by Lacey Black
Promise Me:
A Novella
Rivers Edge - Book 3.5
By Lacey Black
Promise Me: A Novella
Copyright © 2015 Lacey Black
Cover design by Ginny Gallagher
Website: www.ginsbooknotes.com
Stock Photos Attributions:
Artem Merzlenko/Ronen/worksart (BigStockPhoto.com)
Format by Brenda Wright
This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Index
Praise for Trust Me
Praise for Fight Me
Praise for Expect Me
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Protect Me
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Praise for Trust Me
Rivers Edge, book 1
"Lacey Black is amazing with her debut novel!!!"
-Amanda of Crazy Cajun Book Addicts Blog
"This book had my emotions all over the place, I loved it."
-Author Ella Emerson
"This is a debut novel by Lacey Black and it was f*cking amazing with a capital A!
One of the best debuts I have ever read and I can't wait for more. She has gained a
huge fan!"
-Sandra of Two Book Pushers Blog
Praise for Fight Me
Rivers Edge, book 2
“This was a hot, fun and emotional read.” – Sandra of Two Book Pushers
“It's another beautiful love story with a good balance of drama and reality based situations as well as showcasing Lacey's sterling reputation as an Indie Author on the up-and-coming list of one's to watch out for.” – Nicole McCurdy of Nic’s Novel Idea
“Can Erin get past her insecurities with Jake and his past treatment of her and embrace the undeniable connection that they've had since they first met when they were kids?
I loved reading this story to find out!” – Lisa McGuire
Praise for Expect Me
Rivers Edge, book 3
“I am a sucker for a romance with a surprise baby thrown into the mix. It always makes me smile. And the steam... oh yes, Travis will light up your kindle.”
– Brianna @ Renee Entress’s Blog
“Lacey Black has struck steamy, small town romance gold with the third book in her exceptional Rivers Edge series. I am a huge fan of small town romances, and Expect Me is irresistible. Ms. Black has created a cast of characters that are all likable and relatable with plot lines that are realistic. She has mastered the art of drawing a reader into her story through her writing; it was impossible for me to not become invested in these characters and their stories.”
– Danielle Palumbo
“I absolutely loved this book! I loved watching Joss and Travis grow together as well as individually throughout the book!! 5 Stars!” – Kristin Marvin
Dedication
To my editor and forever friend, Emily Getty.
This is way better than playing pretend school while singing Bryan Adams.
“Everything I do, I do it for you…”
Chapter One
Holly
“You are the luckiest beotch ever,” I tell my best friend good-heartedly as she sits next to me in the limo while sipping a glass of champagne.
My best friend, Avery Jackson, is married to a hot, hunk of man candy. On top of his sheer hotness, he’s a cop. Uniform. Badge. Hot.
“I am a lucky beotch, aren’t I?” she states with a smirk from her seat next to me. A smirk and a far off look in her eyes tells me she’s recalling a recent private moment shared with her man.
Tonight, we are celebrating Avery’s twenty-fourth birthday. Maddox surprised her with tickets to see Bent, the hot rock band taking the country by storm, one concert at a time. Avery gave birth to my unofficial nephew last month, Ryder. He’s perfect in every way possible. He has his daddy’s dark hair and his mommy’s crystal blue eyes. There’s no doubt about it that he’s going to be a heartbreaker when he’s older.
“Not only did your hot-ass husband get you tickets to Bent, but I want to know how he ended up with backstage passes, too?” I ask as I sip my glass of champagne, the bubbles tickling my throat as I relax in the comfort of dark, soft as butter leather seating in the spacious limousine.
“Jase’s oldest brother, Coy, was stationed with Maddox and Jake on their tour overseas. They’ve kept in touch over the years, and Coy always said he could hook them up with tickets whenever they wanted. Maddox was only going to get the tickets, but Coy was able to secure the backstage passes and front row seats for him,” Avery mentioned.
“Seriously. Lucky beotch,” I say again and raise my champagne glass to solute the birthday girl.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Erin says from the seat in front of me. Erin is Jake’s fiancée. Jake, Avery’s oldest brother, and Erin are getting married this summer in the backyard of Avery’s parents, Michael and Elizabeth. On the other side of Erin is Josselyn, Travis’s wife. They were married this past Thanksgiving in their backyard mere weeks after giving birth to their son, Grant. I’ve grown accustomed to all of their deliriously happy smiles. I try to keep my jealousy in check since they’ve all overcome their own trials and tribulations to get to this place in their lives. Besides, Erin and Josselyn have become two of my dearest and closest friends.
“To our birthday girl, Avery. May you have another year of love, laughter, and hot sex. And when Jake and I finally start a family, I hope I have your body. You don’t look like you just had a baby four weeks ago,” Erin says as we all hold up our champagne flutes.
“Beotch,” I mumble under my breath which causes the other three ladies in the limo to break out into another fit of laughter.
“To Avery,” we all say in unison before taking a drink of the sweet, bubbly champagne.
“So, have you checked in with the guys, again, yet?” I ask Avery.
“Yeah, I sent Maddox a text a few minutes ago. He says Ryder is sleeping soundly and Brooklyn is playing dress up with Jake since Travis wouldn’t let her dress up Grant,” Avery says with a laugh.
It’s hard to believe that Grant is almost six months old already. He is the spitting image of his dad with his blue eyes and sandy blond hair. Seriously, these Stevens’ make the most beautiful babies.
Brooklyn would be my unofficial niece. Avery and I were nineteen when she was born. I managed to go to the local community college for nursing school, but Avery had to forgo college and get a job to support herself and a baby. Brooklyn’s biological father is a Jerkface with a capital J. He had been cheating on Avery pretty much their entire relationship, and the moment she found out she was pregnant, he ditched her like yesterday’s Chinese take-out. Drake Connor isn’t worth the designer jeans and fancy loafers he wears.
Maddox stepped in and adopted Brooklyn within weeks of their wedding a year ago. In fact, little Ryder was born a year and two days after Avery and Maddox’s nuptials. Avery finally has her happily ev
er after, and I couldn’t be happier or more proud of the woman she has become.
“So, tell me about Doctor Paul,” Avery says. All eyes filled with sparkly excitement turn towards me.
“He’s a doctor?” Josselyn asks.
“No,” I reply. “He’s only a nurse.”
“So, why do you call him Doctor Paul?” Erin asks, her beautifully manicured eyebrows raised in question.
“Because he struts around the hospital acting like a doctor,” Avery quips with a huge smile.
“He’s nice,” I defend.
“He’s arrogant,” Avery replies, and it’s true. He is a cocky, arrogant guy. He flirts shamelessly with anyone with legs and boobs, and honestly believes he’s God’s gift to women. He’s also the only guy to show me any attention lately.
I’ve dated on and off in the past couple of years, but have never found that person who challenges me. Who desires more than just a few romps in the hay - figuratively speaking. I’m not into sex in the barn. Hell, right now, I’d be happy with sex. Period.
Doctor Paul and I have been out on a couple dates in the past few weeks and have flirted brazenly in the hallways at the hospital, but I don’t see it going any further than that. He’s nice but definitely more into himself than he is into me. But it’s not like any other young, single, good looking guys are lined up, anxiously waiting to take me on a date, so it’ll do for now. It’s better than sitting at home alone on Friday or Saturday nights.
I feel the limousine slowing before it pulls into the arena in St. Charles. I’m from Rivers Edge, Missouri which is a small town about thirty minutes away from St. Charles. Small towns breed gossips. If you want to know something about yourself, just ask around town. You’ll find out plenty.
“Oh my gosh, we’re here!” Avery exclaims, blue eyes lighting up like the Fourth of July. “I can’t believe we’re going to meet Jase Bentley,” Erin exclaims just as excited.
I stare at the large arena where the Missouri Belters basketball team plays and feel the excitement and energy of the stadium zip through my body. People are everywhere. Girls wearing tight jeans and barely-there shirts. Guys wearing huge, cocky smiles as they check out all the bare skin floating around.
“Ready?” Avery asks me as the driver opens the door for us.
I step out into the cool April night and adjust my top. I chose a dark blue halter top that hugs my breasts just right. My brown, curly hair hits just below my shoulders and is usually pulled back in a ponytail or a clip for work, but tonight I decided to leave it down. There’s just enough bounce in the big curls to give it a luscious, sexy appearance - at least that’s what Avery told me when we got ready tonight. I stand along the limo in my wedge sandals which gives the appearance that I’m taller than my normal five foot four inch body.
“Ready,” I tell Avery as we all link arms and head towards the front doors of the arena.
After showing our tickets to the girls holding the scanners at the front door, and having our purses checked by the big bouncer-like men, we head towards the stage where we’re supposed to receive our backstage passes.
“I seriously can’t believe we are about to meet Jase Bentley,” Avery says excitedly.
“Me either! He’s so friggin’ hot,” Erin adds.
“He’s okay,” I mumble. Three sets of eyes turn towards me. Eyes that are completely filled with shock and disbelief.
“He’s okay?” Josselyn asks, eyes wide and mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. She looks horrified, like she can’t believe the two little words I just said.
“Well, he’s kinda full of himself. I can’t stand that. Yeah, he’s good looking, but he knows it. He’s cocky and arrogant and only dates supermodels and movie stars. I’d rather meet the drummer,” I say with a shrug as we reach the front of the line to get our passes.
And part of that is true. Jase Bentley is all of the things I just said, but he also has green eyes the color of freshly cut grass and dark hair that’s wild and slightly unkempt that gives him the appearance that he’s just got out of bed. And his devilish smile will cause a nun’s underwear to melt right off her body. According to all of the gossip magazines, he’s twenty six years old and six foot tall with a lean, muscular body that he works daily to keep in his godly, chiseled shape. Both arms and most of his chest are covered in tattoos. He’s the epitome of a tall, dark, sexy Rock God. Ladies swoon and the guys want to be him. Hell, I’m pretty sure half the fellas swoon, too. He’s dangerous with a capital D, which is why I plan to avoid him like the plague when we get backstage. I don’t need his kind.
Backstage passes secured around our necks, Avery, Erin, Josselyn and I step behind the heavily guarded curtain and in the bright lights of the backstage area. Girls are everywhere. I bet there are five girls for every guy back here. The line is long as we find our way to the end of it for the extensive wait. I don’t see anyone out yet to greet the fans, only a very large, very muscular ex-lineman looking guy with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face inviting anyone to try to get past him. He’s guarding the door like his life depends on it, and honestly, it probably does.
At seven o’clock on the dot, the door opens and members of the band Bent start to file out and stand in front of the signage promoting the band’s latest tour and major sponsors. I hold my breath and wait for him to walk out. I told the girls that I wasn’t excited to meet him and that I was only here to meet the drummer, but that was a boldfaced lie. My heart speeds up and my palms begin to sweat as I wait for him to walk out. And when he finally does, the noise of the room fades away. The dozens of screaming women evaporate around me. Jase Bentley walks out from the back room with his head down and a serious scowl on his face as if he’s lost deep in his innermost thoughts. My eyes are fixed on his ripped up jeans that hang just right on his slender hips. His black t-shirt has the sleeves ripped off so that his tattoos are in full view. The shirt is tight enough to hug his muscular chest and show off the definition hidden underneath. He looks amazing. So much better in person than any of the photos in those magazines or his appearances on all the entertainment programs on television.
As if remembering where he’s at, he gives his head a small, quick shake and lifts his eyes to scan the room. His green eyes are striking as they scan the crowded room filled to capacity with screaming, adoring fans. He plasters on his trademark bad boy smile which causes the screams in the room to reach eardrum shattering decibels. I watch as he struts up to the center of the room where the rest of his band waits for him. His eyes scan the crowd one more time and that’s when the world stops spinning. Green eyes the color of dewed morning grass slam into me like a speeding Mack truck. The room starts to spin as he holds my gaze. The room, the people, the cameras all fade away until it’s just me and those deep green eyes. I know in that moment that I’m in trouble.
Deep, deep trouble.
Chapter Two
Jase
Another city, another night of performing in front of thousands of screaming fans. It used to be my high, my drug. Now, it’s just another night of fake smiles and forced appearances. When did this business become all about business and less about music? The music was supposed to be the business.
I stare at my reflection one last time in the bathroom mirror while the band’s manager, Phillip Mitchell, continues to run his mouth just outside the door. I tuned him out about five minutes ago, but he apparently hasn’t noticed yet that I’m not engaging in the conversation about tonight’s tour stop. St. Charles, Missouri. Another city. Another stage. Another show.
Venues like this used to be my favorite stops on the tour. The smaller arena crowds gave a more intimate show. The fans were closer to the stage. But in the past three years, the venues got bigger and bigger. Bigger lights. Bigger displays. Fill the seats. Make the money. Money is great, but it’s not the reason I do what I do.
“You about ready?” Phillip asks through the wooden door.
I give myself one last look-over and reach for t
he knob. “Yep,” I reply as I step through the door.
“What’s wrong with you lately? You’ve been distant and standoffish this entire leg of the tour,” Phillip asks with the scowl I see firmly in place more often than not lately. I’ve known him for the six years that I’ve been signed under Cardello Records. Besides my bandmates, Phillip is the closest person I have to a friend anymore.
“Nothing,” I mumble as I step out of the bathroom, closing the door securely behind me.
“Bullshit,” he replies. “Something’s up. Tell me.”
I sigh a deep exhale. Maybe telling him I’m burnt out will help alleviate the pressure that’s been constantly pushing against my chest for the past six months. “I’m just getting tired, Phil. I’m tired of cameras following me everywhere I go. I’m tired of the constant go-go-go.”
“That’s what you signed on for, Jase. That’s part of it,” Phillip counters.
“Yeah, but it didn’t used to be like this. I used to love the fans and the crowds and the stage. Now, it just suffocates me. Everyone wants more, more, more. One more piece. I need a break,” I finally tell him, staring deeply into his dark grey eyes, hoping he can see the seriousness reflected in my own.
“You’re living the dream, man. You have a smoking hot supermodel girlfriend. You have girls throwing themselves at you on and off the stage every night. Guys want to be you. You have more money than Donald Trump, and you’re complaining?” Phillip says with a look of shock and horror all over his aging forty year old face.
“First off, I doubt I have more money than Donald Trump. And second, Camille and I broke up last week,” I tell him.