by Erika Kelly
Have you read the Rock Star Romance series? Come meet the sexy rockers of Blue Fire:
YOU REALLY GOT ME
I WANT YOU TO WANT ME
TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT
MORE THAN A FEELING
And Erika Kelly’s super passionate Wild Love series:
MINE FOR NOW
MINE FOREVER
Look for The Thoughtless Boyfriend coming October 2018! Sign up for my newsletter to find out when it goes up for preorder and come hang out with me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Goodreads, and Pinterest or in my private reader group.
Here’s an excerpt of Erika Kelly’s MORE THAN A FEELING (Rock Star Romance Series book 4)
CHAPTER ONE
Head tipped back, the lead singer held the impossibly high note, his eyes squeezed shut, features wrenched in emotion.
From out of nowhere a slice of bread came winging through the air and struck his chest in an explosion of grape jelly.
Oh, shit. Cooper Hood quickly scanned the backstage crowd for a roadie. He waved one over. “Get security down there.”
With a sharp nod, the guy disappeared.
The singer stared in shock as the bread slowly peeled off his white T-shirt and dropped onto his boot. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the audience, chest lurching with erratic breaths.
The song Make Me a Sandwich, Woman, a crowd favorite, had started causing problems for the opening act when a fan in Ohio got the idea to throw bread on the stage. Since then, as the tour had taken them west across the country, slices had been flying.
But adding grape jelly to the joke? This isn’t going to end well.
At the edge of the stage, the singer pointed to a group of older teens in the crowd. “Did you do this?” They just laughed at him. “You think this is funny? You shitbirds think this is funny?” He swiped the glop off his chest and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it flying into the audience. “Well, fuck you. I don’t have to put up with this shit.” He cupped the mic to his mouth. “I want these assholes out of here right now. Get ’em out.”
Completely unfazed, one of the kids reached into his flannel shirt and whipped out another sandwich. He split the slices apart and hurled them, one after the other. One struck the singer’s chin, spraying jelly across his neck and arms.
The woman next to Cooper, an old friend from when they’d lived in Austin, smacked his arm. “Look at him. He looks possessed. Is he on something?”
“Yep.” The opening act’s partying had gotten steadily worse over the past three months, but it was the singer’s drug use that had caused real concern.
Blue Fire didn’t put up with that crap.
The singer yanked off his T-shirt, balled it up, and pitched it at the kids. “You fuckin’ redneck hillbillies suck.”
The Texas audience booed, some people shouting expletives, and a third jelly-covered slice of bread arced through the air and hit the singer’s bare stomach. His body went rigid, hands curled into tight fists, and it looked like he was about to dive into the audience.
Another of the friends Cooper had invited elbowed him. “Shit’s about to get ugly.”
The lead guitarist and bassist raced toward the singer, boxing him in, but it did nothing to contain his frenetic rage. Punching and kicking, spittle flying from his mouth, the man fought like a wildcat. As the keyboard player ran over, he slipped on jelly and landed on his ass.
The audience went nuts. Cell phones lit up as fans captured the display of bat-shit crazy.
Enough. Cooper pushed his way through the crowd to the stage manager. “Kill it. Right now. Cut the lights.”
When he turned back, he saw the singer heaving his Stratocaster over his head and slamming it on the floor, bits of it splintering and flying out like buckshot. A beefy security guard grabbed the guy around the waist and hauled him off.
The moment the stage went dark, the roadies charged out to clean up.
Cooper needed to get with his bandmates. He called out to his friends, “Hang tight, okay? Gotta talk to the guys.”
He made his way through the frenzied backstage crowd. Well, this sucks. Blue Fire was halfway through its national tour and had a two-week break scheduled. The guys had booked a red-eye to New York right after tonight’s performance so they could spend much-needed time with their families.
But now they had to find a new opening act.
He spotted his bandmates huddled together, away from the fracas. Emmie, their manger, rocked her seven-month-old baby in her arms, as she talked on the phone. The moment Ben saw him, the circle opened to include him.
“Called it,” Ben said.
They’d warned the record label about the singer’s substance abuse, but the band’s manager kept promising he had everything under control. “Yeah, well, no more of this shit.”
“No more,” Derek said. “Emmie’s talking to Irwin right now. Night Vision’s out.”
“This better not make us miss our flight.” Ben’s girlfriend hadn’t been able to visit him on tour, so they’d gone three months without seeing each other.
Slater watched his wife, as Emmie spoke animatedly. “Let’s see what she says.”
“It shouldn’t affect us,” Ben said. “It’s not our problem.”
“It’s Emmie’s,” Slater said. “That makes it ours.”
And he was right. Not because she was Slater’s wife and Derek’s sister, but because she was one of them. They were a family.
“No matter what, we’re going home,” Derek said. “The label will find us a new opening act.”
“The label gave us this one,” Calix said. “But I agree. I’m on that flight. Haven’t seen my girl in a month.”
Emmie turned back to them. “Okay, it’s done. They’re fired.”
“So now what?” Derek asked.
“Now I deal with the West Coast booking agents who’re blowing up my phone.” She shifted the baby to show them the screen.
Slater reached for the little pink bundle. “I’ll take her, angel.”
“That’s okay.” Her features softened as she gazed up at her husband. “She finally fell asleep. I don’t want to wake her.”
Slater’s fingers sifted through her hair, lifting it off her cheek, and tucking it behind an ear. He pressed a gentle kiss on her mouth and adjusted the baby’s headphones.
“Do they have another opening act for us?” Derek asked.
Emmie started to speak, and then pressed her lips together, looking pained. After a moment, she said, “Kallous.”
“Are you serious?” Ben said. “They want Kallous to open for us? How is that better than Night Vision?”
Emmie shook her head in frustration. “That’s who they’ve got.” She checked her phone. “Dammit. I have to take this.”
“Hang on.” Slater put his big hand over hers. “Let’s figure out what we need to do, and then we’ll get back to everyone else.”
“Okay.” Emmie drew in a breath. “Well, first, I have to let the booking agents know Night Vision’s out. No one wants a destructive band on their stage. But, then, if we’re going to reject Kallous, we’d better have our own replacement act.” She lifted her worried eyes to her husband.
“It’s not gonna be Kallous.” Slater looked to the other guys for confirmation, and they all gave a curt nod of agreement. That band was nothing but trouble.
“Then we have to hurry up and find someone else,” Emmie said. “Whoever it is has to be ready to hit the ground running in two weeks.”
Cooper didn’t think he’d ever seen her so overwhelmed and exhausted. Touring with a baby and a self-destructive opening act had taken its toll.
He looked at his bandmates—his brothers—and knew how badly they needed to spend time with their wives and girlfriends.
But he didn’t. He was free and clear. “I’ll do it.”
Everyone shot him a look, and heat climbed up his neck. For all his talk about wanting to take on a leadership role in the band, he’d never actually done anything.
<
br /> “You don’t have to do that, Coop.” Emmie swayed with her baby. “That’s my job. Maybe we should book a hotel, stay the night. Get a handle on things before we head home.”
Cooper held up a hand to stop that line of thinking. “Go home, Em. Take a break. I got this.” When the guys just gawked at him, he said, “What? You think I want in on your couples’ staycation?” He gave them a teasing smile, but it didn’t cover the twist of unease that went through him at the thought of separating himself. For more than ten years, they’d lived together, worked together, and played together. They’d never been apart.
But things were changing. They were settling down, and he wasn’t. Probably never would. He’d waited a long time for this kind of success—and he planned on enjoying every minute of it.
“That’s bullshit,” Derek said. “We’re all going home. We can take care of everything in New York.”
He searched the crowd for his friends, found them outside the green room. “Those guys we invited tonight?” One of them owned a record label, two were popular DJs, and one did Promotions for a record company. “They can hook me up with some of the best indie bands on the scene. I’ll grab a drink with them tonight, get the lowdown on local talent, and check out some shows.”
He saw the concern in his bandmates’ eyes. Considering he’d only ever been the kid in the backseat while Derek drove and Slater called shotgun, he didn’t blame them for doubting him. But not only did he have enough connections that he knew he could do it, he actually thought it might be fun. “Look, someone gave us a shot, right?” He knew they’d all be down for paying it forward. “How cool would it be to find a band in Austin and have them break-out on our tour?”
“Very cool,” Slater said.
“I like that,” Derek said.
Emmie gave Cooper an approving nod—and was that a hint of pride in her smile?
The stage manager approached them with a worried expression. “Hey, I hate to ask, but can you guys go on early? The audience is pretty stirred up, and it’d be great if we could get you guys out there.”
“Yeah, sure,” Cooper said.
The manager looked relieved. “Thanks. You guys are the best.” He started off but jerked back to them. “The roadies are setting up right now. We should be good to go in fifteen.”
After he left, Ben shot Cooper an annoyed look. “What’d you do that for? We’ve got to figure this shit out.”
“No, he’s right.” Derek clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s do this.
“Let’s make Austin forget all about fuckin’ grape jelly,” Slater said.
Everyone gathered around, hands piling on top of each other’s.
“We got this, man,” Derek said. “Let’s block it all out and get our heads where they belong. The music.”
They turned their arms over, revealing the Hand of Eris tattoo on the insides of their wrists, a reminder to not get sucked into the chaos of the music industry.
“The music,” they all murmured.
“I want to start with This is Us,” Slater said.
“Great idea.” Derek nodded. “That’ll grab their attention right away.”
Slater had written that song when he’d found out Emmie was pregnant. It had become an instant hit. Even won a Grammy.
“And then we can launch into Get it Boy.”
“Excellent,” Derek said. “Okay. Cooper you’re an asshole. Slater, you’re a prick. Ben, go fuck yourself. I love you guys. Now let’s rock this shit.”
Just as the guys leaned in, Cooper’s phone rang. Everyone’s attention snapped over to him.
“Turn that thing off.” Ben shook his head.
“Yeah, yeah.” Cooper pulled the phone out of his pocket to silence it, but when he checked the screen and saw the area code, his heart gave a painful lurch.
Mom.
“What’s up?” Ben asked.
Ah, hell. There could only be one reason someone from Snowberry would be calling him. “I gotta take this.”
“Right now?” Derek glanced to the stage.
“Yeah.” Putting the phone to his ear, he held up a finger. One minute.
As he started to walk away, Emmie touched his back. “Is everything okay?”
“No idea.” The line was dead. Dammit, he’d missed the call. Hitting the call back button, Cooper moved a few paces down the hall, away from the noise. Cold fear squeezed his nerves as the phone rang. He had two ties to his hometown, his mom and a building contractor. This number was neither’s.
So someone had to be calling about his mom. Fuck. She’d been doing so well.
Coming to a stop under the illuminated exit sign, he waited as it rang a second and then a third time.
“Cooper Hood?” He didn’t recognize the woman’s voice, but she sounded ballsy. Not panicked. Definitely not sad. So his mom was okay?
He’d had enough calls over the years from cops, nurses…angry wives and merchants, but this woman didn’t sound like any of those. “Yes.”
“This is Sherry Allen.”
Never heard of her. Fuck, what was going on? “Okay.”
“Your mom’s sponsor.”
Oh, dammit. Dammit. An image of his mom as he’d last seen her popped up in his mind. Trembling, eyes narrowed in concentration, as she’d held a flame under a spoon.
She’d lasted four years. When he’d lived with her she hadn’t gone four days without using. He’d been so damn hopeful. “Is she okay?” He turned away from his bandmates.
“She’s fine. She’s doing great. Well, you know. Every day’s a struggle. But she’s doing it, you know?”
So she hadn’t relapsed? Thank Christ. “So what’s up?”
She blew a gusty breath into the receiver. “Look, I know it’s not my place to call you, but you need to know your mom cancelled the appointment you set up for her this weekend.”
Why did his mom make everything so damn difficult? He wanted to give her a home, for Christ’s sake. “I don’t know what to tell you. I tried to buy her a house, but she wanted to build one instead. Now she’s blowing off the contractor?” He let out a frustrated breath. “There’s not much more I can do. If she decides to go through with it, tell her to give me a call.” He glanced to his bandmates and found them heading toward the stage. “I have to go.”
“No, wait. Listen. She’s not taking you up on your offer because she has something to tell you.”
Jesus Christ, his mother drove him nuts. “So have her call me.” And then it struck him. Her sponsor. “Look, if this is about making amends, you can tell her we’re good. I forgive her.” Flashes from his childhood lit his mind. Drug-addled visitors staggering around the cabin. Seventies rock blaring. The strange vinegar-like scent of heroin.
He shook it off. He’d left that life long ago. Made a great one for himself.
“It’s not about forgiveness,” Sherry said.
No, with his mom, he wouldn’t think so. She’d never given a single shit about him. “Sherry, I’m on tour right now, and I’m about to get on stage. You need to get to the point.”
“Come home, Cooper. I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t think it was important for both of you. She needs that house as much as you need to hear what she has to say.”
Yep, amends all right. He headed toward the stage. He’d committed himself to finding an opening act. Not a chance would he blow his first attempt at taking a leadership role. “Tour’s over just before Thanksgiving. I’ll plan a trip then.”
The band his family. Not Ronnie Hood.
Ben gave him an urgent wave. He picked up his pace, that familiar rush flooding him, as his body and mind geared up for the performance.
“One night. Catch a flight out in the morning. You can have dinner with her Friday, be on your way on Saturday. Though, I’m thinking you’re going to want to stay in town a day or two once you hear what she’s got to say. So, a weekend. You can be gone by Sunday.”
“Can’t do it. I gotta go.” Frankly, there wasn’t a damn thi
ng his mom could say that would impact his life.
“Dammit, Cooper. It’s about your father.”
Energy ripped through him. “I don’t have a father.”
“Yes, you do. And she needs to come clean about him.”
