Read Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) for Free Online Page B

academic.
We’re more likely to get stoned in someone’s backyard and talk about the cosmos
than snort coke off toilet seats, or whatever it is that famous musicians do. I
can handle myself just fine around more adamant drinkers and druggies, and have
always been just fine at Hawk and Dove. I just hope that doesn’t change, now
that I’m going to be performing.
    A sudden familiar smell catches me off guard. Someone else
must be awake in this little city on a hill. I turn around and notice a thin
ribbon of steam rising from a tent across the site. As I reroute towards the
fine smell of good coffee, I see that it’s a craft service tent. I remember
someone telling me that our food and drink would be complementary while we were
at the festival, but I never dreamed that they’d be able to accommodate my
early bird ways so well!
    I’m sure that my eyes are as big as saucers as I approach
the lofty food tent. A couple of industrious souls are setting out fresh trays
of pastries, bagels, and toast. I spot a brigade of waffle irons, bowls of
fresh fruit, and a whole array of cereals and goodies. There even looks to be
an omelet station off in the corner. This is certainly a far cry from the way
I’m used to eating during the festival. In years past, I’ve spent five days
munching on Pop Tarts and peanuts, exclusively. This will be a welcome change
of pace, I must say.
    “Would you like something?” asks one of the people setting
up.
    “A coffee would be fantastic,” I tell her. She nods and
starts to turn, before a voice from over my shoulder stops her.
    “Make that two, would you?” croons a rich baritone.
    I look over my shoulder and swallow hard. Trent Parker is
standing three feet away from me, looking sleep-rumpled and terribly sexy. All
six feet of him are perfectly balanced, from his scruffy brown curls to his
worn out sneakers. He looks strong but not bulky. His muscles look natural and
fine, not bulbous and gym-manufactured. His jaw line is like a straight razor’s
edge, though it’s covered in dark stubble. His full lips are curled into a
subtle half-smile, and his vibrant green eyes are smiling, too.
    I had a hell of a time yesterday trying to keep my cool when
we met. I’m no super fan, but running into someone so famous had been a little
disorienting. It didn’t help that he is even more attractive in real life than
he is in any picture. There’s this charming, open quality about him in real
life that doesn’t seem to come across in print or on the web. He’s got quite
the bad boy reputation, Mr. Parker. And while I’m not one to get intimidated
easily, I can’t say that I’m not a tiny bit star struck. He’s a wonderful
musician, after all. And above anything else, I find talent to be incredibly
sexy. I give him my best, it’s-cool-we’re-totally-equals-right? smile.
    “You’re up early,” I say, keeping it light.
    “I don’t sleep much,” he shrugs, slipping his hands into his
back pockets. God, what I wouldn’t give to be those hands right about now.
“What’s your excuse?”
    “I’m an early bird,” I tell him, “Always have been. I’ve
been waking up at five in the morning for as long as I can remember. It
certainly wasn’t welcome come Christmas morning, I can tell you that much.”
    He laughs easily. “I can imagine. Your boyfriend must not be
too happy about it either.”
    I can feel my brow furrow. “My...? Oh, you mean Mitch?”
    “Yeah,” Trent says, “That squirrelly kid who yelled at me
yesterday.”
    “He’s not squirrelly,” I say, “And he’s just my band mate.
Well, not just. He’s my friend too, obviously. But he’s not...We’re not...”
    “Together?” Trent suggests.
    “Right,” I say quickly. Why am I babbling in front of this
person? I try to redeem myself as we wait for our coffee to brew. “This is your
first time playing at the festival, right?” I ask.
    “It is,” he tells me, “Just like you.”
    “But I’ve at least been here