Book Title: Blue Waters
Author Name: India R Adams
Genre: Young Adult/Romance
Hosted by: Ultimate Fantasy Book Tours
“The blue water I sank through was angelic, quiet, peaceful…”
Whitney is a vivacious, highly spirited 17-year-old girl. Her motto, “Live life to the fullest” is derailed when the young man, who’s captured her attention, turns out to be the son of a drug tycoon- the same that provided the drugs that killed her brother. Whitney believes she simply need to heal from her first heartache, not knowing she is a part of a devious trade, one against human rights, and she has been… since the day age was born.
Blue Waters is the first Novella in a Tainted Waters, and begins a story of deception, corruption, self-discovery, and love with all that it demands you sacrifice…
“There was a beauty in dying that day…”
India R Adams is an author/singer/songwriter who has written YA and NA novels, and the music for the Forever series.
India was born and raised in Florida but has also been so lucky as to live in Idaho (where she froze but fell in love with the small town life), Austin Texas (where she started her first book, Serenity, and met wonderful artist), and now Murphy, North Carolina (where the mountains have stolen a piece of her heart).
Being a survivor of abuse, has inspired India to let others know they have nothing to be ashamed of. She put her many years of professional theater background to the test and has written fictional stories with a shadow of her personal experiences. She says, “I’m simply finding ways to empower perfect imperfections.”
Another cause India feels needs change, is Sexual Slavery. She has joined forces with jewelers to design beautiful ways to raise money for non-profit organizations. Even though India writes about serious subjects such as domestic violence, sexual abuse, and Human Trafficking, she has a magnificent sense of humor, as do the characters she creates. Perfectly balanced between laughter and tears, her readers see how to empower their own perfect imperfections.
Visit her at:
I ran to the concession counter to see Frank had abandoned his post. Without an employee in sight, and a movie guy refusing to push pause, I took my only option. I climbed over the counter to get my own damn butter.
As I was falling off the other side of the counter—after a shameful ass-in-the-air presentation—it was evidently clear Harlan was right. I might have been one hell of a dancer, and had a rare audition with Tender West’s summer dance program, but I truly was a complete klutz.
After pulling myself off a filthy floor, I wiped questionable grease off my palms and mailbag and grabbed my bucket of popcorn—and yes, I refilled it, deciding I was a regular and deserved a couple of free kernels. Feeling giddy at finally having control over the infamous butter machine, I swore angels sung in harmony, and I smiled and squealed in delight.
When I heard a chuckle behind me, my nervous stealing hands threw my bucket of popcorn up into the air, announcing my guilt. I turned to see who had busted me and looked into the most mysterious, trouble-promising, male blue eyes in the whole wide world.
The rough-looking character with darker hair and a medium-sized scar above his left eyebrow stood on the ‘proper’ side of the counter, where I should have been, and watched popcorn fall from my unruly red hair. “Damn, sorry to have scared you. I just need a water. How much will it be?”
Fighting the desire to lick the individual before me, I uttered, “Uh,” before looking up at the price menu on the wall behind me. “Ummm a dollar seventy-five… Damn! They charge a buck seventy-five for a water? That is redunkulous!”
As tatted fingers reached into a leather wallet, Mr. Lickable said, “You have unusual sale tactics.”
Being a tad bit stunned by this guy, who pleasantly appeared to be everything mamas warn young girls about, I was slow to realize he thought I was a theater employee. Since my mother never took the time to warn me about such things, and turning down an opportunity for a good time was against my religion, I agreed. “That’s what the owner said in my job interview. Yep! That’s me: Franket.”
Tilting his head and exposing a partially tattooed neck, he asked, “Your name is Franket?” The tattoo saying, “Life 1982” was clearly significant, but it being along his jugular seemed even more so.
I shrugged. “I know. My parents must hate me, right?”
He grinned, and I was instantly intrigued, especially when the stranger said, “Far too cute to be a Franket, but I think you can more than pull off a Franky. Do you mind?”
This stranger danger could’ve decided to rename me ‘Mug Rat El Stinky,’ and I would’ve still replied, “Works for me! My mom may not like it, but she needs to pipe it down anyway, or I’m telling my dad she’s sleeping with the pool boy.”
“You have a pool boy, yet you work here?”
“Not my pool boy, remember? Mother’s pool toy—I mean boy.”
“You’re a natural born hell-raiser, ain’t cha?”
I approved of his approving tone. Then I thought of what my Link had said earlier. “Born ready.” I reached into the fridge for the water bottle and set it on the counter. “That’ll be one seventy-five.”
Mr. Lickable snickered. “There’s more of that talent you must’ve been hired for.”
“Like you said, Mr. Water Purchaser, I’m cute. Probably how I got the job, right?”
“I’d hire you.” Somehow, I understood he was implying more, but I played along.
“You have a movie theater?”
“Sorry. Seems you and I are over before we ever even began.”
“Oh, something has begun here, and you and I both know it.”
Boy, did I! I gripped the counter so I wouldn’t humiliate myself by throwing my willing body right back over the counter where I had come from, offering myself on a popcorn platter. Ah, but playing hard to get was so much more fun, so I had to do it. “Sorry, on the clock. And I have three mouths to feed, so I’ve gotta keep earning my pathetic excuse for a paycheck.”
He playfully shook his head. “How old are you? Mouths to feed?”
“Yeppers. My adopted boys. Reether, Harlan, and Ford. And I’m seventeen. Jailbait for you, I presume?”
“I’d take my chances with jail time, but I’m not ready for kids, Franky.”
“Too late. I’m a package deal.”
He put down a five on the counter. “Damn. Well, at least keep the change—for your boys.”
“Had every intention to.” I watched the bad boy in the making slip from my incapable grasp. His black T-shirt was snug, taunting me to take a gander at shoulders that were surely strong and perfectly molded, but I got preoccupied with his snug jeans that ever-so-gently caressed the cutest ass known to man. I whispered to myself, “Here’s to one-sided mental affairs.”
I gasped when I saw another tattoo on the back of his neck, along his spinal cord. It read, “Death 1995.” We were in 2013.