Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
January 16, 2016
January 6, 2016
Excerpt & Giveaway! Before Goodbye by Mimi Cross
Music means more than anything to high school student Cate Reese; it’s also what unites her with Cal Woods. Devoted classical guitar players, Cate and Cal are childhood friends newly smitten by love—until a devastating car accident rips Cal out of Cate’s life forever. Blaming herself for the horrific tragedy and struggling to surface from her despair, Cate spirals downhill in a desperate attempt to ease her pain.
Fellow student David Bennet might look like the school’s golden boy, but underneath the surface the popular athlete battles demons of his own. Racked with survivor’s guilt after his brother’s suicide, things get worse when tragedy darkens his world again—but connecting with Cate, his sister’s longtime babysitter, starts bringing the light back in.
As Cate and David grow closer, the two shattered teenagers learn to examine the pieces of their lives…and, together, find a way to be whole again.
***
CATE
“We need,” Mom says, “to nudge the Arts Council.” (Or something to that effect.)
Dad sighs. Or shakes his head. Or mutters a response.
Mom briefly replies. Or applies mascara. Or blots her lipstick. Their eyes meet in the mirror above the table in the hall.
This is the daily ritual.
Dad asks why she can’t catch the last ferry, why she has to stay
over in New York. Mom lists the reasons. The list shall not exceed the amount of time it takes to finish applying her makeup. After that, no matter what Dad’s saying, she’s out the door.
Often, there will be a last-minute skirmish, with bags or a coat, gloves or an umbrella. There will most likely be keys involved. House keys. Car keys. Today it is the latter.
“Shit!” The daily ritual is by no means silent. “Cate? Do you have my car keys?”
“Why would I have your car keys? I don’t even have my license yet, remember?”
“Damn. We have to deal with that.”
“Yeah we do, we’re not in Manhattan anymore. Or at least, I’m not.”
Mom blinks a few times, fast. “Catherine. You and your father had all summer—” She cuts herself off. Cuts us all off, whenever she can.
Dad clears his throat, but he doesn’t stand a chance. He hasn’t had his coffee yet. Mom’s had a pot. And even if he matched her cup for cup, Dad’s nocturnal. He paints all night.
Dad’s in a hurl-paint-at-the-canvas phase. He’s like Jackson Pollock, maybe with bigger issues. Sometimes when I go into the barn, he’s standing in front of the giant easel he’s rigged up and doesn’t even know I’m there. Sometimes he does, and we have a sort of conversation.
“Are you coming in for dinner?” Daub, daub, brushstroke.
“I’m buying.”
“Hmm. Maybe.” Splat.
Other times he’ll turn away from the canvas and actually look at me. Although it’s more like he’s looking through me. That’s him in work mode.
At that point, I might repeat the question, but more likely, I’ll give up and leave.
Occasionally, when I’m at the door, he’ll have one last thing to say. Like,
“Ah.” Swish.
I’ll turn at the sound— and find the canvas transformed. Something light made dark by lines of black. Something pleasing turned terrifying by a dripping arc of red, as if the painting has suddenly begun to bleed.
Dad’s paintings are beautiful and frightening. They sell for a lot, which is good and bad. Mom says that while his work is selling so well he’ll never slow down. But Dad will never slow down, period. Painting’s what keeps him alive. I’m not sure how I know this.
If I want to stay clear of Dad, I stay out of the barn. Avoiding Mom during the mayhem of her morning routine? Is trickier, but necessary.
Talking to my mother at this time, even to tell her the whereabouts of the item she’s seeking, is to risk getting caught in the cross fire of clicking heels and verbal abuse. It’s basically volunteering to be a target for her double-barreled gun of criticism and blame.
Dad’s moods can be equally turbulent, but he mitigates his mercu- rial personality with art. Colors it with oils and acrylics. On the days he doesn’t paint, it just depends. Is he excited about a new idea? Did he get the grant he applied for? The gallery exhibit he wanted?
Dad has works in the permanent collections of MoMA, the Whitney, and the Guggenheim. But that isn’t enough, will never be enough. There is no “enough” when it comes to art, apparently, which is why it scares me. That and it’s messy.
I love Dad’s paintings though, and I love Dad. He loves me. But his veins are filled with paint instead of blood, and if I asked him what he loves about me? What he loves about Mom? He wouldn’t be able to tell me. He’d have to paint a picture.
He might make a sketch first. Or scribble a list, the way I do, to get my thoughts lined up.
Dad’s love list would be a visceral thing: Heart. Soul. Love pump. Playground. Scarlet. Vermilion. Crimson. Red.
Apples. Temptation. Strawberries. Rhubarb. Cherries. Compassion. Garnets. Bed. Rubies. Pearls. Pearls.
Don’t cast your pearls before swine, Cate.
Splat.
Now I watch him and my mother for a minute longer, wondering
how Dad would even know if I were casting my pearls.
The answer is, unless my pearl casting was connected in some way
to one of his pieces, he wouldn’t. And neither would Mom. It’s not surprising that they have no idea today is the first day of school.
***
Mimi Cross was born in Toronto, Canada. She received a master's degree from New York University and a bachelor's degree in music from Ithaca College. She has been a performer, a music educator, and a yoga instructor. During the course of her musical career, she's shared the bill with artists such as Bruce Springsteen, Jon Bon Jovi, and Sting. She resides in New Jersey.
December 17, 2015
Excerpt & Giveaway! Walking Heartbreak by Sunniva Dee
Don’t judge me.
I am not what you see.
I am the opposite.
—Nadia’s lipstick note on Bo’s mirror.
Indie-rocker Bo Lindgren is worshiped for his looks and musical genius. It’s been lonely at the top since his ex left. Bo will never take a girlfriend again though, because he doesn’t have the chops to love. He knows he’s poison, a heartbreak waiting to happen for anyone he allows too close—like his ex. Bo screws his way through the fangirls until he’s sick of it all. Until the dark gaze of Nadia Vidal appears in the door to his dressing room.
Saved from an arranged marriage by Jude, the love of her life, Nadia eloped and got married at nineteen. But now, two years later, life is wilted, dead, and not what anyone should have to endure.
Nadia, with her secret-keeper eyes and instant understanding of who Bo is, attracts and fascinates him without even trying. The ring gleaming on her finger should keep them apart, but morals can’t always resist destiny.
When brokenhearted meets heartbreaker, whose heart is really at stake?
~*~
The door flies open the way it always does in dressing rooms during Clown Irruption concerts. First in comes Emil. He’s long-distance-fighting with Zoe on the phone, brows drawn and trying to explain that he has been in the air or in airports all this time. Next, comes Troll, rumbling out, “Ready? We’re going straight from sound-check to doors.”
Emil scoffs, covering his ear against the tour manager. “Zee. I told you I wanted you to come along, and no, I’m not going to sleep with all of Nadia’s cousins.”
Bo snickers.
“What?” Emil presses the phone against his ear. “Of course I didn’t manage on the first try—I was chasing a moving target. You have to stay still. You can’t wiggle your butt when I’m trying to get in, Zoay.”
“TMI?” Bo suggests. I nod, feeling a blush spreading at their typical indiscretion.
“Okay, next time I’ll just buy some rope and shit,” Emil says, “and just bondage you all up. That way you can’t wiggle away. Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“Geez,” Elias mutters. “Everyone, get a room. Romance so thick in here I’m about to puke.”
Emil stuffs a finger in his ear. “No, it won’t help if you tie me down. And no, I’m pretty sure you tried to break my wiener. That’d ruin all the fun, now, wouldn’t it? Really? You don’t think so?”
“This was our room,” Bo replies to Elias. “Why didn’t you stay next door?”
“Because Emil was in there fighting with Zoe.”
“But now he’s here.”
“Yeah, there’s no peace anywhere.” Troll pops a piece of cheese in his mouth and hands Elias a bottle of water. “Here. Now, head in the game. Grab your instruments and get out there. Sound. Check.”
~*~
Sunniva was born in Norway, the Land of The Midnight Sun, but spent her early twenties making the world her playground. Southern Europe: Spain, Italy, Greece—Argentina: Buenos Aires, in particular. The United States finally kept her interest, and after half a decade in California, she now lounges in the beautiful city of Savannah. Sunniva has a Master's degree in Spanish, which she taught until she settled in as an adviser at an art college in the South.
Sunniva writes New Adult fiction with soul. Sometimes it's with a paranormal twist, like in Shattering Halos, Stargazer, and Cat Love. At other times, it's contemporary, as in Pandora Wild Child, Leon's Way, Adrenaline Crush, and now Walking Heartbreak.
Sunniva is the happiest when her characters take over, let their emotions run off with them, shaping her stories in ways she never foresaw. She loves bad-boys and good-boys run amok, and like in real life, her goal is to keep you on your toes until the end of each story.
December 10, 2015
Excerpt & Giveaway! Jinxed, The Rock #2 by Sandrine Gasq Dion
Jinx Jett is a rock superstar. As such, the hunky Skull Blasters drummer thoroughly enjoys the many perks of willing groupies, earning him a reputation as the band slut. Making it big and scoring hot women is something Jinx never expected. There's a little voice in the back of his mind constantly reminding him of how he used to be -- shy, overweight and acne prone. One night in a gay bar turns life upside down when Jinx runs into Jayden Dempsey, a kid he's been fantasizing about since giving him his autograph at a mall. Long-held insecurities keep Jinx from fully committing to anyone, and he may lose Jayden if he can't put his past behind him. Jayden Dempsey always wanted out of his life in small-town Alabama. When his parents kicked him out after he told them he was gay, Jayden decided the time was right to move on. He crosses the country to try out for 'Singers!', a show that propels unknowns to stardom. In a twist, producers choose him and three others as winners and form a boy band called London Boys.This season, the show brings Jayden and the guys back for the finale. Surprise! The contest's heavy metal finalist will be singing with Skull Blasters. Jinx and Jayden's initial meeting doesn't go so well, and Jayden's stunned when the guy he's crushed on for years turns out to be a total jerk. It doesn't stop him from falling into Jinx's arms every time they're alone, but Jayden didn't sign on for one nighters. He wants Jinx Jett, baggage and all. Can a former teen outcast put rejection behind him and embrace the acceptance standing right in front of him? How much will one boy bander put up with from his rock idol before enough is enough? Can they make it work? Or are they jinxed in love?
~*~
The stall next to the one I was in opened and a man walked out. His eyes met mine and widened. “Oh, fuck me,” he whispered. In two seconds flat, I was back at the mall with that golden-haired hottie with the bubbled ass of fantasies. His clear, blue eyes were still fixated on me as I moved forward. “I know you,” I said stupidly. “Oh my God! I thought … the door closed, so I thought … holy shit! I just sucked Jinx Jett’s cock?” “Could you not yell that?” I snapped. “I’m not … well, you know …” “Gay?” he drawled. “Here’s a tip — don’t come to a gay club and stuff your cock into a glory hole!” “It’s Jayden, right? You’re the guy from the mall?” “You remember my name? Wait, okay, back up here for just a minute. Why are you here?” “I was, um, curious?” “Well, that’s just great. Another guy ‘curious’ about gay men.” Jayden lifted his fingers to indicate air quotes. “I didn’t know if I should stay or what. I mean, how does this work? Do I thank you for a fabulous blowjob? Tipping seems to cross a legal line …” “You liked it?” Jayden gaped in astonishment. “Like it?” I laughed. “Fuck yeah, I fucking loved it.”
~*~
~*~
“Can I get some clothes?” “I like you in a robe.” Jinx waggled his brows. I started for the door and Jinx jumped up and grabbed my hand. He pushed me into the wall and gently pinned my hands above my head. “Jinx …” I gasped as his thigh insinuated itself between my legs, rubbing my balls. “Yeah?” his breath caressed my lips. “I … fuck … stop doing that,” I panted. “This?” Jinx raised his knee higher and rubbed my dick. My God, my mouth actually started watering as Jinx leaned in closer to me, letting his tongue trail my bottom lip. I wanted to taste him so fucking bad my whole body hurt. I wanted him. I couldn’t deny it. “Fuck, you are sexy as sin,” Jinx rumbled against my lips. “Love your lips, your eyes, even your fucking hair turns me on.” I clenched my eyes shut and tried to stay in control. “Yeah? Even if I’m a talentless pretty boy?” Jinx stiffened. He pulled back slowly and searched my eyes. “I’m sorry I said that.” “Yeah? Why did you say it? What’s your problem with me being in a boy band?” Jinx sighed and let my hands go. He rubbed his hands down his face and exhaled slowly. I continued to speak because by that time, my word vomit had begun. “I don’t even like boy bands, but you know what? This is where I am and fuck it! I’m successful. Do you know I auditioned with one of your band’s songs?” Jinx’s gasp was very audible in the room. His eyes widened. “Yep, that’s right. I sang Manwhore; the song fits you.” “I deserve that.” “Are you going to tell me what your problem is?” I placed my hands on my hips, glaring at him.
~*~
Best selling author, Sandrine (Sandy) was born in Inglewood, California. Raised by "Old School" French parents, she later moved to Tucson, AZ. It was there that writing became a hobby. Always told she had a great imagination, Sandy wrote short stories for her friends in High School. In college, she took more writing classes while working on her Criminal Justice degree, but it wasn't until a soap opera caught her eye that she got involved in male on male romances. On the advice of a friend, Sandy dipped her toes into the world of M/M Romance. Sandy takes the writing seriously and has had countless conversations with gay men as well as hours of research. She's been involved with the military in one way or another for over twenty years, and has a great deal of respect for our men in uniform. She's traveled the world, but has finally returned to Arizona.
December 1, 2015
Excerpt & Giveaway: Ready To Rock by Cara Conelly
His name's on everyone's lips--sexy rocker Jack McCabe. His gritty New York City band is red hot, almost as hot as his fiery affair with photography student Lil Marchone, the girl from his past, now the woman he loves. The problem is, Lil's controlling ex wants her back. Rich, powerful, and ruthless, he'll stop at nothing--including murder--to get Jack out of her life. But Jack's a badass himself, always up for a fight. And with the stakes this high, he'll risk everything for Lil, even his band. Even his life.
~*~
The scent of fresh-brewed coffee wafted through my window, enticing me out of a pleasant dream: I was sitting on the terrace of my uncle’s chateau outside of Amboise, the morning sun glinting off the infinity pool, coffee steaming in a crockery cup. It felt so familiar. The comfort. The luxury.
The indoor plumbing.
With that last thought, I came fully awake, reminded that not only was I far from Amboise, I was at least twenty miles from an actual toilet.
Remembering the spidery outhouse I’d visited by flashlight the night before, I squeezed my legs together. How was I supposed to live without a toilet? Running water? A shower! Electricity, for crying out loud.
Nursing my grievances, I listened with growing bitterness to Jack and Ty yucking it up out on the porch. They were catching up, the lazy flow of their conversation punctuated by easy laughter. Resentfully, I threw back the blankets and stood up, determined to demand better accommodations. Even the Halfway House had a toilet, for Chrissakes.
I marched to the living room. But that was as far as I got.
What I saw through the screen door made me lose my resolve: the two of them sitting on the steps in their faded jeans and cowboy hats, Jack leaning back against the rail, a stalk of hay in his teeth, and Ty whittling at a stick, a pile of shavings at his feet.
They could’ve stepped out of time, fresh from a cattle drive.
As I looked on, Ty said something that cracked both of them up, and it struck me that I couldn’t recall Jack laughing so freely before. He was more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.
My gaze rose beyond him to the yard, mostly rocks and yucca and mesquite. Patches of grass sprouted here and there, with scarlet flecks of Indian paintbrush dotted against the gray and green. To the south, the grassy meadow shimmered in the breeze, bluebonnets waving their lazy heads. Otherwise, we were surrounded by woods—oak, pecan and cottonwood.
It was rugged country, untamed and unwelcoming to a city girl like me. But not to Jack. He was built for this land; for the labor and the beauty, both. As I watched, he tilted his hat back to follow the flight of an eagle overhead. What was electricity next to that? What was running water? Conveniences, not necessities. They made life easier, not happier.
He brought his cup to his lips, eyes closing to savor the strong aroma. And it was suddenly so clear to me. Too much of the outlaw ran in his veins for him ever to be content in the city.
All he needed, all he really wanted, was a campfire, a clear spring, a good cup of coffee. And me.
Then and there, I decided that I wouldn’t complain. I’d bathe in the stream and pee in the outhouse, cook on the woodstove and read by the lantern. And I’d do it all wholeheartedly, for as long as Jack wanted to.
Because all I needed, all I really wanted, was him.
Cara Connelly is the author of the Save the Date series of contemporary romances published by Avon Romance. The latest book in the series, The Wedding Gift, was released in May 2015. Cara’s smart and sexy stories have won several awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart, the Valley Forge Romance Writers’ Sheila, and the Music City Romance Writers’ Melody of Love. A former attorney and law professor, she lives with her husband Billy in the woods of upstate New York.
November 21, 2015
Excerpt, Author Interview & Giveaway! Out of Chances, Face the Music #4 by Shona Husk
Shona Husk’s sexy new adult series about emerging rock band Selling the Sun concludes this month with a story about a woman who doesn’t want to connect, a man who’s forgotten how and the friendships that save our lives.
Dan Clarke knows he doesn’t have a problem, regardless of whatever his band members, his friends, his family and everyone else thinks. Drinking isn’t keeping him from doing what needs to be done, and it helps keep the anger and pain of his ex-girlfriend’s betrayal at bay. If only she would stay away as well, but, since the band’s return to Fremantle, she’s everywhere-on the phone, in his apartment, at his parents’ house-begging for another chance, reminding him of how good they had been together, holding him hostage to the past. It’s no wonder he needs a beer now and again.
Indigo Matthews is all about control: she trains hard, she works hard and she plays hard. Men are for fun, not forever, and she will never end up like her mother, trapped and miserable. A huge Selling the Sun fan, Indigo knows when Dan wanders into her bar that he is a conquest that she has to make. But their connection is stronger than just sex, and regardless of her credo Indigo finds herself going back for more. Then truths about Dan’s life start to emerge, and Indigo finds herself in the one position she swore she’d never find herself.
A DUI, a drunk one night stand and an ultimatum from the band bring Dan’s life to a halt. Picking up the pieces is something he can’t do alone, and there’s only one person that he trusts to give a damn. The one person that he hurt the most. Indigo.
~*~
At the man’s table she stopped, hip cocked to the side. ‘My buddy over there says that you’re no one famous. I think you are.’
He smiled, but it was cautious. ‘Who do you think I am?’
‘I have five bucks that says you’re the bass player from Selling the Sun.’ There was no money on the table, and the guy she was working with didn’t give a damn, but that didn’t stop nerves from pushing her heart harder or her hands from feeling a little slippery on the tray.
‘And if I am?’ He leaned back and his smile broadened.
‘A free beer?’ She put the one he’d ordered on the table.
He nodded. ‘I am.’
‘Prove it.’ Anyone could say that they were.
‘Drivers licence okay? Or do you require a full hundred points?’ He was still smiling as though this was a game. ‘But that will only work if you know my name. Do you?’
‘What kind of fan wouldn’t, Dan Clarke?’
He lifted one eyebrow as he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open, covered his address with his thumb and showed her his name. Daniel Sean Clarke. ‘Happy?’
She nodded, more than happy. Her happy was doing its own happy dance. Now for part two of her daring plan. She’d never slept with any one close to famous, and while she’d fancied Dan from the audience of the concerts, he was here now, right in front of her. She could reach out and touch him. She resisted. Just. ‘What are you doing later?’
‘How much later?’ His blue eyes took on a guarded look, as though he wasn’t sure where this was going.
She didn’t buy that for a moment. He’d broken up with his girlfriend and he must get hit on all the time. Indigo checked her watch. An hour and a half left of her shift. That was probably too long, yet there was no way she could have him out the back of the pub in the middle of the afternoon—no matter how appealing that seemed right now.
‘I finish in ninety minutes.’
‘And then?’ He drew a line in the condensation on his glass, his gaze firmly on her. He was waiting for her to make it clear. Maybe he wasn’t that interested. She could walk away, opportunity taken and declined. But he hadn’t said no.
So she gave a shrug as though the outcome didn’t matter. ‘We do whatever two consenting adults feel like.’
‘Are you hitting on me?’
‘Did I not make it clear enough for you?’ Did he not want to be hit on or was he not as smart as he appeared? She didn’t like either of those options.
Then he smiled and gave her a slow, lingering look that seemed to take in everything, from the top of her head down to her ass. ‘Just checking … I get that free beer while I wait?’
She nodded. She’d kind of promised him that anyway. Was he more interested in the beer than her? She drew in a breath, ready to blow him off at the first sign of rejection. Get in first before she got hurt was her motto.
Dan picked up the glass and took a sip, his gaze still on her. ‘Well, I guess the only question left is your place or mine.’
A little of both. I like to know my characters and the main plot points before I start writing, but how I get to those main points is a mystery and there is often a bit of scene shuffling in the middle to get it all together.
Coffee, tea or wine?
Hot chocolate. I don’t like coffee or teas (except peppermint tea) and I don’t drink very often—I don’t mind a good chocolate martini, I have had bad ones ☹
Where did the idea for this story come from?
Out of Chances is book 4 in the series. When I wrote book 1 (Out of Rhythm) I know all the characters really well, but I hadn’t planned on writing their stories (of course when Escape Publishing asked for them I said yes). Dan was in a difficult situation. And I could’ve forced the story to take another route, but I haven’t shied away from writing real issues in this series (it’s NA and people are finding their adult feet, mistakes are made and people have to move on, that’s life). Dan was a complex hero, although some people may not see him as heroic at all, he does grow and change and realize his mistake which shows a strength of character.
Where is Fremantle, WA and why there not somewhere more well-known?
Fremantle is near Perth Western Australia. I chose to set the books there instead of Sydney or Melbourne because I love Freo (as the locals call it) and it has a great live and local scene. Lots of great bands got their start there, so it seemed like a good starting point for my fictional band Selling the Sun.
You seem to like heroes that are a little broken…why?
I don’t like my heroes or heroines to be too perfect. Flawed people are always more interesting—and we are all flawed in our own way. Even though I might write paranormal or sci-fi I want the characters to be relatable. When writing contemporary romance I want the reader to feel as though the character could be a friend or their neighbour or someone they went to school with.
What’s next?
I’m working on Ripley’s story (he is one of Dan’s friends). I’m also working on the sequel to Desire to Fall (science fiction romance), which is getting quite dark.
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SHONA HUSK is the author of the Shadowlands, Court of Annwyn and the Face the Music series. You can find out more information about Shona at www.shonahusk.com or follow her on Twitter @ShonaHusk, or Facebook www.facebook.com/shonahusk
Face the Music, a contemporary romance series, finishes in November 2015 with Out of Chances.
New SFR series coming soon with Desire to Fall.
November 11, 2015
Excerpt & Giveaway! The Forbidden Muse, Inferno Falls #2 by Aubrey Parker
Gavin might just be the music that Abigail yearns for … if only his painful past will allow him to love again.Just a few months after arriving at Inferno Falls, Abigail can’t see the light at the end of her tunnel. No one can complain about being overworked and broke when the rest of the country’s the same way, but that doesn’t make it any easier when Abigail has to live the story every day. It’s not the work or the meager lifestyle she minds. Abigail wants something more…something inspired…something raw.Gavin is a grieving musician trying to re-find his inspiration. He’s mourning a crushing loss, and life has become too mundane, too typical, to give him the material for songs that used to come so easy. What could he expect to find in Inferno Falls that would truly stir his heart? After all, he’s been shattered by love too many times to find any comfort in a woman’s arms.The song begins…Strings play the moment they meet in Abigail’s section of the Nosh Pit, Inferno Falls’ latest and hippest restaurant, and their pulses thunder like a drumbeat from the moment their eyes touch. Abigail feels a stirring in her heart she never expected, while Gavin goes home to pour his inspiration into music.But despite their obvious harmony, Gavin’s past won’t let anyone get too close. And after years of heartache, Abigail doesn’t have time for anyone who seems like they’re just playing around. Together they’ll have to learn to sing in chorus, or let the stage lights fade and bow out of each other’s lives for good.
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iTunes
~*~
He’s on a stool in the stages’s middle, just like last night. He’s monopolizing the entire thing, plopping down, acting like the place is his personal studio.
He looks up. I don’t have time to look away, and our eyes meet. Now that I’m trapped, I refuse to look away first. I got the upper hand at the end of last night, I think, but Gavin ran off with his skank, so it’s possible he thinks he won. If I’m weak, he might come over and talk to me again, and I don’t want that. So I hold his gaze, and eventually he looks down. Not shamefully, though. He puts his fingers on the strings and strums, as if I barely warrant notice, or a nod, or a smile, or a hello, or any kind of acknowledgement at all.
I turn back to my bottle chore, but now and again I sneak glances at Gavin. His bearing is obnoxious. The way he’s sitting, the way he’s holding the guitar, the brooding way he refuses to look up and seems lost in the soul of the music — it’s all so obvious. A show. Nothing but posturing.
I’ll bet he even works on this — not the music he plays, but the way he uses his body to convey an image of the tortured artist. His floppy, vaguely hipster sweater hangs down over faded blue jeans. He’s still unshaven, but the stubble looks exactly the same length as yesterday. His hair is still a mess, but again it strikes me as a contrived mess, like he’s mussed it for effect.
He probably takes video of himself then plays it back like a coach reviewing past games.
Was I moody enough? Or could I lift an eyebrow or shake my head slowly, to be more sultry, to get more girls excited?
It’s not working on me, that’s for sure.
I look back. Gavin’s head comes up. Again, he looks right at me as he plays. It’s a mock-sad look. Or maybe a dirty look. Something designed to manipulate me.
There was probably a point where he could have made nice. There’s even a part of me, buried beneath a surprisingly thick wall of resentment, that thinks I might be being unreasonable. Since last night, I’ve had no new Gavin inputs — nothing new he’s had a chance to do wrong. Still, I’ve grown increasingly annoyed with him, and as I listen it’s hard not to consider the possibility that he’s done nothing new, and that I’ve been building my case in his absence. All it’s taken for him to seem more repugnant since last night was to know he exists.
But the longer we don’t speak, the further we move from possible resolution.
He could have said hello when he came in, before he started playing. I wouldn’t have run to him and given him a hug, but it might have dulled my edge.
He could have given me a smile, without saying a thing. Smiles can say a lot. I’d probably have taken his as, I’m still a weasel and I want to get into your panties, but it would have been friendlier than this.
What is he trying to prove, rehearsing in the main room? There are only four or five people in here at any time, and he’s directly across from me, out of all of them.
Does he need us to hear his brilliance? How amazing he is on the guitar, playing his … his …
I don’t know the tune he’s been strumming over and over since he sat down. That’s not surprising. I may have Googled him this morning, and I may have listened to every Firecracker Confession tune I could find on YouTube — even a bootleg of their unreleased album, Brutal Design — but I don’t know all of his songs.
I do see, now, that most of what he plays is recycled Firecracker content, though. But this isn’t any of that. Last night, I’m pretty sure his entire rehearsal and set was just the YouTube songs, stripped of lyrics and played acoustic.
I may have listened to every Firecracker Confession song twice this morning, then hit a few more between shifts. I don’t know everything he’s ever done, but I don’t think this was ever on YouTube.
I have to admit it’s catchy, though I can tell he’s still playing with its shape. There’s little beyond the hook, but I can sense it fleshing out a bit with each replay. As I stew with my back to Gavin, turning bottles that have already been turned, I find myself wanting to hear it again.
And I can almost hear words, though he’s not singing any. The words are in my head. The kind of refrain my idle brain will attribute to just about any rhythm — a recurring pattern of footsteps, the predictable drip of rain from a leaky gutter.
The repeated chord progression stops, and the room seems too quiet. I take a few seconds before I turn to see why, sure that Gavin will be walking over, wanting to bug me as he did last night before and after showing his true colors. Good. I’ve been rehearsing witty, cutting responses all day.
But he’s not even looking in my direction. There’s a young guy onstage with him. A kid in a hoodie with short, bristle-cut hair. He looks about my age, maybe midtwenties. But even the motions of his hands as he talks to Gavin tells me that his words have a maturity beyond his years. And, I suspect, that I’m witnessing a discussion these two have had many times before.
I’m staring too long and don’t want Gavin to look over and take my look for interest, so I spin and head toward the back room, hoping to find someone to ease my mind of all this confused, disturbing emotion.
I walk away, realizing I’m humming Gavin’s tune.
~*~
October 12, 2015
Release Day Blitz! Dirty Lies, The Burke Brothers #3 by Emma Hart
Bad boy drummer Aidan Burke of Dirty B takes center stage in New York Times bestselling author Emma Hart’s hotly anticipated follow-up to Dirty Past and Dirty Secret!
Aidan Burke is the perfect rebound guy for Jessie Law after she catches her asshole ex-boyfriend with his hands down some other girl’s pants. The world-famous drummer of Dirty B isn’t shy about his preference for no-strings-attached relationships, so when she meets him on a night out, she takes him up on his simple proposal: One night of fun. Hot sex. Zero expectations.
But Dirty B’s tour is over, and they’re back in South Carolina—which means running into Aidan more often than Jessie would like.
When Aidan saves Jessie from her ex-boyfriend by insisting the two are dating, the band’s manager convinces them to keep up the charade in the hopes of re-inventing Dirty B’s image as lovable bad boys, as opposed to d-bags. Now all Aidan and Jessie have to do is put on a very obvious, very public show to convince everyone their affection is real.
But pretending to be in a relationship is harder than it seems. Aidan’s hordes of jealous fans have no problem bombarding Jessie with threatening messages online—and worse. And things only get more complicated when Jessie realizes her feelings for Aidan may not be so fake after all. Can Jessie live with the risks? And is Aidan willing to let her?
By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies - usually wine - and writes books.
Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.
She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life
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