by Selena Kitt
Table of Contents
TROUBLE SERIES BOXED SET: Tyler and Katie’s Story
BOXED SET BOOK DESCRIPTION
TROUBLED TIMES
TROUBLED TIMES DESCRIPTION
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
TROUBLE BREWING
TROUBLE BREWING DESCRIPTION
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
WORTH THE TROUBLE
WORTH THE TROUBLE DESCRIPTION
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
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MOXIE
By Selena Kitt
High school senior, Moxie, agrees to be moral support for her friend, Patches, who is totally enamored with a college boy, so she says yes to a double date, even though she has to lie to her parents to do it.
But Moxie wasn’t counting on lying about her age to get into an X-rated movie, and she definitely wasn’t counting on her date’s Roman hands and Russian fingers, or the fact that the pants she’s borrowed from Patches are several sizes too small. By the end of the night, Moxie finds herself in far more attitude than she bargained for!
TROUBLE SERIES BOXED SET: Tyler and Katie’s Story
By Selena Kitt
BOXED SET BOOK DESCRIPTION
He’s hot, he’s a rock star, and he’s a whole lot of trouble. One lick of lead guitarist Tyler Cook and that’s all it takes—Katie’s addicted.
She jumps on his tour bus and into his life as impetuously as she does everything else, and no matter what happens, no matter how much it hurts, she can’t manage to quit him.
After all, the man plays guitar like he loves women—plugged in, turned on, and set to the ultimate high. Every girl wants him, but Katie is the only girl he wants.
Until it all comes unplugged and their world goes blacker than black.
Then Katie has to decide if the tormented, broken man she loves more than anything is worth everything—even risking her own life.
Now read all of Katie and Tyler’s story in one giant volume!
TROUBLED TIMES
TROUBLED TIMES DESCRIPTION
When your best friend falls in love with a rock star, you either join her in her fixation, or you spend a lot of nights eating ice cream and watching Netflix by yourself. If you can’t beat them, join them, isn’t that what they say?
While Bree—my best friend since forever—couldn’t get enough of “Trouble” and their lead singer, Rob Burns, I set my sights a little lower – and to the left. Rob’s immediate left, that is, at least on stage. Tyler Cook was Trouble’s lead guitarist, a tall, glorious, dark blonde, beautiful specimen of a man who could make ovaries explode and panties drop with just one twist of that smirky smile of his.
Of course, it was all just in good fun, two girls going to Trouble concerts and screaming ourselves hoarse along with the rest of the fans. Bree’s fascination with Rob, and mine with Tyler, was a fun little fantasy, a distraction from our boring everyday lives, mine as a dental hygienist and Bree’s as an elementary school music teacher, until one day the “what-if” game Bree liked to play—as in, “What if we met Trouble some day?” and “What if they asked us to go on tour with them?” —actually happened.
Actually. Happened.
One minute we were going to see Trouble in concert, and the next, we were backstage, face-to-face with the real-live, sexy thing. I never expected to meet rock god Tyler Cook. I never expected to end up on a tour bus with sex god Tyler Cook. I certainly never expected to fall in love with the man, that beautiful, broken, wild man, or become so hooked I simply couldn’t give him up—no matter what it cost, or who I hurt, even myself.
Because sometimes you have to stop asking yourself, “What if?”
Sometimes you have to find out what happens next.
Chapter One
Have you ever had one of those friends you kept around because their life was so fucked up, it made your own look like paradise? You know, one of those friends who seemed to have the kind of luck only coveted by black cats or maybe Satan? My mother said they were people who made “poor life choices”. My father called them clients.
I was one of those friends.
It was a public service, really.
I did it out of the goodness of my heart.
“Katie! You got fired?” Bree gasped, gaping at me in horror.
Sabrina had never been fired from anything in her whole life. In spite of my bad influence, she was never even kicked out of a class. Or skipped one for that matter. I don’t think she’d ever earned anything less than a B or gave anything less than 100% in everything she did. Bree was one of those people who could do no wrong, even when the world conspired against her. She was the sugar that made lemonade out of the lemons of life.
You’d think that would make me hate her, given the grass on her side was like a golf course and the grass on mine was more like the scraggly stuff that grew between cracks where the sidewalk ended—but you’d be wrong.
She was my best friend in the world, and I didn’t love anyone more than I loved Bree.
But everyone loved Bree. You couldn’t help yourself.
“Remember that party I told you about?” I squealed the tires of Bree’s little Kia as I rounded the corner, heading toward the concert arena. I flew by a Detroit cop, and he gave me a dirty look, but he didn’t tail me. Had much bigger criminals to bust, I was sure, than worrying about a traffic violation downtown. At least, I hoped so.
“The one where Nate McMillan hung you out the window by your ankles?” Sabrina gave me a dirty look too, hanging onto the dash, but it wasn’t my fault we were late and had to rush.
“He bet me I wouldn’t do it.” I snorted, rolling my eyes at the lineup of cars heading into the parking structure. “But I did it.”
“While he looked up your skirt.” Sabrina flipped down the visor mirror, checking her hair and make-up like Rob Burns of Trouble was going to be studying it from the stage. “And you didn’t even remember you did it!”
“Well, I read about it in the paper the next day,” I grumbled, whipping the car around the crowd, heading around the block.
“Everyone did.” Sabrina sighed, shaking her head and closing the visor. “You were lucky you didn’t get killed.”
“See, getting fired doesn’t look so bad, compared to the other p
ossible consequences of that particular poor life choice, now does it?” I pointed out, groaning when I got stopped by a red light.
“Wait… that was over a month ago,” Sabrina said, a dawning look of revelation on her face. “He fired you just now?”
“No, not exactly.” I didn’t want to tell her I’d been holed up in my apartment eating Krispy Kremes and watching Netflix for a month, but that was exactly what I’d been doing. “He fired me right after it happened.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrugged. As if that wasn’t obvious.
“Alex really fired you?” Sabrina asked, incredulous. “How does your fiancé fire you? How does that even work?”
“Yeah, I guess it was one too many days I called in hung over—I mean, sick,” I joked with a wan smile.
“I’m pretty sure it had something to do with you hanging out his office window...”
“Yeah...” I shrugged, gunning it as the light turned green. “Something about insurance and liability?”
“I guess I can’t blame him for firing you.” Sabrina looked like she was struggling between her principles and her loyalty to our friendship. Not an uncommon state of affairs between us. Of course, she wanted to side with me, she always did, but I rarely gave her the opportunity to do so without caveats. I was such a burden to the poor girl.
“No, but I can blame him for breaking up with me.” I hadn’t intended to tell her that part, but it just kind of slipped out. “And moving to Texas.”
“What? Oh no.” Sabrina’s eyes got wide, and then she got that really sad look I dreaded, because it always made me sad. And I hated being sad. “Really?”
“We both know it wasn’t going to last.” I waved her concern away, taking another sharp turn through the city streets, forcing Sabrina to hang onto the dash again. I refused to spend another minute thinking about Alex Bishop and his perfectly white teeth. “The job or the relationship. I started dating him because my mother was more in love with him than I was, remember? It was doomed.”
“It wasn’t doomed—” Sabrina countered, but I cut her off.
“Doomed. Doomeder than doomed,” I insisted, pulling the car up at the back of the venue and slamming it into park. “Mt. -freaking-Doomed, Bree.”
“Come on, Frodo. We’re already late.” Sabrina squinted up at an infinite number of steps in the growing dimness as we got out of the car. “Wait—aren’t we going to park in the lot?”
“My dad told me they leave one of those unlocked for the crew.” I pointed—up, up, up—to a line of doors at the very top of a steep row of stairs. “We can get in faster this way.”
“And my car?” Sabrina frowned as I pushed the lock on her keypad, handing over her keys.
“It’ll be fine here.” I glanced back at the no parking sign, stepping closer to Sabrina, hiding it from her line of sight. “I promise.”
“You always promise.” She sighed, dropping her keys into her purse.
“I always mean it.” I pouted. It was true. My intentions were always good. Well, almost always. “Come on, you don’t want to be late to the concert, do you?”
“Oh my God, these stairs!” We were only up a dozen of them before she started complaining. Not that I could blame her. My calves were already burning.
“Think of it as a challenge,” I panted.
“In these boots?” she huffed. “It will be a freaking miracle!”
“It’s either these stairs or missing Trouble’s first two songs,” I reminded her.
“Okay, okay. Come on, my little hobbit friend.” She put on a burst of speed at the thought of her favorite band at the end of our trip. Sabrina grinned over her shoulder at me. “Hope you brought your ring, Frodo.”
“Oh, I still have it.” I waggled the fingers on my left hand at her, where my engagement ring was still attached. “Should I drop it into the fiery pits of hell? Or do I give it back to Mr. Responsible?”
“He didn’t ask for it back?”
“Not yet.” I grimaced, remembering my last conversation with Alex. It had ended with him calling me a child and hanging up on me. “But I’m sure he will.”
“I hear music!” Sabrina’s eyes grew wide as we neared the top. “If I’m missing Trouble right now, Katie Scarlett Monroe, I swear to God, I’m going to throw you down these stairs when I finally get to the top!”
“Look on the bright side!” I panted. I had a stich in my side and my thighs burned. Damned lot of stairs! “All those hours of Pilates are finally paying off...”
“Almost there.” Sabrina grabbed the railing and pulled herself up the last few stairs.
“Right.” I doubled over at the top, seeing stars, and it wasn’t even dark yet. “Hey, I think I can see the eye of Mordor from here.”
“The door is locked!” Sabrina shrieked, pulling futilely at the handle.
“One of them will be open!” I assured her. My father, whose one purpose in my life since I was a young teen, was to provide me with great seats at concerts, had told me the crew always left one of these doors unlocked so they could get in and out through the back. “Come on, help me!”
“Locked!” Sabrina yanked on another one with all her might. “Goddamnit, Katie, why do you have to be such a fuck-up?”
“It’s just the opening act,” I called, trying another door. One of them would open, we’d get into the building, and make it before Trouble even played a note. And Sabrina would calm the fuck down. Maybe. “I think that's still Blue Jeans Metal playing.”
“It better be!” she snapped, groaning when she found yet another door locked. “This is all your fault!”
“It is not!” I protested as we worked our way back toward the middle. There had to be two dozen doors. “I’m not the one who took an hour and a half deciding which tramp-wear would best attract Rob’s attention!”
We met in the middle, both of us yanking on another door, but it stuck fast.
“Oh, please!” Sabrina rolled her eyes. Now my crossed arms mirrored hers. “You could have thought to get something to eat before we were on the road!”
“Fine, Sabrina!” I rolled my eyes back at her. “It’s all my fault, okay?”
It was easy to accept responsibility when you were always fucking up. I got used to it.
“Last door.” I grabbed the handle. “This is it.”
I grabbed and pulled. Nothing. Sabrina looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“Locked.” She pursed her lips. “Sonofabitch.”
“Okay, help me. I thought I felt it give a little. Maybe it’s stuck.” So, I was lying. But I thought, maybe the power of magical thinking might get me out of this. It had worked before. It wasn’t scientifically proven or anything, but sometimes wishing made things happen.
I grabbed the handle at the top, Sabrina at the bottom, and we pulled. Hard. I mean, really hard. We were both still panting—and sweating—from our sprint up the stairs, but we gave it our all on that damned door.
And then it opened.
Like magic!
And the door hit me in the face. The forehead to be exact. I have a hard head, so it could have been worse. For once, I was the lucky one, because the edge of the door hit Sabrina and nearly knocked her down. She would surely have broken her neck if one of the guys who came barreling out of the door hadn’t grabbed her just in time.
I watched it happen, horrified, but couldn’t do a damned thing about it.
“Gotcha!” The dark-haired guy grabbed Sabrina, whose high-heeled boots had nearly just ended her. What a way to go, I thought, still standing behind the door. My forehead throbbed, but I was basically okay.
“Where in the hell did you come from?” Another guy had bolted out the door behind the first one and he stood, looking down at me in wonder as the door swung closed behind him.
“Um… Earth.” I stared at him in disbelief. Maybe the smack to my head had knocked something loose in there. Because I couldn’t be seeing what I was seeing. “Oh no! The door!”
> “You sure about that, Angel?” He grinned, flashing me a smirky little smile, and that’s when I knew I wasn’t imagining things. I’d seen that smile, had studied it repeatedly, in hundreds, maybe thousands of photos. I was standing face to face with Tyler Cook—Trouble’s lead guitarist—a man I’d been crushing on for years.
“Name’s Katie,” I managed, reaching for the door handle and pulling. “And I’m no angel, trust me on that.”
“I’m Tyler.”
“I know who you are.” I rolled my eyes, glancing at Sabrina and the other guy, and I got another jolt. Holy fuck, that’s Rob Burns! Rob-fucking-Burns, lead singer of Trouble, was kneeling down beside Sabrina, checking out a cut on the side of her head from the door. “What in the hell are you two doing out here?”
“I had to take a piss.” Tyler was still grinning. “You?”
“Freezing my ass off! They’re all locked.” I gave up, turning to face him, crossing my arms and glaring. He was Tyler Cook—a tall, lanky rock god whose guitar licks alone could make girls orgasm—but I was still mad at him. How could he let the door close like that? “Great. Just great.”
Tyler reached past me to try the door. It didn’t budge—and it wouldn’t have, even if I wasn’t leaning against it. I suppose it shouldn’t have been a surprise, my father letting me down. It was par for the course. But it still pissed me off.
“It’s locked.” Tyler frowned, stating the obvious. He turned to me, looking at me with those dark, dancing eyes. Even when he was annoyed, they had a sort of mischievous glint to them.
“That’s right, brainiac, it’s locked,” I snapped. I got sarcastic when things didn’t go my way, and so far, today was definitely not going my way. Apparently, my sarcastic ways didn’t stop just because I was face to face with Tyler Cook. “We were just standing out here for fun.”
“One of these has to be open.” Tyler ignored my comment and tugged on the door beside me.
“You’d think so,” I replied snidely, yanking on another door, just to show him. “But you’d be wrong.”
