★★ NEW RELEASE ★★
Hinder (An Off Track Records Novel) by Kacey Shea is #LIVE! #KU
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★★ About the Book ★★
Young. Gifted. Privileged.
I can’t help where I come from, or who I am, but believe me when I say it’s not what I want. Not that anyone’s ever asked. My dreams don’t fit within the confines of my parents’ wishes, so when I’m presented with the opportunity of a lifetime, I grab it by the balls.
Playing drums for rock sensation 3UG is everything I’ve wanted and more. Yeah, so the gig requires a dash of blackmail and a slip of betrayal. I can live with that if it brings me the freedom I’ve always wanted.
There’s just one problem.
Cliché, and yet I can’t help myself when it comes to her innocence and allure. She has secrets. Don’t we all? But if I don’t uncover what she’s hiding, my time playing rock god is up.
No girl is worth that. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
HINDER is the third Off Track Records novel, and can also be read as a standalone. Want to start from the beginning? Detour and Derailed are available to read free with KindleUnlimited too!
★★ EXCERPT ★★
I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s silly to even try, but still I settle the guitar in my arms and run my hand down to strum across the strings. I wince at the horrible sound.
I glance up. My first instinct is to throw the guitar, hide it, and pretend I wasn’t just making music worse than a toddler, but it’s pointless. Austin caught me red-handed and I feel even more a fool. Serves me right for touching something that isn’t mine.
“You’re right-handed?” He tips his head, eyeing the guitar in my hands.
My gaze drops to my lap, and before I can reply or nod yes he’s on the floor before me, reaching out and situating the guitar the opposite way.
I’m such an idiot. I wasn’t even holding it right.
“There.” He nods, dipping his chin to catch my gaze with a gentle grin. “Now, here.” He moves each of the fingers of my left hand, pressing them into place. “That’s C. Now strum.”
I don’t move, partly from embarrassment and mostly so I don’t make more a fool of myself.
“It takes a few tries to get it right. Don’t be shy. Go for it.” He settles back, his long legs extending across the space between us as he props the weight of his body on one arm. His face is expectant and encouraging.
It must be the non-judgment in his eyes that emboldens me to do as he asks and not put the instrument down. The next strum isn’t much better than my first, but I try again and it’s not half bad. I glance up, a smile stretching across my face when I meet Austin’s stare. “Like that?”
“Yeah, again. Up, down, down, up.” He mimes the motion, nods when I get the rhythm right, and there’s an encouraging kick to his words. “Yeah, you’re getting it.”
“Here, you’re gonna tear up those fingers.” He pulls out a guitar pick—I don’t even know from where—and positions it between my thumb and index finger. The touch of his skin on mine sends a charge throughout my body.
My lips part and I hold my breath, unable to speak.
“Innocent.” His lips spread with a full smile and he breaks the connection of our stare, running his hands through his hair in what seems to be frustration.
“Pardon?” I ask, not knowing what he’s talking about or why he’s mad, other than maybe I’m worse at playing than I thought.
“You are so goddamn sweet. You can’t help it, and that only makes it worse. Or better.” He laughs, a chuckle that rumbles from his mouth and the sound of it scatters goosebumps across my skin. That, and the open, hungry gaze of his stare.
“Sorry.” I don’t really know why I apologize, other than it’s the polite response.
He laughs again, this time with a hint of wickedness. It should be enough warning for me to ask him to leave, but I find myself drawn to the sound. I’ve always played it safe. Obeyed the rules. But this new me, the Opal who lives in LA with her rock star sister, she’s allowed to be anyone she wants and I want to have fun. There’s something in Austin’s stare that promises just that.
“Will you teach me to play?” My question is bold and I’m proud that my voice holds strong.
“Oh, yes.” He laughs and scoots a little closer, which closes the space between our bodies. His leg, covered in ripped jeans, brushes against the bare skin of my calf and I try not to fixate on how good it feels. “I’ve always wanted to play teacher-student.”
My face heats and I’m certain my cheeks are ten shades redder than my hair as I glance down.
“Sorry.” He laughs. “I can’t help myself, but that wasn’t fair. I’m only joking. Of course, I’ll teach you to play.”
Right. He’s teasing. I’m so gosh darn gullible and probably a big joke. “You don’t have to. I’m sure you’ll be busy. You won’t have time.”
“Hey.” He waits until I meet his stare, which isn’t full of laughter and could possibly be considered sincere. “You’d be surprised at how much down time we have, at least on the bus. I’d love to teach you to play. You’re a natural.”
My pulse quickens with his words. The hope he might be right. “You really think?”
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