By: Jamie Shaw
Releasing July 21, 2015
From the moment she saw Shawn Scarlett perform at a school talent show, Kit Larson has loved two things: the guitar, and the gorgeous, green-eyed boy who inspired her to play. But one careless night in high school shatters her hope of ever being more than a notch on his bedpost.
Six years, two bands, and one mostly-mended heart later, Kit’s about to make her rock star dreams a reality as the new guitarist for Shawn’s band, The Last Ones to Know. He may not remember their reckless night together, but Kit has never forgotten… and she’s determined to make him eat his heart out.
The release of their new album means a month cooped up on a tour bus, sleeping inches away from the ridiculously sexy musician she’s never quite gotten over. And as Kit gets to know the real Shawn—not Shawn Scarlett, the rock god, the player—their attraction becomes too hot to resist. But the past is paved with secrets, and when they finally surface, Kit could lose everything: the band, the music, her dreams… and Shawn.
Link to Follow Tour: Here
During
the seconds that tick away between my knock and the door opening, I
think about grabbing my guitar case from where it’s propped against
the wall and hightailing it back to my Jeep. I think about who will
open the door. I think about Kale and wonder what in the hell I’m
doing.
But
then the door is swinging open and I’m stuck on the threshold of a
decision that could make my life or ruin it.
Long
dark chocolate hair. Fierce brown eyes. A piercing gaze that smacks
me right in the face. The girl—who I’m guessing is the one who
responded to my email and signed her name “Dee”—trails her eyes
all the way down to my boots and then back up again. “The band
isn’t here to sign shit or take pictures,” she says.
Apparently,
I’ve offended her just by breathing. “Okay?” My eyebrow lifts
from the sheer gust of hostility she throws at me, and I resist the
urge to glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m in the right
place. “I’m not here for autographs or pictures . . .”
“Great.”
She begins closing the door in my face, but I slap my hand against it
before she can shut me out.
“Are
you Dee?” I ask, and the girl’s glare hardens with either
recognition or irritation. Maybe both. She’s so focused on trying
to murder me with her eyes that she doesn’t even notice when a
blonde-haired girl pops up behind her. With nothing to lose, I wedge
my combat boot against the door and hold out my hand. “I’m Kit.
We spoke over email?”
“You’re
Kit?” the blonde asks, and the brown-haired girl that I’m
assuming is Dee slowly offers up her hand.
“Oh,
sorry,” I say with an apologetic laugh, realizing why the girls are
acting like I’m some kind of groupie. Probably because I look like
one, with my barely-there top and my spider-leg mascara. “Yeah. I
have four older brothers who thought Katrina was too girly of a
name.”
The
running joke is that I didn’t even know
my name was Katrina until grade school—but it isn’t a joke,
because I’m pretty sure I really didn’t. The boys boycotted the
name my mom had insisted on, and eventually she gave up the good
fight. It was Kit from the day I was born, and the only people who
call me Katrina are people who don’t really know me.
“And
you’re here to audition?” the blonde asks.
I
pull my guitar case from where it’s propped against the wall and
give them a big smile. “I hope so. It is
okay that I’m a girl, right?”
“Yeah,”
the blonde rushes to say, but Dee still has her eyes narrowed with
skepticism.
Having
been the only girl in an all-guy band in college, I’m used to it,
so I’m not surprised when she says, “That depends . . . Are you a
girl who can play the guitar?”
“I
think so,” I deadpan. “I mean, it’s difficult since my vagina
is constantly getting in the way, but I’ve learned to manage it
just like any other handicap.” I pause for dramatic effect, my
expression somber when I add, “Sadly, I don’t get special
parking.”
A
long moment of silence passes where I’m sure my brand of humor is
lost on the two chicks in front of me, but then Dee bursts out
laughing and they both lead me inside.
Born and raised in South Central Pennsylvania, Jamie Shaw earned her M.S. in Professional Writing before realizing that the creative side of writing was her calling. An incurable night-owl, she spends late hours crafting novels with relatable heroines and swoon-worthy leading men. She's a loyal drinker of white mochas, a fierce defender of emo music, and a passionate enthusiast of all things romance. She loves interacting with readers and always aims to add new names to their book boyfriend lists.
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