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Ten years ago—Navarone’s house, California
“Here we are.” Dad smiles, parking the car in the driveway of a beautiful Californian home. My brothers all jump out, greeting the boy who is wiping his hands clean on his low-hung jeans. He’s been fixing up a big black dirt bike, if his smeared white shirt is any indication.
“You okay, Squirrel?” Dad asks, turning around in his seat while I watch my brothers give the boy in question those bro hugs that have a lot of slapping on the back involved. Axl and Gunner check out the bike while the guy laughs and listens to my brothers, motioning every now and then to the black scary monster.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I hate meeting new people; it always kind of freaks me out.
“All right. See you out there,” Dad says, winking at me.
He shakes the boy’s hand before walking up to the house and embracing his best friend, Jesse, who has invited us to spend the summer here—to celebrate that Dad has been sober for a year and is holding down a steady job as a sound engineer in a Nashville studio.
I let out a shaky breath and step out of the car, taking in the surroundings, hearing the waves crashing on the beach. The beautiful Mediterranean-style house is stunning.
The fixer guy is still joking around with my brothers. I’m not a fan of driving, and after puking for three hours straight, I look and smell terrible. I’m in desperate need of a shower.
My dad turns around and notices me still standing next to the truck, fumbling with my backpack. He winks at me again before heading my way with my brothers and the dirt-bike guy in tow.
“Navarone, this is my daughter, Alice,” my father says.
The guy’s dark brown eyes find mine and everything around me disappears.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, never breaking eye contact. His voice goes right through me—as does the current of electricity running from my palm down to my toes as I shake his hand, making my heart skip a beat.
Navarone is one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen in my life. Some people have this undeniable charisma that makes you want to stare at them for hours in hopes that some of their spark might rub off on you. He would be Mister July in a hot-guy calendar. I fan myself like some Southern Belle.
My father and brothers take their luggage and a couple of guitar cases out of the truck while I stare. After saying hello to me and giving me a big hug, Jesse, helps carry some things into the house with a big, bright smile plastered on his face. And I keep gawking at Navarone like a dumb-ass while he lends my brothers a hand with our gear.
Dad had told us he and Mom met Jesse backstage when he was playing a show with his band in Seattle. My mom had toured with Jesse in the early nineties, she was opening for his band, while Dad mixed the sound.
Dad and my brothers filled me in a little bit about Navarone. His mother had been a groupie who dumped her two sons with Jesse after she married some record label executive. Dad said she was living in Paris, and Navarone’s family weren’t in contact with her.
I had seen some photos of my mom back then with her musician friends. Navarone looks like his father did in the early nineties, except his hair is shorter. The dads remained friends throughout the years, and Jesse helped pay for my father’s rehab. I had never met Navarone in person before. My brothers stayed with Navarone and Sterling on his grandfather’s farm in the Smoky Mountains when Dad was in rehab, while I lived at my grandparents’ house, outside of Nashville, with my cousins.
Navarone is still chatting with my brothers, which gives me time to check him out. Right on schedule, my cheeks heat as I watch him. Navarone’s voice is deep as hell, and his rumbling laugh is even better. It goes right to my core, something I’ve never experienced before. He is wearing black Vans with black jeans and a white shirt straining in the best possible way around the muscles he is packing. I guess he’s eighteen, but he looks much older than me. Dad told us he has been traveling around the world with his father and his brother since he was four years old, when his mom left.
He catches me staring and his dark eyes sparkle, making my mouth water. The guy is hot, and judging by the way he holds himself, he knows it. I think my cheeks couldn’t possibly heat this much, but sure enough, they do.
Navarone gives me a lopsided smile, holding his hand in front of his mouth. He says something to Ax and Gunn, and they walk toward the house, leaving me and Navarone staring at one another. Before they reach the door, Axl pushes Gunner and he stumbles a couple steps. Gunn turns around and tries to take Ax in a headlock but not before Dad steps in and pulls them apart.
“Hey,” Navarone says, giving me a once-over.
I nod, and with a small, “hi,” I dart to the back of the truck, trying to get my oversized luggage out of the bed.
“Need help?” Navarone asks, suddenly standing next to me.
Startled, I almost drop my backpack on my foot. “Give a girl some warning next time.”
“Sure about that?” he asks, his deep voice making my stomach swoop.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds strange. Clearing my throat, I swallow hard.
He grins in response, brushing his hair back behind his ears, the edge of his mouth twitches even more. Navarone towers over me with his six-foot-four frame, and I catch myself focusing on his chest, then peering up into his dark eyes.
“I can do it myself,” I say, huffing while I attempt to take the monstrosity out of the back.
He shakes his head with an amused smile, mocking me with his eyes. It pisses me off. I may be shy, but it doesn’t mean people can make fun of me or walk all over me. I’ve never felt that flutter in my stomach before. Sure, my best guy friends look and act like they are ahead of the curve, but their mere presence does not give me goose bumps all over like he does.
Without saying anything, Navarone helps me with my big bag. Locking my eyes on his perfect butt, I sigh. “Thanks,” I mutter, tearing my gaze away.
