BWWM Dark Bully Romance (with blackmail) | Varsity House Pet | Book #2 Laguna Grove Vipers Trilogy
Varsity House Pet, April 3 2022 (a dark bully bwwm romance)
Book #2 in my steamy dark interracial romance series features hot white guys with rock hard abs and buns of steel…
Hello there, reader! Interested in Varsity House Pet? Before I say more, I just want to direct you to the first book in the series before you investigate Book #2… I don’t want to accidentally give any spoilers! Click here to learn more about the first book.
Now that’s out of the way, let’s talk Jayce/Makeba’s steamy story in Varsity House Pet…
Our ‘boring black girl crew’ suffers the misconception that black women navigating a predominantly white world can’t find health, wealth and LOVE… But are those messages from our community and society at large true…?
Makeba stumbles out of her so-called boring world into Jayce Clutterbuck’s devious trap. One mistake leads to her imprisonment, blackmail and ultimately an utterly forbidden attraction to the 6’4” tattooed hockey player with rage issues and a libido higher than Cloud 9.
Book #2 launches on April 3rd, 2022. Click here to order a copy.
Now hang tight for our steamy first chapter BWWM romance novel excerpt.
Romance Novel Excerpts | Varsity House Pet | Chapter #1
JAYCE CLUTTERBUCK
“Smoke some weed, Jayce. Do whatever it takes to calm your ass down. You’re going to kill your chances at a career in this game if you don’t pull back. I mean it.”
Tuck’s words of wisdom pulse through my head as I stare at Makeba’s notebook. I only know her name because she writes it in cursive (who even writes cursive anymore) at the top of her notebook every day before class. Makeba Winston–Physics 110. Then she writes the date–which is the only reason I ever know what day of the week it is. I patiently wait for her to write the date before I grab her pen.
“Hey!” she hisses.
I nudge her with my elbow. “How much are you selling?”
“Excuse me?” she whispers back.
“I can buy an ounce after class, but only if it’s under $350.”
“Can you please give me my pen back?” she whispers.
Our professor, an old German dude named Lenny Marx, gives us a knowing stare and adjusts his glasses. It’s old ass professor speak for “shut the fuck up and stop disrupting my physics class”. This old dude doesn’t get it. This is an emergency. I need to buy some weed. It’s way more important than my dumb physics grade. Unfortunately, Makeba refuses to admit that somewhere on her person she has some dank ass kush.
“What’s the matter? You don’t sell to white boys?” I whisper. She gets all flustered the minute I talk to her. I like that. There’s something about Makeba that’s totally hilarious. I love tormenting her during class. This time, I actually need something. And she’d better deliver.
“Sell what?”
She’s playing coy. I get it.
“Reefer.”
Her eyes narrow. I wonder how much shit I would get for getting with a chick like her? Probably a lot. Not like she’d ever take the plunge. I’ve seen the classes she takes–classes with words like supremacy and hegemony in the title. That basically means she hates white people, and she definitely hates me based on her answer.
“I don’t sell weed, period. Now give me my pen back.”
I roll her pen across her notebook back in her general direction. I don’t believe her, but maybe she’s afraid of getting caught selling weed in class. I don’t know what her problem is, but she definitely has a problem and it’s not just the weed thing. Something’s definitely wrong with Makeba today. Normally, she makes a different annoyed face when I’m bugging her. Today’s annoyed face seems a little… I dunno… puffy? Man, she’d kill me if I called her puffy.
I mess with her all the time and normally she’s totally chill, and she only makes that teeth kissing noise with her mouth and glares. She doesn’t ignore me. I hate being ignored. My step-dad, my one and only shit-hole parent, ignored me my entire childhood. That changed when I hit the ice for the first time, but Makeba… she reminds me what it’s like to be fucking invisible. What the hell is her problem?
I stare at her for clues (and hoping to piss her off). She’s wearing this weird scarf around her neck. She never wears a scarf. It’s not like I spend class looking at her neck or her collarbones, or her crazy long hair or anything, but the scarf is definitely blocking my view–especially of what she’s got underneath that sweater. That’s the best part of college. My step-dad sent me to Catholic School for high school. Zero tits for four painful years…
Boobs. It would be significantly easier to get good grades in this class if there weren’t boobs right next to me every day. Makeba makes it impossible to focus. It’s only fair I punish her for that. I pretend to listen to Marx for a little while longer, throwing Makeba off the trail.
She’s taking notes on magnetism when I grab her pen away mid sentence.
“What the hell is wrong with you, white boy?” she whispers, pinching my thigh and trying to reach for the pen that I have under the table, dangling between my fingers and between my legs. I love our little games. Makeba gets so mad. It’s pretty funny.
“I have a name and it isn’t white boy. How would you like it if I called you black chick?”
She rolls her eyes. “Is your name dumbass?”
I lean over and whisper into her ear. “It’s Jayce. You know that.”
Getting close to her is a total mistake. That perfume is incredible. Fuck. This is so goddamn wrong. Dustin keeps trying to warn me I’ll only get in trouble if I mess with the wrong chicks at this school. I’m not trying to mess with Makeba, I swear.
“That’s what I said,” she said. “Dumbass.”
At least she’s talking to me. I take my index finger and poke her in the side.
“What’s with the scarf?”
“Mind your business,” Makeba hisses, pulling her body away from mine. “And give me my damn pen back, you hooligan.”
I flip the pen between my fingers and then stick it in my pocket. Makeba won’t get away with blowing me off this easily.
“Where do you buy weed, then? Since you don’t sell.”
“I don’t buy weed. Why would you assume I buy weed?”
“Because…” I whisper, trying not to sound offensive. “You’re black.”
Makeba smacks me across the face. Hard. Everyone in front of us turns around to look. Professor Marx ignores the smack, except for a small smile that crosses his face. Man, some professors have it out for athletes. They think just because we play sports we don’t care about school or something. I care about college. It’s just that I care about hockey more. Way more. That’s why I need weed. According to Tuck, I need to chill and Dustin’s dealer started charging him double after the incident with the Madagascar hissing cockroach.
I seethe quietly as Makeba writes her boring girl notes on magnetism. My cheek stings. Where the fuck did she learn to hit like that?
I can’t believe she smacked me. Never in my entire life has any chick smacked the shit out of Jayce Clutterbuck. What the hell did I do wrong? Chicks are full of it. They say they want honesty, but they don’t want it. At all. Next time she tries some shit like that, I’ll make her pay… If only this class wasn’t so fucking boring, maybe I could keep my mind off her. It’s much easier for her to ignore me than the other way around. Maybe she can focus really well because of Adderall or something. I make a mental note to ask her at the end of class.
Towards the end of class, Makeba surprises me. She opens my notebook, which I haven’t exactly looked at throughout class and she scribbles on a blank page…
I can get you weed. Let’s talk after class.
Excellent. Murphy wants me to get a prescription, but I don’t have time to sit around getting permission to smoke weed when this is a liberal arts college in Massachusetts. Practically everyone here smokes weed even if it’s technically against the rules to do it on campus. Hey, it’s legal. That’s what counts. I can’t wait to get Makeba’s hook up. See? I knew the black chick in my class would have weed. Makeba just can’t stand how secretly smart I am.
“Thanks, chica,” I whisper.
“Shut up,” she grumbles. “I’m trying to pay attention.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m an A student.”
“A what student?”
“An A student.”
“I don’t get it.”
“How are you this dumb?” Makeba whispers to herself, as if just because she thinks I’m dumb, that means I can’t hear or understand English. Whatever. I can ignore her attitude as long as I get whatever dope ass Jamaican weed Makeba probably has access to. Physics couldn’t end any faster. Professor Marx (technically Dr. Marx) hands back all the pop quizzes from last week and mine is the only one he hands back face down. Half the class snickers. Including Makeba. My cheeks feel warm, but I have to hold my head high.
I’m here to play hockey and without the hockey team, this school would be nothing. We have a shit basketball team, a worse football team, and the average weight of the guys on our baseball team is 105 lbs. Laguna Grove would be dead without hockey. Dead.
When our stupid class is finally over, Makeba tugs on my sleeve and points to a hallway with a bunch of empty classrooms. I sling my backpack over my shoulder as she dumps her stuff messily into her purse or whatever, and then I follow her.
“How much can you get me? I’m tight on cash for a while, so–
She interrupts me. “If I help you get weed, you have to do something for me.”
“Like what?”
“Can I trust you, Jayce?”
“Probably not, since we don’t really like each other.”
Our eyes meet for a second, and Makeba scowls and then rolls her eyes. See? Chicks hate honesty.
“Right,” she says. “We hate each other. But you’re a crazy ass white boy who knows how to fight and I have basically unlimited weed.”
“Unlimited weed?”
“Focus, Jayce.”
I’m trying. “Right. Can you trust me?”
“Can I?” she repeats, suddenly sounding… scared. That freaks me out. I mean, it gets me interested because I don’t know what the hell could scare a chick that just smacked me in the face like it was nothing. I’m a 6’4” mass of muscle. There are guys over six feet tall scared to skate near me. Not Makeba. So whatever is scaring her must be pretty bad.
“Are you scared or something?”
She folds her arms and bites her lower lip, like she’s considering her options. She mustn’t have many options if I’m the guy she’s coming to. Like she said, we hate each other.
“Yes,” she says finally, following up with a sigh.
No details follow. Why won’t she just ask me to kick the guy’s ass already?
“Okay…”
Maybe she’s just a weird chick. I mean, I already knew she was a weird chick, but this is extra weird.
“Promise you won’t make this weird,” she says.
“Whatever.”
Does this chick want to sell me weed or what? Makeba sighs and sets her bag on the ground. I can’t look away from her and I don’t want to. She’s kinda tall for a chick, but not as tall as me. 5’10” maybe. She’s skinny, but curvy in the right places – my favorite places.
She tugs at the scarf tied around her neck and she slowly unties the knot. Her body tenses, and her dark skin glows almost blue beneath the fluorescent light in the hallway. She won’t look at me, but it’s cool. I’m looking at her, taking in every bit of her. Fuck, I’m messed up, I know. I always talk shit about guys who go after black chicks. It’s just a habit. Guy talk.
I’m pretty close to her, closer than I’ve been before, because this is supposed to be a secret drug deal or whatever and we need to be subtle. I don’t stop watching her as she moves slowly, just in case this is a joke or something. I don’t want her to mess with me or try to get me back.
Makeba won’t meet my gaze as she moves the fabric away from her neck, sniffling as she loosens the knot. She unwraps the scarf and lets the fabric fall to the ground. I can already see parts of what she’s covering up. Holy. Shit. She takes her sweater off, which almost gets me excited, but she’s wearing a tank top underneath and what she shows me fades my excitement right away.
I don’t feel very chill at all. I feel…
“What the fuck happened to you? Who did that?”
It burns. I don’t expect my voice to sound so concerned. I clear my throat and try to play it cool, but it really burns. Someone hurt her. Makeba. She’s just a chick who sits next to me in physics. She isn’t popular. She doesn’t look like the chicks who hang around the hockey house. No way. She’s not a Pesthouse chick at all. But whatever happened to Makeba looks pretty fucking serious. I guess she messed with the wrong drug dealer or whatever.
“I got hurt,” she says. “Duh.”
She doesn’t answer my question. She doesn’t seem like the type of chick to get into a fight, but there are bruises everywhere. I feel like a dick for thinking about it, but I didn’t realize bruises could show up on skin that dark. They’re deep purple and black, but some of them have a greenish hue. Whatever happened to this chick, she took a serious beating. I want to kill whoever did this to her.
“Boyfriend problems?” I ask. The second I say it, I know it’s a stupid fucking thing to say. I just want to lighten the mood and wipe that terrified look off her face. At least I’m successful with that mission, but her terror gives way to anger.
“That’s not funny, Jayce.”
I hate when she tells me off. Fuck, I always feel so dumb around this chick.
“What does this have to do with my weed, then?” I snap, turning toward impatience. Makeba’s tone reminds me we aren’t friends. That means I don’t need to know who beat the shit out of her and I definitely don’t need to care. But I can’t help wondering about it. She's innocent. She’s the type of chick who never leaves her room on the weekends, never goes to parties.
“If you want weed from me, I need help.”
“What kind of help?”
“I need to learn how to fight, so I can get the person who did this to me.”
“Don’t you have a big black boyfriend who can kick his ass?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she bristles, giving me a death stare like she wants to end my life. “Now, will you help me or not?”
Sheesh. Most people just want money for weed. I don’t get what she wants from me.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“I’m Kya Ambrose’s friend. I’ve been to all your hockey games this season. You spend half your time in the penalty box for kicking someone’s ass. You’re the only guy I know who can help me. And who can keep my secret.”
“What makes you think I can keep your secret?”
“Because I’m too irrelevant to your life for you not to keep it,” she snaps. “Now, will you just say yes? I want to take care of this before my friends find out.”
***
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(Preorder only until April 3rd 2022)
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