Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3) Read Free

absolutely hate that I stumble in response.
    He mumbles something unintelligible. “The guys want you to come back and audition again, with them. If that goes well, you’re in on probation. Can you make it happen next Tuesday?”
    God, I hate him so damn much. But I nod, and then add, “Yes.”
    “All right then, girl .” The word “girl” is emphasized in a way that makes him sound like he’s a million years old, like some bitter old man chiding me for stepping on his lawn. It’s so patronizing that I nearly laugh. “I’ll text you the details. We’ll see you there. Goodbye.”
    The line goes dead and I groan, feeling under-appreciated. But the annoyance is soon replaced with a giddy rush of joy. I might get to play the drums again.
    Soon.
    Holy smokes, Spider-Man.
    This is too good to be true.
    Could I really get this lucky? A lot of amazing things have happened since I moved away and took my life into my own hands. I found a place to live, with a roommate who’s interesting to say the least, and a job that allows me to both pay the bills and save.  
    And now this. I couldn’t be happier with the way things have been turning out. Hopping off the bed, I head toward the clock, still blinking at me with its incorrect time from the carpet next to my closet. I pick it up and click the buttons until it’s set to 8:40 a.m. Satisfied, I set it back on the chest where it belongs and turn toward my closet.
    I pull on the first decent thing I find—navy blue sweats, the pair I borrowed from Vincent after some asshole spilled alcohol on me at a party—and head out of my room. I walk past Catherina’s room, knowing full well she won’t be up this early—she had to work the night shift last night—and then quietly exit the apartment.
    Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing at my favorite place—the half-way point of a red bridge overlooking the river. Placing my arms on the rails, I take a deep breath of the sweet Florida-fall air and let it out with a happy sigh.
    The water glistens in the sunshine, and the array of colors in the surrounding trees adds vibrancy to the normally colorless river below. It’s breathtaking.
    It reminds me of home, of the hikes Vincent and I used to take his little brothers on. I feel a sharp pang of loneliness. I miss my best friend.
    Plop . Plop . Plop .
    The sound of something sinking into the water catches my attention.
    I turn and see a man down by the water, about five yards from the bridge. He bends over, picking at something in the duff on the riverbank, and then straightens. He’s holding a stone. He examines it, turning it back and forth in his fingers, before he chucks it into the river. I squint, wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me; he looks an awful lot like Vincent. But that’s impossible. He couldn’t be here, right?
    I run off the bridge and head down the narrow path toward him, a little out of breath. I’m so gonna kill him if he’s here and didn’t tell me.
    “Vincent—”
    The guy turns around. He’s definitely not Vincent. For starters, he’s a good three or so inches taller, and his blondish hair is trimmed so close to his head it looks like its shaved. In fact, the five o’clock shadow on his jawline is almost the same length as his hair.
    His eyebrows are raised, and his eyes, even behind his black-rimmed glasses, are a striking hazel, with specks of blue and green that almost make them impossible to describe.
    “Sorry.” I grimace, feeling my hope pop like a bubble. “I thought you were someone else.”
    A smile quirks his lips upward as he flips another stone over in his hand. Then he chucks it into the river, like he’s throwing a baseball. It sinks with a plop. He turns back to me, a sort of smugness in the way he looks at me.
    Assessing. Studying. Objectifying.
    “I don’t mind,” the guy says, walking closer.
    I blink.
    “A girl like you can stalk me all you like.”
    My defenses go up. I place my hands on my hips. “Excuse