That One Night: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Amy Brent

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  My Best Friend’s Ex (Sneak Peek)

  Connor Calloway was forbidden.

  Rockstar. Bad boy. Heartbreaker.

  My best friend’s ex.

  Signing on as the headliner for his band was our chance,

  We could make it big, if I could just resist temptation.

  I could stay away, keep my distance,

  It would be easy, I told myself.

  Boy, was I wrong. Dead wrong.

  That black hair, those deep blue eyes,

  His perfect a** and charming smile.

  The way he looked at me backstage,

  Full of hunger and lust.

  Like he wanted to pin me down right there,

  And f*ck me all night long.

  No, I couldn’t do it,

  Betray my best friend like that.

  But then I did what was so wrong, but felt so right.

  Now, I have to face the music,

  And face the biggest dilemma of my life.

  How am I going to tell everyone the truth?

  That I’m pregnant with my best friend’s ex...

  Chapter 1

  Alice

  The melancholy melody crooning from Sam’s guitar washed over me. Casey laid out a beat that was deep and tribal, the bass drum reverberating in my chest in three-four time. It was a slow, sweet, chugging rhythm that swept me up in its moodiness as Tyler joined in on the bass guitar. The low notes grounded the song while Sam’s masterful licks drew it higher and higher.

  Together, they took the music and wound it tight, like a rubber band stretched until it was just about to break. The tension became almost too much, pushing me toward an unknown edge as I held my breath.

  The tension burst on a climax of sound, all of it blending so seamlessly together that I couldn’t tell one instrument from the other. All that was left was pure, heart-wrenching beauty. I still couldn’t breathe, and my lungs were starting to ache just as the musicians hit the same intense chord before letting it fall away into silence.

  I stepped into that silence, leaning into the microphone standing in front of me, and everything vanished. The small crowd staring up at me, the nerves that had danced along my skin, the painful memories of the past and worry about the future—everything disappeared except the melody still echoing in my ears and the lyrics I’d written.

  I opened my mouth and the words fell out like a spell as I sang, entrapping not just the people watching and my bandmates, but me too. I let my eyelids slide shut, blocking out the blinding spotlights and the sight of the people staring up at me. It was just me and the music.

  This was what I loved more than anything else, that moment when I could lose myself in the song and nothing else existed. That one pure moment of total freedom. It drove me on to keep writing music and performing despite the nervous flutter of stage fright that had me shaking nearly every time I got up onstage.

  When I started singing, though, everything changed. Every bit of fear fled and what was left was ecstasy, a rush like a drug flooding my veins and filling my ears. My voice rose on a wave of sound, filling the small venue as I belted out the last few lines.

  There was thick silence for a moment before the sharp applause washed over me, drawing me back from the edge, and I blinked open my eyes as if waking from a dream. It took me a few minutes to unclench my hands from the mic and let them drop numbly to my side as I took a step back.

  A quick glance around the coffee shop showed a good-sized crowd. I sent a tight smile at a few familiar faces but still felt a flutter of panic. It was much less intimidating than the bigger venues we’d been playing lately, though. Besides, this place felt almost like a second home to me.

  Lunar Café was a staple in the Seattle coffee scene. This place had been around for almost twenty years before Mickey, the current owner, took over, and he’d run it successfully ever since even though he was now well into his sixties. Mickey had given us our first break right here on this small, intimate stage nearly five years before.

  Hell, it was even where we’d gotten our band’s name, Moon. We’d come a long way since playing coffee shops and local dive bars. We had steadily gained traction, especially over the last year. But whenever Mickey asked us to play, we obliged. He’d given us a chance when no one else had. I loved the surly old man for that.

  “Hey, Alice, you killed it.”

  I turned as Sam came over and draped an arm around my shoulder, squeezing me in a brotherly hug. I smiled up at him, taking instant comfort as I scanned his familiar features.

  “You think so?”

  “Of course.”

  “Really?”

  “Ha, you’re just looking for flattery now,” Sam said, shooting me a lopsided smirk.

  I shrugged, matching him grin for grin, “So?”

  “You know you knocked it out of the park. No one has a voice like yours, like an angel from heaven or a siren or a—”

  “Okay, all right, I get it. Enough already,” I said with a laugh, giving him a good-natured shove.

  “Or like a bat,” he said, continuing anyway.

  “A bat?”

  “Yeah, a bat. You know, there are some species that sing so their mate can find them in the dark.”

  I paused and gave Sam a sidelong look. “That’s actually kind of beautiful. Weird, but beautiful.”

  “Just like me.” He grinned.

  “Well, you’ve got the weird part right,” Casey said, chiming in as he packed away his drum kit. “But beautiful is a bit of a stretch.”

  “Hey now,” Sam said, shooting the drummer an exaggerated glare. “Don’t be mean. I am a gorgeous male specimen. Right, Alice? You think I’m beautiful, don’t you?”

  I tilted my head to one side as I pretended to examine him. I didn’t need to. I knew his face by heart. I had met Sam Weis when I was twelve years old. He’d been a year older than me. We’d both been placed in the same temporary foster home. By that time, I had the system down pat. I knew it inside and out, having been shuffled from shelter to foster home and back again. But that was right after Sam’s parents had died in a tragic house fire and he’d been all alone. That was, until he met me.

  I had taken him under my wing, shown him the ropes, and we’d been basically inseparable ever since. My gaze flicked over his unruly mop of chestnut brown curls, the soulful dark eyes under slashing brows, and the dimple that appeared on his right cheek whenever he grinned, which was often.

  He was all cocky, sarcastic confidence on the outside, but all anyone had to do was look at his eyes to know he was a wounded soul. Every woman in the greater Seattle area seemed to sense it too, and they all thought they could heal him, or they at least wanted to try.

  I’d seen more than a handful of women make a fool of themselves over Sam’s eyes. They were especially deadly when paired with his striking good looks. When I looked at him, though, I still saw that small, scared little boy. He was like a little brother to me even though he was a year older—an oftentimes irritating little brother, but I loved him just the same.

  “Sure, Sam. You’re beautiful on the inside at least,” I said with a smirk. It was true though. He would have done anything for anyone he cared about. He was the most loyal, trustworthy guy I knew. Not that there had been many of those in my life.

  “Ooooh, burn,” Casey crowed, earning an elbow to the ribs from Sam. “Guess you’re not as good looking as you think you are.”

  “Shut up, both of you. Don’t we have a stage to break down?” Sam turned away to start packing up his guitar, unplugging amps as he went, and I shot a conspiratorial grin at Casey. His green eyes were dancing with laughter, and the way he held himself shouted of a calm, good-natured confidence, at least until you looked closer. Then you could see the tension that he held just beneath the surface.

  He was every bit as handsome as Sam, but in a different way. His features were sharper. He was more muscular where Sam had the p
hysique of a swimmer, all broad shoulders and lean lines. Casey’s dirty blond hair was long, falling almost to his collarbone when he wore it down. Now, it was pulled back by a leather tie even though a few pieces had fallen out during the set.

  As the drummer of Moon, I’d known him almost as long as Sam. We’d all become friends at the same high school we’d gone to together. Casey’s dad was an alcoholic, and Sam and I had been shuffled off to yet another foster home. None of us had fit in anywhere. We’d been misfits, outcasts. But together, we had created our own small, tightknit family. Or at least the closest thing to a family I’d ever known.

  The only one missing from our little crew that night was Lori. I felt a pang of guilt at the thought of her. Lori Thomas had been the stereotypical captain of the cheerleaders in high school: blond, perky, outgoing, and popular. I’d hated her at first sight, but for some reason, she’d been determined to make friends with us.

  I hadn’t understood it at first, but I hadn’t understood her either. It had taken months to realize that, in her own way, Lori was just as broken as the rest of us. She’d been under constant pressure from her society parents to be the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect everything. Really, underneath it all, Lori had just wanted freedom, just like the rest of us.

  After sophomore year of high school, the four of us had been inseparable, and despite our differences, Lori and I had ended up becoming best friends. Now she was a nationally renowned photographer on the music scene.

  “Hey, Casey, you see my case anywhere?”

  The deep voice drew my attention back to the stage where everyone else was almost finished breaking down. Tyler had asked the question, tossing it at the drummer, who just shrugged, shaking his head.

  Tyler Lewis was the newest addition to the band. He had joined us just a year and a half ago. He had auditioned to be our new bassist, and out of everyone we’d seen, he had been by far the most talented. He was also the quietist.

  I just chalked it up to shyness, but after playing with him for over a year, I still didn’t know much about him. He had cropped blond hair and pale features that spoke to his Danish background, but he never really talked about himself. Hell, he never really talked at all.

  I shrugged it off. He was reliable and a killer bassist. That was good enough for me. Maybe one day he would relax enough around us to open up. I glanced over at Tyler, and he immediately looked away, fiddling with the cords in his hands. Or maybe not.

  Mickey waved at me from behind the counter, and I gave him an odd look but complied after he shot me a glare.

  “Come on, girlie. Don’t take all day. You’ve got a phone call. They’ve called three times already trying to get a hold of you.”

  “Who?” I mumbled, ignoring Mickey’s surly look as I wondered who it could be. Whoever it was, they knew about the band’s policy to keep our cell phones packed away back stage. We’d been doing that ever since Casey’s piercing ringtone had interrupted our set onstage a few years ago.

  “She says it’s a fairy or some such nonsense.” Mickey grumbled, and I swallowed a chuckle.

  “Faye?” Faye Donnelly was the band’s agent. It was mostly because of her that we’d been doing so well over the past year. She’d been able to book us amazing gigs that we never would have gotten on our own.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Oh, just take your call. The boys can finish the heavy lifting.”

  I rolled my eyes at his outdated thinking but didn’t say anything else as I picked up the old, beige landline plugged in behind the counter.

  “Faye? It’s Alice.”

  “Al, thank god. I’ve been trying to reach you for forever!” Faye’s familiar nickname had me smiling. She was the only one in the world who called me that.

  “What’s up, Faye? We were just finishing up a set at Lunar.”

  “Ugh, that rundown café? I could have you headlining at the Showbox.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You owe Mickey everything and you always play there whenever he asks because you’re loyal and far too kind of a person.”

  “Well, I—”

  “But that’s not what I’m calling about,” Faye said hurriedly, and I had to grit my teeth at the second interruption. She meant well, but Faye was like a steamroller. Nothing stood in the way of her and something she wanted. “I have news.”

  “Good news?”

  “The best news!” Faye’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement, and I felt an answering flutter in the vicinity of my solar plexus.

  “Well? What is it? Tell me already.”

  “I just got off the line with Max Entertainment Management.” I held my breath, recognizing the name. It was one of the biggest tour management agencies in Seattle. “You’re in.”

  My mind blanked as those two words rattled around in my head. “We…we’re in?”

  “The Nomad tour. You’re in. Moon is co-headlining!”

  “Oh my god. Oh my god. OH MY GOD! ARE YOU SERIOUS?” I was shouting. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t hear over the sudden ringing in my ears. The Nomad tour was one of the biggest indie tours playing in some of the most well-known venues across the nation.

  “Yes! Yes, I’m serious.” Faye was laughing in delight as she spoke, and I felt a chuckle escape my own lips. I was numb, overloaded with excitement and joy and a fierce pride because we’d worked our asses off over the past five years and, damn it, we deserved this.

  I glanced up to see Sam, Casey, and Tyler all circled around me and looking decidedly concerned. They had been drawn over by my yelling. I grinned at them, unable to keep the news from tumbling out.

  “We just booked the Nomad tour!”

  There was a moment of stunned silence from the rest of the band, but it broke when Sam let out an ecstatic yelp. They all jumped around, celebrating like a bunch of fools. Even Tyler had a goofy grin on his face. I knew I had one to match.

  “Holy shit,” I finally managed to mumble into the receiver, still on top of the world. Then some of Faye’s words came back in a rush. “Wait, co-headlining? Who are we touring with?”

  “Obsidian.”

  “What!?”

  “I know! Isn’t that incredible? They’re a major catch for this tour. Tell me you’ve heard of them.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered softly, crashing back to the ground with a bang, “I’ve heard of them.” I’d more than heard of them. Obsidian was a rival, pure and simple, another Seattle-based band that had started about the same time as Moon. Even worse, though, I knew the front man, Connor Evans, personally, and I hated him just as personally. He was the chauvinistic, egomaniac bad boy of the Seattle music scene who had more woman panting after him than he could count. Not that he could count very high, I was pretty sure.

  But none of that compared to the one thing he’d done that I could never forgive. He’d hurt someone I cared about. He’d broken Lori’s heart. And now I had to spend the next six months with him on tour. Just freakin’ great.

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  Copyright © 2018 Amy Brent – All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.

  />   Amy Brent, That One Night: A Fake Marriage Romance