Rock, Rattle & Roll
Twisted
Untwisted
Destroyed
Consumed
Committed
Shattered
Gifted
Fused
Owned
Merry Oblivion
Wonder how Ian and Zoe fell in love? Rock Revenge Trilogy
Rock Revenge
Rock ReclaimedRock Redemption
USA Today bestselling author Cari Quinn likes music and men, so she figured why not write about both? When she’s not writing, she’s screaming at men’s college basketball games on TV, playing her music too loud or causing trouble. Sometimes simultaneously.
USA Today bestselling author Taryn Elliott is obsessed with rock stars, men, and her unending playlists—maximizing these things seemed like a very good idea. When she’s not writing, you can probably find her surrounded by planner supplies trying to organize her life.
They decided to combine forces and found that hey...this writing deal is even more awesome when you collaborate with your best friend.
Want to know more about us?
rockerreads.com
[email protected]
Join our newsletter
Join our FB Group: The Word Wenches
“You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch”
Sander
“What nationality are you? No, wait. Let me guess. Irish? No, maybe Scottish. The last name James sounds more Scottish than Irish. Oooh, this highlighter goes well with your skin coloring. Don’t you agree? Though, you could use a little more concealer under your eyes. I have just the thing to wash away that tired look.”
While Rosie, or maybe it was Rachel, searched for concealer, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t just look tired, I looked old. I was old. Thirty-four years of hard living stared back at me. Years that I could never
get back, no matter how hard I tried. Believe me, I’d tried.
“Here we are,” the stylist called out. With concealer in one hand and brush in the other, she spun around and immediately launched into another makeup monologue. The Sander of younger years would have had his dick in her mouth by now. He would have fucked her into silence. Of course, he would have also been high. Then again, the Sander of younger years was always high. Getting laid while high, inebriated, or speeding my brains out was once a way of life. It was action without thought, feeling without emotion. It was complete and total mindless pleasure. God, how I missed it. Sober Sander couldn’t get his dick hard for this woman if she paid him. The image of Jack Nicholson flashed through my head. The one of him smiling like he’d just popped a handful of amphetamines and was seconds away from losing his shit. I could picture him swinging that axe while screaming, “No drugs or alcohol makes Sander a dull boy!” at the top of his lungs. Jack hit the nail on the head. I was everything I swore I’d never be, everything I hated. I was beyond dull. I was washed up, old, and irrelevant.
“Time to go Mr. James!” Security called from the other side of the door. Rosie Rachel looked disappointed.
I stood up, muttered “Thanks,” and walked out the door. Sorry, Rosie Rachel, no dick for you today. Cheers erupted as I made my way down the trailer steps and onto the tarmac. I gave an obligatory wave, and as directed to do earlier in the week by upper management, I forced my lips into a grimace-like smile. Fuck management.