Starting From Here (Starting From #3) Read Online Lane Hayes

Categories Genre: Gay, GLBT, M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Starting from Series by Lane Hayes

Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Starting From Here (Starting From #3)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lane Hayes

Book Information:

Two bands, one goal, and a second chance…
Everything is finally going well. I have a new band, a new label, and a debut album coming out. And then my drummer breaks his wrists. Just my luck. I need a quick replacement to record one more song, but my options are limited, and of course, the obvious candidate hates my guts. Okay, so I may have given him a few reasons over the years, but isn’t there an expiration date on holding a grudge?

I don’t trust Declan McNamara. Sure, he’s talented, smart, and has more sex appeal than any one person should be allowed. And yeah, he may be a rock star in the making, but beware—he’s trouble. However, our new record label’s survival may depend on a truce and extreme measures…of the fake boyfriend variety. If it’s our best shot at the big time, I’m willing to set the past aside and start over…here and now.

Starting From Here is a MM, bisexual romance rock and roll style…rival bands, fake boyfriends, and a second chance at a new love story. Each book in the Starting From series can be read as a stand-alone.
Books in Series:

Starting from Series by Lane Hayes

Books by Author:

Lane Hayes



“What you seek is seeking you.”—Rumi

The streetlight illuminated the early morning fog like a spotlight on a darkened stage. The parking lot was deserted, but it wouldn’t be for long. The city would be wide awake soon with people hustling to work or school, anxious to get a head start on their day. Knowing the lack of activity was temporary made it seem special, although at the moment, it felt eerie.

I shook off the fanciful notion as I let myself into the side entrance of Scratch Records. I’d been running on caffeine and adrenaline for a couple of weeks now. I was bound to be a little loopy at the ass crack of dawn. Three hours of sleep wasn’t going to cut it, but I had to get this song down before it faded from consciousness. The words weren’t a problem—I just needed a beat. Something slow and sexy.

I made my way along the dimly lit corridor, bypassed the contemporary-style reception area, and headed for the narrow hallway leading to the studio. Excuse me…studios, plural. There were two. Ours and theirs. A small lobby area served as a holding zone of sorts. If Zero and Jealousy were better friends, we might hang out there and chill between practices. But we weren’t, so we didn’t.

Whatever. Not something to worry about at five a.m. Or at any time of day, if I could help it.

I pulled my key card from my pocket and opened the door to Jealousy’s studio, flipping on the overhead lights. It was a fairly basic space with vaulted ceilings and bluish-gray walls. The light hardwood floor was covered with a few knock-off Persian rugs for acoustic purposes, but other than the modern gray sofa near the recording studio window, the room was filled with instruments: a row of electric, bass, and rhythm guitars, propped neatly in the rack next to two large amps. Keyboards and a drum kit sat on the opposite side near the engineering equipment.

I kicked my shoes off and picked up my favorite guitar. Stella was a gorgeous amber Yamaha. I’d had her for almost fourteen years now. She’d been with me through tough times. Heartbreak and heartache, fear and longing. I’d played her till my fingers bled, ripping open my chest and pouring my soul into carefully crafted songs I hadn’t shared with the world…yet. That was about to change. I was ready to begin again. And I was hoping that with a bit of bravado, this old girl and I would finally be on our way.

My calloused fingers tripped over the opening chords of the song in my head as I sang a few lines.

“Coming from an old space to find a new way to—fuck.”

I sat on the edge of the sofa to tune my guitar. When I was satisfied Stella was ready, I tried again, coaxing the melody and twisting the cadence of my words to fit the notes. Crafting a song sometimes took me days or weeks. But every once in a while, it poured out of me in a matter of hours.