“I, uh, I…” The marriage certificate hidden in her purse and the cacophony of self-condemning thoughts made it hard to focus.
Suspicion darkened his handsome face. “What are you hiding under the bed? Is there a recording device under there?”
“Are you serious?”
He leveled her with a deadly serious glare. There was no trace of the formerly amused man.
“Actually, there’s a reporter from TMZ under here, would you like to say hello?”
When his features went from dark to thunderous, she knew she’d made a critical error with the sarcasm.
“I was just…um…looking for something.” She forced herself to meet his eyes.
“Looking for what?” Titanium coated every word and drilled into her hungover brain.
Time to go.
She scrambled to her feet. An increased heart rate, combined with residual alcohol pumping through her system, made the room spin. She swayed and toppled cheek first into the side of the dresser, dropping the panties in the process.
“Ouch!” She covered her face with her hands.
Sheets rustled, and suddenly, he was in front of her. “Shit, are you okay?”
She slowly lowered her hands and…hot mother of a freakin’ cow. A very naked Gavin squatted in front of her with all his dangly bits…well, dangling.
“Fine, thanks.” That’s it? That’s the best she could come up with a gorgeous naked guy in front of her. So much for clever repartee.
She honestly did try to keep her eyes above his shoulders, but—come on. This was her last chance to see a rock god in all his tattooed, naked glory. One quick peek, then she rose unsteadily to her feet.
“It was nice to…um…meet you, but I should go.” She inched toward the door.
“Wait. You’re not going anywhere until I have some answers.” He made a grab for her arm. Fear and adrenaline lit her up like a rocket. She forgot her injury, made an evasive move, and sprinted to get away.
When she got to the door, she glanced over her shoulder. Gavin hopped on one foot trying to yank on his jeans. The last thing she saw was her husband as he fell, legs tangled in the fabric of the jeans.
She bolted down the hallway toward the elevator. “Come on, come on, come on.” She jabbed the down button repeatedly. A small, logical part of her brain, not currently recovering from near alcohol poisoning, wondered what she hoped to accomplish by running. But the larger, wholly irrational, part of her psyche screamed, Married? I’m freakin’ married? I’ve got to get out of here.
Gavin stumbled from the room and into the hall, still struggling with his jeans. They were over his hips but not buttoned. He strode down the hall toward her.
The indicator bell dinged.
“Stop. Do not get on that elevator.”
The sight of him stole the air from her body. Magnificent—scary as hell—but totally, completely magnificent. For a crazy instant, she almost complied, but then the doors slid open and broke the spell. She lunged forward, but relief made her clumsy. She tumbled head over heels into the elevator, dress flying over her head as the doors slid shut.
Great, she’d just mooned her husband.
Gavin thanked the security guy for opening the door. His half-naked trip into the hall had ended with him locked out of his room. Once inside, he leaned against the smooth wood and burst out laughing. The last thing he’d seen before the elevator doors closed was her bare ass with a brand-new tattoo that read “Gavin.”
He could almost forgive her for running out on him. After all, she’d have to live with his name tattooed on her butt for the rest of her life.
The laughter made his head throb. God, he was hung over. Most of his memories of the previous night hid behind a coagulated haze of alcohol.
He’d gone to one of the Bellagio’s bars to have a drink and unwind. The frustrating phone call with that damn private investigator had left him in desperate need of diversion. And the pretty redhead with the Texas twang and innocent blue eyes had offered the perfect distraction.
They’d had a few drinks. More than a few, actually, and he was paying for it this morning. He massaged his temples then dug in his bag for pain relievers. He didn’t do this shit anymore and dammit, in light of recent events, he didn’t need to do it again.
After the second scotch, or was it the third, the memories got hazy. But he definitely remembered falling into bed with her, her soft hands on his body, her sweet, if slightly boozy, breath in his ear as she snored gently…wait, what?
“She fell asleep.” Relief flooded his body. He didn’t have to worry about a recording device. There was nothing to record. Good thing too—the last thing he needed right now was an internet scandal.
What had she been looking for under the bed? He moved to where their ill-fated confrontation took place, and picked up a scrap of white material. It was a pair of women’s underwear.
He wouldn’t call them granny panties, exactly, but they weren’t sexy. They were…sensible. He shook his head. He’d never been to bed with a woman who wore sensible panties.
SCARLETT KELLY was written in permanent marker on the tag. She wrote her name in her panties?
Eight-year-old boys going to camp wrote their names in their underwear, not grown-ass women who sleep with rock stars in Las Vegas.
His phone alarm sounded, nearly giving him a heart attack. He cursed his throbbing head and the piercing tone as he crossed the room to silence the thing.
He stared at the lock screen on his phone like it was a two-headed dragon. Appeared he and the girl—Scarlett—had taken a selfie. That was a first. He smiled at a sliver of memory.
Gavin.
Yeah?
I want to kiss you.
Nobody’s stopping you, sweetheart.
Her hand trembled as she brushed the hair off his forehead and then slid it around to the back of his neck. She gently pulled him to her.
The kiss had been soft and tentative. He couldn’t remember a better kiss, which was saying something. He’d snapped the picture as their lips touched.
The alarm gave a reminder screech. Time to get moving. His stomach churned at the thought of returning to California.
He’d never considered Los Angeles the City of Angels. The whole town was overrun with pretentious, phony people who were completely self-serving. He’d stuck it out as long as he could, but after Johnny died a year and a half ago, he’d given it all up and moved to Seattle.
But to salvage his career, L.A. was the place to be.
He pulled the letter from Johnny out of his wallet. It was a morbid talisman guiding his every move. The damn thing had changed his whole life. Holding it shot his anxiety through the roof.
He pulled oxygen deep into his lungs and unfolded the letter. Every time he read his friend’s rambling words, they blew back at him like a hurricane. It was a gut shot from the only person he’d ever trusted.
Gav,
Remember when I went back to Memphis to lay down a few more tracks for the album? When I was there I saw Tara, you remember Tara, y’all partied together when we recorded the album back in September. Well, she was pregnant, man, I mean fuckin’ big pregnant, and she said it was yours. I totally freaked. So, I paid her off, man. I paid her off and she went away. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. Fuck, the guilt’s been eatin’ me up inside. She said it was a boy, but that doesn’t matter. Who knows if it’s really yours? Right? It’s probably not. The last thing you need is a paternity suit. But, I know you would’ve wanted to know, and I didn’t tell you. I know I screwed up. AGAIN. Shit, I’m so sorry. Don’t hate me, Gav. Please? Screw this, I need to tell you in person.
He smoothed the creased piece of paper on the nightstand. Was there a kid out there with his DNA? He’d be almost two by now. Wouldn’t he?
He leaned his arms on his thighs and cradled his head in his hands. “What the hell were you thinking, Johnny?” He raised his gaze and stared out the window at the Las Vegas skyline. “I love you, man, but
I’m so pissed at you right now. I still can’t believe you kept this from me.”
Was the pretty, self-absorbed blonde, who lived to play, a good mom or still a party girl? The possibility this baby might have the same kind of life he’d had…he wouldn’t wish that for any kid, especially his own.
He plowed his fingers through his hair. Hopefully, the private investigator he’d hired could find Tara. Gavin didn’t even know her last name, or if she was actually from Memphis, but his manager said this guy could find anybody.
Thinking about Johnny, Tara, and this baby wasn’t accomplishing anything except to spike his blood pressure. He returned the note to his wallet, scrubbed his face, and headed for the shower.
While the hot water ran over his aching head, he felt a lot older than his thirty years. He was so over the sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll, but they’d definitely left their mark.
With a towel around his waist, he moved to the sink and wiped the steam from the mirror. He ran a hand over his face, trying to decide if he should shave. A glint of gold caught his eye.
He froze.
There, on the third finger of his left hand, was a gold band.
What the hell?
He squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to shuffle and rearrange the puzzle pieces into place.
His eyes snapped open.
“Son of a bitch!”
A Note From Jami
Y’all, the Brides on the Run series has been a blast to write. Who knew there were so many ways to run away from a wedding? Running After a Heartbreaker is the last Brides book for a while, and I think we went out on a bang!
I love Beau Callen so, so much. He was the best kind of hero to write, fun, flirty, and a little wounded. He made coming to the page every day a joy. Thank you all for sticking with me until we got to his book. I know you waited a while for it, and I appreciate it very much.
Hailey was a tricky heroine to write because I think we all have a little Hailey in us. There are things some of us can’t let go of or ways we see ourselves that are just plain wrong or outdated, but we can’t seem to move beyond those definitions of ourselves. Sometimes it takes a person or life event to shake things up and help us see things differently.
I know that was true for me. I was just, and average student, and I struggle with grammar in school, so for that reason, I questioned my ability to do anything that required a lot of intelligence…like, write a book. For years I made up stories but never wrote them down because I didn’t believe I was smart enough, or I was embarrassed to show how little I actually knew about certain things to put the words on the page.
Fast forward a lot of years, and my husband gets a job in another city and we have to move. I was ripped away from everything safe and thrown into a situation that I wasn’t comfortable in at all. I was very sad for several years, but I wouldn’t trade those years for anything. That when I discovered my love of reading, specifically reading romance. It was out of that love that I began to write Running From a Rock Star and the rest is history.
Now four books later, I’m so grateful for this life I have and the opportunities that have come my way, and it’s all because I was forced out of my comfort zone and began telling myself a different story of who I was, which led to me being able to tell all of you stories. Life is funny sometimes.
Thank you for all you love and support.
Jami
Acknowledgments
As always, there are many people to thank at the end of the writing process. It seems the list gets longer with every book.
First, I have to thank my husband. Y’all if it weren’t for him, I’d never finish a book. He does so much so that I can concentrate on writing. Thank you, Chris. I love you.
My kids, Zach, Alexa, Julie, and my son-in-law Dillon are next to thank. They encourage me, help with my technical issues, and keep me humble, as kids are prone to do. LOL!
I have to thank my Plotstormers group, Erika Kelly, Lark Brennan, and Susannah Nix thank you all for walking with me through this book and for your incredible plotting ideas.
H. Claire Taylor and her The Story Alignment for helping me get unstuck when my plot came to a grinding halt. She is a story ninja and pulled me back onto the right path.
During the writing of this book, there were moments when I wasn’t sure I could tell the story the way it needed to be told. I needed someone else to go through it and help me see what I couldn’t. Thank you, Ally Evans and LaVern Clark, for your fantastic story insight.
Thanks again to the talented Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs for the beautiful cover and for making my Brides on the Run series memorable.
Of course, I could never deliver a book to you without the expertise of my fantastic editor Serena Clarke of Free Bird Editing. Thank you for always supporting me, for telling me the truth, and for being my friend. I'm so blessed to have you in my life.
A huge thanks go to my besties, Danielle and Sarah, for listening to me as I took over our lunch dates to talk about this book. Your friendship, love, and solidarity means the world to me.
I could never write a thank you note without including my mother. She is my biggest fan and tells everyone they should read my books, though she’s not a fan of language in Book 2. LOL!
I have the best writer friends! Thank you to my Beach Retreat Group, Ilsa Madden-Mills, Maria Luis, Heather M. Orgeron, Elizabeth O’Raork, Tia Louise, and Dylan Allen for keeping me going with your encouragement and hilarity.
To all the members of Indie AF, Rom Com Authors Network thank you for being in the trenches with me, for allowing me to celebrate and cry with you and for being the absolute best examples of professionalism and excellence. I love you all.
Lastly, to my readers. Thank you for sticking with me, and for your enthusiasm for my books and the characters that I love so much. It means the world to me that you love them as much as I do. Thanks for letting me into your lives and for being part of mine.
Also by Jami Albright
Brides on the Run
Running From a Rock Star
Running with a Sweet Talker
Running From the Law
Running After a Heartbreaker
About the Author
Jami Albright is a born and raised Texas girl and is the multiple award-winning author of The Brides on the Run series--a fun, sexy, snarky, laugh-out-loud good time. If you don’t snort with laughter, then she hasn’t done her job.
She is also a wife, mother, and an actress/comedian. She used to think she could sing until someone paid her to stop. She took their money and kept on singing.
Jami loves her family, all things Outlander, and puppies make her stupid happy. She can be found on Sundays during football season watching her beloved Houston Texans and trying not to let them break her heart.
Jami loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at:
www.jamialbright.com
Running After a Heartbreaker (Brides on the Run #4) Page 31
