Shouldn't Want You (Cataclysm Book 2)

by Jerica MacMillan

  He stood and caught me, kissing me like he couldn’t ever get enough of me. Just like he does every time.

  The crowd laughed and cheered and clapped.

  The video of that went viral on YouTube.

  Marcus sings the song now, since he’s the lead singer. His voice is amazing, and everyone loves his version. But Danny’s is my favorite.

  I give him a smile as he sings backup on the chorus about how much he loves me.

  It’s been a rocky path to get here. After he found me in the other hotel, he brought me back to our suite and sat with me as I called my parents. They were understandably upset about the entire situation. And hurt. My lying to them seemed to be what hurt the most.

  “Why wouldn’t you tell us?” my mom kept asking. I never did find a good answer. Other than, “I was ashamed. And I was afraid you wouldn’t love me anymore.”

  Both my parents had cried. And Danny insisted on flying home with me for a couple days after that to meet them and so I could assure them that I was okay.

  It was weird. And awkward. But it was also good.

  We brought Eli, of course, and he broke a lot of the tension. He’s so cute and sweet, that he immediately won over my parents. Especially when he continued his tradition of kissing my belly hello and goodbye at every possible opportunity. We stayed at a hotel while we were there, and every time we arrived at my parents’ house and were greeted with hugs and handshakes, Eli would hug everyone and then turn and kiss my belly. At first my parents were shocked, even though they knew I was pregnant, but soon it just became normal.

  While my relationship with my parents is a little strained—they don’t approve of almost all of my choices over the last year—they’re happy I’m getting married. Even if I’m insisting on waiting until after I have the baby. I don’t want to be a pregnant bride.

  Danny just wants me to have whatever I want. He’s already talked to one of the best celebrity wedding planners around, and we’re deciding on venues. It’ll be small and low-key, despite the wedding planner trying to turn it into a massive production. But privacy is a key concern, and we both prefer keeping it small, just friends and family.

  Even a small wedding has a million decisions to be made. And I’m glad that Blaire and Kendra are willing to help, because I find it all overwhelming.

  If it didn’t mean so much to my parents to see me get married, I’d be tempted to elope in Vegas one weekend. Or go to the courthouse after this set of concerts. Danny said he wants to plan our wedding so we can have a real honeymoon. This is the last stop on this leg of the tour, and then we’re all heading back to LA for a month. Now that the morning sickness has subsided, I have more energy, not to mention a crazy high sex drive. Maybe we can go somewhere else for part of that time …

  I smile to myself, making plans of my own.

  Even if Danny doesn’t want to elope this weekend, I’m just happy to be here with people I love and people who love me. No matter what.

  Epilogue

  Samantha

  The lead singer’s voice booms from the tower of speakers that’s a few yards from where my friends and I stand front and center at a Cataclysm concert. “We’d like a volunteer to come on stage for the next song.”

  A wave of squeals and cheers engulfs us. “Right here!” screams Kami from an inch away from my ear, making me flinch. Oh god. She points at me, grabs my arm, and raises it in the air.

  My other friends get in on it, shoving me forward. A random dude with broad shoulders and massive biceps notices the commotion and turns our way. “It’s her birthday,” Kami shouts at him. “She hasn’t had any fun in a million years. We want to make her night special!”

  Mr. Muscles looks me over, a slow grin claiming his features. And before I can splutter out more than a token protest, he hoists me up like I weigh nothing, perching me on his shoulder while my traitor friends scream their heads off.

  It works. The lead singer has his hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare of the stage lights as he sweeps his gaze across the crowd, landing on me where I’m windmilling my arms to keep my balance on this random guy’s shoulder. I haven’t been on a guy’s shoulder in …

  Well, way too long. Horsing around with guys and fun goes out the window when you have a baby at nineteen. And since I got pregnant right after graduation, the last guy that tossed me over his shoulder is actually on the stage right now. Not that this situation is remotely similar. With Aaron it was always the fireman carry.

  “I think we’ve found our volunteer.” The lead singer points directly at me with a smirk and a nod when I squeak and point at myself. I squeeze my eyes shut, and he chuckles into the microphone, which I realize must mean he thinks I’m excited rather than mortified.

  Muscles shift beneath my ass, and my would-be helper takes a few steps closer to the stage before setting me down. People part for the security guards who lead me past the barriers and boost me onto the stage where the lead singer crouches over the edge, hand extended to help me up.

  I try to stay focused on him. I’d try to convince myself that the smirk on his face means he’s just trying to get in my pants, that the stories about him dating some East Coast heiress are all for show, or he’s a cheating dick who can’t keep it in his pants, but there’s nothing lascivious in his eyes. In fact, as he looks me over, I think I see a flicker of concern there.

  He lowers the mic to his side and pulls the monitor out of his ear, his back to the crowd as he leans in close to me. “Hey. You don’t have to do anything uncomfortable. It’s just a silly serenade. We’re bringing a stool out for you. I might hold your hand or something while I sing to you, but I don’t have to if that makes you uncomfortable.”

  I force a smile, even though my voice comes out shakier than I’d like. “No. That’s fine. Whatever you normally do is fine. I mean, I’d rather you didn’t dry hump me on stage or anything, but holding my hand is fine.” Don’t look at Aaron. Don’t look at Aaron. Don’t look at Aaron.

  But when I turn to claim the stool that’s been set out for me, I can’t help it. He’s right there. And his eyes are locked on me.

  Even though my diaphragm no longer seems to want to work, I manage to raise my hand in a little wave.

  The lead singer is behind me, hand on my back to guide me to the stool. A roadie in black settles it on a mark. But all I can see is Aaron. He’s a little broader. Older. Hotter. The remnants of boyhood long gone. His cheekbones sharp, square jaw rough with stubble, sweat glistening on his forehead. All rockstar now, ink and piercings, his hair shaved on the sides and long on top. No longer the clean cut pianist I knew.

  His eyes are dark pools of disbelief as I watch his full, sweet lips form two words. Fuck me.

  It’s not an invitation. It’s an expression of disbelief.

  I feel the same way. What else are you supposed to think when you come face to face with the father of your child who you haven’t seen in years on stage at a concert your friends surprised you with to celebrate your birthday?

  The song starts, the guy starts singing to me, but I’m barely paying attention. All I can think is Fuck. Me.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading Danny and Ava’s story!

  For quite a while I’ve wanted to write a book where one of the characters is a parent. And Danny provided the perfect opportunity. I hope they all stole your heart as much as they’ve stolen mine.

  If you liked it, please go leave a review somewhere!

  I can feel you wondering about Aaron’s book already. It’s in the works, but no firm release date yet. If you want to stay up to date with all the goings on, join my Book Club or my Facebook group. Or go crazy and join both!

  My next release will be in my Songs and Sonatas series. If you haven’t checked that out yet, you should! Keep reading for a preview.

  And if you haven’t read Anything You Need—Marcus and Kendra’s story—you can check it out here.

  Thanks again for reading, and do
n’t forget to tell your friends!

  Jerica

  For whatever reason, writing this book was really tough. Part of it was that this summer was rough on the motivation. So writing it took longer than I felt like it should have. And several people helped me finally bring it to life.

  Thank you to my husband for letting me lock myself in the bedroom for several days to power through to the end.

  To all my friends who had to listen to me talk about finishing this fucking book. (By the end of writing it, that’s what I was calling it. All the time. But now that it’s done, I like it a lot more.)

  To Deb Markanton for giving me permission to take so many days off. And then editing it afterward. And making me add six thousand words, because they were needed.

  To Jen Owenby (aka JA Owenby) for cheering me on when I was powering out the high word counts

  To Leslie McAdam for all your emoji comments of laughter and tears as well as making sure all my hyphens are in the right spots and that I don’t use the same words too many times.

  To my ARC readers for falling in love with these characters and telling people about it.

  To my Book Junkies for your support.

  And to you, my reader. None of this would be possible without you.

  Join My Book Club!

  You’ll get exclusive content, downloads, book recommendations, and my latest writing and publishing updates.

  Sign up at www.jericamacmillan.com/book-club

  I love hearing from readers. Here are the best places to keep up with me and what’s new:

  http://www.bookbub.com/authors/jerica-macmillan

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  http://www.facebook.com/jericamacmillan

  http://www.amazon.com/author/jericamacmillan

  You’re also invited to join my closed reader group on Facebook, Jerica MacMillan’s Book Junkies.

  Or, if you want to speak to me directly, feel free to email me at contact@jericamacmillan.com.

  Did you enjoy this story? Please leave a review at your favorite ebook retailer!

  Jerica MacMillan is a lifelong reader and lover of romance. Nothing beats escaping into a book and watching people fall in love, overcome obstacles, and find their happily ever after. She was recently named a semi finalist in Harlequin’s So You Think You Can Write 2015 contest.

  Jerica is living her happily ever after in North Idaho with her husband and two children. She spends her days building with blocks, admiring preschooler artwork, and writing while her baby naps in the sling. Sign up to receive updates on her reading and writing life at www.JericaMacMillan.com.

  Cataclysm

  Anything You Need

  Shouldn’t Want You

  Songs and Sonatas Series

  Double Exposition

  Development

  Recapitulation

  Broken Chords

  Counterpoint and Harmony

  Players of Marycliff University

  Summer Fling

  Convenient Fall

  Opening Hearts, A Players of Marycliff University Novella

  Managed Hearts

  Unsaid Things

  Coping Skills

  False Assumptions

  Rebound Series

  Rebound Therapy

  Rebound Envy

  Rebound Revival

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Double Exposition

  Chapter One

  Jonathan

  After paying for my coffee, I turn and survey the campus coffee shop. It’s crowded, not an empty table in sight.

  I should’ve known better. It’s only the second week of classes. Everyone’s still getting into a rhythm, me included. There are three times when the coffee shop is guaranteed to be packed: the beginning of a semester, the week of midterms, and finals week. With six semesters already under my belt, I know this.

  But I have a gap in my schedule on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It’s only ninety minutes, so not long enough to make going home worthwhile. I’ve meandered around campus during this hole last week and on Tuesday. Today I’d hoped to grab a coffee and a table and get through some reading for my Victorian Literature class with Dr. Rankin. She’s a ballbuster, and there’s no way to bullshit your way through her class discussions. But she’s also one of the best professors in the English department.

  Resigned to finding a less comfortable spot on a bench outside, I grab my coffee when my order is called. But my attention snags on a fall of dark brown hair at a table in the corner. I can’t see her face from here, just the curve of her neck as she sweeps her long hair over one shoulder and bends back to whatever she’s working on, pencil in hand.

  The chair across from her is empty. She’s engrossed in her homework, which I see is spread out over most of the table as I step closer. A textbook sits open on one side, and papers sprawl across the remaining real estate, with her coffee cup on top of a paper.

  No matter. I just need a tiny circle of space to set my own coffee down. I can hold my book. It’s a paperback, nothing too heavy. We can do our homework in companionable silence, and I don’t have to scout out another place to work.

  I have to clear my throat twice before she realizes I’m standing next to her. She has a pretty face—high cheekbones, a dusting of freckles over her nose, full, pink lips. But it’s her eyes that do me in. Large, brown, and scanning over every inch of me like I’m the best thing in this coffee shop. When they meet mine, the combination of mischief and curiosity steals my breath for a moment. I could lose myself in those eyes.

  Her voice pulls me out of the spell her eyes have cast on me. “Can I help you?”

  It fits her perfectly. A smooth alto, with a slight twang that means she’s not from here. The soft question from those kissable lips sends a surge of lust rushing through me.

  When her dark eyebrows arch high over her hypnotic eyes, I realize I’m taking too long to answer. Clearing my throat, I gesture at the empty chair across from her with my cup. “Mind if I sit here? I need to get through some reading, and all the tables are full …”

  She straightens, glancing around, and the movement causes her tank top to shift a little, pulling tight over the small, perfect mounds of her breasts.

  I snap my eyes back to her face before she catches me checking her out.

  She looks me over again, then shrugs. “Sure. Um, sorry, let me move some of my stuff. I wasn’t planning on sharing the table, so I sort of spread out.” She moves her coffee, shuffling her papers into a neater pile as I move the chair out as much as I can since it’s against the wall.

  Squeezing into the seat, I set my cup down in the open space she’s created and give her a smile. “No problem. I don’t need much table space.” I dig out my copy of A Tale of Two Cities.

  When I look up, her nose is wrinkled in the most adorable way. “Dickens, huh?”

  I bite back a smirk. “Yup. Not a fan?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I’ve fortunately never been forced to read him. I tried reading A Christmas Carol once. I think I maybe got through the first chapter.” She shakes her head. “Too wordy. Hawthorne’s just as bad in my opinion. I had to read The Scarlet Letter in high school, and I skipped whole chunks of that book. Not just single chapters, but groups of chapters, and when I started reading again I still knew what was going on. Clearly I didn’t miss anything of great importance.”

  Chuckling, I set my messenger bag on the floor at my feet. “Your teacher didn’t notice?”

  “Nope. She talked everything to death in class. It was easy to pick up on anything she deemed important that I may have missed just by paying attention in class. You always knew what was coming on her tests. Whatever she harped on constantly was sure to show up. For an honors-level class, I didn’t have to do much studying.”

  Smiling now, I lean closer to her, one arm braced on the table. “I hope you’re not an English major then. Otherwise Dickens will be unavoidable for you. You’ll get a lot more Hawthorne, too, and in my experience,
you can’t bullshit your way through classes without doing the reading.”

  She returns my smile, her eyes darting to my lips as she leans forward too. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m a music major. There’s no bullshitting through music theory, either, but most of it’s pretty straightforward. Memorizing chord spellings and learning to analyze music. No rambling Victorians who got paid by the word.”

  Laughing at that, I turn my head, trying to see her papers. “Music major, huh? What are you working on?”

  She leans back, revealing a worksheet full of letters beneath circles on a staff. “Chord spellings right now. Like I said, not very exciting but pretty straightforward. We have to memorize all of this, so we know it all like that.” She snaps her fingers. “We had our first speed test yesterday. Dr. Williams makes it fun, though. She says a chord and points at someone, who then has to spout off the three notes that make it right away. If you get it right fast enough, you get candy. If you don’t, she points to someone else. But she goes through everyone and makes sure everyone gets at least one piece of candy.”

  “That does sound like more fun than Victorian Literature. Does she give you good candy?”

  “It was Hershey’s kisses yesterday. I’m guessing that’s what she usually does, but, like I said. Yesterday was the first time, so I can’t say for sure.”

  At the mention of kisses, my eyes stray to her lips again. Her tongue swipes across them, making them pink and shiny. I set my book down on the table, my intention to get through my reading forgotten now. I can read Dickens anytime. Right now, I want to talk to her. Which is when I realize I haven’t introduced myself.