You’d Be Mine by Erin Hahn EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Authors: Erin Hahn
- Publish Date: April 2, 2019
- Language: English
- Genre: Teen, Young Adult, Thriller, Fiction, Literature
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 4 MB
- Pages: 304
- Price: Free
- ISBN: 1250192889
Clay
april
nashville, tennessee
If I die, it’s Trina Hamilton’s fault. She’s hard to miss; statuesque blonde with
angry eyes and tiny nostrils wearing top-of-the-line Tony Lamas so she can
kick my ass at a moment’s notice. When the early-morning sun finally burns
through my irises and kills me dead, she’s the one you want.
“Christ, Trina, it’s barely seven.”
My road manager flashes cool gray eyes at me while pressing her matte
red lips into a thin line. Her expression hasn’t changed in the minutes since
she came pounding on my hotel room door. She’s a study in stone, but not for
long. Better to get this over with.
I mumble another curse, yanking the frayed brim of my baseball hat lower.
“At least slow down. I have a migraine.”
Trina whirls around and shoves a manicured nail in my face. “Don’t,” she
spits, “pull that migraine bullshit, Clay. You look like death, smell like
sewage, and if you think those glasses are doing anything to hide that black
eye, you’re sorely mistaken.”
I scratch at the back of my neck, playing for time. “Are those new Lamas?
Because dang, girl, they make your legs look incredi—”
She grabs my chin in a painful squeeze, her sharp claws digging into my
bruised cheekbone. “Don’t even try it. What happened to you last night?”
I wrench my face away. “Nothing serious. A little scuffle with some fans
after the show.”
Trina stares at me a long minute, and I start to fidget. It’s her signature
move. I might be a country music star, but Trina makes me feel like a middle
schooler who just hit a baseball through her window.
“A little scuffle,” she repeats slowly.
“Yeah. A scuffle.”
“Really. Just a few good old boys shooting the breeze, probably,” she
offers with a too-bright smile.
“Right.”
She nods and starts walking, her heels clacking on the asphalt and ringing
in my ears. A couple of middle-aged tourists halt, curious, midway through
loading their golf bags into a rental car to watch us. I tug the brim of my hat
even lower and hustle to match her strides through the hotel parking lot.
“So, that’s it?” That can’t be it.
“No, Clay. That’s not it. Your face is all over TMZ this morning. We, as in
you and me, because I’m irrevocably tied to your fuckery, are due at the label
at 8:00 A.M. sharp.”
I release a slow breath. “Trina, I have a contract. They already started
presale on the summer tour. It can’t be that bad.”
Trina’s cackle is edged with hysteria. “That guy you punched after
throwing a beer in his face and waving a knife—”
“Knife? Really? It’s a Swiss Army pocket tool. Every self-respecting Boy
Scout owns one.”
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