Putting others
needs before his own was all Mike Carson had ever done.
First, it was the
friends he loved more than family. Then it was his country. By nineteen, he was
a father, a husband and fighting in a war not many people believed in. After an
accident ended his career and his life fell apart, he filled his days keeping screaming
fans from reaching the most famous country rock star in the world. And, pining
after a woman who would never love him.
Then, everything
changed.
He thought he
could handle anything that was thrown his way. He thought running my security
detail would be the easiest job he’d ever had. He thought he’d be able to keep
me safe without getting attached.
He was wrong.
They call me
reckless, selfish, and slutty. In reality, I’ve just stopped caring what
everyone else thinks. I’m determined to have some fun, to live life my way, and
to make Mike realize that being a little selfish isn't the worst thing in the
world.
I think we both
have our work cut out for us.
Releasing October
2015
OTHER BOOKS BY CARINA ADAMS
Forever Red
Always Been Mine
(The Bastards MC #1)
Honey Whiskey
(The Bastards MC #2)
I
hate country songs.
I
fucking despise the whiney ass pathetic excuse for music. I’m not a psychologist,
but I’d bet big money that there is a direct link to the rising depression
rates in America and the songs played on country radio. Everyone’s heard that
horrible joke ‘What do you get when you play a country tune backwards?’ You get
your wife back, you get your home back, you get your dog back, you get your
kids back, and on and on. Truer story has never been told.
Grown
men, singing songs about the world doing them wrong, and crying about their
achy breaky heart, disgust me. Fucking grow a pair you useless douche. You lost
your job? That sucks, guy. Really. Ok, you had five minutes to be pissed, now
man up and get another one. Your woman left you? I’m actually not surprised. At
least one of you has some common sense and she realized that she was more of a
man than you are. Can’t live without her? Get off your ass and go get her back
instead of singing a song that reminds her how worthless you are. Your attempt
at a love song won’t make her realize her life is shit without you. Because it
isn’t. The world’s problems won’t be solved in the bottom of a whiskey glass
while you are hiding from life. Moron.
Fucking
hate country music.
Yet,
here I am, sitting at the bar at Hooligan’s Pub, nursing my third Tennessee
Honey. The same place I am every single Wednesday. For Country night. Every
week I tell myself it’s my last, that I am not coming back the next. But, I
never fucking listen.
Like
the glutton for punishment I am though, every damn week I come back here, park
my ass on a stool and get twisted while I listen to the music I can’t stand. I
never thought I was a masochist. But, I will sit here and torture myself,
gritting my teeth through every Billy Ray Cyrus song, just to hear the familiar
chords of the outlaw country I miss.
As
much as I complain about the classics sung by hillbilly hicks, I long to hear
the familiar tunes I’ve come to love. Give me Gary Allan, Eric Church or Nate Kelly.
Men that aren’t afraid to move away from their genre’s conventions; men that
are men, goddammit, and aren’t afraid to tell the world exactly who they are.
That’s music I can get behind.
That’s
the music of my life.
So,
here I am, on my night off, waiting to hear the songs I’ve heard played
thousands of times while my friends sang to sold-out stadiums. Because, they
remind me of a time when my job was to protect the man on stage at all costs,
and life was a helluva lot better than it is now. And, I drink my whiskey until
I can’t remember why I gave up the job that I love, why I don’t want to go home
alone, or why every woman I see is a redhead, even if she’s not.
I’d
just lifted my empty glass, signaling for another refill, when I felt someone
slide into the stool next to me. I didn’t even glance her way; I didn’t need
to. She could be hottest piece of ass to ever walk in here, or she could be
completely deformed. It didn’t matter because it’s only one face I see.
“I’ll
have what he’s having,” this one tells Fred, who merely raises a single brow at
me before nodding. “So, you come here often?” I almost snort at the
obnoxiousness of her question. Does anyone really ask that? Instead, I offer a
nod, still not looking at her. This one at least sounds the part. The voice is
almost just like the one I miss and I don’t want to ruin the illusion by
looking at her. Fred slides her drink toward her, and then taps the bar in
front of me, moving his eyes to her really quickly when I look up. She must be
hot. It doesn’t matter to me though, so I purse my lips and frown at my drink.
“This
is actually my first time here,” the woman next to me continues, as if I’d
asked her the same question. “I didn’t even know it was here. But, a friend
told me I’d find what I was looking for here.” And, there it is. She’s looking
for a hook up. The one night stand that won’t call her or bug her the next day.
That’s me, Honey. I definitely won’t call you ‘cause I don’t even see you now.
She mutters on, but I don’t hear a word she says, too busy lost in my memories.
As
suddenly as she started talking, she stopped. The quiet throws me, and I wait,
expecting her to make the first move. After several minutes of nothing, I get
antsy and tip back my glass, intending to gulp down the drink and then bite the
bullet. Before I can, she slams her drink down on the counter top and swears.
“For
fucks sake, Mikey, you’re seriously gonna sit there and ignore me?”
The
glass tumbled out of my hand, but I’m too busy looking at the woman next to me
to see if the amber liquid spilled all over me as well as the bar. Anger filled
hazel eyes meet my own, and an infuriated red head is glaring at me with a
fierceness I’ve missed. “Lee?” I think I ask, but I’m not sure if it’s mumbled
or spoken.
She
snorts, as if I’m the biggest idiot she’s ever talked to, and puts her hands on
her hips. “How much have you had to drink, you ass? I’ve been talking to you
for a half hour. Who in the hell did you think it was?”
I
shook my head, trying to clear the confusion. Why was she here? Isn’t she on
her honeymoon? On tour with Nate? I didn’t even realize I was asking the
questions out loud until she leaned in close. “If you ever answered your
goddamned phone, you’d know exactly where I was and what I was doing.”
I
shook my head again. “I told you I’d call when I wasn’t busy.”
Her
eyes flashed dangerously. “You look real busy, Mike. Real fucking busy holding
up a bar stool. I can see how that’s important.”
Suddenly
I was tired. Beyond exhausted. “Why are you here Lia?”
Her
beautiful face contorted into a scowl. “I’m here to get your sorry ass and
bring you home.”
Carina Adams has been writing and creating characters for
as long as she can remember, allowing her to fall in love with the next man of
her dreams with every new story.
Thankfully, fate stepped in and granted
her the ultimate wish - a life full of men. Carina lives in a picturesque New
England town with her husband, the man who ruined the thought of all others,
and two amazing sons who always keep her on her toes.
She holds an MBA, but would much rather
play with her imaginary friends (the voices in her head) than work her 8 to 5.
Her obsession with all things Disney, sci-fi movie knowledge, fluency in
sarcasm and crazy friends help her forget that she actually is a grown up. In
her free time, you can find her with her nose pressed against her kindle or
living life vicariously as her Derby Girl persona, Writers Block.
Carina is the author of the Bastards MC series and
best-selling Forever Red. She is currently writing Out of The Blue, the follow
up to Forever Red. She loves to hear feedback from her readers, no matter what
type. You can email her at: carinaadamswrites@gmail.com
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