Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Second-Rate Groupies by Brieanna Robertson

Second-Rate Groupies

Brieanna Robertson
ISBN 978-1-936165-78-0

Word Count: 71,832
PDF Page Count: 210
Heat Index: Sweet
Does this book contain violence? Nah
Genre(s): Mainstream Romance

Buy Link: 

Price: 6.99
Tagline: “Some dreams aren't impossible, some stars aren't untouchable, and sometimes real life can rival what is only imagined.”

"I suppose, in the end, it really comes down to a choice you have to make, yourself: Live in the shadows because it's much easier, or chase the small glimmers of gold, choosing to believe that, if you follow them, they will lead you to oceans of it…"

That's what we were doing, chasing the glimmers of gold. We needed something to believe in again, my two best friends and I. After disastrous relationships and a dead-end, grunt labor job, we were burnt out on life and even more burnt out on men. The only thing that made us happy, that we all had in common, was a metal band we adored. So, on a whim, we had decided we would follow them on their tour across the West Coast. We needed some adventure, some fun, a step out of normalcy.

What we got was mayhem. And what I got was a cocky, sexy security guard who was determined to pursue me despite my less than encouraging attitude.

I had expected an adventure. What I'd received was a lesson in life, and a lesson in love. Some untouchable stars are not always out of reach, and sometimes real life can be better than fiction.

Excerpt: (Help me think of a funny scene. I'm not sure which one to use. Lol)
   “'My soul was his, though he knew not my name.' What a line. You writing a love poem to a rock star?”
   I cringed and my spine stiffened. I turned my gaze of black hatred up to stare into the very pair of gray eyes that I wanted to gouge out. He was holding a beer, looking cocky, driving my irritation past the point of what was healthy. “It's called a metaphor,” I snapped. “Look it up.” I folded my napkin up and stood, shoving the piece of paper into my pocket.
   “I know what a metaphor is,” he stated. “I don't need an English lesson. I just think it's amusing, that's all.”
   I was pretty sure that if my glower got any fiercer, fire would have shot out of my eyes. “And what is so amusing, exactly?”
   The smug smile never left his gorgeous lips. “I find it funny that you're over here writing love poetry to men you don't even know when there's a man right in front of you who has been bending over backwards to try and get you to talk to him, and you won't give him the time of day.”
   I made that growling noise I was beginning to master. “I am not writing love poetry! That line meant 'my soul was his' in the sense that we have the same soul, as in creatively speaking, we think the same. I didn't mean 'my soul was his' like I was handing it to him on a platter. Gimme a freaking break. Why am I even defending myself? I don't have to explain a dang thing to you.” I put my hand on my hip and stared him down. “And another thing, usually when women don't give you the time of day, it means they're not interested!” I tried to shove past him, but he grabbed a hold of my arm.
   “Whoa, wait a second!” He chuckled. “Come on, lady, I was trying to make you laugh.”
   “No you weren't,” I sneered, jerking my arm out of his grasp. “You were trying to bait me.”
   He snorted. “Yeah, and it worked much better than I'd anticipated.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I was only giving you a hard time. I wasn't trying to be insulting, I swear. You're just so...”
   My eyes narrowed as he searched for the words. “Fun to annoy?” I interrupted. “Thanks.” I turned again; he stopped me, again.
   “Hey, come on!” he cried. “I'm sorry, okay?”
   I continued to glare at him while I simmered.
   He heaved an exasperated-sounding sigh. “I'm sorry I fooled you guys into coming here. I just thought, since your friend said you were all on this crazy girls' trip, that you might have some fun coming out with us. I knew if I'd asked, you would have spat out a hundred kinds of no before either one of your friends could even think about it. Maybe it was underhanded, but it was the only way I could think of to get you guys to come out. And look, your friends are having fun!” He pointed over to where DeeDee was grinding against one of the roadies while Heather downed a really tall something that looked extremely strong.
   I rolled my eyes. Traitors. “They're wasted,” I grumbled in a half-hearted attempt at an argument.
   “Well, the one with the black hair is,” he chuckled. “That girl can put away the booze.”
   I gave a short, stiff laugh and crossed my arms. “You have no idea.”
   He slid his gaze back to me, regarded me for a silent moment, then sighed with a soft smile. “Look, can you at least let me buy you a drink? To say I'm sorry for lying to you about the after party, and for insulting your poem?”
   I scowled, but didn't immediately bolt for the door. I sized him up, trying to figure out if he was placating me, or if he was for real.
   He must have noticed the small chink in my armor because he cocked his head to one side and smiled wider. “Come on,” he urged. “You're in Las Vegas. You can't come to Vegas and write poetry in a bar. That's wrong on the highest level!”


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