Tales of A Tomboy: Britain Read online

  TALES OF A TOMBOY:

  Britain

  By Evan Grace

  TALES OF A TOMBOY: Britain

  Copyright © 2016 by Evan Grace.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: November 2018

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-759-5

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my readers. Thank you for reading everything I write and supporting me on this journey.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note:

  The heroine of this tale experiences a traumatic sexual experience as a little girl. It’s told by her to the hero in the story and the retelling is very brief, but the incident shapes who she is as a person and could potentially be a trigger for some readers.

  Chapter One

  Britain

  I stare at the ceiling and smile as the pitter patter of little feet, which will soon come racing down the basement stairs to me, pound across the first floor. I moved in with my oldest brother, Keith, and his wife, Beth, two years ago after they bought their house and I found out it had a mini apartment down here. It beats the hell out of living with Mom and Dad.

  Don’t get me wrong—I love them, but fuck me, they’re always in my business. They mean well, but I love that Beth and Keith give me my privacy…most of the time.

  The familiar squeak of the basement door opening has me throwing my blanket over my head and fake snoring while I wait.

  “Shhh. Auntie Bwit is sweeping,” my four-year-old niece, Annie, whispers.

  My six-year-old niece, Bridgette, giggles. “She snores like Daddy.”

  After throwing back my covers, I grab both girls, pull them onto the bed, and start tickling them; they squeal and giggle. “The tickle monster is going to get you!” I roar. I stop tickling them and grab them, hugging them close to me as we lie in bed. Grabbing the remote off the side table, I turn on my TV and put it on Netflix so the girls and I can watch their favorite movie of the week, Angry Birds.

  This is our weekend tradition and pretty much has been since I moved in. I don’t mind and I’m always home, except when I’m at work. I love spending this quality time with my nieces and it always gives my brother and his wife a little quiet time in the morning…nope, not going there.

  Both girls settle in beside me and we watch our movie.

  By the time the credits are rolling, my sister-in-law comes down and stops next to my bed. “Hey,” I whisper, because Annie is asleep. That girl can fall asleep so quickly it’s scary, but they had tests done and she’s perfectly healthy. She’s just a fan of sleeping. Her caramel curls tickle my chin as she snuggles in closer to me.

  “Have they been down here long?” The petite redhead smiles softly at me.

  “We watched all of Angry Birds,” I tell her.

  “Momma, Annie fell asleep super fast.” Bridgette announces it like we all don’t know how our little Annie is.

  “Bridgette, why don’t we let your aunt get some sleep, because I’m sure you woke her up. We’ll make chocolate chip waffles.”

  The two of them head upstairs. I told Beth to leave Annie with me and I’d wake her up when breakfast was ready.

  While my niece sleeps, I slide out of my bed and jump in the shower. Once I’m done doing all of my business, I throw on cutoff sweatpants, my bra, and tank top. I quickly dry my golden blonde curls and then throw them up into a ponytail. After brushing my teeth, I go into my bedroom and gently wake up Annie.

  “Wake up, baby girl. Your momma and sissy are making chocolate chip waffles.” It’s comical how quickly her eyes pop open, and she gives me the biggest smile.

  “Waffles!” she cheers, and just like that she’s up and out of bed. I turn around so my back is to her and she climbs on so I can carry her up the stairs. The scent of melted chocolate and syrup hits me and immediately my mouth begins to water.

  I squat down so Annie can slide off my back and she runs toward my brother, who just joined us. When he introduces me to people as his sister, they always look at us like we’re crazy. See, my dad was married before and had Keith and Marcus with their mom, Sheila, who’s black. Both guys have brown curly hair—even though they both keep it shaved close to their scalps—and brown eyes, and their skin is the color of caramel.

  Our dad was married to my mom, a white, blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman, about a year after my dad got divorced from Sheila. They divorced when I was six and she was serving time in jail.

  Stuff happened—stuff that has left long-lasting scars on my soul, and my mom is no longer in my life or my dad’s, but as luck would have it Sheila stepped in to help with me. She and my dad fell back in love, got remarried, and she even adopted me.

  I look just like my birth mom, but Sheila’s the only mom I care about, the only one I claim— a mom who loves me and protects me, something my birth mother failed to do. I’m twenty-four and haven’t seen my biological mother since I was seven—when she showed up with the papers my dad had filed to have her parental rights taken away. My dad made sure she knew that she wasn’t allowed to be in my life ever again. To be honest I’m fine with that; I don’t miss her.

  Keith walks by me, kissing the top of my head, and I wrap my arms around his waist, giving him a squeeze before letting him go so he can greet his other girls. I watch from the counter as he wraps his arms around Beth’s waist from behind. He pulls her hair away from her neck and places a soft kiss there. I shouldn’t watch because that’s my brother, but I love how sweet he is with his girls.

  Once the waffles are done, chaos ensues as we all fill our plates and gather around the table. Bridgette stops showing me her tap routine and hops up into her chair. Annie is spinning in circles singing “You’re Welcome” from Moana and finally sits down as they both begin to shove their waffles into their adorable little mouths. I shove a wad of them into my mouth, moaning around my bite. “These are so good,” I say with my mouth full of food. So unladylike, but I don’t care.

  Beth gives me that mom look and I embarrassingly shrug my shoulders. “Sowwy,” is what it sounds like because I’m still chewing my food.

  “Britain Michelle. You’re as bad as your brothers.” Oh shit, she’s bustin
g out middle names.

  Keith’s no help—he just looks between us and laughs. I crumple up my paper towel and throw it at his head. “Sorry, Beth,” I say with a smile.

  We finish breakfast without too much more chaos. I kick Beth out of the kitchen and begin cleaning up. I’m turning on the dishwasher when my brother comes in. I take the hint when he sets his empty coffee cup on the counter next to me; I fill it. “Did you get those rims ordered?”

  When I was eighteen, my dad and brothers bought me a ’71 Chevy Chevelle SS. Together we’ve rebuilt it and turned it into the finest piece of machinery I’ve ever seen. This past year I had it painted a sick royal blue with a muted black stripe that runs down the middle of the hood.

  “Hell yeah, I did. They’re gonna look sweet. I don’t know what I’m going to do now that it’s all done. I’ve thought about maybe selling her and getting a new project.” But the more I think about it, the thought of selling my baby hurts. “Well…maybe not sell my girl, but I have thought about rebuilding another.”

  “You’ve got a gift, baby sister. If you decide to do that, I’ll help you find the right car. You working in the shop tomorrow?”

  I have two jobs right now: I work at my dad’s shop three days a week and babysit for Keith and Beth at least two days a week so they don’t have to pay for child care. I’d do anything for them. After all, they let me move in with them, and I pay such a small amount for rent that I’ve got a nice little savings account going right now, plus I get home-cooked meals on the regular.

  It’s not like I didn’t have all of that with no rent at my parents’ home, but my mom has been on me about dating and even setting me up with guys, much to the chagrin of my father, and shit, I don’t want to date.

  Plus guys aren’t interested in me like that. I’m their buddy, the person they call when they have car trouble, or when they want to complain about their girlfriends and think just because I’m a girl that I know a shit about other girls. I don’t. I mostly hang out with my family and our extended family at the shop.

  “Yeah, at least in the morning, because I’ve got ordering to do since no one else can seem to do it without screwing it up.” I bump him with my hip and he grabs me in a headlock, proceeding to give me a fucking noogie. “Owww…stop it, you big jerk, or I’m gonna tell Mom.”

  He lets go and shoves me away. I stick out my tongue and then flip him off before heading back down to my place. After brushing my teeth, I throw on my pair of black Vans and grab my wallet and keys—time for a little cruise. I head out the back door and walk around to the front, smiling every time I see my baby.

  I climb in and turn her on, and I’m not embarrassed to say that I get a little tingle when she rumbles and purrs as she comes to life. My dad paid for my seats to be reupholstered with the softest black leather I’ve ever touched, Marcus bought me my stereo and new speakers, and Keith helped me rebuild the engine and all of the under-the-hood stuff.

  I back her out of the driveway and hit the gas. As I head through town, I see not a lot of people are out yet, but it is Sunday, so people are probably having breakfast before church, or grocery shopping, or doing yardwork.

  My family has lived in Masterson, Iowa, our whole lives. Our mom and dad even went to high school together; they were just friends until they graduated, though. Then they got married, had Keith, and then Marcus. I honestly don’t know why they got divorced because they’re perfect together. He won’t say it, but I know my dad only married my real mom because he’d gotten her pregnant.

  It wasn’t hard to figure that out when my birth was six-and-half months after their wedding date. My dad swears he doesn’t regret it because he got me out of the deal, and even Sheila doesn’t regret their time apart. She’s always told me that the seven years she and Dad were apart was a good thing, because it gave them both a chance to grow up. And had they not been separated for all that time, then I would’ve never been born. Sheila’s definitely an “always look on the bright side” kind of woman.

  I hop on Middle Road and take it out to where it turns to nothing but empty country roads. Cranking my stereo, I hit the gas as Eminem fills the air around me. My baby purrs loudly as the speedometer climbs higher and higher. The smell of wet soil hits me as I drive farther and farther away from my home. Out here, I feel freedom—I know who I am, and the ghosts of my past can’t find me.

  After driving around for a while, I head back toward town. I look at the time and it’s ten thirty. The familiar sign with a dog holding a cup of coffee is up ahead, so I decide to pull into the Coffee Hound and grab myself a snickerdoodle latte, my favorite.

  Inside there are a few people in the seating area; I pay them no mind and walk up to the counter. “Hey, Jessie.”

  The bubbly brunette bee-bops over to the counter. “Hey, Britain. The usual?”

  I nod and pay for my drink. I move down to the end of the counter and wait for it. I’m concentrating on my game of Candy Crush when a deep voice pulls me from my game.

  “I’ll take a large iced coffee, please.” I watch out of the corner of my eye as he pays. I’ve never seen him before; I would’ve remembered him. He’s tall compared to my five-foot-four frame—at least six-one or six-two. He looks muscular from what I can tell, and he’s broad chested, with the material tight around his biceps. They’re not necessarily huge, just fit…strong. His dark blond hair is short on the sides and a little longer on top—it looks super soft and slightly wavy.

  He moves to stand by me and his woodsy scent wraps around me. All of a sudden I’m hot—why do I feel flushed? My tank top feels uncomfortably tight right now. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Thankfully my name gets called and I grab my drink. “Thanks, Jessie. See ya tomorrow.” I turn to walk away and my gaze travels up to meet Mr. Smell Good’s. He’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re the color of the sky on a bright, cloudless day. Bright, cloudless day? What the hell?

  He looks me up and down, taking in the hot mess that I am, and rolls his eyes. Of course I’m not surprised by his reaction. I don’t wear makeup and I don’t do my hair. Ninety percent of the time I’m in nondescript clothing, and today I’m basically in pajamas. It still hurts and I don’t get it. I mask the hurt before he can see it and give him the same look, but mouth the word, “dick.”

  Karma hates me, because I move around him to make my exit and trip over my own fucking feet. My latte goes everywhere and I hit the ground with a jarring thud. The good-looking dick steps right over me with a chuckle and walks right out of the shop.

  A couple of patrons come to my aid and help me up. “Britain, are you okay?” Jessie says from next to me.

  She grabs my smashed cup out of my hands and I begin to wipe myself off. Crumbs are stuck to my knees and the palms of my hands…Gross. I bruise easily, so I’m sure I’ll have them on both knees—whatever, everyone is used to seeing me covered in bruises anyway. “Yeah, I’m okay, thanks. God, that guy was such a dick.” I mutter that last part.

  Jessie giggles before telling me she’s making me a new drink. I’m grateful for it, and it just shows what amazing people the baristas are here. A few minutes later, one of the other girls has my drink cleaned up off of the floor and Jessie hands me a fresh one. “Here you go, girl.” She leans in. “Yeah, that guy was a total dick.” Her voice is quiet enough that I’m the only one who hears her.

  By the time I pull up in front of my brother’s house, my knees are already starting to turn purple. I climb out of my car and make my way around the back of the house to enter in through the door off the kitchen. I hate to think that I’m intruding on Keith and Beth’s family time with their girls sometimes, and no, that’s never happened. I just love living with them and don’t want to ever overstay my welcome.

  I sip my drink as I head into my room, flop down on my bed, and turn my TV on. One of my guilty pleasures is watching the train wrecks that are The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. I found the former last year by mistake, and I hate to admi
t that I was hooked immediately. What can I say? I love the drama. I don’t know why I hide it, but I do. Maybe because I know the boys at the shop, my dad and brothers included, would give me shit.

  I have my own cable hookup and DVR—that way, I can record and watch what I want without the grief. It doesn’t take long before I’m lost in the crazy shenanigans…just the way I like to spend a lazy Sunday.

  Chapter Two

  I pull into the parking lot at the main library in town. Annie screams and squeals from the back seat. “I luv the libwary, Auntie Bwit.”

  Her joy is contagious, but how could it not be? Every day I pray that her and her sister are never tainted by what still haunts me. With a shake of my head, I push those thoughts away. They don’t help me—all they do is upset me, and then the nightmares come back temporarily.

  “I know you do, my Annie Bananie. We’re just in time for story hour, and then we’ll go get your sissy from school.” This is one of my days that I babysit while Beth works. Annie and I either come here, the zoo, or to Chuck E. Fucking Cheese’s. Annie’s busy all of the time, and I try to find things that expel a lot of energy. I pull my seat forward for Annie to climb out of the back seat. “Hold my hand.”

  I smile at the feel of her tiny hand sliding into mine. She hops as I walk us toward the door. See…lots of energy. Inside, we make our way up the stairs to the children’s room. There are kids everywhere, and parents too. We find a spot on the big colorful carpet that covers the entire floor. After sitting down and crossing my legs, I hold out my hands and Annie settles on my lap.

  A woman in a colorful maxi halter dress comes out carrying an acoustic guitar. She reminds me of Phoebe Buffay from Friends. She smiles brightly at all of us and sits down on the tiny chair.

  “Hello, all of my special friends. Is everyone ready to sing some songs?”