Caught: a rock star novella (Collision Series) Read online

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  Caught (a Collision novella)

  Copyright © 2021 Laura Dunbar

  L.B. Dunbar Writes, Ltd.

  www.lbdunbar.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  First published in part in Wild in the Windy City Anthology.

  Edits: Jenn Wood/All About the Edits

  Chapter 2 first published in Wild in the Windy City Anthology - New Year’s Eve 2020

  Edits: Jenny Sims/Editing4Indies

  2021 Edition -

  Cover Design: Shannon Passmore/Shanoff Designs

  Content edits: Mel Shank

  Edits: Jenny Sims/Editing4Indies

  Proofread: Karen Fischer

  Table of Contents

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  More by L.B. Dunbar

  A spark of Collide

  About the Author

  Connect with L.B. Dunbar

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  Lakeside Cottage

  Living at 40

  Loving at 40

  Learning at 40

  Letting Go at 40

  The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

  Silver Brewer

  Silver Player

  Silver Mayor

  Silver Biker

  Silver Fox Former Rock Stars

  After Care

  Midlife Crisis

  Restored Dreams

  Second Chance

  Wine&Dine

  Collision novellas

  Collide

  Caught

  Smartypants Romance (an imprint of Penny Reid)

  Love in Due Time

  Love in Deed

  Love in a Pickle

  The World of True North (an imprint of Sarina Bowen)

  Cowboy

  Studfinder

  Rom-com for the over 40

  The Sex Education of M.E.

  The Heart Collection

  Speak from the Heart

  Read with your Heart

  Look with your Heart

  Fight from the Heart

  View with your Heart

  A Heart Collection Spin-off

  The Heart Remembers

  THE EARLY YEARS

  The Legendary Rock Star Series

  The Legend of Arturo King

  The Story of Lansing Lotte

  The Quest of Perkins Vale

  The Truth of Tristan Lyons

  The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance

  Paradise Stories

  Abel

  Cain

  The Island Duet

  Redemption Island

  Return to the Island

  Modern Descendants – writing as elda lore

  Hades

  Solis

  Heph

  Dedication

  For M, and her real-life friends Jared and Petty

  whose names I stole although I’ve spelled them differently.

  WARNING:

  As a small portion of this work began in a 2020 New Year’s Anthology, the storyline remains in 2020. That means, I made the decision to be historically correct to the world’s situation during that year in this work. While not a theme of the book, references will be made to new terms now part of our everyday vocabulary: COVID, lockdown, quarantine, social distancing, stay-in-place orders, masks, vaccines.

  In many ways, I wasn’t certain how Jared and Lexi’s story would pan out. When 2020 happened, the circumstances of the world clarified their tale.

  Some will say it’s too soon to write a book during that time period.

  Others have waited too long for this story.

  Remember, this is fiction. It’s a romance. Happily-ever-afters happen.

  Remain safe. Be well, my reader friends.

  Part 1

  September 2018 - Chicago

  1

  JARED

  Do you like piña coladas?

  The text message from an unknown number lights up my phone as I sit on the edge of another hotel room bed. We have a layover in Chicago. One night of freedom before another concert in another city. My fingers twitch, and I can’t seem to help myself as I wait for a second comment signaled by the pending dot, dot, dot.

  How about getting caught in the rain? I text.

  What? The response makes me chuckle.

  Do you have half a brain? I reply.

  Excuse me? I imagine the questioning expression of some chick, complete with pouty lips on her face, eyes blinking in ignorance. Derek?

  Nope. Jared. Why was I continuing this conversation with a wrong number? I look up at my reflection in the mirror. Tired eyes glare back at me behind my glasses. My hair lies disheveled and a tad too long over my forehead. I don’t recognize the guy in the mirror. My phone vibrates again in my hand.

  I think I have the wrong number.

  Ya think. Desperate to keep conversing, though, even if it is with a stranger, I respond in rapid succession.

  Not if you like piña coladas.

  Getting caught in the rain.

  Or making love at midnight.

  The dot, dot, dot tells me a reply is coming, and for some reason, I hold my breath, anticipation trickling over my skin.

  I’m sorry. I was trying to meet someone at Hermanos for piña coladas.

  I’ll meet you. What time? Suddenly, a purpose fills my lonely night. Or at least, the prospect of filling someone takes over my night.

  Energy suddenly whirls throughout my tired body. While I can generally get any girl I want on the tour, it might be nice to meet someone who meets just Jared. Or not, I laugh without humor, as I’m not certain who Jared is anymore. There aren’t many places I can go without getting recognized.

  This is what you wanted, Jared. Fame. Fortune. Recognition of your own name. Not my father’s. Not my brother’s.

  The recognition comes even more readily when I travel with my best friend, Jon Pettington. Petty. His hair alone needs its own trademark as the unruly mass gives him away everywhere we go.

  Seconds pass, and I decide the mystery texter must not want to play. I’m preparing to text Petty when my phone vibrates one more time.

  Let’s say midnight.

  2

  LEXI

  I don’t know why I even taunted the wrong number. I should have let it go when the person insulted my intelligence, but I couldn’t back down, at least behind a screen. In person, I would have never been so bold. Despite being an intelligent woman, I would have babbled and blundered and struggled to talk myself out of the insult. The screen was my protection. In fact, its anonymity is how I found the courage to invite Derek Jensen to meet me. I’d never be brave enough to ask him out to his face. Although—I wasn’t asking him. Not really. This wouldn’t be a date, actually. The invitation was intended to be a group of friends getting together. Well, a group of people convening in the same proximity under the pretense of Mexican deliciousness and piña colada specials.

  I hang my head. I am so awkward. I don’t know what makes me think I’d be able to lure Derek to Hermanos for a night of casual conversation. I don’t know how to converse, and Derek Jensen isn’t someone you’d speak to casually. You admire him from afar. You daydream about his body against yours. You drool like an infant and blink like a startled flying squirrel when he approaches the desk to check out books at the library where you work.

  I am an idiot, and this wrong number is a sign. The universe is protecting me from the awkwardness of reaching out to Derek and saving me from a colossal mistake. I’d never be able to follow through, if, by some small miracle, he had said he’d meet me.

  Instead, I tell some total stranger I’ll be at Hermanos, and I’ll meet him at midnight.

  Which again, I would never do because I’ll most likely be in bed by midnight, curled up with a good book under a heavy quilt. The September evenings are growing chilly. Not bitt
er cold, like the Midwest will produce in another month or two, but cool enough to crack a window and then throw on a blanket. I love this time of year, I remind myself, as the threat of rain hangs in the air while I walk the blocks to Hermanos. My best friend, Marine, would admonish me for walking alone in the dark, but as the evenings aren’t late and the sidewalk still bustles, I feel safe enough to brave this portion of Clark Street.

  Pulling open the heavy door, I find the sultry sound of Spanish music mingles with the aromatic scent of Mexico. Not that I really know what Mexico smells like, but my imagination envisions heat and spice mixed with avocados and piña coladas. Mini lights shaped like chili peppers hang from the ceiling of the bar, enhancing the Mexicana atmosphere.

  “You made it,” Marine teases, holding up a half-empty glass. A server rounds the table, and I immediately order the Thursday night special. The room is warm, and I tug at the thick turtleneck around my neck. I might have been overly enthusiastic about wearing my fall clothing when the weather called for a cooler day and a chance of rain. In the heat of the bar, a sheen of sweat lines my upper lip. When the server returns with my drink, the first refreshing sip of the icy, tropical alcohol goes down quickly.

  “So, what are we doing here?” Marine asks, her arms pressing on the small high top and tipping the table toward her. After righting the table with a giggle, I simply answer, “I’m looking for someone.”

  “That. A. Girl,” Marine encourages, and I realize how my statement sounds. Shaking my head at my friend, I foolishly scan the bar for someone I don’t know. Ridiculous. I am not a big party girl. Books are my friends. They are my nightly jam. Internally, I laugh at myself.

  “Oh, my God!” Marine squeals. “Is that Jared Kane from Collision?”

  “Who?” I ask, scanning the bar a second time, not able to pinpoint the specific man in question. Groups of men and women stand together, mixing and mingling, like normal people our age. Normal people. Not me.

  “Earth to Lexi. Collision. The band. Jared Kane plays guitar for them.”

  “Uh-huh,” I reply, not knowing who this Jared person is nor the name of the band that Marine seems to think I should recognize. My gaze returns to roving the bar as if I’d find Derek Jensen by some other miracle of the universe, or maybe the mystery phone number man will magically appear.

  “Lexi, who are you looking for?” My attention snaps back to my friend—rusty hair, blue eyes, perky nose, perfect lips, and body to die for. The girl who got every guy’s attention while I was the duff next to her with my short, dark hair with thick bangs, round glasses, and a small stature. I don’t stand out in a crowd; I blend. So, I don’t know why I am looking for someone who would stick out.

  Unknowingly, my eyes glance back at this Jared guy Marine was eye-fucking. Tall, dark, handsome. He looks like any other guy in this bar. The glasses on his face gave him a studious look, like a fresh-out-of-college, working-my-first-professional-job kind of guy. The idea is nothing remarkable for this area of Chicago, although he is dressed a bit casual with a rock star ease about him. I take a sip of my drink, hopeful Marine’s question disappears into the atmosphere of the Mexican music.

  Too bad for me, Marine glares at me. “Spill.”

  “I sent a text to a wrong number and acted unlike me.”

  Marine’s eyebrows rise. “Meaning?”

  “I foolishly told a stranger I’d be here, and I’d meet him at midnight.”

  Marine slaps the table and sits back as the unstable thing wobbles once more. “Holy shit. I knew there was an inner vixen under that turtleneck,” she teases.

  “No vixen.” I blink, thinking again of myself as a flying squirrel. That animal is more my spirit animal than a seductive, cunning fox.

  “So?” Marine pries, leaning forward and aimlessly missing the small straw of her second drink with her open mouth.

  “So? I don’t know anything about him. He’d be drinking a piña colada, I guess…” My voice trails off as I notice many males in the bar are drinking the nightly special.

  “How do you know your mystery person is a guy?”

  “He said his name is . . .” My head swings back to the guitarist Marine pointed out moments before. He’s holding a piña colada, his head turning as he scans the crowded room as though he’s looking for someone.

  Could it be?

  “What? What did he say his name was?” Marine prompts, her voice eager for more.

  “It can’t be,” I mutter. My attention remains on him. Loose jeans hang low on his narrow hips. He wears an olive-green T-shirt a touch too small, and each time he twists at the waist, the material rises a little, exposing the skin just above his waistline. His eye color is hard to determine behind those lenses, but his dark hair hangs wild with one wave over his forehead. His exposed arms are artfully designed. He is everything I’d never date, and everything that would never be interested in me.

  “Jared,” I whisper, finally answering Marine.

  “His name is Jared,” she shrieks louder than necessary and loud enough I return my attention to her.

  “I think it might be,” Marine coos, her brows wiggling as she glances in the band member’s direction.

  “Don’t look,” I hiss, staring at my friend. Not only does she have all the looks between the two of us, but she also has a sexual appetite to match the body. A little-known secret is she also has a brain. She is the full package. I am an overstuffed envelope.

  Marine finally turns her head back to me. “Go ask him if it’s him.”

  “I cannot just walk up to him and ask him.” My head shakes vigorously in a definitive not-going-to-happen.

  “Why not?” Marine admonishes, her wide eyes blinking back at me before they shift right once more for tall, dark, and dreamy. The confused expression matches almost-drunk-Marine expressions, so she might not have been confused as much as inebriated.

  “He’s a rock star.”

  “So?” She blinks again, bewildered eyes return to staring at me.

  “So, he’ll think I’m a groupie or something when I’m…” My words lapse as I look over at him one more time. A steady pulse beats between my thighs as I take in the sinewy length of his forearms. The rhythm matches the sexy salsa sound emitting throughout this place. His arm flexes as he reaches up to brush his knuckles under his chin. The ink dances on his skin. As the thumping at my core skips a beat, ratcheting up to the rapid-fire of high-speed drumming, I cross my thighs, kicking the singular, tall table leg, making it jiggle again. I grip the surface to right the table, holding it to steady myself as my heart races a little faster.

  I peek back at him another second. He hasn’t taken a sip of his drink, and the crushed ice melts, forming a layer of crystals floating above a milky substance. His eyes still roam the room while the thick-haired blond next to him laughs, throwing back his head before tipping up a beer bottle to his lush lips. The hearty chuckle trickles over to our table, and I look away when I notice that Jared has caught me watching them.

  “When you’re what?” Marine asks, her voice hardening as she’s still waiting on my answer.

  “When I’m just a librarian.”

  3

  JARED

  “So, what are we doing here?” Petty asks. A lingering scan of the room tells me he is taking stock of potentials in this Mexican-themed bar near Wrigleyville. Petty thrives on one-night stands, his goal being a score in each city on the tour. He defines manwhore.

  “I told you, I’m looking for someone.” I roam the room again, slowly passing over faces. How the hell would I pick her out? I know nothing about her. Assuming she’s a girl with a piña colada had been stupid. The entire bar is filled with women holding the Thursday night special and a handful of men as well. I hold the too-sweet drink, hoping to signal who I am, but the ice is melting inside the glass, causing an unsteady balance of liquid in the bowl-shaped flute. I need a beer.

  Petty chuckles beside me. “Well, I see several someones I’d fuck in here.” His eyes glance over the room once again, and I almost feel sorry for any girl meeting the Petty-demise. Heartbreak will happen. “There are hundreds of potentials here.”