by Abby Knox
Dusty couldn’t stop herself from taking a deep breath. She had always wondered what Big Daddy smelled like. She assumed it was a musky combination of sweat and tour bus gasoline.
She was totally wrong.
He smelled like the woods after it rained. Fresh and earthy at the same time.
The whole world knew that Dusty was Ozzy’s biggest fan. What they didn’t know was guitar playing like Jed’s could knock her panties off in a hot second, no questions asked.
No wine, dinner or foreplay necessary.
Dusty would take one look at his record jackets and cream herself every time.
And now that she was meeting him in person, she felt electrified.
And also, a little pissed at her friends.
Marti, her best friend since they were in high school drama together, handed Dusty a glass of pinot grigio and said, “Funny story, I think you two may have talked on the phone once or twice and not even realized it.”
Dusty broke her eye contact with the amazing Big Daddy and looked at Marti. “What are you talking about?”
Marti turned to Galen who took over telling the story.
“Yeah, that’s right. Hey, Jed. Remember that night you were over here about, I don’t know eight or ten years ago, and you were trying to remember the name of a song? And we called up our friend with the record shop?”
Dusty’s gaze went from Marti to Galen to Jed.
Something weird was going on behind Jed’s eyes. “Yeah,” Jed said, warily.
“Well,” Galen continued, “This is her. This is Dusty, she of Vinyl Vixen fame.”
Jed raised his eyebrows in fake surprise.
Dusty, though, was genuinely shocked.
“Wait a minute. That was you?” she asked.
Jed shrugged and said, “guilty.”
Dusty stared at the man, her mouth fallen open. Galen and Marti’s conversation became background noise. She studied Jed’s face.
He was the one.
Ever since that phone call ten years ago, when some poor friend of Galen and Marti’s had been subjected to Dusty’s sarcastic pre-teen daughter Zara’s comments, her record sales had gone from weak to steady.
A man calling himself “J from Santa Barbara” had started ordering music from her about once a month. Sometimes he would order entire collections. The entire The Who discography. Beatles. Stones. Sometimes it was recordings that were very difficult to track down, and she charged him a bundle. He had never tried to talk the price down.
This whole time. It wasn’t just “J” from Santa Barbara. Her whole life had been propped up by none other than Jed Fucking Big Daddy Masters; as if he were her goddamn sugar daddy for the past ten years.
Holy shit.
About the Author
Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese, and spend her free time arguing about music with Jack Black. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work and Jack Black just won’t return her calls. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into sweet little works of romantic pastoral fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy this brand of sweet, sexy, storytelling. This is Abby’s twelfth book.
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Also by Abby Knox
From the Small-Town Bachelor Series
Take Me Home
Game Face
Written in the Stars, a special Christmas edition
Walk With Me
Her Big Easy Wedding, a New Orleans Shapeshifter series
Part One: Taking the Belle
Part Two: Having his Cake
Part Three: Chasing the Night
Part Four: Running with the Pack
Part Five: Her Big Easy Wedding, series bundle with a fifth story AND bonus content!
From the Sisterhood of Enchantment, a paranormal romance series
Some Basic Witch
Witch, Please