As the only survivor of a tragic accident, Tony Russell, aka Tiny, is
mentally and physically scarred for life. Years later, he finds himself
addicted to the gym and prescription drugs. Relationships and sex are
the furthest thing from his mind, but when a replacement guitarist steps
in for his band Blow Hole, Tony can’t help his physical reaction to
her. She’s a spicy rocker with pink highlights and a scorching attitude,
and she’s exactly what he needs…regardless of how badly he refuses to
believe it.
Constance McClaire knows all about addiction. After growing up with a
junky for a mother, she refuses to have anything to do with that
life…until she meets the brooding, giant bass player for Blow Hole. He
doesn’t take her shit, has sexy tattoos, and very large hands—but he’s
clearly an addict and desperately needs help. Getting close to Tony
without allowing herself to become emotionally attached is harder than
she thought it would be. Addiction is addiction, no matter what it is
swimming in your veins, and Constance finds it's Tony she can’t get
enough of.
“Can
I help you?” It was Finn, the lead singer.
Everyone
who loved music knew who Finn was. His voice was soulful. When he sang, he put
so much emotion behind it you could almost believe he was living his lyrics. He
was raspy and deep, and I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive.
He
was taller in person, and honestly, I expected more muscles, but that didn’t
take away from his eyes or those lips that girls seemed to get wet over. He
leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. A black shirt with cut-off
sleeves covered his chest yet revealed his tatted arms, and a pair of
drawstring sweats hung from his hips with loose ties that brought my eyes to
his crotch.
Quickly,
I looked back up at him and my cheeks turned red when his expression told me
he’d caught me looking. Turning away, I adjusted my guitar case and shook the
thoughts from my head. I wasn’t one to get star struck… ever, but Finn was the
real deal.
Looking
back up at him, the question in his eyes told me I needed to speak or he was
going to close the door in my face.
“I’m
here for the audition.” My voice cracked and I wanted to slap myself.
I
needed to snap out of it.
I
adjusted the guitar strap on my shoulder to show him I wasn’t messing around.
“You’re
kidding, right?” His right brow popped up in challenge.
I
didn’t have time for the whole females can’t play bullshit I knew was coming.
So I went in for the kill.
“Do
I look like I’m kidding? Is the word jokester tattooed across my forehead? Yes,
I’m a chick. I have tits and a clit, but I have bigger balls than any man you
know, and I can play the fuck out of a guitar. Now are you going to keep
wasting my time, or are you going to invite me in to play?”
His
mouth popped open in a wide, shocked smile. Then he chuckled to himself and
stepped aside.
“Then
by all means, come in.”
The
space was sleek and clean considering it was the home of a bunch of rockers.
Abstract red-and-black paintings of different instruments covered white walls,
and the place smelled like pot and beer.
The
place was huge. I followed behind Finn through three sets of doors until we
were in a sitting room, and then I set my guitar case on the counter that split
the living room from the kitchen.
A white, leather sectional filled the room.
Eyes stared back at me as I entered behind Finn and instantly I recognized the
drummer, Chet, and the bass player, Tiny. Finn left the room, leaving me in a
silent uncomfortable moment.
Taking
a seat on the edge of the couch, I kept my bitch face on. Chet grinned at me
from across the room and nodded at me as he licked his lips. His tongue
piercing clicked against his teeth. He was the colorful one of the group.
Tattoos and piercings everywhere. I did, however, seriously dig his fauxhawk.
I’d
been looking at him too long, and he was enjoying the attention. He was
definitely the playboy of the group. I’d heard the rumors about him and how he
stuck his cock in anything wet. I rolled my eyes and turned my head, and then
my eyes connected with the bass player’s.
Tiny’s
name was a joke considering there was nothing small about the man. He was huge.
His thick tattooed arms were crossed. A look of absolutely no tolerance was
plastered on his face. Quiet and mysterious was his game. Every band had one,
and I usually dealt best with them, but something about the way he looked at me
made me feel nervous.
His
dark-brown hair was buzzed short and faded into a set a sideburns that melted
into his light mustache and goatee. My eyes shifted to his lips and again, I
wanted to slap myself. It was unlike me to even notice the things I’d noticed
since I stepped into the den of sin, also known as the home of Blow Hole, and I
wasn’t about to let the disgusting pheromones that lingered in the air get to
me.
Tiny’s
dark, angry eyes dug into mine and I suddenly felt exposed. I sat up and ran my
fingers through my hair to make sure I had no strays poking out, and then I
turned away from him. Even without looking at him, I could feel his gaze in the
side of my face. I didn’t like it.
Just
when I was close to telling him off, Finn came back into the room and crashed
onto the couch. Behind him, Zeke, the lead guitarist, came limping in. A cast
covered his picking hand and instantly I felt for him. I couldn’t imagine what
it would be like to not be able to play. He looked at me in confusion as he sat
down.
As
far as I was concerned, Zeke was one of the best guitarists I’d ever heard. His
technique was unusual, but the sounds that came from his strings were amazing.
I’d practiced his sound since the first time I’d heard them play on the radio.
I’d once see them from afar in concert at a bar in Los Angeles, but the boys
were playing bigger venues these days.
“So
where’s the replacement guitarist? Zeke asked in aggravation.
The
room filled with laughter like I was a joke, and it pissed me off. I stood and
crossed my arms to show them I wasn’t dicking around.
“That
would be me,” I said sternly.
Zeke
looked me up and down without a drop of sexual awareness in his gaze, and I
appreciated the fact that he was simply sizing me up, not checking me out. It
probably had something to do with the petite blond that had followed him into
the room.
“Is
that so?” he asked.
He
was acting cocky, and honestly, he had every right to be.
“Yep.
Want me to play or what?” I asked.
Everything
depended on this job and while I knew some would call me stupid for being such
a bitch, I knew the boys would appreciate it. I’d been a part of their world
before. I knew all about the girls that chased rockers around with their legs
open. I was sure it was refreshing to have a woman in their presence who didn’t
drool all over them. I’d definitely checked them out, but I wasn’t the drooling
type. Not to mention, I knew band boys weren’t for me—at all.
Zeke
looked around the room at the rest of the guys. “Is this some kind of joke?” he
asked.
Again,
the boys burst out in laughter, which did nothing but make me madder.
“It’s
not a fucking joke. Quit being a chauvinistic asshole. Either you want me to
fucking play or not. Say something and quit wasting my goddamn time,” I
snapped.
His
stern expression cracked into an appreciative smile. “Then play,” he said with
a careless shrug.
Stepping
over to my guitar case, I flipped it open and pulled out my baby. It was a
candy apple-red Les Paul from my dad. I barely played it, but I thought of this
audition as a special occasion. The boys of Blow Hole didn’t need to see my
normal guitar.
I
strapped it on, took a deep breath, and began to play. My fingers dug into the
strings and I closed my eyes and let go of everything. Rips and grinds filled
the condo, bouncing off the walls and shaking the windows. I mimicked Zeke’s
playing perfectly. I even ripped through his unique chords that other guitarist
seemed to have a hard time with.
I
played an entire song and no one stopped me. When I was done, I unhooked my
strap and set my guitar back in its case. The room around me was silent, and
when I looked up, looks of shock stared back at me.
The
only girl in the room, the tiny blonde with ice-blue eyes, began to clap.
“That
was amazing!” she said with a smile.
I
nodded at her compliment and turned my attention back to Zeke. He stared at me
with angry eyes. That was his thing. I don’t think I’d ever seen a real smile
from him ever.
“What
did you say your name was again?” he asked.
“I
didn’t. No one bothered to ask. My name’s Constance,” I responded.
He
looked around the room and then back at me. The side of his mouth lifted in an
almost grin. “Well, Constance, welcome to Blow Hole.”
Michelle moved around the Midwest most of her life, transferring
from school to school before settling down in the outskirts of Chicago ten years ago,
where she now resides with her husband and two kids. She developed
a love of reading at a young age, which helped lay the foundation for her passion to
write. With the encouragement of her family, she finally sat down
and wrote one of the many stories that have been floating around in her head.
.jpg)
