Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“S-sure.” Roach frowned, scanning the wide shoulders obvious even under the hoodie.
“Tough crowd in there tonight?” the stranger asked, letting a mid-sized brown backpack roll to the ground before pulling off his hoodie.
Holy mother of Jesus.
His torso was long, toned, and as he removed the warm garment, the musky scent of sandalwood and citrus fruits was released. The dark blue T-shirt underneath rode up, revealing a trail of dark hair leading beyond the polished belt buckle with a three-dimensional rattlesnake head.
Roach’s blood might have curdled somewhat by the time the sex on two legs popped his head free and tossed back his mane. It was the color of cocoa powder, that rich warm brown that could taste both bitter and sweet as it melted on Roach’s tongue.
“I’m Zane,” the man introduced himself as he offered Roach his hand.
For a split second Roach considered introducing himself with his actual name, but what would be the point? Someone was bound to use his nickname the moment they entered the bar, and that would only cause more confusion. “Roach.” He realized he was squeezing the guitar case, so he handed it back.
The gray eyes lit up like a sunrise somewhere much warmer. “Cute nickname,” he said and picked up his backpack from the ground. “Take care of my things while I’m on stage, Roach.”
There were days when he hated his nickname and what it represented, but on Zane’s lips it sounded bold rather than embarrassing. And what was he to do? He clutched the strap of the brown backpack in one hand and followed the sun-kissed scent of sandalwood into the dusky interior of the bar.
Chapter 2 - Roach
It was official—Zane wasn’t a creature of this earth. He was some kind of demon or fae, who had stepped into the dry wasteland of Roach’s world to light it on fire with a single guitar chord.
And Roach would stand in place and let the flames consume him whole.
If Zane was sexy up close, he became a walking honeypot on stage. By the end of the first song, all the women present were in need of new panties, and all the men wanted to be in his place, confident as he moved across the small platform, his waves gaining a life of their own as he pirouetted from one side to the other, his fingers never losing their pace on the strings. He caressed his instrument as if it were the only woman he’d ever wanted, with the right amount of roughness and care, and the audience ate it up.
Zane’s songs, melodic and soulful, lit up the crowd, chasing away the dingy atmosphere, and replacing it with heart, with joy, the taste of fresh sweet tea and the scent of sandalwood. This man had been born to do this, and Roach’s heart sizzled whenever their eyes met across the crowd, warm gray staring from behind the curtain of tousled waves and locking on Roach’s dark green.
He’d been chosen. Out of all those people, this sexy, talented man had chosen to acknowledge Roach—measly Roach, whom his own family didn’t want give the time of day.
He sizzled in his own juices, his half-boner hidden behind Zane’s backpack. His brain was a gutter of the sexiest filth in all and any positions porn had ever suggested possible. Zane under him, over him, sucking, fucking, licking, kissing. Roach could imagine himself breaking all the rules for this man, the two of them driving off on Roach’s bike, and heading to California to fuck on the beach. And because this was Roach’s fantasy, no sand got in anywhere, the water was warm, and there wasn’t a single passerby to disturb their happiness.
If Roach had a man like Zane, his life would lose its grayscale tones in favor of Technicolor.
The performance lasted forever while also passing in the blink of an eye. Roach was torn whether he wanted Zane back at his side or to keep listening to his melodic howls in that final ballad, but the performance was over at last, and the star of the evening left the stage to a storm of applause the likes of which Roach hadn’t seen during the open mic nights. It was as if a Michelin star chef had cooked in the town’s dingy diner, giving folk a palate-refining experience for the first time ever.
All the pretty girls who normally swooned over the MC members now crowded Zane’s wiry form, and Roach’s stomach dropped in disappointment, but then Zane slowly made his way through the sweaty bodies, as if Roach was the only one worth speaking to.
As soon as he came close, the smell of Zane’s sweat shot to his head like the smoothest booze. He’d had too much time to fantasize about Zane naked during the performance, and he’d built up an unhealthy excitement for a guy who, for all he knew, could just be one of those artistic types who touched anyone and smiled without a care.