AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“She does.” I focus on that.
Duke pulls me against him. “We got this. Together.”
“Together,” I say, and I believe it.
Bonus Materials
Get an exclusive BONUS scene to this book by signing up for my newsletterhere!
My newsletter will keep you connected to my upcoming releases, exciting news, and sales!
The next book in the series isHunter and Violet's book. If you want to find out how these friends get out of the friend zone, preorder THE WINGER AND HIS BEST FRIEND here!
You guys, I can't wait to have you read this one. XOXO
A Sneak Peek at the Captain!
Book One in the Chesterboro University series!
ThePhiladelphiaTyrantsseriesis a spin-off of my Chesterboro University series. This series is complete at five books and a novella. You can start the binge with book one, THE CAPTAIN,here!
HANNAH
There’s going to be a fight. As sure as “Sweet Home Alabama” will play between sets and as sure as there will be an argument at the pool table, someone’s going to get a beating. I just don’t know who it is yet.
The Pig’s Tail doesn’t attract the sophisticated set. It’s fifteen miles from my elite college, Chesterboro University, in eastern Pennsylvania. The usual clientele is truck drivers, bikers, and the occasional locals who enjoy the dive bar atmosphere.
Of course, Ronnie, the guy who coordinates my singing gigs, isn’t here. Who knows what hole he’s currently lost in. He isn’t ever around when things could get messy—or ever, really. He still insists on a percentage of my earnings, though.
I sigh. Someday, I’ll look back on this time singing at dive bars like the Pig and laugh. But that day isn’t today. Today, I need the money, and this pays the bills.
I peek out from the side of the Pig’s stage, trying to determine where the tension is coming from.
“You ready?” Josh asks from behind me. He and I went to high school together. Burly and bald, Josh doesn’t incite people to open up to him. Strange he would own a bar and be its primary bartender.
“Yeah.” I smile over my shoulder. “I just had to get some water.”
Not one to mince words, Josh nods and walks away.
“Hey, Josh,” I call. He turns, raising an eyebrow. “Be careful tonight. Something’s brewing in the air out there.”
“Yeah.” He snorts. “Bunch of college kids here for a twenty-first.” He rolls his eyes and heads back to his post behind the bar.
Damn. Well, that explains it. Stepping farther onto the worn stage, I scan the crowd before spotting the group of seven or ten guys—more like a huddle of linebackers—at the bar. They’re tall and built. With my outdated contacts prescription, I can’t make out faces from here, but I can definitely admire all the chiseled shoulders. They tower over everyone else in the place, and in their expensive clothes, they stick out like sore thumbs. My bet is they’re from Chesterboro.
Double damn.
I adjust my wig. It’s late, after midnight. These guys have definitely been out partying for a while. They aren’t going to recognize me. Even if they do, I doubt they’d care that the acclaimed classical composer of the Chesterboro University music department’s senior class is singing at this hole in the wall. Hell, they might not even know there is a star in the music department. Not a lot of jocks in my classes. They probably ended up at the Pig last because it stayed open an hour later than everywhere else. They have the vibe of a bunch of fourth-graders on a field trip to the zoo, more interested in sightseeing the local color than anything else. Generally, though, the local color isn’t interested in being watched.
I send up a quick prayer that the bar will close without anything eventful happening.
The jukebox goes silent, and the lights on the stage go up. In a place like the Pig, acts are generally greeted with sometimes good-natured and often not-so-good-natured receptions, but the room stays relatively quiet as I take the stage. Over the past year, I’ve sung all over the place, but this is only my second time singing here. Maybe people are starting to recognize me.
The only noise wafts from the Neanderthals at the bar.
As soon as I step on stage, though, none of that matters. Everything fades away. There’s no drunken addict mother, no dead father, no messed-up childhood that requires escape. There are no bills I can barely pay or dreams that feel out of reach.
I smile, gripping the microphone. “How are you all doing tonight?” There are a few cheers and some claps, and I wink. “Sounds like we all could use a few songs, then.”
