Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I wish I wasn’t this attracted to him. That watching him strut his stuff did nothing to me. That the kiss he gave me in the lake meant nothing to me. But they do, and I hate myself for it. I let myself fall for the trap that is Cole Travis, and I’ve paid the price.
Now it’s time for him to pay his.
I swallow as he picks up his clothes, his signature leather jacket and pants, which were spread out on a chair, and he puts them on. With some setting spray and a comb, he does his hair in the mirror and grins smugly at himself.
Sure, Cole. You enjoy the foreplay … while it lasts.
Because as soon as you go out there on stage, your world will come crashing down.
Just as you did to mine.
Suddenly, he walks straight toward me and the closet I’m hiding in.
My eyes widen, and my breath falters, so I hold it in.
He pauses right in front of the tiny sliver that allows me to spy on him. His phone buzzes, and he picks it up.
“Yeah? Okay. Be right out.”
He puts it back in his pocket and picks up the guitar case, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The crowd in the front room begins to chant, and a voice blares through a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen … TRIGGER!”
Screaming ensues.
The door opens and closes.
The air around me is silent. Empty.
And I can breathe again.
I close my eyes for a second to allow the calm to wash over me.
A deranged smile forms on my lips.
I did it. I fucking did it.
I laugh and smash open the door, laughing my way out. I’m so struck by how well this massive operation—that could’ve been filled with major fuckups—went that I can’t stop laughing. So I grab the chair to keep myself from falling down and laughing even harder. I’m just so amazed it actually worked.
The crowd begins to boo, loudly. Right then, a roar emanates from the room beyond. I glare at the door.
That was … definitely Cole.
He must’ve seen what happened to his guitar, which means the concert can’t happen. And he’ll be back in this room within seconds.
Shit.
I shouldn’t be here. Why am I still here? I should’ve run straight the fuck out, but I couldn’t help myself and had to gloat over the situation as if that would help me get out.
I hope it’s not too late.
I run to the door and turn the knob, but as I open it wide, someone in a black leather jacket stands in front of me, blocking the way. And when my eyes travel up to meet his, I cower beneath his towering figure.
“Cole.”
As I take a step back, my lips quiver in fear as I realize all the things that are probably going to happen to me now … and that I’m not prepared.
Chapter 23
Cole
Three minutes of complete and utter embarrassment. That’s all it took for me to completely lose my shit right there on stage. Everyone saw—my band members, my fans, and hell, even this event’s crew. Many of them were shocked, but most were laughing right in my face, and it fucking hurt.
My personal reputation might not be that great, but performance is everything to me, and tonight I couldn’t do shit. Not with this broken ass guitar with the strings cut … by none other than fucking Monica Romero.
Because the second I stormed into my changing room and saw her staring straight at me, I knew she did it. No one else would carry so much grudge as to try to ruin my concert. No … this was a sophisticated plan. And I want to know all the details.
When I step toward her, the door slams shut behind me. She silently mocks me with a scowl. It’s almost as if she wants to say, What are you going to do?
And that’s exactly what I’m thinking too.
What am I going to do with her?
Especially with her wearing that tiny bright red dress that barely covers her ample thighs that make me want to bite into them.
Instead, I bite my lip and stare her down. “I should’ve known you’d stoop this low.”
“You get what you wish for,” she hisses.
What I wished for? Damn, she’s got some spunk saying that to my face.
“So you admit that you destroyed my guitar?” I lift it up for her to see.
She raises a brow at me, but it’s all I need. And in my rage, I chuck the guitar away. She jolts up and down from the scare.
“I thought that—”
“That guitar meant something to me?” I interject. “Damn right. And you ruined my performance tonight.”
She straightens up again as if she’s proud she managed to hurt me a little. “You brought that on yourself.”
Those beautiful red lips are a sinful distraction to our conversation, making it hard to focus. I step closer, and she steps back as though we’re stuck in an eternal dance of push and pull. “I brought you here?” I growl. “Because as far as I know, I didn’t invite anyone into the back.”