ask and her eyes cloud, confused.

She gives me a pretty frown and I grin, “A cat-astrophe.”

For a second, all either of us do is stare, and then she giggles. “That is literally the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

I grin, “So you want me to leave?”

Laughter dances in her eyes. “Have a seat, jokes.”

My heart shoves up into my throat at the casual nickname and invitation but I keep my cool smile in place as I slide into the booth across from her. She pecks at the computer a few more times, and then twists it aside and reaches for her drink—a whiskey neat.

She normally drinks for vodka cranberry, and I’ve fantasized about kissing that taste from her lips. My dick twitches and she watches me over the rim of her glass, lazy interest in her dark eyes.

“Y’all sounded good tonight,” she offers.

My lips tick up into a grin, “As opposed to most nights?”

A flush crawls up her cheeks. “No! You always sound good. I’m just—“

I laugh, and lean back in the booth. Her adorable embarrassment is too easy to provoke. “I’m kidding, Red. Relax.”

“So how did you get involved in this? The band?”

“Scotty needed backup and it was fun. Something to keep me out of trouble. Neither of us are very good at doing shit without the other.” I say, skirting away from just how true that is and how fucking co-dependent we can be.

“That’s cute,” she says, grinning.

“Yeah?”

“Guys don’t usually do the whole BFF bullshit—not like girls. It’s kinda cute to see a couple of dudes who are good friends.”

There’s a little part of me that wants to point out that we aren’t BFFs. That we were forced together out of necessity and kept together to survive. But I don’t. That’s a little heavy for now, and I don’t particularly want her thinking about my best friend at the moment anyway.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask, leaning forward and tapping the open laptop. “Most girls like you find a library to study in.”

Her eyes narrow a little, and I get the feeling I’m wandering into dangerous territory. “Girls like me?”

Her tone is tight and full of warning, but I ignore it, offering her a lazy grin. “Pretty. Smart. Too damn good to be in this shithole.”

Her lips twitch and I lean forward, into her space a little and whisper. “You’ve been here for months, Red. Distracting and out of place. So tell me. Why the hell do you keep coming back?”

Her eyes are wide and her breath is coming in short sharp bursts and if I lean forward another few inches, I could taste the lips I’ve spent months fixating on.

“I like the music,” she murmurs and I swallow my groan, because fuck if that isn’t the most perfect answer in the world.

“And the computer?”

A flush flares up her cheeks again and she ducks away. I lean back, giving her room as I take a pull on my beer. She’s fiddling with the swizzle stick that came in her drink.

“I write sometimes. And the music is the perfect inspiration.”

I was wrong. She could say something more perfect. I grin at her and say, “You might just be perfect.”

“Might?”

I hesitate and then shrug. “Need a little longer to figure that out, Red.”

Her eyes are still amused but a little wary as she watches me, a finger circling the rim of her glass, catching the drop of whiskey from her last sip. She lifts it and licks the Jack away, and I swallow hard, chasing my groan away with a cough. “Go out with me,” I say, suddenly.

“I don’t date,” she says immediately. She leans back and I want to drag her back to the edge of her seat, force her back into the easy warmth we were sharing even as she slams walls up between us.

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because I’m busy and because boys are idiots and because school—I don’t need to be distracted.”

“You aren’t too busy to drop by and listen to me play every week for three months. And I’m not a fucking boy,” I says the last bit tighter and fiercer.

Her breath catches a little in her throat as she licks her lips. “Maybe I’m here for Scotty.”

For the first time in almost two decades, I want to punch my best friend. Because fuck if he’s going to get this girl too, after all the time I’ve spent watching her. I’ve never cared who Scot takes to bed. Usually we take them together—women are no different than any other thing in our world. But the thought of him touching her, or her on her knees in front of him. It makes me irrationally angry.

“Rike,” a sweet low voice purrs behind me and I blink free of my thoughts to twist and meet the gaze of the girl behind me. She’s all smooth curves and long blonde hair and legs for fucking days.

She went home with us a few week ago, and I knew even as she was in bed with us that it was going to be a problem.

“Scotty is flying solo,” I say, turning back to Red. I can feel the sorority girl at my back, the indignant fury from her. Red is watching her with curious eyes, gaze skirting between the two of us. I ignore the huffy girl behind me and say, “You aren’t. If you were, you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

Her eyes flicker with reserved amusement, and I lean forward, and whisper, “Please. Save me from the sorority.”

Her lips curve into a slow smile, something mischievous and mysterious in the twist of her lips, and I want to see that smile every day. I want to know why it’s different, and what makes it different from the smile she would give me half asleep and naked in my bed.

I blink, shake the thought. Focus on now.

God, she’s fucking with my head, hard.

“Go find a new toy, Lindsay. This one is mine tonight.”

That’s what her name was. Lindsay.

“You’ll like them,” Lindsay says, a smirk in her voice, and Red’s eyes slip past me, settling on the girl and hardening.

Fuck. That’s jealousy, and a part of me wants to fucking crow with victory.

Instead, I reach out and claim her hand, letting my fingers trace over the curl of her palm, bringing her attention back to me as I absently caress her hand. She watches me curiously for a moment.

“Friday. Pick me up.” She reclaims her hand and scribbles on a note card, sliding it across to me. Then she grabs her bag, shoving her laptop inside as she slides out of the booth and across the bar. She stops Lindsay, and murmurs something to the blonde girl.

Curious, assessing eyes flick to me, but Lindsay only nods and turns away from me. Red smiles, and ducks out of the bar.

I glance down at the note card. Her handwriting is messy and strong.

And her name is Peyton. 

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About Nazarea Andrews

Nazarea Andrews is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. She loves chocolate and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, and overgrown dog.

You can reach out to Nazarea via: Website | Blog Twitter | Facebook Street Team 

Cover Reveal: Before & After by Nazarea Andrews

Rike and Peyton fell in love in college. 

A boy from the wrong side of the tracks, covered in ink and crooning in a bar is the last person a straight laced girl with a art major should fall for, but his rough edges made her jagged, alive, shaving away the coddled southern princess and revealing a soul wild and brilliant. 
They fell in love, despite her family and his past and all the reasons why it wouldn't work--and with their best friends, they made a life. Everyone was supposed to live happily ever after. 
They, more than anyone, knows that life doesn't go according to plan. 
Rike and Peyton fell in love in college. A boy with a guitar, and a poet's heart, and a girl with freckles dusted over her nose, a perfect fucking fairy tale. But what happens when the fairy tale doesn't fall apart--but is forgotten?

Excerpt

“You’re girl was late,” Scotty rasps as we land on two stools at the bar. It’s late and the crowd of sorority girls has thinned to almost nothing, although a pair are nursing Cosmos and watching us speculatively. 
Surprisingly, Scot’s ignored them completely. 
“Need anything, boys?” Manda asks as she sways past, giving Scotty a flirty smile. He grins at her, letting his gaze sweep over her. 
My best friend is a fucking slut. But with Manda, it’s all flirting and no action. She’d take him up on it—she’s made that very clear. But Scot doesn’t fuck where he works, and Barries has been too good for us to risk screwing it up for a quick fuck. 
Which is good, because I’d have to kick his ass if he touched her. She might be a little too friendly and a little desperate, but she’s a cute kid and I like her. 
"Bourbon, Manda," he says and she glances at me questioningly. I nod and she pours the drinks. Scotty glances at me. "What are you waiting on?" 
I shrug and grit my teeth. Scotty twists and gives her a look over his shoulder. "Fine. Stay here and keep Manda company. I'm going to introduce myself to your siren." 
I jerks him back by the collar of his shirt before he can take more than two steps and throw him back against the bar. "Back the fuck off, Scott." I growl. 
He grins, a challenge and a taunt in that expression. "Then make your move, Rike." 
I snatch the bourbon from Manda and take a deep breath before walking to her table. 
And wait. 
For a long. Fucking. Time. 
It takes almost a full minute for her to look up, almost long enough for my courage to fail. I'm almost ready to retreat when she blinks and looks up at me, her eyes widening a little as they find mine. She looks startled, and sleepy, and as gorgeous as she looked at a distance, is nothing compared to how fucking flawless she is this close. 
There are freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and dusted over her nose. 
I swallow a groan as she licks her lips and gives me a tentative smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say, and then go blank. 
Because in none of my fantasies did I ever consider we’d actually ever get to this point. And the smirks and smooth lines won’t work—not on her. 
“What do you call a group of unorganized cats?” I ask and her eyes cloud, confused. 
She gives me a pretty frown and I grin, “A cat-astrophe.” 
For a second, all either of us do is stare, and then she giggles. “That is literally the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.” 
I grin, “So you want me to leave?” 
Laughter dances in her eyes. “Have a seat, jokes.” 

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About Nazarea Andrews

Nazarea Andrews is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. She loves chocolate and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, and overgrown dog.

You can reach out to Nazarea via: Website | Blog Twitter | Facebook Street Team 

Read an excerpt from Chasing The Wind by Nazarea Andrews

Kaida grew up in two worlds--a child in the Manor raised by Sabah before she was granted Citzenship. But the only place she has ever felt like she's belonged is with Cedric and Guin, the boys she grew up with. 

When Cedric's involvement in a rebel faction goes wrong, the Commission exiles her and holds Guin hostage. Now, she's on her own for the first time, and searching for the sister who left her behind and a princess who was stolen from the City--and then she stumbles across a face from the past. 

Hawke has been an outcast since his Tribe died. When he finds Sabah's sister on the road, he agrees to help her. But as they search the wilds and grow closer, his disdain for her is slowly replaced by a deep attraction for the girl who faces every challenge so bravely. 

And as the City's deadline dwindles, and the boy she loves hangs in the balance, Hawke is left to wonder if he is protecting her, or if he the biggest threat she will face. 

Excerpt

It's times like these that I miss Guin the most. Times when I'm wrapped up in my own head and I need someone to talk it out with. Guin has always been the one to calm my thoughts, to make me see things in a reasonable light, to make them fit in a way that makes sense. Cedric is too wild and impulsive for that—too hot tempered and emotional.

The part of Guin that is a good scientist—and if I'm honest, that's the majority of him—is too even and steady for the headier emotions. It's what makes him so different from Cedric.

Cedric is hot fire, stormy emotions, fierce kisses and intense sex.

Guin is quiet, steady as the darkness and the Falls, sweet affection and long lovemaking.

I would be lost without them. I need both. We've been together, just us three, since Sabah left us to chase her ban-wolf into the wilds. No one in the Manor had time for us. We were too old to need care and too young to be really useful.

They held me together, then and after, when the plague came and Sabah vanished again. When the furious Prince sent his Keepers to swarm our home, searching for the sister who hadn't bothered with goodbye.

They held me together; we held each other together. Guin, though. He was the steady leg of our triad, and I miss him, a bone deep ache of loss that I've been trying desperately not to think about. But sitting here, in a stranger's bed, I can't help but think of him. 

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About Nazarea Andrews

Nazarea Andrews is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. She loves chocolate and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, and overgrown dog.

You can reach out to Nazarea via: Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Street Team 

Read an excerpt from The Ruin of the World by Nazarea Andrews

When the zombies rose, we thought the world ended.
It didn’t—it just broke, in a way we couldn’t fix. And we found ways to continue, reasons to fight. 
Faith. Family. Politics. Obsession. The most dangerous of all—hope. 
But when all of that is stripped away, and nothing remains but rage and betrayal—that is the true end of the world. 
Return to the World Without End, for a final battle for hope and survival in the exciting conclusion to Nazarea Andrews’ phenomenal series.

Excerpt

For a long time, I stand there, watching as he lets the water wash away the remains of Atlanta.

There’s a knife on the ledge of the shower, balanced there for easy access. But his back is to me and his shoulders are stooped in, quietly exhausted. I swallow hard, and move before I can talk myself out of it. Strip quickly and quietly and step into the shower behind him.

So often, when I look at Finn, I see a creature of myth. The plague-bringer’s son. The man who fought at Kelsey’s side, the war veteran. The walker who made my brother smile every once in a while.

The man who brought the Order to heel and dragged me out of hell, who refuses to let me wallow in my grief or depression.

The one who keeps me alive.

Those are the things that are easy to see. Those are the things he wants the world—or me—to see. 

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About Nazarea Andrews

Nazarea Andrews is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. She loves chocolate and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, and overgrown dog.

Reach out to Nazarea via: Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook