We're thrilled to participate in a blog hop with some fabulous blogs to share a Bonus Scene from Vérité by Rachel Blaufeld! A beautifully touching, sweet, sexy, and daring love story. We adore her for creating one of the most SWOONY heroes in Tiberius and a broken yet strong heroine in Tingly. Their struggles with life, love, race, and friendship is real and relevant with gripping FEELS. BRAVO Rachel, we can't wait for everyone to read this stunning love story.
Each blog has a part of the bonus scene, starting with us! :) Don't miss all three!
Part One - The Rock Stars of Romance
Part Two - Angie and Jessica’s Dreamy Reads
Part Three - The Subclub Books
Each blog has a part of the bonus scene, starting with us! :) Don't miss all three!
Part One - The Rock Stars of Romance
Part Two - Angie and Jessica’s Dreamy Reads
Part Three - The Subclub Books
Vérité Bonus Scene Part One
“Bro, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jamel said, then he punched my arm. Hard.
“Get over it, Mel,” I warned him.
Cackling, he tipped back in his dark green plastic chair, lifting its feet in the air. Apparently my death stare wasn’t much of a threat.
Lamar leaned across the dining hall table and stage whispered, “Dude, you’ve only ever slept with one chick? No way we’re getting over that.”
In response, I turned my death stare on my roommate, Trey. His big mouth was what got me in this mess in the first place.
“Ty’s done ‘other stuff’ with ‘other girls,’ I’ll have you know.” Trey wore a guilty smirk as he pretended to come to my defense, using air quotes. The douchebag.
Having been on the basketball team at Hafton College with these guys for a month, I was hoping the whole making fun of the new guy thing would get old—and soon. All of them were starters on the team, and all were juniors. As a freshman, I’d foolishly thought having been assigned a junior as a roommate would help. Not.
Trey was not helping. In fact, he was making shit worse.
“He’s the sensitive type,” Mar chimed in again, grinning as he deliberately flipped his braids behind his back with a flamboyant swish.
Rolling my eyes, I picked up my Gatorade and guzzled what was left. Why I kept going to dinner with these jokers, I had no clue.
At least this was better than when they made me run all of their suicides. I’d run seven suicides for each of them, plus my own. Twenty-eight suicides on their own were enough to kill a person, let alone after a full practice.
Even for me, someone who was gunning for a starting position on a Division One basketball team. As if I just remembered, that’s why I kept going to dinner with these guys. I’d been recruited from prep school to relieve Trey off the bench. They were big shoes to fill, and not because he wore a size fourteen. He was good, formidable with the ball in his hands.
No one could drive the ball like Trey, and I was supposed to take over for him. So I needed to know what made that guy tick—other than women and booze.
So what if my attitudes about women and relationships were different from theirs? I wanted to meet someone I cared about, and I liked to take it slow. My momma taught me to respect women, and living up to her expectations was the least I could do for her. She gave up everything for me, despite my being the son of a criminal.
“Hey, maybe we can get our boy laid tonight! At the party.” Jamel’s eyes lit up like the Jumbotron in the stadium, their brightness rivaling the dining room’s ugly fluorescent lights reflecting off his shaved head.
“I’m in!” Lamar announced, and pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna text my girl and see what the selection’s gonna be like over at the apartment party.”
Trey balled up his napkin and tossed it at Lamar’s giant soda cup, sinking it. “Slam dunk! Make sure to let them know our pretty boy is going to be late. He’s got study hour with all the little babies.”
Enough is enough. “How about we settle this on the court?” I blurted. “Why don’t we have a free-throw contest and I’ll show you all who the real pussies are?”
I might be inexperienced with the ladies, but not on the court. My free throw was for real, as reliable as all get-out.
Jamel winked at me. “You calling me a pussy, fresh boy?”
Game on.
Part Two - Angie and Jessica’s Dreamy Reads
Part Three - The Subclub Books
“Get over it, Mel,” I warned him.
Cackling, he tipped back in his dark green plastic chair, lifting its feet in the air. Apparently my death stare wasn’t much of a threat.
Lamar leaned across the dining hall table and stage whispered, “Dude, you’ve only ever slept with one chick? No way we’re getting over that.”
In response, I turned my death stare on my roommate, Trey. His big mouth was what got me in this mess in the first place.
“Ty’s done ‘other stuff’ with ‘other girls,’ I’ll have you know.” Trey wore a guilty smirk as he pretended to come to my defense, using air quotes. The douchebag.
Having been on the basketball team at Hafton College with these guys for a month, I was hoping the whole making fun of the new guy thing would get old—and soon. All of them were starters on the team, and all were juniors. As a freshman, I’d foolishly thought having been assigned a junior as a roommate would help. Not.
Trey was not helping. In fact, he was making shit worse.
“He’s the sensitive type,” Mar chimed in again, grinning as he deliberately flipped his braids behind his back with a flamboyant swish.
Rolling my eyes, I picked up my Gatorade and guzzled what was left. Why I kept going to dinner with these jokers, I had no clue.
At least this was better than when they made me run all of their suicides. I’d run seven suicides for each of them, plus my own. Twenty-eight suicides on their own were enough to kill a person, let alone after a full practice.
Even for me, someone who was gunning for a starting position on a Division One basketball team. As if I just remembered, that’s why I kept going to dinner with these guys. I’d been recruited from prep school to relieve Trey off the bench. They were big shoes to fill, and not because he wore a size fourteen. He was good, formidable with the ball in his hands.
No one could drive the ball like Trey, and I was supposed to take over for him. So I needed to know what made that guy tick—other than women and booze.
So what if my attitudes about women and relationships were different from theirs? I wanted to meet someone I cared about, and I liked to take it slow. My momma taught me to respect women, and living up to her expectations was the least I could do for her. She gave up everything for me, despite my being the son of a criminal.
“Hey, maybe we can get our boy laid tonight! At the party.” Jamel’s eyes lit up like the Jumbotron in the stadium, their brightness rivaling the dining room’s ugly fluorescent lights reflecting off his shaved head.
“I’m in!” Lamar announced, and pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna text my girl and see what the selection’s gonna be like over at the apartment party.”
Trey balled up his napkin and tossed it at Lamar’s giant soda cup, sinking it. “Slam dunk! Make sure to let them know our pretty boy is going to be late. He’s got study hour with all the little babies.”
Enough is enough. “How about we settle this on the court?” I blurted. “Why don’t we have a free-throw contest and I’ll show you all who the real pussies are?”
I might be inexperienced with the ladies, but not on the court. My free throw was for real, as reliable as all get-out.
Jamel winked at me. “You calling me a pussy, fresh boy?”
Game on.
Part Two - Angie and Jessica’s Dreamy Reads
Part Three - The Subclub Books
Vérité Synopsis and Purchase Link
That’s me—Tingly Simmons—athlete, foreign-language major, professor lover, obsessed idiot girl. Definitely not a frat rat or sorority slut. I’ve never even played beer pong.
I ditched the vapid, soulless high-society life of Los Angeles for the promise of something more meaningful in rural Ohio. Accepting a track scholarship for college, I tried running my way to happiness, but instead I ended up sleeping with my French professor and falling head over heels for him.
When that relationship fell apart, so did I.
Barely hanging on by a thread and using the most absurd coping skills, I was determined to hide behind my past indiscretions. That was, until I met Tiberius Jones. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d learn the truth about love from a six-foot-five basketball player.
I ditched the vapid, soulless high-society life of Los Angeles for the promise of something more meaningful in rural Ohio. Accepting a track scholarship for college, I tried running my way to happiness, but instead I ended up sleeping with my French professor and falling head over heels for him.
When that relationship fell apart, so did I.
Barely hanging on by a thread and using the most absurd coping skills, I was determined to hide behind my past indiscretions. That was, until I met Tiberius Jones. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d learn the truth about love from a six-foot-five basketball player.
"Feel that, Rex? That's my heart beating for you. You can push and shove and run and whatever other stupid sh!t you want, but I'm coming for you."
About the Author
Rachel Blaufeld is a social worker/entrepreneur/blogger turned author. Fearless about sharing her opinion, Rachel captured the ear of stay-at-home and working moms on her blog, BacknGrooveMom, chronicling her adventures in parenting tweens and inventing a product, often at the same time. She has also blogged for The Huffington Post, Modern Mom, and StartupNation.
Turning her focus on her sometimes wild-and-crazy creative side, it only took Rachel two decades to do exactly what she wanted to do—write a fiction novel. Now she spends way too many hours in local coffee shops plotting her ideas. Her tales may all come with a side of angst and naughtiness, but end lusciously.
Rachel lives around the corner from her childhood home in Pennsylvania with her family and two dogs. Her obsessions include running, coffee, icing-filled doughnuts, antiheroes, and mighty fine epilogues.
Twitter / Facebook / Goodreads / Newsletter
Turning her focus on her sometimes wild-and-crazy creative side, it only took Rachel two decades to do exactly what she wanted to do—write a fiction novel. Now she spends way too many hours in local coffee shops plotting her ideas. Her tales may all come with a side of angst and naughtiness, but end lusciously.
Rachel lives around the corner from her childhood home in Pennsylvania with her family and two dogs. Her obsessions include running, coffee, icing-filled doughnuts, antiheroes, and mighty fine epilogues.
Twitter / Facebook / Goodreads / Newsletter
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