(Im)perfectly Happy
by Sharina Harris
Genre: Women's Fiction
When four college friends formed the Brown Sugarettes Mastermind Group, they had very different goals—but matched each other in ambition. Yet ten years later they can’t help wondering what happened to the hopeful, confident, driven women they used to be—and how to get
them back . . .
Radio personality Raina, known as “the black Delilah,” hates the wholesome persona that’s made her a success. Doling out syrupy versions of her grandma’s wisdom feels worlds away from the sarcastic,
tell-it-like-it-is woman Raina really is.
Kara Jones was sure she’d be a master sommelier by thirty. Life and loss interfered with that plan. Now she has one more chance—but it’s taking a toll on her self-esteem and her marriage.
Nikki Grayson hardly recognizes the stay-at-home mom she’s become. When her band signed a record deal, she swapped the limelight for a minivan and a sensible ’do. Now she’s wishing she had followed her heart. Instead, she’s drowning her regret in alcohol.
Public defender Sienna Njeri willingly put her city council aspirations aside to support her fiancé’s bid for office—and now she’s wondering if her loyalty is misplaced.
Longing for the support, advice, and tough love they once shared, all four resolve to start meeting up again. After all, their dreams may still be within reach. But are they worth the price they’ll pay to achieve them?
Excerpt #3 –
Nikki
The show was
nearly over and the lights flipped on. The music was now subdued, and Trent
gave the crowd a sexy grin. My heart slammed a series of tri-pl-et beats
against my chest. I knew the plan. They still had the same old shtick: Invite a
hot girl on stage, make her panties melt as they sang a rocking ballad to her,
and then later, for Trent and maybe Ethan if Trent was feeling charitable,
screw her brains out. “I’m looking for . . . someone. A special someone to come
onstage.” The crowd went wild. Well, the women. Scratch that, some of the men,
too. Trent’s eyes scanned the crowd, and I wondered what he was thinking. Would
he see me in the second row? A busty redhead sat a few feet to my left, and I
knew for sure that she would catch his eye. She was attractive, wearing a
tattered Tortured Souls tee slashed in all the right places and a miniskirt
showing off legs for days. Yep, just his type. I was never his type. I was
tall, curvy, with big lips and a bigger butt. I remembered how he would always
say there was something about me. Something that made a man want to be my man
and I would always stand out to him, like a beacon of light. I snorted now,
just as I’d done then. He’d always been a shit poet. His eyes lit up when he
spotted the redhead. Called it. His lips curved into a smile and he lifted his
hand from the guitar string, ready to pick his latest victim. I rolled my eyes
and folded my arms across my tee. His eyes moved on from the redhead and his
blues clashed with my browns.
“Well, I’ll be
damned,” he whispered. But it wasn’t a whisper because he was mic’d. “Nikki
fucking Hardt.” He said a little louder. But I was Nikki Grayson now. The slow
and steady rhythm from the drums and cymbals slipped a beat. Guess I’d
surprised Davey as well.
“I’ll be damned,”
he said again. This time he waved. “Get your ass up here.” I shook my head and
looked away, as if averting my eyes would make him go away. What in the hell
was I thinking— strutting my ass to the second row of seats, center stage of
all places? I‘d tempted fate, testing his old promise to always notice me in a
crowded room.
“Aww, my girl’s
acting shy. Let’s give her a round of applause to encourage her.” I rolled my
eyes and shook my head again. “I’ll stand here all night and beg if I have to.”
He lowered his voice and moved the mic closer to his lips. “You know that I
will.” His tone held a promise, just like the one he’d used in the bedroom.
Just listening to him made me feel like I was cheating on James. I spotted the
security guy at the end of the row and nodded. A few women, including the
redhead, gave me curious, envious looks as I made my way toward the stage. They
didn’t realize I was saving them from a world of pain. Trent was a god in the
bedroom, made you feel like the most important woman in the world, and just as
you were soaring off his declarations of love, he’d drop you. It was like he
fed off the bitterness. The pain wasn’t as sweet if the tears weren’t real.
Pain and pleasure always came in a package with Trent. I leaned into the ugly
memories, covering myself with them like a barbed-wire armor, and marched
onstage. The crowd was quiet now. The rock god has gotten his way, and they
were waiting for what happened next. Trent handed his guitar to me and nodded
at the roadie behind the stage. Something happened and the mood had changed.
There was a shift in power. He had gifted me with temporary rock god status and
I decided to pretend, just for one night.
Feeling bold, I
began the chords to the song I’d written for them. I knew they were saving the
best for last; it was their hit song I’d written to sing the panties off some
woman. But not tonight. Tonight, I would make the hairs on the back of the
crowd’s neck stand up. I would give them goose bumps. And I didn’t need to sell
my sex appeal, I just wanted to make them feel. Trent had corned the market on
rock-and-roll, but without me, they didn’t have any soul.
The band played
the song, and my voice floated to the mic as Trent harmonized effortlessly
beside me. Walking closer to the mic, I poured my entire being into the crowd.
I felt it again—that warm feeling spilled from me and into the crowd, and like
glue, it stuck us together until we were one. Like a succubus, I fed on the
crowd’s energy. I tossed back my head and hit a high note I hadn’t tried in a
while. I was a little rusty, but my voice sounded like a vintage record. The
second time I hit the note, it was pure and clear. The cobwebs of lost dreams
were cleared away. My thoughts drifted to my travelin’ man daddy, who let
cocaine get the best of him. He loved his family—loved my mom and loved me
harder. But the music, and the ups and downs, and the disappointments were all
too much for him. Mama said it was like he had a gun to his head and each day,
his finger slowly inched against the trigger until it popped. And it did. I was
sixteen when Daddy died.
And the following years weren’t so sweet. Mama
had stopped the piano and guitar lessons, but by then it’d been too late. The
drug that was music had slipped into the next generation and coursed through my
veins. I guess some of Daddy’s vices lived on, too. With my heart and soul, I
sang the lyrics and prayed that Daddy had found his peace.
Sharina Harris earned her Bachelor of Arts degree from Georgia State University. After college, she pursued a career in digital marketing and public relations. Although her profession required writing, she decided to pursue a career in writing in 2012.
Sharina's contemporary romance series under the pen name, Rina Gray, was named Book Riot's 100 Must-Read Romantic Comedies. When Sharina's not writing, she can be found with her head stuck in a book, rooting for her favorite NBA teams, and spending time with friends and family.
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1 comment:
love the cover ~ Sounds like a great read
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