But I’m stuck on the guy, and suddenly, I don’t want to go out there. I don’t want to meet some new guy who reminds me of the one I haven’t been able to get out of my head. I’m too tired for a poor substitute. Especially when it’s for someone I can never have.
“I’m just going to get a glass of water,” I say, but my friend isn’t having it.
“Don’t be rude. It’s my birthday. You have to do what I say.”
She leads me to the tiny backyard, and then, to my horror, reaches out and taps the Giants fan on the shoulder.
“Shams,” she says with a sneaky smile, “you remember K.C., don’t you?”
But I can’t answer. My throat is caught in my chest.
DJ Cairo.
Carlos.
A complete and total stranger, but also someone I know...very well.
“K.—K.C.? You’re K.C.?”
His dark eyes are diamonds, sparkling under the lights. The dimple in his left cheek appears. The one I still see almost every time I close my eyes.
Carlos smiles, warm and bright but without surprise. He knew I’d be here tonight.
“Kevin Carlos,” he says softly. “Or at least, that the name my mother gave me.”
I turned to Layla. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I hiss.
She shrugs. “I thought you knew.”
“Almost everyone important to me calls me K.C.” Carlos says.
“Almost everyone,” I whisper.
He takes a step closer. “Except one.”
I blink. An awkward Thanksgiving is coming back to me. Nico’s little brother and player-looking best friend spend the entire evening hitting on me before I escaped to my parents’ house. We were just in college. It was eons ago. We were both younger. So much…different.
And yet, still the same.
“Shama.”
Our friends fall back into the party, but all I can see is him.
“Where...where did you go?” I ask. “I stopped hearing from you. After the Grammys, you stopped—You forgot about me.”
“My tour ended,” he says, taking a step closer, his broad shoulders lumbering. “I went back into the studio. I had all these rhymes. Beats in my head. Sounds like the ocean.” Another step forward. “Like us.”
He holds out a flash drive, and I know without asking what it contains. Songs, rhythms. New music this incredibly talented man has concocted.
I don’t want to tell him that he’s been in my ears for the last year. That after I left L.A., I downloaded his album once it was released, plus every artist he ever produced. I listened to our song, “Porque,” on repeat every night. No music I recorded could erase the rhythms we made together.
His hand touches mine, and by instinct, our fingers entwine. In the periphery, I can see people watching us curiously, but Carlos’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“Sparks?” he asks.
My bottom lip quivers. “What?”
One step, and he’s only a few inches from my face. His hand cups my chin, and his thumb gently brushes over my cheek.
“I could never forget you, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I came back to New York to wait. Because I knew when you got back from whatever you needed to do, I needed to be here for you. I spent a year apart from you, Sparks. I’m not doing it again.”
I look around, though my vision can’t focus.
“But...but what if you have to leave again? What if I have to leave again? I left the industry for a reason, Carlos.”
“Shama, who are you kidding?” he asks. “Even when you left the business, you were still in love with music. Your whole docu-series is about it.”
I blink, now genuinely shocked. “How did you know that? It doesn’t air for another three months.”
That smirk returns, the one that makes me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time. But mostly, I realize, the latter.
“I haven’t missed anything you’ve been doing, Shama,” Carlos says. “A few phone calls from my agent made sure I was always in the know. It’s beautiful work, Sparks. It really is.” He slips a hand around my waist. “I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.”
It’s not until he says it that I realize how much I needed to hear it. That I needed to have someone validate this long journey I’ve been on to find myself.
“So what do you say, Sparks?” Carlos whispers. “You ready to continue this journey together or what? I’ll be recording for another three months or so…and then I’m going to need someone to film my next tour.”
I open my mouth to argue, but find I can’t. He’s right. Music calls to me. Films calls to me. He calls to me. And all the questions I ever had about him melt away as I realize that his arms are where I’m supposed to be. That maybe it’s not about whether or not we can grow apart, but whether we can grow together.
I press a kiss to his lips, and his hands cup my chin while his mouth teases mine. A few whistles sound in the background, but he doesn’t release me until he’s good and ready.
“So what do you say, Sparks?” he asks again, this time when we are both out of breath.
“What else, you idiot?” I’m grinning so hard that tears are about to fall. “I say yes.”
The End
Also by Nicole French
Hey! If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy some others by Nicole French too. Check out her series, most of which begin with free first books!
The Bad Idea Series (Nico and Layla’s story)
When Layla Barros, a naïve college students, starts her new job, she never expects love at first sight. And certainly not with the Fedex guy. With a criminal past and no future, Nico Soltero couldn’t be more wrong for her. But sometimes the worst ideas are what you need the most.
The Spitfire Trilogy
Skylar Crosby had a plan. Finish school. Get a job. Stay away from men like Brandon Sterling. Cocky, overbearing, and richer than the Earth, he thought the world belonged to him, and that includes her. Yeah, no. Think again.
The Hate Vow
To keep his billions, Eric de Vries needs a wife. Too bad the only one he wants hates his guts, since he broke her heart years ago. What would you do for twenty million dollars? Would you fake a smile and wear the dress? Or run far, far away? That’s what I thought. I’ll see you at the church.
The Discreet Duet
When Maggie Sharp returns home after years away, the last thing she needs are constant run-ins with her new neighbor. Gorgeous? Sure. Total jerk? Absolutely. Unfortunately, the universe has other ideas. But no matter their connection, Will’s secrets might undo everything in the end…
About the Author
Nicole French is a hopeless romantic, Springsteen fanatic, and total bookworm. When not writing fiction or teaching, she is hanging out with her family, playing soccer with the rest of the thirty-plus crowd in Seattle, or going on dates with her husband. In her spare time, she likes to go running or practice the piano, but never seems to do either one of these things as much as she should.
* * *
Keep up with Nicole French and receive your FREE copy of one of her books when you subscribe to her newsletter: bit.ly/NicoleFrenchNewsletter
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
Also By Heather M. Orgeron
Rhett
* * *
“You’re serious right now?” Anika, my manager, paces the studio in four-inch stilettos while gnawing on the back of a pen. “You want to cancel studio time to go to…to camp?”
She’s kinda cute when she’s all riled up like this, her pale cheeks flaming red and daggers shooting from her amber eyes. Too bad she�
��s the closest thing I have to a sister. I sink down further into the plush couch, crossing my arms on my chest. “It’ll be fun. I’m in need of some fun. You said so yourself. A few days on the coast with other single, college-aged adults. Real people, Anika. A break from Hollywood.”
“I said after we finish the album. Not right in the middle of recording it.” Her heels clack on the wood floors as she moves to crouch before me, resting her manicured nails on the arms of my chair. Her frustration is evident in the heaviness of her breaths. She shakes her head, tossing her long chestnut braid over her left shoulder. “It’s her, isn’t it? She’s going to be there?”
“Yes,” I answer, trying to cover a smirk. “Yeah…So, there’s no way I can put this off.” I realize the timing isn’t ideal, but it’s the perfect chance to work my magic on this girl, whom I can’t seem to get out of my head.
Pushing up from my knees, she’s again wearing a hole into the floor. “She hates you, Rhett. This is a terrible idea. Not only for your career, but you’re going to end up disappointed.”
What she means is depressed. My first Hollywood girlfriend did a number on me, but that was before I knew how industry relationships worked. I keep my heart guarded now—locked up tight in a suit of armor. I just want the chance to play with my sword.
“I’m curious about her,” I say simply, my mind wandering to my drummer Nick’s birthday party, about three weeks ago. To his cousin, Korie Potter. Her long, wavy blonde ponytail, faded jeans, and Rolling Stones tee. She stood out among the sequins and glitz. Her attempt to fade into the background had the complete opposite effect. Only adding to her appeal was the easy manner with which she carried herself. She had a confidence—an honesty—about her that I don’t see much in the circles I run. I can’t help but smile remembering how unimpressed she was with everything Rhett Taylor. What did she call me again? Oh, yeah. The bad boy of country music. Someone’s been paying a little too much attention to TMZ.
At any rate, life gets rather boring when you can literally have anything you want. Anyone you want. I hadn’t realized how complacent I’d become until life dangled temptation, in the form of a sassy-mouthed, blonde-haired, green-eyed, fiery little vixen, right under my nose and shook things up a bit—shook me up a bit.
Yeah, Korie is just the challenge I need.
“The label won’t like it.”
Having had about enough of her negativity, I rise to my feet, towering over her five-foot frame. It’s not often I ignore her advice. We’ve been best friends since elementary school; she’s one of the few people in my life I actually trust. “I don’t give a damn what they like or don’t like, Anika. I’m tired. I need to rest. The boys and I are taking this trip.”
Her pointed jaw ticks as she stares me down, arms crossed on her chest in a stance that I’m assuming she means to be intimidating. “Does she know you’ll be there?”
“Of course not.”
She gives one final resigned shake of her head, blowing out a laugh. “You’re gonna regret this.”
“Or,” I say, thumping her nose because I know how much it pisses her off, “I could enjoy it very, very much.”
“And Nick is okay with this?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” the hulking, six-foot-three, tatted oaf himself announces, entering through the back door. “A week of tits, booze, and fun in the sun? And I get to watch him follow Korie around like a lovesick puppy while she hands him his balls in a sling? Sign me up for that shit.”
KORIE
* * *
“Hello everyone, and welcome to Camp Pour Judgment!”
My knees bounce as I glance around the cafeteria at the equally excited faces of my fellow campers. I’ve never done anything like this before, but with finals fast approaching, and adult life knocking at our door, my best friend, Raven, and I thought it’d be fun to burn off some pent-up energy and sexual frustration—clear our minds and libidos, if you will.
“Before we set you all free, we need to establish a few ground rules. Here at Camp Pour Judgment, we believe in the right to drink, play, and fuck responsibly.”
I can’t help my loud intake of breath at Camp Counselor Joe’s choice of words. I mean, I knew it was a singles camp, obviously, but for him to so brazenly put it out there like that is shocking. The man is old enough to be my father.
“Don’t be a buzzkill,” Raven says, squeezing my upper thigh as the rest of the room erupts in cheer. The sound of the twenty-four college-aged males and females is almost deafening.
“That being said, rest assured that you will be cut off if at any point we feel you’ve become irresponsibly inebriated,” the short balding man says, trying to keep a straight face. “Hooking up is permitted and even encouraged, so long as it is consensual. If at any point you try to force your attention on another camper, you will be evicted from the premises.” His eyes naturally move to the right side of the room, where the male campers are gathered.
A few snickers and boos ring out among the group.
“We are so happy to have you all here with us for our first ever Spring Fling,” his wife Essie adds to lighten the mood, narrowing her dark eyes at her husband as she snatches the mic away. She looks to be considerably younger than he is, but it could just be good genes and hair dye. Her skin is naturally tanned and flawless, her hair a mass of thick, black waves. “We’ll begin each morning with a buffet-style breakfast and mimosas, served right here in this room between eight and nine a.m. For the safety of our campers, alcohol will be restricted throughout the day until our nightly themed parties, which begin at seven p.m.” She holds out seven slender fingers, to be sure there’s no confusion on the time. “You should have all received a detailed list of each day’s activities in your welcome packets…”
“That one’s mine,” Raven whispers, pointing a finger at a beefy blond guy across the room. At first glance he looks kind of familiar, but the dude next to him shifts forward, hiding his face from view. “Look at the size of those feet,” she hisses. “Mmm-mmm.”
“Ladies,” Joe interrupts, eying my best friend and I pointedly, “you’ll follow Essie to the left side of the property, and she’ll show you to your cabins. Gentlemen, follow me.” He waves a hand over his head and starts for the door before stopping abruptly and turning back around. “I almost forgot. There are lockers along the back wall there.” He points to a row of rust-colored lockers that remind me of the ones we used in high school gym class. “Electronics are not permitted on the premises. You can lock your phones, laptops, and other devices up in one of those for the duration of your stay.” The middle-aged man waggles a finger in our direction, indicating for us to get moving. “What happens at Camp Pour Judgment…”
“Stays at Camp Pour Judgment,” his wife finishes with a sly grin.
Rhett
* * *
Somehow, I manage to make it through bunk assignments without being recognized. And let me tell you, when your face is constantly on the cover of gossip rags, that’s no easy feat. Even with our newly grown facial hair, sunglasses, and ballcaps, I know I’ll be outed sooner rather than later, and that’s why I’ve already had Nick arrange with the counselors to have our team face Korie’s in our icebreaker event, tug of war. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since my career really took off, it’s that there isn’t much a little money can’t buy, and I’m not above using that to my advantage.
“Up first, we have the Lush Puppies!” Essie announces, like she’s introducing a boxing team into the ring. Korie, her friend, and the other two girls assigned to their cabin look less than enthused about being called up first as they join the counselors at the mic. “And on the other side of the rope, Team Tap That!”
With my ballcap low, shielding my eyes, my bandmates—Nick, Aiden, Lyle, and myself—make our way over to grab the opposite side of the rope.
“This isn’t even fair,” her dark-haired friend complains. “We don’t stand a chance against a bunch of dudes.”
Korie scoffs, a
nd the sound stirs something below my belt. Why does this girl’s attitude get me so fired up? “Watch and learn, Rave,” she taunts, stepping around her so she’s the first in line in their team of four.
She’s only a few feet away and hasn’t recognized me yet. Hell, she’s barely spared us a single glance. My pulse races in anticipation of her reaction when she finally gets a good look at my face. She’s going to go apeshit.
“The rules are quite simple,” Essie announces. “At the sound of my whistle, pull. First team in the mud pit loses.”
I almost feel bad about how easy this’ll be, but then I have a vision of Korie with her little white tank covered in mud, and it passes.
The boys and I start out going easy on them, wanting them to believe they’ve got the upper hand. My shoes skid through the dirt, bringing me closer to the edge of the pit. Just when I give the signal to end the charade and yank the rope, I’m blindsided by a perky set of C-cups and go careening into four feet of sludge.
“Seriously?” Lyle, my keyboardist shouts, spitting dirt from his tongue. “They cheated.”
“There was no rule against nudity,” her still-laughing best friend counters, giving Korie an impressed-but-stunned look. Interesting. Her little distraction tactic was as much a surprise to her as it was the rest of us.
Joe and Essie confirm the girls’ win, taking the opportunity to remind us that this is not a children’s camp, and their ability to outwit us is completely within the rules. Essie even goes as far as to commend them for using their feminine wiles to secure their first victory.
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