Insatiable (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Book 3)

by Michelle Hazen

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  Wishing this series had an epilogue? Just so happens, it does...a whole novella of one.

  CHRISTMAS WITH THE BAND

  Book 3.5 of the Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Series

  TATTOOS, HOUSE FIRES, and house arrest: It’s Christmas with the Band!

  All Jax wants for Christmas is for his loved ones to get along. So when he takes Ava home for the holidays, she vows to finally make peace with his drummer. What she gets instead is a house fire, house arrest, and the kind of dinner none of them will ever forget.

  This comic romp of a holiday story wraps up the world of the Sex, Love and Rock and Roll series in a red lacy bow. Click now to have Christmas with the Band!

  Available 9.3.18

  Click here to order your copy today!

  Turn the page now for a sneak preview of the epilogue short story to the

  Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Series!

  Sneak Preview: Christmas With the Band

  AVA

  “Jera's entire family could surround me with pitchforks and herd me into a volcano while singing painfully perky Christmas carols.”

  “Be serious, Ava.” Jax changes lanes on the freeway. “Jera's dad would never sing Christmas carols. He was in a hair band in the 80s, remember?”

  “I notice you didn't say the volcano was out of the question.” I poke at my ponytail, checking it again in the visor mirror. Yup, still enormous. “Okay, what do you think is the worst thing that could happen?” I slap the mirror closed and sit on my hands. Even with the big push to be myself in public this year, I haven't gotten used to how naked I feel without a wig to cover my planet-sized mass of curls.

  “Danny trying to make sweet potato casserole again.”

  I drop my chin and give him a look that clearly rules out all smart-ass answers as viable options.

  “He used Cheetos last time!” Jax says. “Come on, tell me that's not worst case scenario behavior.”

  I pull my phone out of my purse. Hair is hopeless. Boyfriend, also hopeless. Post-tour finances? That I can deal with. Jax reaches for my hand, intertwining our fingers before I can unlock the screen.

  “Look, we don't need a worst-case scenario,” he says. “Jera will be awful, and we'll get through it, just like we have for the last five months. If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me.”

  I cock my head at him, and he tosses a glance back, his blue eyes wide and innocent. “Jax, you are literally the worst liar in the universe.”

  My stomach gurgles, my breakfast of black coffee sitting even more poorly than usual. Jax's hand tightens on mine, as if his touch alone can distract me from the truth: there's one thing my incredibly selfless boyfriend wants for Christmas, and it's something all my millions can't buy.

  “I'm just glad you came to Portland with me, and that you were willing to fly us across the country three times in as many days so we could have the holidays with the band and both our parents.”

  “What was I going to do, let you go to New York City by yourself?” I shake my head. “I still can't believe you wouldn't let me meet your mother. I would have been perfectly polite.” Until the first time she criticized him, after which I would have re-arranged her dentist's master plan.

  “It wasn't your behavior I was worried about.” He tips his chin down, letting his chin-length hair fall forward a touch. It's wavy and loose from his normal mouthwatering man-bun, just long enough he thinks he can use it to hide his expression from me.

  I can't tell if he's trying to protect me because his mom's a racist, or just because she's a snooty, always-disapproving bitch. I suspect both, given what I've gleaned from stories about his childhood. She’s just the type who pays a couple grand a plate to attend a NAACP gala, but gets the vapors when her son brings a black girl home.

  A smile touches Jax’s face as he drives. “It was worth the extra flight for the present Mom got me. Can't believe she shelled out to buy my guitar back from that auction.”

  I can't believe she asked him to give his Les Paul to a fucking charity auction in the first place. Not only that, she may have bought it back, but why didn't she give it to him before he had to play five months of our joint tour on a stiff new instrument? Still, I put a smile on my face, because it makes him happy that she got him a present. Maybe this will be the start of a better relationship between them, since he seems perfectly willing to forget she never visited him in rehab. Or in the entire year since he got out. Which is probably why he wanted to get this first meeting out of the way without witnesses.

  Jax would forgive anyone, for anything, but I suspect his mom's trying to weasel her way back into his life so she can try to control him. Anything for their family's precious public image.

  “Now I can show my guitar to your mom when we get to Charleston tomorrow.” Jax smiles. “Bet she tries to buy it off me.”

  “Pete Townshend limited edition?” I shake my head. “I wouldn't let her play it at all, buddy. Not if you ever want to get it back.” He pales, and I give our linked hands a shake. “Kidding, Jax. Only kidding.”

  He flicks on his turn signal and we leave the freeway for a maze of residential streets. I let go of his hand and fuss with my seat heater switch so he won't feel how my muscles ratchet tighter with every block we travel toward Jera's parent's house, where we're having Christmas Eve dinner with his band.

  I let out a slow breath and with it, allow all my anxieties to drift, not attaching any importance to them. Straightening my back, I breath strength into my muscles, down into my bones. This is just another stage, and I'm the reigning queen of those.

  “Please don't do that,” Jax says quietly.

  I blink, startled. “Do what?”

  He glances at me. “Put on your public face. If you can be yourself in front of five thousand people at Madison Square Gardens, you can do it in front of Jera's family, too.”

  He's talking about The Concert. The one where I quit the music business, quit my brand, quit all the bullshit I allowed to take over my life in my guilt over my sister's death. Weirdly, the fans supported me. In the end, I only lasted two weeks before I started to play concerts again. Mixing ballads in with rock songs, wearing my natural hair instead of ca
ndy-colored extensions. Sharing the truths behind the lyrics.

  The shows were different, yes, but I couldn't really stop playing, even though I thought I had to in order to become a person I was actually proud of. Still, I constantly have to fight myself, because my first reaction is always to be the best version of myself, not the real one.

  Jax pulls to the curb, and my heart beats so fast my vision goes swimmy at the edges. Oh shit, this is it and I'm not ready.

  I turn wide eyes to look at the house. Somehow I never pictured Jera's family as inflatable Santa people.

  “This isn't it.” Jax tips my chin toward him, the callouses from his frets soothing against my skin. “Ava, I'd rather turn around right now than take you someplace where you won't be comfortable. Especially not on Christmas Eve. Just say the word and we'll go back to my place.” He smiles, the tilt of it all wicked promise though his sky-colored eyes are whisper gentle: my soft place to land, always. “I'll even Photoshop Justin Bieber's head onto some pictures of chipmunks, the way you like.”

  I laugh in spite of myself. “Okay, as awesome as that sounds, I'm not taking you away from your family at Christmas.”

  “Oh, great! Let's get going, then.” Jax reaches for the gearshift and my stomach drops out through the floorboards of the car. I stop his hand and my eyes guiltily collide with his knowing ones. I just walked right into that bluff, damn it.

  “Okay, you're right. This was a terrible idea. Why don't I just drop you off, I'll go hide in your beautiful condo, and we can meet up after?” My heartbeat is like a rabid butterfly trying to escape my ribcage. Christ, I'm being such a coward right now.

  It's not like I haven't been living knuckle to knuckle with these people for most of the year. It's just...that was our tour. This is their town.

  It's Jax's real life, and I haven't claimed my place in it.

  He starts to speak just as I say, “No, screw it. We're going. We're going together and it will be fun and festive, so help me God, or I will cut a bitch.”

  Jax snorts into laughter, the lines of stress easing from his forehead for the moment. A car passes us, slowing down, and he glances over at it. I didn't see who it was, but I bet it was somebody from the holiday party we're probably late for now.

  “What were you going to say?” I ask, attempting a light tone.

  He smiles, almost shy. “Just...I'm glad you like my condo. That's all.”

  I frown. “Why wouldn't I?” It overlooks the river, furnished in granite and cushiony leather, with a gorgeous blown glass chandelier, half-walls tucking his huge bed away in its own private nook. I liked all my houses when I bought them, but there's no way to not feel alone in so much space. Not to mention I spend so little time at each of them I'm not really sure which one I “live” in. Jax's place is just the right size to feel cozy. Safe.

  He kisses me, the sort that would probably be quick if his lips didn't linger, and mine didn't come back for seconds.

  “We should have a signal,” he whispers, then steals one more kiss. “Like tug your ear or something if you're ready to go.” He reaches over and touches my earring. “These kick ass, by the way.”

  My earring chimes softly, a whisk of silver strings capped with bells and skulls and snowflakes, all swinging from his touch.

  I glance down into my lap. “We should go. I don't want to make us late on top of everything else.”

  It's only another block to Jera's parents' actual house, which does not have an inflatable Santa out front, or an inflatable anything else. It’s silly that I’m so nervous, considering I’m not just Jax’s plus one. I was invited to this party—by every member of the band except Jera. As for that, I'm armed with about fifty different plans for getting her alone and convincing her to forgive me. It's Christmas, after all.

  Jax is closer with his bandmates than most people are to their spouses. Jera hating me forever is not an option.

  “Uncle Jax!” We don't even get the door open before a little blond girl plasters both tiny palms to the driver's window, smudging the glass as she dances in impatience for him to come out. He checks for traffic, alarmed, then eases the door open and swoops Maya off her feet into a huge hug.

  “Oh man, I missed you so much.” He sounds plaintive and not at all like the fake-enthusiastic voice some adults use with kids. “Nobody plays games with me when you're gone.”

  “Nobody colors with me when you're gone!” Maya wails.

  I get out of the car and snap a quick picture with my phone because they're completely adorable. With her curly blond hair, Maya could as easily be Jax's daughter as Jacob's, and my boyfriend is her number one favorite playmate. She traveled a lot of the last tour with us, and even with the grueling schedule, Jax had supernatural amounts of patience and energy for her. Ten hours of Candyland driving across the Midwest? Not a problem. Coloring books backstage in between autographing sessions? Absolutely. Using make-your-own-jewelry kits to help her with her homeschooled math homework? Let's just say Jax was sporting some serious bling for the concert that night.

  I can’t blame him, though. Maya's a blast, and her favorite game is to raid my closet and dress both of us up. Jera even manages to suspend her very vocal hatred of me when I’m playing with her adopted daughter.

  Today, though, Maya hasn't noticed me yet, and it's awkward just standing there, so I start gathering gifts from the backseat. A big hand on my shoulder stops me. “Leave them out here. Sometimes, when we bring them inside early, Danny just starts opening things.”

  “He would.” I turn around and smile up at Jacob. “How are you? We missed you the last few weeks of the tour. The rigging guys are still loving your new technique, by the way.”

  He pulls me in for a gentle hug, his wide shoulders surrounding me with warmth. I let out a shaky breath and hug him back, just for a second. Jera's husband is like the perfect mug of hot chocolate, in person form.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” I tell him.

  “It's Christmas with the band.” Jacob winks. “Full-contact Scrabble set to a Black Sabbath soundtrack, and by the end of the day, somebody will probably get a new tattoo. You don't want to miss this.”

  CHRISTMAS WITH THE BAND

  Available 9.3.18

  Click here to order your copy today!

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Macomber, my crazy, Pop Tart-gobbling leprechaun of a muse. This one was all you, buddy. I take no responsibility, though rest assured I will have my revenge on you for that plot twist that made me cry.

  To Katie G for giving me the sex addiction idea. I chose this book to dedicate to you because our relationship has matured and grown, and turned into so many more things than I ever expected, just like this series.

  To Andrea C for endless support and editing and more support and more editing and also for tree-shaped air fresheners, to open in case of a confidence emergency.

  To Sandra L for being the proud auntie of this series, and being right there with me pounding the pavement to sell more copies.

  To my husband, who is still better than any fictional hero I’ve ever managed to create. Dang. You set a painfully high bar.

  To Suja and Kelley for reading and making this book better, and for pushing Danny’s ending just a wee bit further to the place it always needed to be.

  To Sheila Athens and Author Accelerator for great editing and Naomi Davis for exceptional agenting and Keyanna Butler for outstanding proofreading and also for fixing my shower sex scene. I owe you one, girl. To Michelle Fairbanks for sticking with me until I found the right “Jax” for the cover of this book. It was a tougher road than we expected. To Dani and Lauren at Barclay Publicity for helping me make sure that this book actually got readers, and to all the Hidden Gems reviewers, who I want to gush about for roughly 80,000 more words. To Brenda Drake and all the #PitchWars people for the best writing community EVER and to Kelly S and Heather V and Layla R and Margarita M and Jade E for all your help.

  To The Revivalists, for writing some tot
ally incredible songs that inspired a lot of my understanding of Jax as a person, and for concerts that introduced me to the near-supernatural energy that music can create.

  To my family, for being way better than Jax’s. I always joke that I will never be as good of a writer because I had a happy childhood but in all seriousness, thanks for making me have to reach hard to know how to write a dysfunctional family.

  To my readers and especially my ARC team: you have no idea how grateful I am for you. I didn’t pull any punches with this series—I wrote what felt the most real and raw and honest to me, which left me no defenses at all. Publishing it felt like ripping my heart naked out of my chest, and you guys helped make sure it was received by gentle hands. Thank you. Thank all of you.

  About the Author

  MICHELLE HAZEN IS A nomad with a writing problem. Years ago, she and her husband ducked out of the 9 to 5 world and moved into their truck. She found her voice with the support of the online fanfiction community, and once she started typing, she never looked back. She has written most of her books in odd places, including a bus in Thailand, an off-the-grid cabin in the Sawtooth Mountains, a golf cart in a sandstorm, a rental car during a heat wave in the Mohave Desert and a beach in Honduras. Even when she’s climbing rocks, riding horses, or getting lost someplace wild and beautiful, there are stories spooling out inside her head, until she finally heeds their call and returns to her laptop and solar panels. Find out more at http://michellehazenbooks.com/

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