Frosty Blues: A Westbrook Blues Novella Read online

  Frosty Blues

  Copyright © 2021 by Thandiwe Mpofu

  Cover Designed by Thandie

  Edited by Virginia Tesi Carey

  Interior Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  Copyright Law:

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  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book or publisher.

  This book, Frosty Blues, is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked statue and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  First Edition, December 2020

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  About This Book

  Playlist

  Author’s Note

  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

  A Note From Moi

  Preview of Devious Kisses

  Chapter One

  Books by Thandie

  To the Blue Crew, the Spitfires, the ones who wanted this… uh, here you go.

  **Smiles sweetly and steps away…

  Silent night. Truth night.

  All is blue.

  All is simmering, waiting to blow up.

  Be still and sleep in peace? Not here. Not with them.

  They don’t forget. They don’t forgive. And they don’t give a damn.

  Ready the cannons and missiles, the troops are in formation because these boys… they’re frosty but the girls? Well, let’s just say it’s the most wonderful time of the year to let go of old wounds. Right?

  The Blue Boys and the girls who twist them up are all under one roof this holiday. Wish them luck.

  “All I Want For Christmas Is You”—Mariah Carey

  “Drummer Boy”—Justin Bieber

  “Riot”—Summer Walker

  “Gangsta”—Kehlani

  “Bad Blood”—Nao

  Ola readers!

  Before we start, please note, Frosty Blues is a Westbrook Blues holiday novella that takes place a few months after Broken Hate, Westbrook Blues #3. The Westbrook Blues series follows the alphahole Blue Boys and is interconnected with more books to come following the other Blue Boys.

  I HIGHLY recommend that you read the first three books, Reckless Hate, Vicious Hate and Broken Hate first, before starting this. It’s no fun when you’re confused about some plot points and important parts that shaped Ace & Astraea’s journey.

  I really hope you enjoy this! Come back anytime you need your Blue Crew fix!

  Ready?

  Let’s go…

  “No, we’re not going to be fucking home, asshole,” I grunt, rolling my eyes for the millionth time since I picked up my damn phone.

  “That’s a lie!” the jerk on the other end of the line singsongs, then he burps and laughs but continues anyway, stumbling over his drunken slurred words. “I know you’ll both be cuddled up, fucking like bunnies in the…” He burps again, loudly this time, making me grimace.

  I pull the phone back, contemplating how fast I can end the call then switch my phone off before he tries calling me back.

  Knowing the shithead that is my best friend, he’ll blow up my phone over and over again until I pick up—like he’s been doing since December first.

  Relentlessly.

  Tirelessly.

  Stupidly.

  In true, spectacular asshole Noah fashion.

  Only this time, he’s decided to be a merry douchebag.

  This fucking festive season bullshit fucking sucks.

  “Sorry about that,” Noah says, not sorry at all. “That was a fucking good taco.”

  I sigh.

  “What the fuck do you want, Noah?” I growl, staring at the pile of work and plans on my desk that need sorting out before my Star gets back home.

  “I just told you, King, I want to visit,” Noah blurts, shouting above the music blasting on his side of the line.

  I fall silent.

  He whistles.

  The music keeps on blasting, with A$AP Rocky crooning on and on about LSD. Fuck, I wouldn’t be surprised if Noah’s on something right now.

  “Just in case it wasn’t clear, I mean to visit you guys,” he goes on.

  Deadly silence. From me, anyway.

  A$AP Rocky switches to New Machine. It doesn’t take long for Noah to start humming along to “Fire Up the Night.”

  “And by visit you guys, I mean over there, you know, in New York fucking City,” he shouts above the music. But this time my silence is even louder.

  He hums along happily, translating my silence correctly as he always does.

  “Did I mention I’ll be visiting for Christmas?” he slurs.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware your drunk and high ass can form a full sentence and repeat it like a fucking broken record,” I grunt, annoyed.

  “Hush now, King,” he whispers dramatically. “There’s no need to be all broody and cold. This wind-breaker weather is holding up that end of the deal all on its own without your angry input.”

  “Fuck you, asshole,” I say. “Go bother someone else. Emmett maybe?”

  “I just came from bothering him and he referred me to you.”

  Fuck you, Em. I make a mental note to call him as soon as I’m done talking to Noah. It’s his fucking turn to babysit Noah’s broken self-esteem. Not mine.

  “So, I was thinking of partying it up with you guys for Christmas and maybe even New Year’s. Nothing beats sliding into the new year than being in the Big Apple! The selection of pussy there is exquisite.”

  “You should know,” I grumble, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on as I hear my drunken best friend breathe heavily through the phone, like a dying pig.

  “True, I mean the best reference is personal experience. Or in my case, personal pleasure,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Sure, that’s why you’re fucking everything that moves, isn’t it?”

  “I have to get my rocks off somehow,” he fires back. “Besides, Emmett is always with me.”

  That surprises me.

  “Emmett?” I question, eyebrow raised. “That serious, brooding god is with you? In some seedy club? Right now?”

  “Don’t sound so fucking shocked. You’re the only one living your dumb life in perfect bliss, like a fucking fairytale utopia.”

  The begrudging tone of his voice is the only part of this call that makes me smirk.

  �
��Everything about Star is a utopia,” I say, looking at the three framed photos of her on my desk. It doesn’t matter at what angle I’m sitting at, she’s never not in my line of sight. Or my fucking thoughts for that matter. “She’s my heaven.”

  He pretends to start gagging. “I didn’t call to talk about your nauseating happiness. I want to visit.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  “But, but… I want to spend Christmas in New York,” he whines like a fucking insolent child; another Noah fashion of late.

  “Asshole, you fly over here every other weekend. You’ve literally been to every fucking club, pub, and all those seedy, underground, secret sex clubs in this city. Hasn’t your dick fallen off yet?”

  “Oh, let me check, give me a moment,” he counters and goes silent. “Nope, it’s still intact. Stallion type of shit.”

  Sigh.

  “Go measure your junk somewhere else. Maybe back in Westbrook Blues? I mean, when was the last time you were there?”

  “Just last week actually.”

  That makes me sit up straight. Westbrook Blues is a sketchy topic for all of us. No one likes talking about the place where we all grew up, least of all visiting that highly priced shithole. Especially with George…

  “Really?” I murmur, suspicious of him. Noah has never been a liar but recently…

  “Took you by surprise, huh?” he chortles, but it’s hard and brittle. “Well, I had some shit to take care of.”

  Some shit to take care of…

  “Checking in with the mother you’ve practically abandoned?” I question with a smirk I’m sure he can hear.

  “You’re one to talk,” he snorts. “Denise…”

  “Is none of my fucking concern,” I say seriously, cutting him off before he can finish that bullshit.

  Silence falls between us.

  The music keeps on playing.

  Noah’s breathing like he wants to throw up.

  “Well, your dearest mother, Denise—I’m sure you remember her—she told mom that she always tries to call you, but it seems like her only child, her dearest asshole son is never available,” he says sarcastically. “But don’t fret, King, the plus side is she manages to leave you cute little regret filled love notes in the form of voicemail instead.”

  A voicemail for a number I no longer use.

  “I didn’t ask for an update,” I growl, rubbing my temples.

  “You never ask about anyone anymore.”

  The fuck?

  “I wasn’t aware that I should care about anyone else other than Star.”

  Silence. This time it’s deadly.

  “You made that perfectly clear.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I growl.

  “It means check your fucking voicemails.”

  Icy silence.

  “I’ll check,” I say after a while.

  “No, you won’t,” he snorts.

  “Fuck you, Noah. Get off my line, I have more pressing shit to do than sit here and nurse your seriously fucked-up addictions.”

  He chuckles, unbothered.

  “Seriously dude, you don’t want to discuss fucked-up addictions with me. Have you talked to your tight as thieves, best friend, yet?”

  A pinprick of anger starts at the base of my spine just at the thought of my so-called best friend, George.

  “Why don’t you and I play a game of fuck off. I’ll go first,” I say. “Fuck off, Noah.”

  “Ah, passive aggression, classic symptoms.” He tsks. “I guess I’ll take that as a no to operation RTB.”

  Just then a shiver of awareness moves through me, the hairs at the back of my neck stand up on end.

  Astraea…

  She’s probably listening so I need to get this jerk off my line and go to her.

  “I don’t have time to decode your shit. What operation are you talking?”

  “Oh, you know, operation Restore The Boys,” he says with a chuckle. “You know because you and George are you know, in a dumpster of shit.”

  This again?

  “There’s nothing to operate or talk about concerning that,” I grit out, keeping my voice low just in case Star really is eavesdropping which is highly likely.

  “Hmm, can’t fault you for icing him out like you did, guess Baby Blue’s pretty bummed about that. You know Christmas used to be their favorite time of the year and now…”

  For fuck’s sake. Why the hell is he bringing this up? The mention of George in our home is more than a sore subject. It’s a fucking knife to the skull. Just as gruesome as it is violent.

  “Why don’t you go spend time with him, since you’re all in your feelings about your fuck buddy,” I grumble angrily.

  “Please, give me more credit than that, King,” he scoffs, but it sounds strained. “So, what if we fucked the same girl at the same time? I might be drunk and miserable, but I’m still loyal to a fault. Recognize that shit,” he says then burps. “Besides, New York is the place to be this jiggle bell season.”

  I latch on to the change of subject like a lifeline, even if we’re back to discussing the possibility of his pending death if he keeps threatening to impose on my peaceful life with Star.

  “What the fuck do you possibly want to do here that you haven’t done yet?” I demand, now exasperated.

  I swear if it was possible to asphyxiate this asshole without making Star hate me for an eternity, I would’ve done it already.

  I had a chance when we were kids, didn’t take it and now here I am. Suffering.

  “To celebrate and party, of course.”

  “For Christmas?”

  “Ah, finally acknowledging that there’s a holiday called Christmas, are we?” he questions sarcastically. “Did you know that normal people actually celebrate a fat man climbing down their chimneys? They even deck the halls, bake cookies, and all that shit.”

  “We did celebrate Christmas.”

  “Yes, by camping out in the woods, drinking at an age we shouldn’t have been. I mean, look at me now,” he says bitterly.

  Silence stretches between us.

  We did do stupid things when we were younger, but back then, we hardly noticed how the rest of the world moved or how important family was, and how naïve and fucking pathetic we were to think family couldn’t hurt any more than it had already at that point.

  But even with all that aside, we were still together. All of us.

  We were kind of… happy.

  And then out of nowhere, Astraea was…

  Fuck!

  This shit just turned sour in a way I wasn’t anticipating. Not a day goes by that I don’t blame myself for what happened to her. To me. To us…

  “Well, we’re not normal. If that’s what you’re after, then go home and enjoy it with your new stepdaddy. I’m pretty sure Christina would love that.”

  “Fuck you!” he seethes. “They’re not married.”

  “Not yet.”

  “What do you know?”

  “That Emmett is a terrible gossip when the mood strikes him, and you should call your mother more often.”

  “Damn that asshole,” he shouts, then he burps. “Anyway, what is it that you have against me coming over? And just so you know, I haven’t been to all the underground sex clubs. You would know if you actually agreed to come with me.”

  I roll my eyes, choosing not to answer that. What can a sex club give me when life with my baby is like a fucking wet dream on steroids night after night, wall by wall, kitchen counter on kitchen counter? “I told you, Astraea and I won’t be home during that time.”

  “And you’re lying about that, too.”

  “Why would I be lying about that?”

  “I don’t know. Why ever do you do the shitty things you do these days like keeping me away from seeing my best friend?” he counters, sounding cheerful again, but this time, it sounds forced, like he’s seconds away from being epically angry.

  And the shithead’s been angry for a while now. Years in
fact. At this point, it’s getting out of control.

  “I’m hanging up now,” I say, exasperated and so done with his ass.

  “Whatever. Just know that I’ll be there in a week, banging at your door.”

  “Astraea and I won’t be here, so bang away, asshole. Hopefully you get arrested.”

  “Yeah well, since this dreadful call started and you’ve been spewing lies like the devil you are, Baby Blue responded to my texts at last. Guess what she just told me, shithead?” I groan internally, and he laughs. “That beautiful babe, whom you totally don’t deserve by the way, confirmed that you have no plans whatsoever and I’m welcome at any fucking time.”

  I curse angrily, and he laughs.

  “Is your nose as long as my dick now, King Pinocchio?” Jesus, he gets even more vile each time he’s drunk. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, your highness?”

  “Remember that game? Go fuck off.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m currently getting my dick sucked right now.”

  Well then… “I bet you wish that mouth belonged to somebody else. A lying mouth maybe?”

  Silence. This time, it sounds louder than the techno music.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about, and I don’t give a fuck,” he seethes.

  “Aww baby boy, was that a nerve?”

  “You’re a brittle asshole, you know that?”

  Yup, I’m done talking to him. “Get off my phone.”

  “Sure, see you next week.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Hmm, what will Baby Blue say about your high-handedness? You do know she’ll choose me, right?”

  Fuck! Damn you, Star.

  The fucked up thing is, Noah’s somewhat right.

  After everything blew up between Star and me in Westbrook Blues, she and the bastard remained close. Some kind of silly vow they made to each other. They even went on vacation together, and he never once mentioned it while I marinated in my own misery.

  The asshole has a special relationship with the love of my life that I’ll never fully support. Or accept.

  “What else did she say?” I demand.

  “Oh, you know, that you both won’t be going back to Westbrook Blues, even if it was the last place on earth not on fire in the last days, you know the usual.”