“Bad boy musicians… kept me turning pages late into the night!” – New York Times bestselling author J. Kenner
Drummer Ryder Chord has been living half a life since he was sixteen when a brutal tragedy struck, and he and his best friend hit the road.
Ryder, desperate to forget, throws himself into touring life and writing music. When Lexi joins the band, Ryder’s life becomes almost tolerable. Until one day when the rest of the band isn’t there and Ryder and Lexi have to share a hotel room: with only one bed.
Rule number one of band-dom: You never sleep with anyone in the band. Rule number one of bro code: You never sleep with anyone’s sister. You DEFINITELY never sleep with your best friend’s little sister. Rule number it’s so obvious it’s a count even a drummer can keep: You Never, EVER, sleep with your best friend’s little sister when she’s in the band…and he is too.
Part of the Chord Brothers series
“A moving, funny, white-hot sexy romp that fans of Lauren Blakely, Nora Roberts, and Janet Evanovich will love.” – Smart Woman’s Steamy Romance Reviews.
Excerpt
Then Lexi takes off her jacket. Her white tank top plasters to her body, instantly soaking it to almost see-through. A cab screeches to a halt in front of us. Thank God it’s a van-style cab or our screw factor would have crescendoed to beyond what I want to deal with.
An old black man helps us pile our gear into the back and we get in.
“Where to?”
“A hotel in a safe neighborhood,” Lexi says.
He laughs. “You know this is Detroit, right?”
“Well, safer neighborhood.”
Lexi takes out her phone and begins searching for hotels. She starts mumbling under her breath. The streets begin to look better and her curses get creative. She makes phone calls.
“What?” Lexi says into the phone. She hangs up, again, looking dejected.
She turns and looks at me. “Yeah, there are three conferences in town this weekend, a big tech show, and a car trade show.” She stifles a sigh. “Even the Air B&Bs are booked up; it’s not looking good.”
“Try the Comfort Suites,” the driver says over his shoulder.
Lexi calls them. Bingo.
We get there, wearily load our stuff—which is whatever Lexi throws into a small duffle, and my custom-made bass drum and crazy expensive cymbals that I always take in every time we sleep somewhere, just in case someone breaks into the bus— onto a big luggage cart and roll up to the front desk. A frumpy but still cute and sweet old lady helps us.
“It’s a queen and a twin, is that okay?”
“Fine,” Lexi says.
Now it’s closer to four thirty in the morning. Usually not a problem, but we’d played twelve gigs in nine days without a break. Hit Man’s hitting it the last straw. Lexi is swaying on her feet.
Of course our room is at the end of the hall.
We get in there and both stare.
One bed.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” I say.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can fix this.” She calls the front desk. “Well, can you bring up a trundle bed?” There’s a pause. “No, no, I
understand.”
She hangs up just as I whisper, “Extra blankets,” thinking I’ll be crashing on the floor.
“Thick as manure and half as useful,” Lexi says.
“Listen I can sleep on the—”
“I’m too frxxk-er-nuttering tired to argue.” She peels off her tank top, revealing a skintight pink push-up bra. Holy shit.
“I’m going to take a hot shower. That bed is plenty big; pick a side. If I were any more wiped, I’d be a dish rag.”
She turns away from me, and not a moment too soon because I’ve been keeping my facial expression blank, but as soon as she turns away my jaw hinges open, because holy hell, her beautiful, perfect, full, pink-covered breasts are now forever burned in my brain.
F………fffffffxxk.
Rule number one of band-dom: You never sleep with anyone in the band.
Rule number one of bro code: You never sleep with anyone’s little sister.
Rule number two of bro code: You definitely never sleep with your best friend’s little sister.
Rule number it’s so obvious it’s a one-two-three count even a deadbeat drummer can keep: You never. Ever. Sleep with your best friend’s little sister when she’s in the band… and he is too.
She is the hottest thing ever in a hot pink—no, now naked and hot and wet—and less than fifteen feet away from—I rub a hand over my face. I am so screwed.
Purchase Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09817DCKK
Where to find M.J. Roberts:
Facebook www.facebook.com/mjrobertswrites
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mjrobertswrites/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6155825.M_J_Roberts
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com@mcordray3016
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