by Brynne Asher
Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Aurora Rose Reynolds. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Happily Ever Alpha remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Aurora Rose Reynolds, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Until Avery
A Carpino Crossover Novella
Brynne Asher
Until Avery
Brynne Asher
Published by Brynne Asher
[email protected]
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Brynne Asher’s Happy Place
Edited by edit LLC
Cover Design by SK Designs
Other Books by Brynne Asher
The Carpino Series
Overflow – The Carpino Series, Book 1
Beautiful Life – The Carpino Series, Book 2
Athica Lane – The Carpino Series, Book 3
Killers Series
Vines – A Killers Novel, Book 1
Paths – A Killers Novel, Book 2
Gifts – A Killers Novel, Book 3
Anthologies
Little Black Dress – An Anthology
Table of Contents
Until Avery
Chapter 1 – Bounced
Chapter 2 – Love, Heartbreak, Storms, and Tears
Chapter 3 – Link Whatshisface
Chapter 4 – The Song
Chapter 5 – Explode
Chapter 6 – Mister-Fucking-Rogers
Chapter 7 – A Dreadful Potion
Chapter 8 – Random
Chapter 9 – Because of Me
Chapter 10 – Honest Abe
Chapter 11 – I’m a Carpino
Chapter 12 – Family
Chapter 13 – Reckoning
Chapter 14 – Only You
Chapter 15 – Ablaze
Chapter 16 – Rich
Chapter 17 – Best Day
Epilogue
Dedications
To
Aurora Rose Reynolds
Thank you for inviting me into your fictional world and trusting me to bring two amazing families together—the Maysons and the Carpinos. It was an honor and I had so much fun writing this love story. You constantly inspire authors and readers alike with your words, but it’s your sweet spirit and love for your family that makes you shine.
Thank you for supporting me.
A Note from Aurora Rose Reynolds
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the Happily Ever Alpha Kindle World.
I personally chose each author participating in the Happily Ever Alpha Kindle World because I love their books, and the way they tell a story. That said, this book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it, and I didn’t have any part in the process of writing the story.
Enjoy the BOOM!
Aurora Rose Reynolds
A Note from the Author
Novellas are not easy for me. As a reader, I always want more, and, as an author, I always want to give more. In the end, I absolutely adore Link and Avery and have tucked them into my heart with every other character I’ve written. Their story might be shorter, but it’s still mighty and strong—I hope you love them as much I do.
I want to thank my family—the Mister, my kids, and Zoe. Thank you for loving me and eating not-so-well-thought-out meals. You are my world.
Bringing you my stories doesn’t happen by myself. I couldn’t do this without my army of supporters. Thank you, Elle, for being the first to read my messy words. Kristan, you’re my mascara, making my raw work shine. Sonya, you made my cover match the Carpinos perfectly and I love it. Thank you to Carrie, Tonya, Gi, Sarah, Layla, Kolleen, and Penny for your sharp eyes and proofs. Ivy and Laurie—thank you both for pushing me and always wanting more, making sure I deliver the richest story possible.
To my review team and bloggers—I appreciate you more than you know. Thank you for reading, reviewing, and spreading the word.
To my readers … thank you for continually coming back for more, for telling your book friends about me, and for all the kickass cow and goat posts on Facebook. Who said farm animals don’t have a place in romance? If you’re a new reader and don’t know what I’m talking about, please join Brynne Asher’s Happy Place, where cows and goats and Mondays are always a good thing.
It’s finally here—the Maysons and the Carpinos sharing book pages.
And now, Link and Avery…
Chapter 1 – Bounced
the first day of the rest of my life,
the day I met blue
Avery
It’s all I can do to stand here in line and not fidget. I’ve never done this before. Specifically, because I don’t belong here. And I don’t belong here because it’s illegal.
Illegal!
I don’t know what will happen if I’m caught. I should know the ramifications—I come from a family chock-full of attorneys, but who pays attention to attorney-talk at family get-togethers? Not me, that’s for sure.
“You gonna move up or what, honey?”
I glance over my shoulder at the chick behind me who looks totally legal. I give her an anxious smile as I note her beauty. The way she and her comrades are dressed screams I’m fun. I’m sexy. I’m a party in a miniskirt and heels.
I try to go for nonchalant, but, of course, it comes off a little throaty and awkward. “Yeah, sorry.”
Stepping forward, I silently grimace when I realize I’m up next.
Pull it together, Avery. Don’t be an awkward dumbass. Act your age plus one.
The three guys in front of me pay their covers and head inside The Knot. I heard this place is new—not that I’m familiar with the bar scene in Nashville. It’s located in an abandoned warehouse district … and for good reason. There’s nothing modern about it whatsoever. The structure looming over me feels very much like the Goliath to my David. The peeling paint and rawness make it edgy as hell.
The cool AC from inside teases me and, in my bandeau, it’s a balm on my skin. It might be the end of September, but we’ve had a few unusually warm days hit Tennessee, and the muggy air isn’t helping my already clammy palms. But just like it always does, the music—loud and pulsating from inside—strums my heart and soothes my soul.
Rubbing my hands over my skinny jeans before I reach into my pocket for my cover charge and ID, I take another step forward and come face-to-face with an enormous, menacing man with short, clipped, blond hair. His five o’clock-shadowed face scowls at me, proving he doesn’t give a shit if he skips a day or three with his razor.
I hesitate, but not because of his scowl or his colorful art winking at me from beneath his tee, or even how tight that tee is stretched to the limits across his chest and arms. No, I’m silenced by his eyes.
Cut like crystal, they’re sharp and beautiful and light. So blue, I could get lost in them. Just like always, when the words start to circle my brain, I yearn for something to write on. I’m so desperate, I’d settle for a bubble gum wrapper and broken crayon.
Anything … to document his rare color of blue.
It would be like winning the lottery for the person who got the chance to gaze into those eyes
daily.
His words bite, pulling me out of my blue-eyed daze. “You have ID?”
I suck in a tiny breath and shove a twenty at him with the driver’s license. He takes it but those blues never leave me.
His head tips when his intense glare bores into me. “How old are you?”
I do what I practiced in the mirror a million times before I left my apartment. “Just turned twenty-two.”
“When’s your birthday?”
I’m proud of myself when I steady my voice. “October sixteenth.”
His brows rise. “What year?”
All these questions can’t be good, especially when he hasn’t even glanced at the ID.
I do the first thing that comes to mind and put a hand on my hip while throwing out the other one as I rattle off the year. Then I widen my eyes, adding, “Twenty-two years ago—obviously.”
He stands up straight, crosses his arms, and finally looks at my ID. After studying it for about a nanosecond, those blues come back to me, looking me up and down from top to bottom. “How tall are you?”
“Does everyone get the third-degree? The guys ahead of me sure didn’t.” I throw my words at him, doing my best to appear perturbed as opposed to petrified.
He says nothing but raises a brow waiting on my answer.
“Fine,” I huff. “Five-six.”
His eyes drop to my body again when he mutters, “How much do you weigh?”
I didn’t know what to expect tonight when I strutted my ass out of my apartment and drove across town to listen to a song. Just one song. Why does this have to be so difficult? But as I’m standing here being interrogated by the scary-hot sentry who’s doing everything he can to squash my dreams, I have a feeling I’m about to get bounced for the first time in my life before ever stepping foot into a bar.
Screw it. I’m here. I need to do everything I can to get into this building and fast. I stand up straight on my wedge sandals and answer with conviction. “One-twenty-seven.”
Like magic, a smirk appears over his scary face, making him slightly less frightening and I let out a breath of air, allowing the tension to disintegrate from my muscles. I feel even more at ease because when he smirks, a tiny dimple appears from within the scruff. Dimples certainly make huge, tatted bouncers seem not-so menacing.
Smiling, I step forward, pleased I’ve passed his assessment. But instead of moving aside to let me through, he closes what little space is still between us and grabs my hand. His touch is surprising, firm, and controlled when he shoves my ID and my twenty back into my palm, curling his hand around mine.
Then he leans in, dropping his head to get to my level since I’m so much smaller. Before I know it, I lose his piercing blues when I feel his scruff drag across the sensitive skin below my ear.
When he speaks, his warm breath brushes my skin and, despite the Indian summer we’re experiencing, goosebumps creep over my body. “Sweetheart, if I got you outta those shoes, you wouldn’t be taller than five-foot-three and if you weigh a buck-ten dripping wet—paint me surprised. But it’s your eyes—they’re not hazel. They’re the perfect shade of dark, melted chocolate, so deep and dusky, I can almost see into your lying, underaged soul.”
I gasp and my fingers instinctively wrap around his hand that’s still in mine. I squeeze, letting my awkward anxiety seize me.
“See?” he keeps on, his words tickling my ear. “That little telltale confirms my instincts. You know you’re not twenty-two. I’d be surprised if you can vote.” He pulls away and when I look up at him again, his bright blues are searching my apparently dark, melted chocolate ones. He gives my hand a squeeze before letting go.
“I can vote,” stupidly spurts from my mouth.
His smirk swells, deepening his lush dimple making me want to poke it.
Or lick it.
Whatever.
“At least you’re legal for something—just not stepping foot into my club.” I’m not sure if it’s him knowing I’m legal to vote but before he speaks again, he unabashedly rakes his eyes over me, shaking his head and sighing. “Go home, little one.”
With that, I’ve officially been bounced by a scary-hot dude with a dimple. I’m sure he doesn’t know it, but in the process of bouncing me, he just crushed my one and only dream.
And dammit, there are no do-overs.
Chapter 2 – Love, Heartbreak, Storms, and Tears
to be there,
to feel,
then, she’s gone
Link
It’s after eleven-thirty and the place is jammed—thank fuck. I need it to be. I spent a mint getting it up and running. It took a couple months but I finally have a following. This might be my home but I’ve never worked the bar scene here. What works in Vegas does not work in Nashville. I had to change things up, partner with a local microbrewery, and, even though I know the saying when in Rome, I’ve never listened to as much country music as I have in the last two months.
In fact, I never listened to country music until I opened my own bar in Nashville.
But … when in Rome.
Nashville is the music capital, and, even though it’s not all country, twang outweighs everything. Singers and songwriters are a dime a dozen, and if someone wants to get into the biz, this is where they need to be.
My place, The Knot, is no Ryman. Hell, I’m not even close to competing with the Blue Bird. But every day I’m in the black is a good day and the black is getting deeper and darker lately, which is even better.
“We’re at capacity, boss, and the line is forming down the side of the building.”
I look over at my general manager, Gage, and nod before gazing back to the crowd from where we’re standing in the old loft of the tire manufacturing plant. I swear, this place will forever smell like rubber, despite my efforts to install the best ventilation system on the market. My office is raised, giving me an overview of the activity. I’ve added cool as shit floor-to-ceiling sliding glass walls and, outside my office, there’s a balcony. I can open the walls if I want to hear the chaos or close it off for an almost soundproof space.
The bar is in the round so we can sell drinks fast from all directions. I employ almost as many bartenders as I do bouncers. Instead of raising the stage, I decided to keep it informal. People like to be close to the action and the stage is where it’s at.
Live music—it’s the name of the game in Nashville. Doesn’t matter whether they’re locals or tourists, everyone thinks they’re cool if their ass is sitting in front of someone with a guitar and microphone.
“The rest of the guys finally show up?” I ask.
“Everyone’s here now. I gave them a warning but I still listed ads to hire more bouncers. We need the flexibility to let people go.”
I had to work the door for over an hour because two of my bouncers didn’t show. Whether it’s the door, the bar, the books, or hiring local talent—I do it all. It’s hard to find reliable help. I had to recruit my friends more times than I care to count when I first opened. The Mayson boys are so far past the bar scene, it’s not funny. They’ve got wives and kids—their scenes these days are more like morning story time and afternoons at the park.
I’m about to agree with Gage when the strobes flash across the expanse below as the last band of the night kicks it into gear and, like a magnet, my eyes land on her in a sea of nobodies.
She tried hard while I was working the door and it would’ve amused me had she not been putting my investment on the line. I don’t let kids in and I sure as fuck don’t serve them. It damn-well pisses me off when they try to serve up a fake ID to get in.
And she sure as fuck did. Then, she found a way in.
“Lock up the office when you leave,” I mutter to Gage as I push through the door, the music and hum of the nobodies hitting me. I jog down the stairs without ever taking my eyes off her. She’s fucking crazy, trying to make her way in after I sent her on her way. As if I wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd any day of the week. Sh
e might be small but that thick, wavy, dark hair and olive skin—the smoothest I’ve ever seen—would shine like a beacon in the deep, dark of night.
And her skin, she’s showing enough of it. Those jeans might be painted on, but fuck, that scrap of material she’s wearing that covers her tits but shows every other inch above and below, is hardly what I would call a shirt. I could barely keep my eyes off the barbell pierced through her navel just begging any man to touch it, lick it, or suck on it.
I shake that thought off. She said she was old enough to vote, but who the fuck knows if that’s true. What I do know is she’s too fucking young to be in my bar.
As I make my way through the crush to where she’s standing against the wall by herself, I notice she doesn’t have a drink in her hand. That’s something to be thankful for. I never know when the ABC is gonna pay me a visit or set up a sting.
But as I’m about to kick her the fuck out of my club and put her on the black-ball list for life, a man steps in front of her. I barely hear him over the tunes pounding through my old warehouse, but the second he rests his hand on the wall over her head, he goes in for the lame-ass hit when he yells over the music, “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing alone? Let me buy you a drink.”
The little one doesn’t get a chance to answer because I put my hand to the asshole’s bicep and turn him away from her. He scowls at me instantly, which I’m fine with. Anything, as long as he doesn’t have his eyes on my young patron.
“Dude? What the fuck?” he snarls.
Deep, brown eyes look up at me and, even through the dim lights, her olive skin pales. I shake my head and try not to smirk—she knows she’s busted.
“I said, what the fuck? I was talking to her.” The guy tries to push between me and my current problem, but he doesn’t know what he’s up against. I worked the bar scene for years before I dragged my ass back to the Smokey Mountains to get away from Vegas—even if it meant having to deal with my parents on the regular.
