Take it away, Jaime!
A heroine fit for a rock star has to meet two criteria:
1) She has to like him for him. She can’t be in it for the money or the fame. She has to see the hero as a person, not just a rock star, and she has to fall for that part of him—the real him, the part he shows only her.
2) She can not take his shit. She can’t be just another groupie who allows herself to get walked on or forgotten. She has to stand up for herself, and that will make her unforgettable.
Ultimately, rock stars are looking for that one girl who gets under their skin, the one they had no freaking clue they were looking for. They’re going to fall for a girl who is herself, who doesn’t change into someone different just because she thinks that’s what the hero is looking for. Being yourself is sexy, and being yourself might just land you a rock star. ;)
“That was a hundred years ago, Kale!” I shout at my closed bedroom door as I wiggle into a pair of skintight jeans. I hop backward, backward, backward—until I’m nearly tripping over the combat boots lying in the middle of my childhood room.
“So why are you going to this audition?”
I barely manage to do a quick twist-and-turn to land on my bed instead of my ass, my furrowed brow directed at the ceiling as I finish yanking my pants up. “Because!”
Unsatisfied, Kale growls at me from the other side of my closed door. “Is it because you still like him?”
“I don’t even KNOW him!” I shout at a white swirl on the ceiling, kicking my legs out and fighting against the taut denim as I stride to my closed door. I grab the knob and throw it open. “And he probably doesn’t even remember me!”
Kale’s scowl is replaced by a big set of widening eyes as he takes in my outfit—tight, black, shredded-to-hell jeans paired with a loose black tank top that doesn’t do much to cover the lacy bra I’m wearing. The black fabric matches my wristbands and the parts of my hair that aren’t highlighted blue. I turn away from Kale to grab my boots.
“That is what you’re wearing?”
I snatch up the boots and do a showman’s twirl before plopping down on the edge of my bed. “I look hot, don’t I?”
Kale’s face contorts like the time I convinced him a Sour Patch Kid was just a Swedish Fish coated in sugar.
“You’re my sister.”
“But I’m hot,” I counter with a confident smirk, and Kale huffs out a breath as I finish tying my boots.
“You’re lucky Mason isn’t home. He’d never let you leave the house.”
Freaking Mason. I roll my eyes.
I’ve been back home for only a few months—since December, when I decided that getting a bachelor’s degree in music theory wasn’t worth an extra year of nothing but general education requirements—but I’m already ready to do a kamikaze leap out of the nest again. Having a hyperactive roommate was nothing compared to my overprotective parents and even more overprotective older brothers. Pair that with Kale, who always knows what I’m thinking even when I’d rather keep it to myself, and I’m pretty sure I need to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life or accept that eventually the white coats will need to drive out to retrieve me.
“Well, Mason isn’t home. And neither is Mom or Dad. So are you going to tell me how I look or not?” I stand back up and prop my hands on my hips, wishing my brother and I still stood eye to eye. A growth spurt in high school gained him a few inches over me, and now he’s almost as tall as the rest of our brothers, even if he is a whole lot lankier. At five foot eight, I have to tilt my chin to glare at him.
Sounding thoroughly unhappy about it, Kale says, “You look amazing.”
A smile cracks across my face a moment before I grab my guitar case from where it’s propped against the wall. As I walk through the house, Kale trails after me.
“What’s the point in dressing up for him?” he asks with the echo of our footsteps following us down the hall.
“Who says it’s for him?”
By: Jamie Shaw
Releasing July 21, 2015
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From the moment she saw Shawn Scarlett perform at a school talent show, Kit Larson has loved two things: the guitar, and the gorgeous, green-eyed boy who inspired her to play. But one careless night in high school shatters her hope of ever being more than a notch on his bedpost.
Six years, two bands, and one mostly-mended heart later, Kit’s about to make her rock star dreams a reality as the new guitarist for Shawn’s band, The Last Ones to Know. He may not remember their reckless night together, but Kit has never forgotten… and she’s determined to make him eat his heart out.
The release of their new album means a month cooped up on a tour bus, sleeping inches away from the ridiculously sexy musician she’s never quite gotten over. And as Kit gets to know the real Shawn—not Shawn Scarlett, the rock god, the player—their attraction becomes too hot to resist. But the past is paved with secrets, and when they finally surface, Kit could lose everything: the band, the music, her dreams… and Shawn.
Born and raised in South Central Pennsylvania, Jamie Shaw earned her M.S. in Professional Writing before realizing that the creative side of writing was her calling. An incurable night-owl, she spends late hours crafting novels with relatable heroines and swoon-worthy leading men. She's a loyal drinker of white mochas, a fierce defender of emo music, and a passionate enthusiast of all things romance. She loves interacting with readers and always aims to add new names to their book boyfriend lists.