Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“How could I forget?” I mutter as I cross my arms. “Cooter, right?”
He grins, showing that ugly gold tooth again. “You gotta memory on you, sweetheart.”
I take a small step back. “Wish I didn’t.”
He laughs, the kind of creepy, skin-crawling laugh that makes me want to dip my head in hand sanitizer. “You playin’ again up der today?”
“Just about to.” I glance toward the stage, desperate to escape this guy.
He leans in close, and I catch a whiff of beer and something sour. “I’ll be watchin’ for ya, sweetheart. Maybe you can dedicate a song to me dis time.”
“Not likely,” I mutter, already moving away.
“Don’t be shy now,” he calls after me. “You know you like the attention.”
I don’t answer. I head straight for the back of the stage, ignoring my screaming bladder. I’d rather pop a kidney than spend another second near that creep.
When I reach the others, Mira and Tessa are standing in total silence, their jaws tight and their energy as sharp as barbed wire.
I sigh. “What happened now?”
“Nothing,” Mira says too fast.
“Everything,” Tessa mutters at the same time.
I hold up a hand. “Not now. We’re on in two minutes. Pretend to like each other for one hour, and then you can kill each other in the van.”
They shoot each other a nasty look while they grab their instruments. Sloane still hasn’t looked up from her phone. She’s smiling dreamily at whatever heart-eyed message her fiancé just sent.
We step onto the stage as the crowd mostly disperses. We lose more people as we quickly set up. They start heading toward the food trucks, the rides, the petting zoo, and the bathrooms. We came all this way and went through all this crap and we’re about to play to grasshoppers.
“Good afternoon,” Mira says in the mic when we’re ready. “We’re Angelic Divine.”
Mira taps her drum, giving us our cue. I pluck the opening notes of good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo, our strings turning pop angst into something ethereal. The crowd starts to take note and return.
By the end of the song, we have a good-sized crowd. And by the end of the third song, Close To You by Gracie Abrams, the area is packed. Phones come out. People dance and sing. And it’s actually fun.
That’s the perplexing thing about our group—we’re good. Really good.
We play in perfect harmony, our styles coming together in a unique, synchronized way. We have a fresh sound and people love us, but we just can’t seem to get in sync off the stage.
I’m scanning the enthusiastic crowd when a man in uniform catches my eye. He’s standing to the side—tall and broad shouldered, his silver badge gleaming in the sun.
The Sheriff.
He’s big and muscular with strong hands that can easily hold a man down. Or, a woman down…
My fingers slip at the enticing thought and a sharp, sour note rings through the speakers.
Mira glances back in surprise. Tessa raises an eyebrow like ‘Seriously?’
I swallow hard and recover, forcing my focus back onto the strings. But my hands are shaking and I can feel the Sheriff’s gaze like heat on my skin. Those dark brown eyes are fixated on me.
But why?
He looks like he wants to arrest me, or maybe use those handcuffs for something else?
I sneak another glance at him between songs. He’s seriously hot. A true silver fox alpha if I’ve ever seen one. He has the kind of seductive eyes you can get lost in. The type of hands that would cause you to break the law just so you can feel them on you. His arms look so powerful crossed over his muscular chest, the sexy tattoos on his skin disappearing underneath the tight sleeves of his uniform. And that beard… Only a dominant man like him can grow a beard like that.
My mind momentarily blanks and I have to look at the set list to see what song we’re playing next. Beautiful Things by Benson Boone. Fitting. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I take one last look at that sexy salt and pepper beard and feel my insides getting all warm and light.
Mira sings softly as I pluck away at the harp. She’s a knockout, but the Sheriff doesn’t take his eyes off me. He doesn’t look at her once.
Another cop steps up beside him and starts talking animatedly, but the Sheriff doesn’t even turn his head. His eyes stay locked on me.
I swallow hard as I feel arousal coursing through me, blooming hot and out of control. I picture how it would feel to be in those big sexy arms. I’d feel so tiny. So safe and protected.
I look down at my harp strings to stay focused, but I can still feel his eyes. That stare. Steady. Heavy. Protective. Possessive.
What is happening here?
I keep playing as I try to ignore the way my heart is pounding. The set flows from one song to another—Benson Boone into Taylor Swift into Radiohead—songs we’ve perfected over the summer. The crowd claps along—laughing, swaying, dancing, and having a great time, and yet all I can think about is him.