Live Your Dream (Redfall Dream Series Book 2)

by BB Miller

  Her hand snakes up my arm. “Maybe you could play something for me sometime.” I let her blatant pick up line hang in the air as she lowers elegantly into the seat. She makes sure the high slit of her dress opens to reveal her endlessly long legs. I curse the no-sex bet I made with our pain-in-the-ass bassist Matt Logan again. I’d actually like to fuck that smug look off Darcy’s face. She thinks I’m a done deal, and judging by the expectant looks on our mother’s faces, so do they.

  Gable (The Powers That Be, Book 1)

  By Harper Bentley

  Summer, two weeks before class:

  YOU KNOW THAT feeling you get when you meet someone and feel as if you’ve known them for a lifetime? As if you’re just connected in some way?

  Yeah, that didn’t happen the first time I met Gable Powers. Matter of fact, I didn’t like him one bit.

  Oh, I know about all the Powers boys now. I actually knew about them by the first day of school since it seemed as if every woman on campus couldn’t stop talking about how each brother was just as gorgeous as the next, and things like, “Omigod! The Powers brothers are so hot!” or “Aren’t they just the cutest you’ve ever seen?” were proclaimed almost everywhere I went the entire first week of school. From listening in on these chicks wax rhapsodic over these brothers, if they were anything less than Nick Bateman clones, well, then I’d be highly disappointed. But from their conversations, I learned the Powers were from Seattle, all of them went to Hallervan, Zeke was a senior who played on the football team, Lochlan was a freshman who was some kind of computer genius, Ryker was a sophomore wrestler and Gable was a junior. I had yet to figure out what his superpower was, but I can honestly say that when I first met him, I couldn’t have cared less.

  My up-close-and-personal with Gable Powers left me less than thrilled, and when I finally figured out who he was and said something later about it to my new roommate, I got a stare of disbelief which made me roll my eyes.

  So here’s how it all went down.

  I’d answered an ad in the Seattle Times for a roommate. On my way to meet Amy (fellow sophomore who’d eventually become my new roomie), I’d had a flat tire and had to pull over in an area of the city I was unfamiliar with—hell I was unfamiliar with the entire friggin’ place—and, of course, it’d been raining. As a farm girl, I knew how to change a tire, had no problem changing a tire, but per Dad’s instructions, I called AAA and stayed in my car waiting for someone to show up, kind of feeling like a wuss for doing so. I knew I could’ve done it and been on my way in no time but I decided to let Dad parent me for a change. Not that he wasn’t a good father; it’s just that I was majorly independent.

  Needless to say, I was a little surprised when a black pickup truck stopped behind me and a guy got out, almost immediately after I’d hung up with the auto service. I mean, I’d heard AAA was fast, but come on. The guy had come to the driver’s side and when he’d tapped on the window of my little Honda, I’d seen the full sleeve tattoo on his muscular arm and my eyes had bugged out.

  See, I’m from a small town in Idaho where everyone thinks tattoos are Satan’s markings, which I know is ridiculous and is one of the many reasons I couldn’t wait to leave that shitty little place, but I regret saying that when I’d seen his arm, I’d been a little on edge. The guy had stood there in the pouring rain while I contemplated what to do as I checked out the rest of him. He appeared to be over six feet tall and his entire body was ripped. Dang. I could see his abs all bumpy and defined through the wet white t-shirt that clung to him, and his rain-soaked jeans were stuck to what appeared to be muscular thighs. I’d then felt bad for ogling him as he stood there getting drenched, so I finally rolled my window down an inch and he’d bent to ask if I needed help.

  And, my God, was he beautiful.

  I stared at him as rain dripped from his straight nose to the ground. It drizzled down his high cheekbones where it met his strong, stubble-covered jaw, trickling to his chin before finally slipping off. The long curls of dark hair that framed his tanned face were dripping wet also, but it was his light brown eyes that held my attention, so expressive and soulful, lined in long, sooty lashes that were spiked from the rain. Damn. He was a total friggin’ hunk.

  “I’ve called Triple A, so no, thank you,” I’d yelled over the rain through the cracked window.

  He’d given me a sexy half grin, which made butterflies bounce off the walls of my stomach. “I could probably have it fixed before they even get their truck started.”

  I’d twisted my mouth to the side not really knowing what to do. I mean, if I agreed to let him fix it, I may as well just do it. “Uh, that’s okay.”

  “Seriously. You wouldn’t even have to get out, Rebecca. Just pop the trunk and I’ll take care of it. You won’t even have to lift one of your pretty, little fingers.” The smug look he’d given me made me frown. A lot.

  “Rebecca?” I asked wondering what he was talking about.

  “Of Sunnybrook Farm. You know, all clean and wholesome. Prissy,” he’d replied with a twinkle in his eye as he grinned fully now, his straight white teeth making him even more attractive.

  What the hell? I’d grown up with two older brothers and I was anything but prissy. I could drive a tractor for chrissakes! “No, really, it’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, c’mon. Can’t have a helpless little lady like yourself out here all alone, you know. What are you, like fifteen?”

  I blinked at how rude he was being which was when Kim Kardashian, Jr. had walked up holding an umbrella and wearing the shortest shorts I’d ever seen. The crop t-shirt she wore had so much cut off that I could see her braless boobs hanging out from under it and couldn’t help but gape at how provocatively she was dressed. Then she’d whined, “What’s going onnnnnn, Gable? God! These helpless little Daddy’s Girls are so annoying! I could’ve changed the tire by nooooow! Leave the rich bitch alone and come onnnnnn!”

  And that was the precise moment I think steam had shot out of my ears. I reached down and jerked up on the trunk release because fuck that. Then I’d thrown open my door and saw the guy jump out of the way. I walked to the back of the car, raised the trunk, pulled back the carpet and removed the jack then went to the side where the tire was flat, put the jack down and started loosening the lug nuts with the tire iron.

  “Whoa! What do you think you’re doing?” Jerkface asked, having come around to the side of the car where I was.

  “Well, Prissy Rich Bitch here is changing her tire if you haven’t figured it out,” I muttered glaring up at him. And my eyes got great big when I saw that both his arms were covered in tattoos. Whoa. And why that made him even hotter, I had no idea.

  That was when Kim, Jr. huffed and called the guy an asshole (with which I couldn’t disagree), then she called me a stupid cunt (with which I totally took offense) and my mouth fell open as I watched her stomp back to the truck in her strappy wedge sandals, her ass cheeks totally hanging out from under her shorts. Wow. Classy babe.

  “At least let me help you with that,” Tattoo Guy said, ignoring his girlfriend.

  The glare I’d given him had him holding up his hands to his sides in surrender, his eyebrows raised as he grinned at me. I know I must’ve looked like an idiot with my long, blond hair soaked and hanging in my face, my cute, white cotton romper, which was sticking to me everywhere and was now probably ruined as I’m sure were my very awesome, white ankle-high gladiator sandals, but I’d be damned if I was going to let him help me now after he’d made me out to be some helpless female.

  When he hung around, I muttered, “Go away,” as I positioned the jack and twisted the handle. Once I got the car jacked up, I realized he still hadn’t left so I stood and turned to him, putting my hands on my hips. “What?”

  The perusal he gave me made the butterflies kick up again. Stupid fucking half grin. I frowned at him then moved back to the tire and proceeded to take off the lug nuts. When I went to remove the tire itself, he stepped in, took it off th
e wheel and rolled it to the trunk as I followed, telling him I had things under control and that he should just leave now.

  “Can’t have you getting yourself all dirty, now can we?” He’d looked me up and down appreciatively and that’s when I realized he could see everything through my outfit.

  Shit! I hadn’t bothered wearing a bra because the romper had a built-in shelf bra, and I’m sure I was giving him quite the show, knowing my nipples had gotten perky at his heated gaze. But now I had to own it. So taking a deep breath, I leaned into the trunk to remove the spare, but he pushed me aside gently and reached in for it. And, God, he smelled good, all fresh rain and hot man. Damn it.

  “I can handle it. Really. Why don’t you and Luscious take off?” I mumbled.

  He set down the tire, appearing confused, then asked, “Luscious?”

  “Your girlfriend. Isn’t that her stripper name?” I smiled sweetly at him hoping that’d make him mad and he’d finally leave, but instead, he’d barked out a laugh then proceeded to roll the tire to the front. I sloshed through the rain behind him then watched as he finished changing it, none too happy about it.

  “That’s it,” he said when he finished, putting everything back in its place in the trunk. Then his eyes landed on me, once again moving up and down my body making me want to cover myself with my arms but refusing to do so, and after wiping his hand on a rag held it up for me to give him a high five. “Nice working with you.”

  A high five? Really? Maybe he did think I was fifteen. “Uh, yeah,” I replied moving my hand slowly up to touch my palm to his.

  He ended up grabbing my hand during the high five, and I swear, this is so cliché, so stupid chick lit banal, but I honestly felt a damned jolt go through me when we touched. I think he felt it too because he looked at our hands, scowled for a second before scrutinizing me closely then let my hand go.

  His honey-brown eyes stared in thought into my green ones for a moment before that sexy grin hit his gorgeous face again. “Well, Miss Priss, I might be seeing you around.”

  “I’ll be waiting breathlessly until that moment.” At my sarcasm, he grinned again. I rolled my eyes and said, “So . . . thanks for the help.” I’m pretty sure he heard the muttered, “Jerk” I tacked on, but to his credit he didn’t say anything as I closed the trunk and rounded the car to get inside, but before I could pull my door closed he was there holding it open.

  “You go to Hallervan?” he’d leaned down and asked, and, God, those eyes, that face . . . that body. My lord he was hot.

  “Starting this semester,” I answered still trying to pull my door closed.

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky and see me.” He winked then walked away.

  “One can only hope,” I’d mumbled, rolling my eyes again, before closing my door and driving away.

  It was then I looked down and saw my ruined outfit and sandals only then remembering I had an old pair of Keds and a raincoat under the passenger seat. Great.

  ©2015 Harper Bentley

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  TO OUR FAMILIES. Thank you for your love, support and patience.

  Much love to the Facebook Dream Team. Your support and continuing visuals are a constant source of inspiration.

  To the super-talented Jada—thank you for your vision. You’re simply amazing, and we’re in awe of your beautiful talent.

  To Lauren and the Write Divas, thank you for your continued guidance.

  Christine, thank you for making this beautiful. You’re incredible!

  To our wonderful pre-readers—Mandy, Patty, Corinne, and Tami. Thank you for taking the time to read, and for your suggestions along the way!

  A million thanks to the community of authors and their on-going support including Melanie Moreland, and the incredible Harper Bentley. Harper, our spirit animal is throwing glitter and rolling around in it as we speak!

  Much love to the bloggers, Twitterloves, Facebook friends and groups, and review sites who support and inspire. It’s a ride we wouldn’t take without you.

  To you, the reader. Thank you for taking this journey with us. We hope you enjoy it as much as we enjoyed writing it. Rock on, friends. Rock on.

  A LITTLE OVER seven years ago, a Canadian vegetarian and an American carnivore bonded over their mutual love of purses, cocktails, and swoon-worthy story telling.

  Leslie Carson lives in Ottawa, with her busy family and three cats. She’s at the rink so much, Zamboni drivers know her name.

  From her home near Portland, B.B. Miller spends her days with friends and family in search of the perfect pear martini.

  Together, they enjoy visiting random vineyards and writing about the romantic adventures of good and bad boys.

  They would love to hear from you:

  The Dream Team