by Holt, Mina
Covered
by
Mina Holt
Copyright © 2015 by Mina Holt. Covered – Part Three. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
KU Edition.
***Originally published in three parts.
Table of Contents
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Epilogue
Chapter One
“Oh my God did you see Rebecca Hawk’s new book?” Jenny screeched in my ear. I was wearing my noise cancelling headphones, kind of the universal signal to leave me the heck alone, but her voice managed to penetrate the technology.
I sighed dramatically and pulled them off, hanging them around my neck. “No,” I said, “I have not.” I knew I would now; Jenny was a bit of a cover model whore.
“Check it out,” she said and shoved her phone in my face, “Gavin James. He is so fucking hot. Like lickable fucking hot, don’t you think?”
He was hot; I’d give him that. The book cover predictably cut his head off and emphasized his rippling washboard abs. The cover was white, with slashed hot pink text and I swear a spotlight on his muscled midsection. It was rippled, looked oiled and shiny, and so, so delicious.
“Not bad,” I said and pushed my glasses up my nose, “I wonder if I’ll get an ARC.” Advance Review Copies were pretty much the reason I got into book blogging in the first place. That and of course I loved reading. I mean loved it, in love with it, would make love to it if I could. It was in my veins and pumped through my blood and kept me moving through my days. The best thing that ever happened to me was the invention of e-books. Now I could sneak reading in wherever I could, at work, on the bus, the occasional family dinner with my aunt. You name it, I was probably crouched somewhere in a corner with a glowing light reflected on my face.
“Oh my God! If you get it, can I read it?” she asked. “I have been dying to read this one. It’s book three in the Rock Stars of Nevada series. Cowboy rockers, I mean what a fucking hot cross over.”
“Throw them into a motorcycle club and you’ll ramp it up a notch,” I said and giggled to myself. As much as I loved this genre, it could get to be a bit much at times.
“That would be amaaaaaaaazing,” Jenny replied, “you don’t think he rides a motorcycle, do you Sarai?” She shoved the phone back in my face.
“I have no idea,” I said and turned back to my laptop. I was trying to finish my review for the latest in a long line of dark books. I hated this part of the industry, just when you think you’ve got a handle on what it’s all about, somebody decides to make some money and make a run for it. Eventually they all followed, even the happily ever after writers were adding kidnapping and dubious consent to their books these days.
“Could I read it though?” Jenny asked, “I’ll do anything you ask, I promise.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, “it’s illegal for me to share the file. I can see if I could get you a copy though.” I kinda lied on that one, I wasn’t going to try and get her anything. She could more than afford to buy her own books, so she’d have to wait for it to come out on its own like the rest of the planet.
“Sarai!” Aunt Gertrude yelled from the bottom of the stairs, “you girls need some cookies and juice?”
“I guess so,” I called down. After my parents died years ago, I’d moved in with my crazy auntie G. She wasn’t a bad crazy, not like violent or taking her pants off in the middle of Safeway, but she was a little nuts. She had just enough money for her to be considered eccentric I supposed.
“Then get it yourself!” she yelled back and chuckled. I heard her shuffling away muttering to whatever cat was in her way. She had several. Yes, my sole living relative was a crazy cat lady and I was painfully aware that I was following in every shuffling, slipper clad footstep.
“I’m not hungry,” Jenny said and glanced at my sagging midsection. I wasn’t fat, but I wasn’t exactly slim like her. We’d met in grade ten, she’d felt sorry for me I’m sure of it, and she’d needed help in Science. I needed a friend, so it was a match made in heaven.
I don’t know why I still hung out with her. I made it through college; she banged her way through half the dorm and dropped out. But she wasn’t slutty, I know that doesn’t make sense, but Jenny is everything I should hate about another woman but I do love her. She’s funny and smart in her own way, and even though she sleeps with guys faster than you can say, ‘pants off,” she retains a naiveté about her. She’s a true romantic, desperately trying to fuck her way to a real life Hollywood romance happy ending.
“I wouldn’t mind a couple,” I replied pointedly and stood up, stretched and grabbed my belly flab with both hands. Seriously, I’m not a huge girl but the way Jenny looks at me sometimes I feel like the before picture of a weight loss ad. I’m just not toned and I don’t work out much. I mean ever. Let’s be honest here, you’re in my head, you already know, I’ve never been to a gym. The mere thought of it makes me panic. Being locked into a windowless room with grunting sweaty people? No place to read a book? No thank you.
“You should really watch what you eat, Sarai,” Jenny finally said. And there it was, I knew she couldn’t keep it inside for long. “It’s for your own good, for your health,” she went on, “I was reading about GMOs and stuff like that. It’s very bad for you, you know.”
“What’s a GMO?” I asked just to find out what she’d say. I know I mentioned Jenny being smart in her own way, but the key here was that it really was in her own way. As in applying make up and how to get a guy down your pants in twenty seconds flat.
“It’s, like, this chemical they add to food or something. It’s genetic,” she said and furrowed her brows, “I’m not exactly sure, I just know it’s bad and I care about you.”
I sat back down next to her and laughed. “I know Jenny,” I confessed, “I’m just fucking with ya!”
“Sarai,” she whined, “I hate it when you do that. I get it, you’re smarter than me but you’re going to be an old spinster with fifty cats if you don’t pay more attention to these things. Do you think a guy like this,” she shoved the phone in my face with Gavin James’ delicious abs right under my nose, “would want a girl like that?” She pointed at my little tummy pooch and wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t think he would,” I replied. I know you’d think I’d be upset, but remember this is Jenny. I’ve heard this shit for years now and it never got to me. I added, “Which is why I don’t pant over guys like him. I keep my expectations realistic.”
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br /> “Then why are you addicted to romance novels like the rest of us?” she asked slyly, raising her eyebrow. I told you, every once in a while this girl is pure genius.
“It’s just a fantasy,” I said, “but I guarantee if I ever met a guy like him in real life, I would run the other way. Too much trouble if you ask me, give me a nice, normal, stable guy over that any day of the week.”
“Well we can find out then,” Jenny said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“That big book event next month? The West Coast Express book signing?”
I nodded, I knew the one. I had VIP tickets, one for me and one for Jenny. She had begged me for it until I’d given in. And let’s face it, who else would I have taken?”
“Well, guess who was just announced as the big headliner cover model?”
“Um, Gavin James?”
“You got it! Maybe you’ll meet and fall in love and have a million of his babies.”
“Not likely,” I said, “you’d have a better chance with him than I would in a thousand years.” I meant it, I swear I did. But why did my stomach do little flip-flops at the thought of meeting him?
Jenny nodded sagely at my declaration, her own plot formulating behind her eyes. I wondered if she knew about this before begging for the ticket, or if she had been as surprised as I was. Either way, it was true; she did have a better chance at him than I ever would.
But still, a girl could dream. I turned back to my laptop to finish the review before diving into the next book in my line up. If only the hero in every book didn’t wear Gavin’s face, and if only my damn stomach would stop fluttering at the thought of meeting him.
Chapter Two
I disliked public events.
Scrap that, I hated public events.
Jenny had insisted I dress up, which was the crap icing on a turd cake for me. I’d been talked into a loose skirt, a pretty top and something called smoky eyes. I did look nice, I had to admit. I wasn’t ugly; I know I seem like a bit of a grouch; I’m just not rocking a sexy bod like Jenny and her ilk. And I use words like ilk. I mean that’s not sexy.
I’m pretty, I know that. I look like my mom’s less hot little sister. My mom had been a fashion model and my dad a photographer. They’d had a whirlwind romance that had ended with me. Well, they’d gotten married somewhere along the line, but it had seemed very romantic to me from the time I understood how much they loved one another.
When I was about ten they’d gone for a drive, some dinner and date thing, and had never returned. My babysitter had been forced to stay the night and we’d been up at four in the morning when the police had shown up with the bad news.
I suppose I’d been grouchy ever since. They’d been held up at gunpoint, and when the thief had roughed up my mom for her wedding band, my dad had intervened. They’d both been shot in the struggle and neither had made it.
Mom hung on longer than dad, a full day in the hospital before she gave up and followed him, leaving me with crazy Auntie G.
You’d be grouchy too.
Still, I was tall, almost five eleven. Thinnish, kinda. Just not toned. Skinny fat Jenny called it. I was awkward, had thick black hair down to my waist and endless, deep, dark eyes. My mother’s eyes, but I hid them behind my glasses.
I had my dad’s chin though, not hairy thank god, but strong enough that I’d never be beautiful.
I sighed and tugged my panties down discreetly. They were crawling up my ass, I hated wearing fancy panties. Anywhere I had to go where I couldn’t take a book and wear my comfy granny panties was a place I didn’t want to be.
I was jostled as the crowd grew increasingly more excited. I felt my Kindle jab into my ribs through my cloth bag.
Did I mention I hated public events?
“Sarai!” Jenny hissed, “where are you? This is important.”
“I’m right here, what are you talking about?”
“I mean your head is a million miles away right now. Fucking pay attention, Gavin is about to come out. You know I’ve been following him religiously on Twitter and he even tweeted back a couple times.”
“You mean stalking.”
“Stalking, following, whatever. All I know is he’s fucking hot and he just broke up with his long-term girlfriend. He’s vulnerable and ripe for the picking and I’m going to hook up with him tonight.”
“Good luck with that,” I replied and tried to focus, to stay present. I already knew about Gavin’s big public break up last month. I’d read about it, I’d done my own “following” before this event. I was even trembling, my hands shaking and my knees were weak. It was ridiculous, but I finally understood why all those girls used to scream and faint when they met the Beetles back in the day.
I thought about the possibilities, him seeing me and instantly falling for me, dropping to his knee, picking me up, running off with me…maybe he did ride a Harley. Dear god, I have to stop thinking about it before I fall down in at his feet.
I started to fantasize about life with him, our little house in the country, our two cats. See? Two cats, if I could get a guy like Gavin, I would never become a crazy cat lady like Auntie G. I allowed myself to sink into the daydream. Letting my mind drift was my escape hatch in big crowds though, and it was difficult to pay attention.
I didn’t know if I was socially awkward or ADD or had something really wrong with me, but did I mention I hated public events?
“He’s from the UK. Isn’t that sexy? I know the U stands for United, like the USA...but what does the K stand for?” Jenny asked, her eyes scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Gavin and his delicious abs.
“Are you serious? Google is just one mouse click away.”
“Seriously, who has time for that? Besides, I live in the moment, history is something you like so I thought you’d know.”
“It’s not history if it’s happening right now,” I said and she glared at me, breaking her constant surveillance of the crowd.
“I’m way more Zen than you are though, you get caught up in the weird details, I don’t,” she said.
“Kingdom. The K stands for Kingdom.”
“Oh cool, now was that so hard? Wait, kingdom? That’s very Game of Thrones!”
“Yes, it’s rather fictional,” I said and smirked at the back of her head as she craned her neck to see him. She was shorter than me, curvy and blonde. She looked like a Marilyn Monroe impersonator, but she didn’t even try. She was sexy, funny, and very much focused on getting her man today.
We had left our table to see him. I don’t think there was a single person at the book event who wasn’t standing in this crowd, waiting for the main event.
Gavin James. God, Gavin, even his name made me feel goofy.
He’d gotten into modeling by accident apparently. He was British, came from a very wealthy upper class family. Well educated at all the best schools, had palled around with one of the princes from what I’d read, and had become a football player by age twenty. That’s soccer, for those Jenny’s in the room.
He’d been discovered during a match; Calvin Klein had been there and picked him up to model underwear.
Damn, what a life, picking up hot guys to model underwear. I think book blogging is the wrong area; I should have gone into fashion.
That had been a few years back, and he’d left football to model full time. He was successful and brilliant, wealthy and generous and kind to his fans. And my god, he was so fucking hot.
I was working myself into almost a lather. I was shaking.
“Do you see anything?” Jenny moaned, “This is taking forever. What good are those VIP tickets if you can’t get to the front of the line?”
“They gave every blogger and author and all their friends VIP tickets,” I said but felt her pain. I wanted to be at the front of the line almost as bad as her. Almost, because part of me was terrified to see him in person. What if he was really short? Or really zitty? Or was a total dick to the fans?
He’d made it big in
the book cover world when a certain famous naughty book had picked him up to model for their second edition. The entire trilogy, all three books were basically just variations of his delicious abs and thick muscled arms entwined with his tattoos.
He was such a bad boy; he had to be a dick. I was certain he was a dick.
“Oh my god!” Jenny shrieked, “I think he’s coming!”
I could see movement behind a large cardboard cut out of Gavin. She shoved me forward and said, “What do you see?”
“Not much,” I said. I was hanging onto the red velvet rope trying to get a look. Women started screaming near what I determined was the front of the line. “Oh, oh, I think I see him,” I said, shocked at my own reaction. I reached into my cloth bag and grabbed my Kindle. I was reading the new book with his abs on the front and I wanted him to sign my Kindle cover.
“Where is he?” she demanded, “I can’t see anything Sarai!”
“He’s coming, hang on,” I said and watched him move through the clot of women. The velvet rope was more of a suggestion and every three or four women one of them would make a break for it and try to get closer to him. He had two huge guys on either side of him handling crowd control. Bald, tall, muscled, sunglasses, earpiece microphone, the whole clichéd get up.
He was kind though, and tall. Really tall, crap, I loved tall men. He was stopping and chatting, signing books and speaking to every one of his fans…when they could talk. Most of them were crying or stood with their mouths gaping open as they handed him their books to sign.
A few feet away, one busty older woman pulled apart her shirt, exposing herself. The bodyguards stood interference, but Gavin laughed, walked to her and took the felt pen she handed him.
“What would you have me say, love?” he asked. His voice was smooth; it cut through my heart like a hot knife through butter. What was happening to me?
“Let me see what’s going on!” Jenny shrieked behind me, but I was mesmerized.
“Just put ‘property of Gavin James’ and I’ll be the happiest soccer mom this side of the Rockies,” the woman replied and giggled as he wrote it out and signed his name with a flourish. The crowd was buzzing with nervous excitement and it really got to me. I could feel my pulse in my temples, throbbing with some hypnotic beat.