Release Date: March 7th, 2016
Welcome to RK’s rock star life.
I was living the dream, I was full throttle, all in, one hundred percent on top of the world. But it’s a hell of a long fall back down when you finally crash and burn.
Welcome to the delusions, the final act, the coming-to-Jesus moment when there’s nothing left to do but look yourself in the mirror and ask… How did I get like this?
I am RK’s living nightmare. I am RK’s empty soul. I am RK’s unchecked fantasy world that makes no sense to anyone.
I only have one thing left. Just one girl holding my broken pieces together.
And even she might be a lie.
Rock is a standalone rock-star romantic suspense by the New York Times bestselling master of twist, JA Huss.
“I hate you,” she says into my ear, her voice way too soft for the harsh words. “I hate you so much, RK. For leaving me. For leaving this town and never coming back. For being so talented and smart, and so willing to throw it all away.”
But she’s still moving with our shared rhythm as she talks.
“I hate you too,” I croak back, [...]. “I hate you for not being…” I have to force the words out through the pain, because I need her to feel them. I need her to hurt with me. “For not being the one I want.”
Her whole body goes still—and then she grips my shoulders, pushes me back, and manages to get her foot up against my chest even though her jeans are still around her knees.
She kicks and I go flying backwards, crashing my head against the tiled floor. She stands up, hiking her jeans back into place, buttons them. Then she stands over me, straddling my hips, and sinks down until she’s sitting on my stomach.
Her face is nothing but sadness as she reaches for me, placing her warm palms against my cheeks. “You are a sick, sick, man, Rowan Kyle Saber. A very sick man.”
“Melanie—” I croak.
“Fuck you.” She slaps my face and stands back up. “Just fuck you. You should know me better.”
I breathe in her contempt and hate as she walks out.
“We’re not done, Melissa Vetti.”
“Not even close,” she says, winking at me as she pulls the door open to a waiting Gretchen.
“Oh, my God, you guys are disgusting. Who has sex in a break room?”
Missy giggles, then grabs my arm as if to cling to me. Her grin is wild and wide, her eyes are dancing as they look up at me, and when she leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder for a brief moment, just as I open the back passenger door to Gretchen’s stupid hybrid car, I sigh.
It’s long and deep. But everything about it is good.
“Get in,” I tell Missy. She does, searching for her seatbelt as I close the door and walk over to the other side.
“You’re not sitting in back, RK,” Gretchen says.
“The fuck I’m not,” I mumble, getting in next to Missy. Her hands are all over me as Gretchen huffs about not being a chauffeur and some other bullshit that I can’t be bothered to listen to.
I put my arm around Miss and she leans into my chest. One hand tucked behind my back, one lifting my shirt up, a fraction at a time. And even though I just came inside her five minutes ago, I’m ready for more.
Gretchen talks the entire ride but I don’t understand a word she says. Melissa’s mouth is on mine, then biting my shoulder, then she’s scooting back and lowering her face to my stomach, still lifting my shirt up with that one hand.
When Gretchen stops in my driveway, Missy and I give off half-hearted waves as I push her up against the front door and stare down into her blue eyes. “You know what?” I slur the words just a little.
“What?” She laughs back.
I have so many thoughts in my head at the moment. About her, her music, the bar, this town. What it felt like to come home after five years. How alone I felt. What it felt like to go to her show tonight. To be included. Part of something again.
“I missed you,” I say.
“I missed you too.”
“No,” I say. “I mean I missed you.” I place my hands on each of her cheeks and bump my forehead against hers. “I missed how you started that band. I missed how you worked out those songs. I missed all the mistakes, and all the triumphs. I missed the stressing out over money. I missed the conversation you had to have with Teej to get a spot. I missed picking out the guitar you play, the strap, the picks. I missed you making a decision about what you’d wear on stage. I missed you squealing to whoever is your best friend these days about your first show. I missed the applause, I missed TJ’s proud face afterward, I missed the first blown amp, the first time someone said, Hey, are you the chick who plays at Float’s? I missed everything, Melissa Vetti, rock star. And I’m so fucking sorry. Because life would’ve been so much better if we’d done it together.”
She pouts her lips and nods her head. I can see a little gleam of light in her eyes as she tries not to cry. “I missed your life too.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It just would’ve been so much better if we’d done it together.”
She looks up at me and smiles. “We’re together now, RK. And that’s all that matters.”
EXCERPT
“I hate you,” she says into my ear, her voice way too soft for the harsh words. “I hate you so much, RK. For leaving me. For leaving this town and never coming back. For being so talented and smart, and so willing to throw it all away.”
But she’s still moving with our shared rhythm as she talks.
“I hate you too,” I croak back, [...]. “I hate you for not being…” I have to force the words out through the pain, because I need her to feel them. I need her to hurt with me. “For not being the one I want.”
Her whole body goes still—and then she grips my shoulders, pushes me back, and manages to get her foot up against my chest even though her jeans are still around her knees.
She kicks and I go flying backwards, crashing my head against the tiled floor. She stands up, hiking her jeans back into place, buttons them. Then she stands over me, straddling my hips, and sinks down until she’s sitting on my stomach.
Her face is nothing but sadness as she reaches for me, placing her warm palms against my cheeks. “You are a sick, sick, man, Rowan Kyle Saber. A very sick man.”
“Melanie—” I croak.
“Fuck you.” She slaps my face and stands back up. “Just fuck you. You should know me better.”
I breathe in her contempt and hate as she walks out.
*****
“We’re not done, Melissa Vetti.”
“Not even close,” she says, winking at me as she pulls the door open to a waiting Gretchen.
“Oh, my God, you guys are disgusting. Who has sex in a break room?”
Missy giggles, then grabs my arm as if to cling to me. Her grin is wild and wide, her eyes are dancing as they look up at me, and when she leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder for a brief moment, just as I open the back passenger door to Gretchen’s stupid hybrid car, I sigh.
It’s long and deep. But everything about it is good.
“Get in,” I tell Missy. She does, searching for her seatbelt as I close the door and walk over to the other side.
“You’re not sitting in back, RK,” Gretchen says.
“The fuck I’m not,” I mumble, getting in next to Missy. Her hands are all over me as Gretchen huffs about not being a chauffeur and some other bullshit that I can’t be bothered to listen to.
I put my arm around Miss and she leans into my chest. One hand tucked behind my back, one lifting my shirt up, a fraction at a time. And even though I just came inside her five minutes ago, I’m ready for more.
Gretchen talks the entire ride but I don’t understand a word she says. Melissa’s mouth is on mine, then biting my shoulder, then she’s scooting back and lowering her face to my stomach, still lifting my shirt up with that one hand.
When Gretchen stops in my driveway, Missy and I give off half-hearted waves as I push her up against the front door and stare down into her blue eyes. “You know what?” I slur the words just a little.
“What?” She laughs back.
I have so many thoughts in my head at the moment. About her, her music, the bar, this town. What it felt like to come home after five years. How alone I felt. What it felt like to go to her show tonight. To be included. Part of something again.
“I missed you,” I say.
“I missed you too.”
“No,” I say. “I mean I missed you.” I place my hands on each of her cheeks and bump my forehead against hers. “I missed how you started that band. I missed how you worked out those songs. I missed all the mistakes, and all the triumphs. I missed the stressing out over money. I missed the conversation you had to have with Teej to get a spot. I missed picking out the guitar you play, the strap, the picks. I missed you making a decision about what you’d wear on stage. I missed you squealing to whoever is your best friend these days about your first show. I missed the applause, I missed TJ’s proud face afterward, I missed the first blown amp, the first time someone said, Hey, are you the chick who plays at Float’s? I missed everything, Melissa Vetti, rock star. And I’m so fucking sorry. Because life would’ve been so much better if we’d done it together.”
She pouts her lips and nods her head. I can see a little gleam of light in her eyes as she tries not to cry. “I missed your life too.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It just would’ve been so much better if we’d done it together.”
She looks up at me and smiles. “We’re together now, RK. And that’s all that matters.”
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About the author:
JA Huss is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty romances. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending.
You can chat with her on Facebook (www.facebook.com/AuthorJAHuss), Twitter (@jahuss), and her kick-ass romance blog, New Adult Addiction (www.newadultaddiction.com).
If you're interested in getting your hands on an advanced release copy of her upcoming books, sneak peek teasers, or information on her upcoming personal appearances, you can join her newsletter list (http://eepurl.com/JVhAr) and get those details delivered right to your inbox.
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I would go back in time to see a Beatles concert. I'd want to hear a lot of songs but Let it Be would be up there. And Queen, I'd also go back in time for Queen.
ReplyDeleteJon Bon Jovi... Bad Medicine ;)
ReplyDeleteI would want Taylor Swift or Katy Perry. They could sing whatever they want.
ReplyDelete