Title: Vérité 
Author: Rachel Blaufeld
Release Date: AVAILABLE NOW!!

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.
“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?”

Jamel winked at me. “You calling me a pussy, fresh boy?”

I winked back. “Nah, not me. I would never do that, Mel.”

[PB1] “I’m in,” Trey announced. “We’ll do that shit tomorrow. Tonight’s all about having fun and shit. I got a bottle of JD with my name on it, and box of condoms with Cherry’s on it. But I’ll share a few of them with you, roomie.”

The big fucker, still with a guilty smirk plastered on his face, was taunting me. It’s not like I didn’t know it would happen. At prep school, it was a little easier to control the gossip and taunting because it was an all-boys joint. Of course, I’d had a few of the ball babies suck me off, but it wasn’t what I wanted.

When I sank myself deep inside a woman, I wanted it to mean something. I wanted to be able to do whatever I wanted with my woman, make her feel good, let her do the same to me, and know it meant shit.

“Fuck,” I muttered as Trey’s words rang in my ear.

The townhouse we shared tended to get all kinds of rowdy when his girl, Cherry, came up from Cleveland, especially when other ladies stopped by looking for Trey. Cherry wasn’t exactly the sharing type, and things had gotten ugly. It had happened at least twice in the last month. All of a sudden, I was looking forward to my first study hour with the other sports babies, mandatory for first-year athletes at Hafton.

“Cocksucker,” Jamel spat out at Lamar.

His harsh tone knocked me out of my thoughts, and I turned to face him. “What now?”

Jamel glared at our teammate. “Lamar, do not call the girls’ team. Just don’t fucking do it.”

“Why? You got a thing for ballers and not ball babies?” Lamar bared his white teeth into a shit-eating grin.

“Shut the fuck up!” Jamel shouted.

I stifled a grin. At least the pressure was off me and whether I needed to get laid.

Shoving a bite of pasta in my mouth, I watched and waited for Jamel to toss on his Beats headphones. It was his classic move when things weren’t going his way and he wanted to tune everyone out. I’d seen him do it a dozen times.

“You do!” Trey squealed like a teenage girl. “You like a girl baller, Mel? Who? Let’s see, there’s Cheyenne, Tiffanie, Stacy, Puffins—what’s her real name?”


“Damn, Lamar, why the fuck do they call her Puffins?” I made the mistake of asking.

“Oh, she does this little puffing thing with her cheeks when she’s running, and they say she does the same when she’s got a dick in her—”

“Okay, enough,” I interrupted.

Lamar chuckled. “We making you blush like a good boy?”

Exasperated, I went back to my pasta. I don’t even know why I had to start with Lamar on that one. It was none of my business.

Trey narrowed his eyes on Jamel, considering. “Chey’s too big to be your type, Stacy’s too serious, Puffin’s too skanky—even for you. It’s gotta be Tiff. Definitely Tiffanie,” he stated with conviction.

And there they went. Jamel secured the bright green Dr. Dre Beats over his ears and started nodding his bald head to the beat, taking the occasional slug of his Gatorade with venom in his eyes.

Trey slid his gaze to me. “Maybe Puffins be good for you, Ty?” Since Jamel was ignoring him, apparently that left me to torment.

And I’m pretty sure I threw up in my mouth a little bit at the mention of Puffins and my dick.

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.


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