An Uphill Battle (The Southern Roots Series Book 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Azalea
Drake
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Preview of Coming Up Roses
Preview of Breakaway by Heather M. Orgeron
Preview of Troubles by KC Enders
Preview of Unraveled By Mia Kayla
An Uphill Battle
LK Farlow
© 2017 by LK Farlow
All rights reserved.
Cover Design: The Graphics Shed
Interior Formatting: AB Formatting
Editing: Librum Artis Editorial Services | Valorie Clifton | Jennifer at JaVa Editing
Proofreading: Judy’s Proofreading
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referred to in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
www.authorlkfarlow.com
To my Phoobs, because even though loving me can be an uphill battle, you’ve never given up.
Contents
1. Azalea
2. Drake
3. Azalea
4. Drake
5. Azalea
6. Drake
7. Azalea
8. Azalea
9. Drake
10. Drake
11. Azalea
12. Azalea
13. Drake
14. Drake
15. Azalea
16. Azalea
17. Drake
18. Drake
19. Azalea
20. Drake
21. Azalea
22. Drake
23. Azalea
24. Drake
25. Azalea
26. Drake
27. Azalea
28. Drake
29. Azalea
30. Azalea
31. Drake
32. Azalea
33. Drake
34. Azalea
35. Drake
36. Azalea
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Preview of Coming Up Roses
Preview of Breakaway by Heather M. Orgeron
Preview of Troubles by KC Enders
Preview of Unraveled By Mia Kayla
1
Azalea
“When’re you gonna let me take you out?” Drake whispers huskily in my ear.
“What?” I ask, unable to believe what I’m hearing.
“You heard me, Little Bit.” He’s standing so close behind me that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “Me. You.”
He pauses, sweeping my long hair to one side so that it cascades over my right shoulder, exposing my neck. “Dinner.” He says the words against my skin, causing my entire body to tremble.
I want so badly to say yes. To spin and face him and throw myself into his waiting arms. But I’m too scared, so I stand there, mute and unmoving. Because deep down, I know this isn’t real.
Deep down, I know I’m not this lucky.
Deep down, I know that the man I’ve loved since we were kids couldn’t possibly be here with me, asking me out. I mean, he’s had seven years to make his move—so why now?
“Don’t ignore me, Azalea. I know you want this.” He presses his lips to my neck, peppering it with barely-there kisses. “I know you want me. You already know how good we are together, but we could be so much more. We could have everything. Say it, Bit. Say ‘yes.’”
His words echo in my mind—Say yes. Say yes. Say yes—and I brace myself to turn and face him. I’m gonna do this. I’m gonna say yes to the man of my dreams, and I’m going to claim the future I’ve imagined since I was thirteen years old.
But when I turn, he’s gone. I’m wholly and completely alone. One tear falls. Then another.
With a jolt, I wake from what’s both the best and worst dream I’ve ever had, my cheeks wet with tears. “Shoulda known it wasn’t real,” I tell myself sadly as I roll over to check the time. With my alarm set for eight, and seven forty-five flashing at me from the clock display, I may as well start my day.
Even though I’d love nothing more than to rewind back to the beginning of that dream and tell Dream-Drake off for once again getting my hopes up, I know that’s not possible. So, a steaming hot shower and a veggie omelet will have to do.
On my way out the door, my phone pings with an incoming text. I know from the notification sound that it’s my bestie and business partner, Myla Rose. She’s been my person since we met in third grade. We clicked instantly and never once looked back.
Nestling into the buttery leather seat of my Z4, I slide my phone from my bag and read her text.
Myla Rose: Do you work today?
Me: You know it, why? Bored on your maternity leave?
Myla Rose: Not even a little. But B-Man and I will be by this afternoon to look at my schedule.
Knowing that I’m going to see Myla and her sweet baby pushes the stupid Drake dream from my mind—mostly, like seventy-five percent of the way—and turns my frown one hundred percent upside down. There’s nothing sweet baby cuddles can’t fix. Seriously. Don’t believe me? Try it.
Unfortunately, on the drive over to Southern Roots—the salon I own with Myla Rose—my dream creeps back to the forefront of my thoughts. My mind plays tricks on me, dangling my deepest desires right in front of my face, and I hate it. I especially hate the way I read into things with Drake that totally aren’t there. Sometimes, when we’re together, it truly feels like he wants more. He says all the right things, but only when we’re in bed—which is how I know he’s just caught up in the moment, and not in me.
I spend my time between my morning clients waffling between checking the time and obsessing over my stupid dream. Around three in the afternoon, I break for lunch, determined to put that man out of my mind because Lord knows, I already spend too much time thinking about him.
After scarfing down a blueberry scone at Dream Beans, I head back over to the salon, even though I’m technically done for the day, because there’s no way I’m missing out on some sweet baby snuggles. Like heat-seeking missiles, my eyes immediately land on Brody snuggled into the shoulder of our newest stylist. His chubby little face rests peacefully beneath hers, his little fingers grasping at the tips of her long, blonde hair. Five minutes pass, and then ten, and as sweet as Magnolia is, I kind of want to cut her for stealing so much of his time.
“Is it my turn to hold him yet?” I ask, practically green with envy as Magnolia strokes her fingers through his wispy curls.
“Maybe in a minute or two,” she answers in that small, soft voice of hers. She’s amazing at what she can do with color, but she has baggage for miles and is as skittish as a newborn foal.
“Ugh!” I stomp my foot, causing her to flinch a little. “That’s what you said five minutes ago! Good Lord, don’t you have an appointment or something?” My words are harsh, but there’s no heat behind them. Magnolia’s so damn sweet, I can’t imagine anyone ever actually being cross with her.
Our receptionist, Seraphine,
laughs. “And ten minutes again before that, baby hog. And to answer your question, AzzyJo, nope. Her next appointment isn’t until five.”
Brody lets out a soft sigh, and Magnolia follows suit, a small, somewhat smug smile painting her lips. “I can’t help it. He’s so sweet and snuggly, and he smells like a dream. Y’all just don’t know.”
“You’re right,” I deadpan, “we don’t. Hand him over.” I walk to her, holding my arms out, and praise be, she places the bundle of joy in my arms. Things were on the verge of getting ugly.
Well, that’s a stretch, but I would’ve told Myla, that’s for sure. I hear the salon door chime, but I’m too busy loving on Little Man to pay a lick of attention, and plus, Myla Rose is up front straightening out her schedule for when she comes back to work, and she can greet anyone who walks in.
“Oh, you are so sweet,” I coo in Brody’s ear. “Such a handsome little man.”
“Someone talking ‘bout me?” I spin in place and find Drake standing behind me, watching me with a sexy smirk playing on his lips—the same lips that were offering me the world in my dream.
“Ha! You wish, asshole.” Shit! I gotta learn to watch my mouth around Brody. Don’t want his first word being one with four letters.
“Nah. Don’t gotta wish. I know.”
“You are so cocky, it’s absurd.”
“Only absurd thing here is the way you fight your feelings.”
I scoff and press my face into Brody’s neck, effectively hiding the emotions I know are dancing across my face. Because, cocky asshole or not, he’s right. I am fighting my feelings for him. Not that I’ll ever admit it to him. Lord knows, he’d gloat for an eternity.
“Oh, please. Get real.”
“You want me to get real, Bit? Okay, I’ll get real.” He saunters toward me. One step. Two steps. Three steps, and he’s all up in my personal space, his delicious earthy scent surrounding me like a warm blanket. “You want me, but you’re so damn hung up in the past that you don’t know up from down and left from right.
“I know you have trust issues. I know you think I’m a player. But I also know that deep down, you know better. I know we could be good together, Bit.” My heart stutters at his words, so similar to what he said to me in my dream. Drake pauses and presses his lips to my cheek, just below the corner of my eye. His kiss is featherlight, but I feel it all the way to the depths of my soul.
With his lips still hovering, he whispers, “So fucking good.” I’m frozen. Completely immobile. I just stand there, staring at him, clutching baby Brody to my chest. Taking a few steps back from me, he asks, “That real enough for you, Bit?” But before I answer him or determine his sincerity, he pivots and walks out the door.
Dumbstruck, I lower myself into my salon chair. “Well, that was . . . intense,” Seraphine says as she plucks Brody from my arms. I’m too shell-shocked to put up a fuss.
“He’s fighting dirty. That bastard.”
“Girl, you need to give that man a chance. You know he’ll love you right.”
I sigh. “I’m sure he would, until he wouldn’t. Drake isn’t the kind of man to settle down with one woman. He likes . . . variety.”
Tucking her coppery-red curls behind her ear, Myla Rose snorts out a laugh as she steps into the main salon area. “Do you even hear yourself? Drake has been hung up on you for going on eight years now.”
“Childbirth has obviously made you insane, Myles. Is Drake attracted to me? Yes, duh. Does Drake want me? Sure, he does. Preferably on my back, and therein lies the problem. Drake wants me as a casual hookup, and I’m not down for that.”
I finish my little rant, only to find three sets of eyes all looking at me with the same expression—the one that says I’m the insane one.
Seraphine is the first to speak up. “AzzyJo, we love you. We totally do, but you’re wrong.”
I shake my head, ready to argue that they don’t know what I know. They don’t know about our hookups—yes, that’s right, hookups, plural, as in more than one. They don’t know that we’re drawn to one another like magnets or that when we’re together, we combust into an uncontrollable inferno.
They also don’t know that every time we’re together, I swear it’ll be the last time because every time, he never asks for more. No, Drake Collins and I aren’t meant to be anything more than bedmates.
Hell, if I was smarter . . . stronger . . . we wouldn’t even be that. Because while there aren’t any strings on his part, there’s an entire web of them on mine, and my heart’s right in the center of it, mercilessly tangled up in feelings for him that run so deep, I know I’ll be irreparably broken when he moves on to whoever will weave her web around his heart.
“No, Azalea.” Myla Rose speaks up before I get the chance to set the record straight. “That man loves you. Quit hiding under all your BS excuses, and you’ll see it too.”
Love? Drake loves me. Hah! Laughable. Truly laughable. I’m still snorting with laughter when I feel a hand come down lightly on my shoulder.
I lift my gaze to see Magnolia at my side. “He does. I can see it. I may not know much about anything, but I can see his feelings for you. He all but wears them on his sleeve.” She sucks in a deep breath and continues, “Y–you can tell a lot by a person’s eyes, and if a man ever looked at me the way Drake looks at you, I’d count my lucky stars and stripes, because that’s the kinda stuff fairy tales are made of.”
“As much as I appreciate y’all’s input and opinions, I need to know what Kool-Aid y’all are sippin’ so I can steer clear.”
“Stubborn as a damn mule,” Myla Rose mutters under her breath, causing us all to dissolve in another fit of giggles. “On another topic—Azalea, can you watch Brody next weekend? I’m six weeks postpartum this week, and Cash has big plans for us,” she says, waggling her brows. “If you know what I mean.”
“We do,” Seraphine assures her, “but we don’t wanna know.”
I grab my phone from my station and check my calendar. “Should be fine. My house or yours?”
“Mine. Cash got us a room at the Grand!”
“Sounds good, sister-girl.” I offer her a wide smile, even though I’m dying a little on the inside. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so damn happy for Myla Rose. She deserves all the good things and then some. But I want a love like hers, and I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me. Not when the man I love doesn’t love me back. “Hate to dash, ladies, but I need to get going. Mom wants me to meet her and Pops for dinner.”
I breeze through the doors of Trattoria, our favorite little Italian bistro, at half past five on the dot. The hostess waves to me as I beeline past her, straight toward our usual table, where both my mom and Pops stand to greet me.
“Azalea, dear, how’ve you been?” my mother asks me with a kiss on the cheek.
“Mom, you saw me yesterday. We spoke on the phone earlier today. And we’ve been texting.”
“Still. A mother likes to know.”
“Know what?” I can’t help but laugh. “Not much has changed in the last two hours.”
“Not much? Not much! That means something’s changed.” My mother, God bless her. Beverly Bishop Barnes is more of a s’mother than mother, but I wouldn’t trade her for all the gold in the world.
“Bevvy, leave the girl be,” my stepfather admonishes her, only to start in on me as well. “So, any gentleman suitors?”
Choking on my sip of ice water, it takes me a full two minutes to regain my composure. “Jesus, Pops, who talks like that?”
He looks downright affronted. “Talks like what?”
I shake my head and smile. “Never mind. And to answer your question, no. No boys.”
He shakes his head, like he’s baffled by my singleton status. “Huh. Always thought you and that Collins boy would hit it off.”
At the mention of Drake’s name, my spine straightens and my posture becomes ramrod stiff. “Drake? And me? Together? Piiiiish.” I roll my eyes, begging for a subject change.
&nbs
p; Mom and Pops exchange a knowing look but let the topic go. Praise be. “So, how’s the salon going?” Mom asks. Nosy woman. What she’s really asking me is how Magnolia—the “new girl”—is.
“Work is great. Busy as busy gets.” Mom drums her perfectly manicured nails on the tabletop, and I decide to throw her a bone. “Magnolia is a godsend. She’s really quiet but works hard and knows her stuff. She can craft some of the most gorgeous and natural-looking blondes I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. Especially with Myla Rose still being out—”
“Speaking of Myla Rose,” Pops cuts in, “when is she gonna bring that boy of hers out to the house?” You’d think Mom would be the one to go all gah-gah over Brody, but it’s my stepdad who seems to have caught "Grandbaby Fever.”
“She and Cash have a hot date this weekend, and I’m watching him. Y’all should stop by.”
Pops rubs his hands together excitedly, glancing between Mom and me, as if he’s waiting for her permission, which she freely gives. “That sounds wonderful, dear. And how’s Seraphine?”
“She’s doing really well, but her dad’s heart is really struggling.”
Mom’s eyes mist with tears. “So sad. He’s so young.” Pops and I nod our agreement.
The server brings our food, alerting me to the fact that I never ordered. Cocking an eyebrow, I turn toward my mother. “Oh, dear, I took the liberty of ordering for us. I got you your favorite, chicken Parmesan.” I smile and nod my head, pleased with her selection.