Stage Dive #1
Evelyn wakes up in Las Vegas to find that she is married. But the man she married got angry and told her they'd get a divorce. She and her best friend, Lauren, go home only to find paparazzi and fans following them. Ev's married David, a rock star. But she doesn't remember what happened. Later that day she gets a call from his people saying that she needs to come to LA and they will sign papers for a divorce.
Ev gets to the house in LA and David is still treating her badly. The next day he doesn't come to the meeting with the lawyers. They want her to sign the papers, take the money and go away. Ev is very hurt. She tries to tell them she doesn't want the money. But they think she is asking for more. She gets upset and leaves. Mal the drummer takes her to his home. Just as she is relaxing, trying to understand what happened, David shows up and takes her away.
They drive to his home and spend some quality time together. But is it enough? Will they be able to stay together?
I loved this book. I am definitely reading the next one.
From the publisher:
Waking up in Vegas was never meant to be like this.
Evelyn Thomas's plans for celebrating her twenty-first birthday in Las Vegas were big. Huge. But she sure never meant to wake up on the bathroom floor with a hangover to rival the black plague, a very attractive half-naked tattooed man in her room, and a diamond on her finger large enough to scare King Kong. Now if she could just remember how it all happened.
In Kylie Scott's Lick, one thing is certain: being married to one of the hottest rock stars on the planet is sure to be a wild ride.
I woke up on the bathroom floor. Everything hurt. My mouth felt like garbage and tasted worse. What the hell had happened last night? The last thing I remembered was the countdown to midnight and the thrill of turning twenty-one—legal, at last. I'd been dancing with Lauren and talking to some guy. Then BANG!
A whole line of shot glasses with lemon and salt on the side.
Everything I'd heard about Vegas was true. Bad things happened here, terrible things. I just wanted to crawl into a ball and die. Sweet baby Jesus, what had I been thinking to drink so much? I groaned, and even that made my head pound. This pain had not been part of the plan.
"You okay?" a voice inquired, male, deep, and nice. Really nice. A shiver went through me despite my pain. My poor broken body stirred in the strangest of places.
"Are you going to be sick again?" he asked.
I opened my eyes and sat up, pushing my greasy blond hair aside. His blurry face loomed closer. I slapped a hand over my mouth because my breath had to be hideous.
"Hi," I mumbled.
Slowly, he swam into focus. He was built and beautiful and strangely familiar. Impossible. I'd never met anyone like him.
He looked to be in his mid to late twenties—a man, not a boy. He had long, dark hair falling past his shoulders and sideburns. His eyes were the darkest blue. They couldn't be real. Frankly, those eyes were overkill. I'd have swooned perfectly fine without them. Even with the tired red tinge, they were a thing of beauty. Tattoos covered the entirety of one arm and half his bare chest. A black bird had been inked into the side of his neck, the tip of its wing reaching up behind his ear. I still had on the pretty, dirty white dress Lauren had talked me into. It had been a daring choice for me on account of the way it barely contained my abundance of boobage. But this beautiful man easily had me beat for skin on show. He wore just a pair of jeans, scuffed black boots, a couple of small silver earrings, and a loose white bandage on his forearm.
Those jeans … he wore them well. They sat invitingly low on his hips and fit in all the right ways. Even my monster hangover couldn't detract from the view.
"Aspirin?" he asked. And I was ogling him. My gaze darted to his face and he gave me a sly, knowing smile. Wonderful. "Yes. Please."
He grabbed a battered black leather jacket off the floor, the one I'd apparently been using as a pillow. Thank God I hadn't puked on it. Clearly, this beautiful half-naked man had seen me in all my glory, hurling multiple times. I could have drowned in the shame.
One by one he emptied the contents of his pockets out onto the cold white tiles. A credit card, guitar picks, a phone, and a string of condoms. The condoms gave me pause, but I was soon distracted by what emerged next. A multitude of paper scraps tumbled out onto the floor. All had names and numbers scrawled across them. This guy was Mr. Popularity. Hey, I could definitely see why. But what on earth was he doing here with me?
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