I'm excited to share an except with you from No Matter What by K.M. Frost. She is a new to me author and I will be watching for her books. This one and any she may write in the future.
Book Description: Mason’s life is far from perfect, but it turns out it can get worse. When his mom ends up in prison, he’s shipped off to the middle of nowhere. Apparently he’s got grandparents—parents of the father he knows nothing about. Mason’s not interested in bonding with these newfound grandparents. He just wants to survive until his eighteenth birthday so he can escape this backwater town and finally be free.
Emily is struggling to keep what’s left of her family from falling apart after a horrible accident stole her mom. She has enough on her plate with mothering her younger siblings and protecting a secret that could destroy everything, when she runs into Mason—literally. Her life doesn’t need more complications, and this distractingly attractive, clearly damaged boy promises nothing but trouble. Still, she can’t help but be drawn to him.
Mason and Emily are opposites in nearly every way, but neither can deny the attraction between them. Mason knows he isn’t good enough for her, and Emily knows she should stay away, but that doesn’t stop the pull they feel toward each other. Their tentative relationship is threatened when Mason is put in the crosshairs of the local gang and the town sheriff. Mason and Emily will have to decide what they really want—and if they’re willing to fight for it.
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EMILY (POV)
Mason stood on the sidewalk in front of the library, scowling at his phone.
Without letting myself overthink it, I closed my car door and crossed to where he stood.
“Hey, are you okay?”
He looked up, surprise sparking in his deep blue eyes, confirming my deduction that he
could hear just fine, even with those earbuds in place. “Yeah.” He frowned back at his
phone, then slipped it into his pocket. “My grandpa can’t get away from the farm, so I guess
I’m chilling here for a while.”
“Do you need a ride?”
He blinked. “Uh, I’m good. He said he’ll be here as soon as he can.”
I tilted my head and smiled a little. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you haven’t spent
much time on a farm, have you?”
“No.” His dark eyebrows tugged together. “Why?”
“Let’s just say there are no quick jobs on a farm. Everything takes a long time—if you do it
right, that is. And if I know anything, it’s that George Peterson doesn’t cut corners.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. A streak of white paint had dried on his forearm and
momentarily distracted me. “What’s your point?”
“My point is you could be stuck here for hours.” I shrugged. “Or you could let me drive you
home.”
I watched him process that and consider my offer. His lips pressed together, threatening to
reopen the angry cut on the lower one. My eyes skipped from his split lip to his black eye. They
hadn’t slowed him down today—in fact, he hadn’t seemed to notice the bruises at all. I’d wanted
to ask him about the fight he’d been in, but there were enough rumors swirling around town I
figured he was pretty sick of our curiosity.
“You’ll be safer in my car,” I said, to break the silence and keep my unsolicited questions inside.
He raised a single dark eyebrow in question.
I grinned. “I can’t run you over if you’re in my car.”
A short chuckle escaped his lips, both a surprise and a victory. “I’m sure you could find a way.”
I let out a little laugh, too, then swung my keys in the air. “Are you coming?”
He heaved a long-suffering sigh, but amusement still lit his eyes. “You won’t drop this, will
you?”
“Nope. I can be very stubborn.”
“That I believe.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and typed a quick message, presumably to
his grandpa. Then he gestured for me to lead the way. I did so with a smug grin.
We got into my car, and I immediately rolled the windows down. “The AC’s on the fritz,” I
explained a bit sheepishly. Honestly, I was glad for an excuse to have the windows open. For
some reason, the car felt too small with him sitting next to me.
He shrugged and set his elbow on the window’s frame, his fingers resting against the top of the
opening. “It’s fine.” Sunlight caught on the band of braided dark leather around his wrist, and I
had to force myself to look away and not stare like a creeper.
I headed south on Main Street and automatically turned up the volume on the radio. I froze with
my fingers on the knob. “Are you okay with country?” It was a stupid question, since he still
had his earbuds in. But it did make me wonder . . . “Are you actually listening to music, or do
you just wear those things so people won’t talk to you?”
He seemed startled by the question. “Yes, I’m listening to music.” His voice was stiff, and I
mentally kicked myself for making things awkward. Then the corner of his mouth lifted.
“People not talking to me is just a bonus.”
Was that a hint? Did he want me to stop talking to him?
His deep blue eyes met mine, and I realized I’d been staring. I jerked my attention back to the
road, which was thankfully clear.
“Country’s fine,” he said, though I’m pretty sure he rolled his eyes. “It’s kind of the soundtrack
for this place, isn’t it?”
I took a chance and teased, “It’s the law, yes. All farmers must listen to country music.” I almost
made it through without cracking a smile.
He shook his head, though that hint of a smile still hovered at the edge of his lips. “You can
listen to whatever.”
“Really? Whatever?” Taking up the challenge, I flipped to 106.3 and welcomed Elvis through
my speakers.
This time, he definitely rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”
“You don’t like Elvis?” I asked innocently, upping the volume just a little.
“Does anyone actually like Elvis?”
“He’s the king of rock and roll. That has to count for something.” I winked, and he looked like
he was barely resisting another eye roll. “All right, what kind of music do you like?”
“Not Elvis.”
“Obviously.” I took pity on him and turned down the radio a bit, but not all the way—I wasn’t
feeling that much pity. I glanced at his black t-shirt and read the faded letters. “Red. Is that a
band?”
“Yeah.” He waited almost expectantly, then added, “‘Already Over’? ‘Darkest Part’?” When I
didn’t recognize the titles, he shook his head. “It’s kind of a crime you don’t know what I’m
talking about.”
“Well, maybe you could introduce me—I always like discovering new music.”
“I have a feeling they’re not really your style.” The song on the radio changed, and he raised his
eyebrows meaningfully. “Case in point.”
Beneath my tires, the road changed from concrete to packed dirt as we left the main road.
“What’s wrong with John Denver?”
“Nothing. I just thought all John Denver fans were in nursing homes by now.”
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About the Author: K.M. Frost was brought up surrounded by books, and has loved stories of all kinds her whole life. Romance, comedy, and fantasy are some of her favorite genres to write, read, and watch. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, traveling, and graphic design.
K.M. Frost lives in Northern Utah, and is the author of the YA sweet contemporary romance, No Matter What, and the YA dystopian trilogy, Reality Dreamers.
Visit her online:
What Dreams May Come by Dana LeCheminant
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