by Anna Paige
We even forged a new and genuine bond with Marin, whose little girl stole all our hearts. Charli and I organized her baby shower and we all were there when she went into labor, though her fiancé, Brett, was unable to make it back in time. When he finally came home from deployment, he fell right into step with Ash and Becker, which pleased Marin to no end. She’d started out with very little support, but by the time little Leah was born, they both were part of our crazy, fierce little family. And Brett fit in with us so well we jokingly called him the third Martell sibling.
It’s astonishing how much difference a year can bring.
Despite everything, it had all turned out okay in the end.
Better than okay.
It was amazing. For all of us.
Mom and Dad were happy.
Phil and Janet were happy.
Marin and Brett were happy.
Becker and Charli were happy.
And Ash and I were not only happy, we were constantly making more of those vivid memories he’d been so looking forward to.
We bickered and he still called me a pain in his ass on occasion, but like all those times before, it was the buildup to something amazing—usually in the bedroom. Except these days we didn’t have to wait nearly as long for the payoff.
Because, damn, hadn’t we already wasted enough time waiting?
The End
Chasing Kade sneak peek
Last fall
This is the life. Or so they say…
As I looked around the room, taking a slow inventory of all the women in attendance, I wasn’t so sure anymore. My gaze was met with more than a few hungry stares, and it was clear that it wouldn’t take much more than a nod on my part to have them ready for action. Maybe not all of them, but a damn impressive percentage.
There was even one girl—no shit—eye-fucking me while sitting on another guy’s lap. It was hilarious, scandalous, and so goddamn boring I could die.
There was no challenge, no real interest, just a long line of groupies hoping to check "Fuck Kade Edenfield” off their to-do lists. A lot of the same faces seemed to be at these parties, same girls with different guys, working their way down the line, as if this was some X-rated bingo game.
I fucked all five members of Thrill of the Chase!
Bingo!
I’m famous by default.
It’s not like we are actual people, right?
I scrubbed a hand over my face. Shit, I was in a mood, and I honestly had no clue why. Tonight was no different than any other night on tour, not really. Just another after party, this one in St. Louis—though most of the time the towns ran together. We’d finished the show—totally fucking blown the roof off the place, to be more accurate—and soon we’d be on our way to the next stop on the tour.
And the wheels on the bus go round and round…
At least this place was decent, unlike some of the others we’d seen over the years. The party room was decked out, rivaling some of the most upscale places we’d been. There were huge, Italian leather couches situated around the perimeter of the room, all facing the gleaming, mahogany bar that stood in the center serving as the focal point. Fully stocked with every top-shelf liquor imaginable, it was staffed by a bored-looking bartender who was clearly unimpressed by our fame, not that any of us gave a shit.
Several small, round, linen-covered tables were scattered around the room, covered in food, in hopes that we wouldn’t get too toasted on an empty stomach. Did they think we were amateurs? This was far from our first trip around the beer-soaked block.
I’d tucked myself away in the back corner, pleasantly sinking into one of the leather couches and giving my ‘fuck off’ vibe to anyone who came too close. I felt like doing some people-watching and conversation got in the way of that.
Of course, Lennox—our bassist—had a habit of not paying attention to subtle cues; a trait that became evident as he strode over and plopped down beside me on the couch. “Why so glum, fucker? Damn erectile dysfunction acting up again?” He snickered into his longneck, oblivious to the death stare I’d leveled in his direction.
It didn’t last long, though, that annoyed look. I couldn’t help giving in. Lennox was that goofball friend who you could never quite manage to stay mad at, no matter how much he deserved it sometimes.
“Not to tell you your business,” I began, fighting a smile, “but I wouldn’t just drop down in my seat like that if I was the one fighting a raging case of hemorrhoids.” I made sure to punctuate that last word, raising my voice just enough to garner a few curious glances.
He chuckled, offering up his beer in a toast. “Touché. Nice one.”
I clicked my bottle against his and returned to checking out the activity around the room, relieved when he appeared to be doing the same.
My twin brother, Kane—our lead guitarist—was holding court on one of the far couches, most of his profile obscured by the curvy redhead straddling his lap. She was leaning so close, I briefly wondered if he would suffocate in her cleavage. Not the worst way to go, by any means, but still. I nudged Lenn and nodded that way, shaking my head.
Kane finally came up for air a few seconds later and caught my eye, the corner of his mouth turning up in a satisfied smirk. I raised my beer in his direction and gave him a nod of approval a split second before he dove back in, head first. Watching him having so much fun was almost enough to make the night okay for me, too. His happiness was always contagious—a twin thing—and, judging by the astronomically hot girl in his lap, he was pretty fucking thrilled right then.
Jared—our rhythm guitarist and the shyest guy on the planet—was perched against one wall, silently looking on as several girls vied for his attention, hoping to draw him out. They’d be about as successful as all the others, which was to say not at all. Not that he didn’t score just as much as the rest of us. He did. And then some. I’d wondered on more than one occasion how he managed it. Did he have some system worked out where a few nods and well-placed hand gestures got him what he wanted? How did one manage that? Maybe it was the whole “strong silent type” vibe that women seemed to eat up. Whatever it was, it worked, because there he went, as expected, one girl under each arm as they headed for the nearest reasonably flat surface, and I swear, the bastard never said a word. Not one.
I’ve got to get him to teach me that.
Lennox nudged me with his knee and drew my attention to the bar, where Ethan—our drummer—had completely taken over, mixing drinks like a pro and engaging half a dozen people in conversation while the bartender looked on, stoic as ever.
From where Lenn and I sat, we couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but one guy in particular was getting kind of loud, looking agitated. His arms lifted and he gestured around at one of the other guys standing there, his posture delving into aggressive territory.
“Should we go over there?” Lenn asked, his eyes never leaving the guy at the bar.
I was watching Ethan, though, as I shook my head. “Not yet. Let E do his thing.”
Mister Excitable ranted for another minute or so, flailing and making an ass of himself, before it was clearly time someone shut him down.
Sure enough, Ethan reached across the bar and smilingly offered the guy his hand, making formal introductions, though the guy had to know who he was, given that it was our party. E nodded to the drink he’d just finished making, said a few words, and the guy was all grins. He took the drink, tasted it, gave Ethan a thumbs-up and moved on to chat up someone else. The crowd closed the gap left by his departure and everyone went back to their chit-chat like nothing happened.
No harm, no foul.
“How the hell does he do that?” Lennox mused. “If I tried to step in like that, I’d get my teeth knocked out. Him? He’s like a living, breathing, hit of Xanax, calms people right the fuck down.”
I nodded at his assessment, chuckling. “Yeah, you’d definitely get clocked if you tried that. Tact just isn’t your thing. Hell, your foot spends so much time
in your mouth, we should buy you a shoehorn to help pry it out every now and then.”
“Fuck off, it’s endearing,” he muttered, but laughed because he knew I was right.
“If you say so.” I shook my head. “At the very least, it’s entertaining to watch.”
He just huffed out a soft laugh and returned to looking around the room. “You ever feel like you’re stuck in that movie Groundhog Day? Like every venue is the same shit? The same people, the same party, the same booze and shitty food?” He sat forward, motioning around the room with his longneck. “Even the girls. Same ones follow us around everywhere. I’ve either been blown by or banged every chick in this room, some of them more than once. I mean, shit, I thought we were rock stars. When are we gonna get some strange?”
My laughter died in my throat as I turned toward him, catching sight of the three-alarm stunner who was just off to his left. She had clearly been on her way to talk to him and overheard what he’d just said.
For fuck’s sake, don’t let me laugh, because she looks so pissed even I’m a little afraid.
I desperately wished I could signal Kane just then. I wanted to lay odds on whether she’d slap him or throw her drink in his face—a little game we’d come up with after about the millionth time Lennox had talked his way right out of getting laid.
Shit. Kane was still face down in titty town. He was gonna miss it.
The sharp sound of a slap rang out like a gunshot and I cringed, turning to see if Lenn’s face was still attached, just as a drenching blast of cranberry-flavored girly-drink hit me right in the face, a byproduct of her less than perfect aim that left both Lennox and I dripping.
I just sat there for a second, unsure whether to laugh or be livid. I settled on moderately amused with a side of annoyance.
She stormed out in a huff, just as Ethan appeared with a couple of bar towels, laughing his head off. It was easy to find shit funny when you didn’t have cranberry juice and vodka dripping down your face. “Another one bites the dust, eh, slick? What’d you do this time?”
“He opened his fucking mouth, which is all it takes.” I groused, wiping my face and neck as I looked over at my tactless friend. “If my hair is fucking pink tomorrow, I’m gonna kick your ass.” His hair was platinum, much lighter than my sandy blond strands, but I couldn’t care less if he looked stupid. He kind of deserved it. I, on the other hand, was collateral damage.
He glanced up at my hair as he licked some of the dripping libation from his upper lip and winced. “Jesus, what the fuck is this shit? If this is what passes for a good drink in her book, I’m glad she’s gone.” His tongue darted out again.
“If it’s so bad, why are you still tasting it, idiot?” Ethan shook his head.
Lennox shrugged helplessly. “Well, after a scene like that, I figure this is the only thing I’ll get to lick tonight, so I might as well make the best of it.” To prove his point, he winked at a particularly interested girl who was watching us from across the room.
She immediately rolled her eyes and gave him her back.
“See?”
“It’s your own fault. Maybe take a look around before you start the locker-room talk in public. Dumbass.”
He skewed his face up in a scowl, from the taste of the drink or maybe embarrassment, I wasn’t entirely sure which. “Maybe that shoehorn isn’t such a bad investment.”
“I’ll put the order in as soon as I find a clean, dry shirt.” I told him as I stood and made my way toward the door, tossing the stained towel on the bar as I passed. I was pretty sure I had another shirt in the dressing room, and I was definitely in need of cleaning up.
“Sorry, dude!” Lennox shouted at my back as I reached for the door handle. I just waved him off and stepped out of the room, determined not to let him see me smile.
The door closed behind me and I tugged my shirt away from my chest, feeling like it was backed with freaking Velcro as I started down the long, deserted corridor.
Five minutes later, I had a dry shirt and an empty bladder as I made my way back toward the after party. Before I could get that far, the sound of raised voices up ahead caught my attention, and I called out into the darkened corridor, altering my course—in more ways than I could have possibly imagined.
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Also by Anna Paige
Broken Series:
Broken Ground
Flawlessly Broken
All the Broken Pieces
Broken Roads (Broken series boxed set)
Thrill of the Chase Series:
Chasing Kade
Thrilling Ethan
Standalone titles:
Off Script
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Acknowledgments
I’m so fortunate to have an amazing support system, without which I would have never finished a single book, let alone seven (and counting).
Shaun, my husband and best friend: You’re the reason for all of this. You continue to encourage me to pursue my dreams and stand by me no matter how crazy the process gets along the way. Thank you for helping me do what I love and for being the love of my life. You and me, babe. Always.
Trenda, my content editor and friend: You’ve been amazing through all of my books, every single one. You make my books better and you make me better. I love you, woman.
Emily Lawrence, my editor: Working with you on this book was a true pleasure. Your feedback was extremely helpful and you did a phenomenal job throughout. I can’t thank you enough.
My betas; Heidi, Monique, Jacinda, Shasta, Saleena, Jessica, and Sandy: Thank you so much for your help polishing this book and making it shine. You ladies are amazing! I couldn’t do this without any of you.
Jo-Anna Walker: thank you so, so much for yet another amazing cover. It’s exactly what I had in mind and you completely knocked it out of the park, as always. I cannot wait to work with you again.
Lindsay: I can’t thank you enough for your encouragement and expertise on all things bookish. My only complaint is that you live too far away for me to hug you as often as I would like. Some day, my dear friend, I’ll get my chance. And I’m counting the days.
To my friends Martha, Monique, and Dannielle who are incredibly supportive of my work: I love you all to freaking pieces. Thank you for supporting me through all of my crazy author shenanigans and for always knowing what to say when things aren’t going my way. You’re incredible. All of you.
To every single blogger who has signed up, given shout-outs, shared, pimped, and posted on my behalf… I can’t thank you enough for your support and encouragement. You are what make this community great.
To my author friends who read, blurb, share, like, comment, email, text, call, and show your support in a hundred other ways: Thank you from the bottom of my heart. The book community is an amazing place, and I’m so glad to be a part of it with you.
Finally, to the readers who have taken the time to read my work, leave reviews, and/or message to tell me how much you enjoyed my stories: It’s mind-blowing to sit and think that people out there have taken time—hours and hours—out of their lives to read something that came from my imagination. That has to be the highest compliment ever, I think, for someone to dedicate that kind of time to your work. I’m truly grateful to every single reader who honored me in that way and always strive to ensure that, at the end of those hours, you find it was time well spent.
About the Author
Anna Paige is the author of standalone novels Holding Out for You and Off Script, the Broken series; Broken Ground, Flawlessly Broken, and All the Broken Pieces, as well as the Thrill of the Chase series, and is currently working on the next installment.
She lives in a rural town in North Carolina where the only activity is the rhythmic color change of the solitary stoplig
ht and a very real threat of being carried away by mosquitoes. The only alternative to terminal boredom is writing, making life interesting if only on the page.
Anna is happily married, with one amazing son and a pair of hilarious pets. When she’s not writing, she’s trying to make a dent in her TBR pile. Given that she’s constantly adding new titles to the list, the chances of her ever finishing are slim.
And she’s completely fine with that.
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