The Rock Star’s Baby Bargain – The Bangover Read online Lili Valente

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)

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The Rock Star's Baby Bargain - The Bangover

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lili Valente

Book Information:

Two days after my boyfriend dumps me, my business goes belly up, and the sperm bank declines my credit card, a gorgeous rock star offers to whisk me away for two weeks of hot, steamy, all-expenses paid…therapy.
I should say no. I’m not looking for a fling.
I want a man who’ll be a father to the baby I’m desperate to conceive. Or, at the very least, a guy willing to knock me up before we go our separate ways.
Zack isn’t that guy. He’s my best friend’s oldest pal, and in my social circle for the long haul. I could never ask him a favor like this.
That would be crazy. The problem?
Turns out, I’m crazy.
And so is Zack…
Books by Author:

Lili Valente

Chapter One

Zackary Jenner Halloran

A man whose life is no longer going according to plan.

* * *

“I’m so sorry! Oh my God, you poor thing. She sounds awful!” The busty brunette’s jaw drops as she shakes her head slowly back and forth, sending her gold hoops swaying in her ears. She leans closer to the man’s barstool, laying a heavily ringed hand on his arm. “Thank God you got out, huh? Before you ended up having some stranger’s kid without even knowing it or something.” She gives a dramatic, boob-jiggling sigh. “Jesus…”

“Right? Completely out of her mind,” the man agrees. His lightly accented English makes my ears perk up.

I’ve only been half-listening to the conversation around me—I came to Chippy’s to throw a beer or two onto my own anxiety fire, not to get sucked into anyone else’s—but that voice….

It tickles my brain, making my synapses fire.

I know that voice.

I glance to my left, taking in the back of the man’s curly dark hair as he tosses back his drink, draining the golden liquid in the glass before setting it back on the scarred wood with a heavy thunk. He motions for Debbie, the owner and only bartender on duty this early on a Thursday evening, to bring another round, giving me a glimpse of his profile, which also looks familiar.

But from where?

“Another Jameson for me and a…” He glances at the woman. “What are you drinking, gorgeous?”

The brunette beams at the cheesy endearment and shoots him a simpering smile. “Dirty vodka martini. Three olives.”

“Dirty vodka martini, three olives,” the man relays to Debbie, though she no doubt heard the order already. She’s getting up there in years, but she’s as sharp as they come, a no-nonsense former biker chick who knows when to lend an ear and when to hold her tongue.

So I’m a little surprised when she points a finger at the brunette, and says, “Got it, but don’t believe everything you hear, doll. Remember, there’s always two sides to a story.”

The brunette blinks in surprise before letting out a high-pitched giggle. “Oh. Right. Totally.”

“But my side is the right side,” the man adds, raising his voice as Debbie turns to fetch the bottle of Jameson from the mirrored shelves behind her. “You don’t know what I’ve been through, Debbie. Colette has lost it. She’s crazy. I swear, if she came in for a glass of wine, you wouldn’t even recognize her.”

Debbie kicks the dishwasher closed beneath the bar, covering my soft grunt of surprise.

Colette. That’s how I know this guy. Colette is one of my friend Theodora’s best girlfriends. They met at summer camp when they were just kids. She’s also ridiculously beautiful and as sweet as they come.

And, until recently, she was dating this douchebag.

Felix? Frances? Fernando, maybe? I’m not great with names. Add in the fact that this guy rubbed me the wrong way from the moment I met him—at a mutual friend’s potluck, where he showed up late, brought nothing to share, and drank all the cider intended for the guy with the gluten allergy—and the chances of me remembering him weren’t great to start with.

But now I wished I’d paid better attention, just to know the backstory here.

Of course, I can probably guess. Almost every time I’ve heard a guy talk about how “crazy” his ex is, it’s one of two things. One—she decided she didn’t want to touch his dick anymore or two—she wanted him to act like a responsible grown-up, and he preferred to keep throwing his dirty boxers on the floor and expecting her to clean up his messes.

And she didn’t want to touch his dick anymore.

Are there women out there who aren’t dealing with a full deck? Of course, but Colette isn’t one of them. I don’t know her well, but every time we’ve run into each other, I’ve been impressed with how kind and classy she is.

And sexy as hell.

I’m not usually the type to notice unavailable women in that way, but with Colette, it’s almost impossible to avoid. She’s not just beautiful; she’s…sensual. The way she touches things, the way she moves, the way her lips caress a word as it leaves her mouth. Just watching her eat a sandwich at a picnic or pet my friend Kirby’s cats is a mildly erotic experience.

Of course, I never let the attraction show or even thought about acting on it. Colette was in a relationship, and she never gave any sign that she was interested in me as anything but a friend. That was all it took to ensure that each time the awareness light flickered on inside me, I immediately reached over and pulled the plug.

But now she’s single, a hopeful voice in my head whispers, but I shut it down, too.

I’m in no place to start dating anyone right now. I’ve just turned my entire life upside down and have no clue where I’m going from here. I have the next steps in place, sure, but who knows how all of that will play out. For the first time in over a decade of being a part of a touring band, I don’t know when, or if, I’ll be on the road next summer. I’m not even one hundred percent sure I’ll be able to keep working as a full-time musician, and Colette isn’t the kind of woman you casually have drinks with while you’re distracted by your uncertain future.