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Levi (The Casanova Club #9)
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The rock star all the girls want to be with and men want to be. He’s rugged, sexy, dangerous, and more than a little broken.
And he’s all mine for the month of August.
I didn’t expect the month to go like this. Although I should have seen some of it coming. Levi is an open book with more than his fair share of faults, but as time passes and I begin to see the depths of his soul I realize he’s desperately searching for something real. Something honest.
I want to be those things for him.
But he deserves better than a girl who’s only dating him to collect the big pay day at the end of the year. My parents are furious with me. The restaurant is going under. All I need is to get through a few more months of this vicious cycle of heartbreak and then I can put the Casanova Club behind me for good.
And Levi, too.
If I can.
Note to the Reader: This is a 13 book sexy romantic comedy series with monthly releases in 2019. We’ll be following the journey of Piper, one funny, down-to-earth young woman, and her willingness to give up everything to save her family. The books are standalone in nature, but do have references to the books before as Piper will spend a month with each member of the 2019 Casanova Club. Voting will begin in early May and run all year long. That’s right. You get to vote on who Piper ends up. More to come on that! Enjoy. I did..
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The sheet music in front of me on the piano blurred. The notes leapt off the page like slender, inky ballerinas, dipping and spinning over the beats and settling back down in all the right places.
My fingers hovered over the keys, and I paused to frown at the disobedient notes.
“Fucking shit.” In an effort to bring everything into focus, I squinted and leaned in close to the page. My nose was just three inches from touching the paper. The notes congregated closer together, but they still refused to cooperate.
A weary sigh over my right shoulder broke my focus. The notes trembled before springing back to life and shifting across the page. I pushed away from the piano, pinching the bridge of my nose and trying to ward off the headache that had started at the nape of my neck three hours ago and had steadily been working its way into my eye sockets.
Just what I needed right now.
My little brother—well, he wasn’t so little now, he was fuller and taller than me—Jake, was standing in the corner of my in-home recording studio with his arms folded over his chest. He wore a smirk on his lips, the top one thin, the lower one fuller, just like mine.
“What?” I asked sharply.
There was judgement in Jake’s eyes. Like always.
He shrugged. “You look like shit.”
“Of course, I do. I’ve spent the last three hours with you.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he pushed off the wall and walked lithely to the piano, where he stood on the other side and rested his elbows on the lid. His dark green stare settled on mine before wandering across my face, no doubt taking note of the dark circles under my eyes, the red around my nose and irises, and my pale complexion. “When was the last time you ate?”
It annoyed me that our roles had reversed somewhere down the line. Where I used to be the big brother, the one calling the shots, making the rules, asking the questions, barking the orders, and doing the looking out for Jake, it was now the other way around.
Which was a funny thing.
Because in terms of success, I was still in the lead by a fucking long shot.
I was Levi Morgan, lead singer of The Levi Project. When the band first took off fourteen years ago, I was young, only eighteen, and stupid, and when our big breakthrough came when I was twenty-one, shit hit the fan.
I had access to everything and anything I wanted, when I wanted it.
The lifestyle was dangerous and all consuming. One day bled into the next, and every song released was more and more marketable, but each one stole something from my soul. My record label said that was the price of being a big name in the music industry these days. Compromise. The fans want what they want.
And since I owed all my fame and life of luxury to my fans, I’d better damn well give them what they wanted.
It was just getting harder.
With a muttered string of curses, I closed the fallboard over the keys. Jake frowned, and I ignored him as I turned all the way around on the bench seat, swinging both legs over to plant my feet on the other side and lean back against the fallboard.
“Done for the day?” Jake asked.
“Do you want something to eat?”
Why was he always trying to get me to eat something? I’d eaten recently. Last I recalled, I’d had a bowl of cereal roughly… well, sometime within the last thirty-six hours at least.
I just wanted to climb back into bed, close my sun-canceling blackout curtains, and be dead to the world until—
“The girl comes tomorrow,” Jake said, moving around the piano to take the metal stool across from me. It had a leather cover over the seat with the label of my band on it. My name, printed in red, vanished under his ass when he sat.
“I know,” I said.
I didn’t know. I’d forgotten. I forgot a lot of things these days.
“Do you have any intention of cleaning yourself up before she shows up?”
“What? You don’t think this is exactly what she’d expect?” I gestured down at myself. Torn-up form-fitting black jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt with a low unbuttoned collar exposing bare chest and sparse hair, and black sneakers with white laces.
Jake narrowed his eyes at me. “Have you looked in a fucking mirror, Levi? Jesus Christ. And you can hardly read the sheet music.”
“I can read it.”
“Don’t bullshit me. I was watching you. You wrote the fucking songs, and you can’t read it.” Jake shook his head and looked at his hands, clasped together between his knees. His hands, like his eyes, were the same as mine. We were only two years apart in age—a fucking nightmare for our mother, God bless her soul—and had more physical similarities than anything else.