Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
ONE
June
Never meet your heroes. That’s what they say.
My first thought upon seeing Deke “Daddy” Decker sprawled out shirtless in his dressing room with a bottle of Jack Daniels dangling from his famous fingers?
I should have listened.
My uncle Sandy has been working as Deke’s personal assistant for two decades. Over the years, they’ve become friends, but even Sandy warned me the country music superstar is not what he used to be. From my place in the doorway, I can see exactly how true that is. Deke’s face is currently hidden beneath the brim of a black cowboy hat, but I know from recent television interviews that it’s no longer young and boyish.
At forty-two, his countenance is hardened and cynical. His blue eyes no longer twinkle. They’re mean and impatient.
That physique of his must be one hundred percent natural, however, because it hasn’t disappeared along with his charisma. His six-foot-five frame is still as powerful as ever. Sure, the muscle definition isn’t as prominent and there is more meat on his bones, but his overall thickness is what I’ve always found appealing. Even when I was way too young to moon over attributes like thigh sinew. Or a happy trail. Or the way the zipper of jeans always seemed on the verge of bursting open.
Just like it does now.
Deke’s eyes are covered. That’s probably why I look at it longer than I should.
When a familiar quickening in my tummy starts to take hold, I force my gaze down to the ground and take a deep breath. I thought I’d gotten control of my infatuation enough to cover for Sandy for a few days. Was I wrong?
Maybe this crush I’ve had since I was ten years old will never truly go away.
Deke gives out a low grunt and shifts on the dressing room couch, his hips lifting just slightly, that bulge on full display…and my temperature rises. Rapidly. Much to my irritation.
Honestly. I’m twenty years old.
I shouldn’t be turning red over the mere presence of male genitalia.
Although, Deke’s is somewhat…famous. For being large and in charge.
Apparently, they don’t call him “Daddy” for nothing.
As a virgin, I know nothing about such things. How big is big enough to earn a nickname? I have no idea. Unfortunately, I have thought about Deke Decker’s penis a lot. From the moment I hit puberty in middle school, I swore up, down and sideways that Deke would be my first. He was going to sweep into town with his flurry of tour buses. One of them would break down on the side of the road. I would happen by on my bike and invite him over for lemonade and we’d make slow, sweet love under the shade of my elm tree in the backyard of my house.
Obviously, in this fantasy, I didn’t have parents.
Or a functioning brain.
This man is more than twice my age.
Standing so close to him now, that mathematical fact is inescapable. He’s all weathered skin and faded tattoos and rough, calloused hands. I’m on summer break, about to begin my third year at Vanderbilt. My life has barely begun while Deke seems hell bent on putting an early end to his.
My disappointment is just beginning to sink in when Deke lifts the bottle of Jack to his lips and takes a hearty swig. “Is it time to go on yet?” rumbles in that scratchy baritone. The one that has sold millions of records and made women around the country scream their heads off for the last two decades.
I clear my throat lightly, check my watch. “You have twenty minutes before you go on stage, sir.”
A handful of seconds ticks by, before Deke Decker flicks up the brim of his cowboy hat, taking in my presence through eyes narrowed against the light. “Who the fuck are you?”
Despite preparing myself for Deke’s bad attitude, my heart sinks down to the floor, though I smile through the ridiculous hurt. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Decker. I’m—”
“I swear to God, you groupies get more aggressive every show.” He tosses the hat onto the nearby dressing table, upsetting a row of empty beer bottles. “Have to say, you don’t exactly fit the description of my usual admirer. More like one of their daughters.” He shakes his head at me. “You’re a baby. Go home.”