Published Date: February 10th, 2014
Description: 17+
From USA Today Bestselling Author Nora Flite She thought she was stepping into fame: Meeting Drezden Halifax should have been a dream. But dreams are supposed to be sweet, fragile things that whisk you away. Not monsters crafted from hard fingers, gritty vocal cords and a voice so powerful it could tear my guts right out. Maybe my heart, too. Becoming the guitarist for Four and a Half Headstones was everything I needed. Too bad the band's lead singer is doing his best to ruin everything I am. He thought she would solve his troubles: Lola Cooper, god damn Lola Cooper. She was the perfect guitarist, fingers that could summon a sweet song or punch a chord. She's supposed to save my band, make us come out of this tour in one piece... But I just want to tear HER to pieces. No one should make me feel this way. One look at her, one smell, and I knew I'd have to have her. She does things to me that scare the shit out of me. Make me want to slam her on a wall and listen to her cries: eager or fearful, it doesn't matter. I'm a monster... And I don't even care.
EXCERPT
Her pick came down, fingers spinning over the wires to produce the first note from Tuesday Left Behind. It was clear, hanging in the air with the perfect amount of anticipation.
Then, Lola began to play.
Her eyes were closed, hiding away her deep sapphires from my seeking gaze. With perfect ease, she played the song that I had asked. She played it as good as Johnny ever had.
Better than he'd been playing lately, really.
Lola's hands embraced her guitar's neck, gliding along to coerce it to make bits of music that sank into my ears. They burrowed in, grinding through my skin and to my very bone.
She was good. She was god damn good.
I realized I was squeezing my thighs under the table. Shifting in place, I saw Colt and Porter both staring at me. Those were pointed looks, looks that said 'holy shit, are you hearing this?'
I am, I'm hearing it, but I want more than just a mimic. Waving at her to stop hurt me in a funny way. “That's enough, alright.”
She faltered, concern showing like a shadow on her soft jaw. The song still reverberated in my flesh. “Sorry, did I do something wrong?” she asked.
The rest of the band was watching me. They were pissed I'd cut the kid off, but I didn't care. There was more that I wanted here. I was desperate to know if Lola was what I'd been hoping for. Impatience clawed at me to find out fast. “You know our music, good. I want you to play something else.”
“I—something else?”
Porter pushed his lower jaw out. Him, Colt, they had already decided this girl was what we needed. It wasn't so simple, though. Not to me. “I want you to play anything you want. Just go for it, show me what makes you want to create music in the first place.”
It made me sound fucking insane, I was sure of that. I was ready for the kid to open her mouth and fumble. Maybe she'd even turn and walk out the door.
I had my reasons, though. This was what would separate those who played from those who played. Johnny had been good, I'd never say otherwise. When I needed someone for our first big show, when playing guitar myself while singing wasn't cutting it, he'd come forward. He'd killed that audition, it'd been the start of something real for all of us.
He just never had the drive. It was what kept him from performing as best as he could at every single show. He didn't care about creating music.
Fucker just wanted to be on stage. Let's see if this girl is different.
Lola was watching me. Not with the deer in headlights look I expected, no. Her eyes were shining like new frost, the face of a woman who was excited.
It was contagious.
Before she started, I noticed I was hunching forward and holding my breath.
Her fingers came down, tickling the strings. It was a sharp movement, sound bursting in my brain like a fresh orange. Just as I was feeling my pulse quicken, adjusting to the intensity of her strums, Lola came to life.
Deep curls, the song she played tugged at the very roots of my hair. Lower and lower it went, drilling so hard into my body that I had to shift on my chair.
She was good. So fucking good, I was falling into the trap of her music. It wrapped me tight, tempting me to sink in and let her keep going.
Lola's eyes were closed, lower lip tucked just slightly in her teeth. She was living in that moment like it was her last. I knew that look. The body language of someone in their own creative trance.
Every small movement she made was intentional. She traveled across the guitar, a land she'd been living in all her life. There was no part of the instrument, the song, that was a mystery to her.
Who is this girl? I wondered, noting I was gripping the edge of the table hard enough to turn my finger tips white. Her poise was distracting, back arched into a high speed curve. The muscles on her lower arms flexing deliciously with each note. A dark, intricate tattoo writhed on her right one.
I was fantasizing about how her limbs would flex in other situations. Perhaps the dark corner of an alley, head tilted back and breath steaming in the night air.
Fuck, calm down, I told myself. Shaking my head, I snapped my fingers and broke the spell Lola had put on us all.
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About the author:
A USA Today Bestselling Author, Nora Flite loves to write new adult romance (especially the dramatic, gritty kind! Inspired by the complicated events and wild experiences of her own life, she wants to share those stories with her audience.
Born in the tiniest state, coming from what was essentially dirt, she's learned to embrace and appreciate every opportunity the world gives her.
She's also, possibly, addicted to coffee and sushi.
Not at the same time, of course.
Check out her blog, noraflite.blogspot.com, also email her at noraflite@gmail.com if you just have some questions!
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