I went onto S.C. Stephens FB page and was keeping track since she had posted that she would be putting up a new teaser for Reckless soon but she is working on it so in the mean time this is what was posted…. 🙂
The following is a section of Thoughtless written in Kellan’s POV. This would be at the very end of the book (so you may not want to read it if you haven’t read Thoughtless yet!) (And yes, I will post the Reckless teaser later 😉
Eight weeks. It’s been eight weeks since I’ve seen her face, heard her laugh.
Eight weeks since I’ve touched her body, felt her lips on mine.
Eight weeks since I’ve held her, told her I loved her.
Eight weeks since she’s held me…told me she loved me, if she ever really did.
It’s been the longest fucking eight weeks in my entire fucking life. I’ve stopped myself from calling her about fifty times a day. I just want to hear her voice. The house feels like a tomb without her in it. Everything is stale, musty. I hate being there. I’d rather be here, at the bar, drowning my sorrows in beer after beer. At least there’s warmth here at the bar. My home…all that’s left there is bone-chilling coldness. And I’m so tired of being cold.
“Kellan, you okay?” I stopped picking the label off of my beer bottle and glanced over at Evan. His big, brown eyes were warm and soft—compassionate and empathetic. I was really tired of seeing that look on him.
“Yes.” I resumed my destructive habit after my monosyllabic answer. Evan didn’t ask about my mood again. He knew I wasn’t going to tell him anything other than, “Yes,” or “Fine.” That’s all I ever told him. He wasn’t stupid, though. He knew I was miserable. They all did. Well, except Griffin. He rarely noticed anything outside of his own dick. God, I’m in a bad mood. I really need more beer. Looking up at the bar, my heart involuntarily squeezed. Even though it had been weeks…eight long, fucking weeks…I still expected to see Kiera whenever I looked around Pete’s. But all I ever saw was Jenny, Kate, and the girl from the day shift that had replaced Kiera. Emily, I think. And Rita. Her eyes never left me long. In fact, she was staring holes into me right now.
I raised my beer to her, indicating that I needed another one. She immediately grabbed a bottle and snapped at Emily to bring it to me. Anything she could do to get me hammered. Or, more hammered, since I was pretty buzzed already. Rita was probably hoping I’d get drunk enough to take her behind the bar again. Not likely. I didn’t want to be with her. I didn’t want to be with anyone. No one, except…
“Here you go, Kellan.” Emily stepped up to my table and broke my thoughts at an opportune time. I didn’t want to think about Kiera again, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Why did everything have to remind me of her? I should be able to forget her. After all, she didn’t want me. In the end, she didn’t want me. ‘Him…’ Shaking away the word that haunts my dreams, I gave Emily a brief smile as I took the offered beer. She gave me a bright smile in return. Emily was cute, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a trim figure. She probably earned her fair share of tips around here. If this was last year, I would have given her my best I-want-you smile, and asked her to go home with me. At the interest in her eyes as she gazed at me, I think she probably would have too. But that wasn’t my life anymore. And sex wasn’t my goal tonight. Sleeping with someone right now would only make me feel worse, and I didn’t want to feel any worse than I already did. Not wanting to encourage a relationship I didn’t want, I averted my eyes from Emily and took a long draw from my fresh beer. With a small sigh that I probably wasn’t supposed to hear, Emily asked if I needed anything else. Setting my beer on the table, I peeled off the last remaining piece of the label. It was clinging for its life to the dark, empty bottle, and it stuck to my hand when it finally gave way. Shaking my fingers, I tossed the label onto the small pile of labels in front of me, then I handed the now nondescript bottle to Emily. Might as well keep my insanity organized. By the time I was nearly done with that beer, my brain was nice and foggy. I couldn’t even recall…what’s her name.
‘Me or him, Kiera?’
‘Him…’ Damn it. My brain wasn’t foggy enough. I needed more beer. It probably wouldn’t help though. Nothing could really block her from my mind. Not booze, not music, not women…
“Are you Kellan Kyle of the D-Bags?”
I glanced up at a perky blonde in a halter top. Really. A halter top. In Seattle. In the middle of winter. She had to be freezing her ass off. Yep. One quick, covert glance at her chest confirmed that she was indeed cold. Sighing, I started picking the label off of my beer bottle. The monotonous activity helped distract my brain, sort of. I still felt empty, hollow, and images of Kiera’s face clouded my mind, even through the haze of alcohol. Why did she pick Denny? Why wasn’t I good enough? I’m never good enough…
“Leave me alone,” I told the fan dying for some attention from me. The fan either didn’t hear me, or chose to ignore my direct request. Leaning over so I had a full shot of her cleavage, she asked, “Can I buy you another beer?” Avoiding looking at the chest she was displaying for me, I searched her eyes. What did she see when she saw me? A nice face? Attractive, deep blue eyes? A small slice of fame? A bad boy that she could brag to her friends about in the morning? Could she really not see that I’d just had my heart ripped out of my chest and torn into a million tiny pieces? Couldn’t she tell I was…broken. I leaned forward, just a little. The tiny encouragement was all she needed. She giggled and squeezed her breasts together to make an even more impressive show. Too bad all of her efforts were wasted; I wasn’t enjoying it. I opened my mouth to speak and her gaze followed the movement of my lips. I could tell her anything right now, and she’d agree to whatever I had to say. Well, maybe not. She may not agree to this.
“I said, leave me the fuck alone.” Her face went from inviting to pissy in three seconds flat. Spinning on her heel, she stalked off to bad mouth me to her table of awaiting friends. As she walked away, Evan beside me asked, “You sure you’re all right?” Pulling too hard, I ripped my beer bottle label in half. Damn it.
“I’m fine.” As I downed the rest of my beer, Evan paused like he was thinking about what he wanted to say to me. I tensed, wondering if he was going to try talking to me. I didn’t want to talk. There was nothing to talk about. The woman I loved led me on…told me she was mine, then slept with my best friend. She told me we’d be together…then she chose him. Then our affair blew up in our face, and I lost Denny too. I lost them both in one stupid, fell swoop. Of course, losing Denny was completely my fault. But I didn’t want to talk about that. I didn’t want to talk about any of it. I wanted more beer. Emily was helping someone else, and Rita was surprisingly not looking my way, so I stood up to walk over to the bar. I’d hop over it and grab my own beer if I needed to. My head swam as the change in position made the alcohol rush to my head. I put my hand on the edge of my table to steady myself.
The dizziness would pass in a minute, and then I could get more alcohol. Maybe if I did, I would blackout tonight, and I wouldn’t dream about Kiera. Lately, I’d been dreaming about seeing her at the airport, about telling her goodbye. If anything could stop those dreams from coming, I would readily embrace it. Because, in my dreams, I didn’t tell her goodbye. I told her I love her, and I wanted to be with her. I showed her the tattoo of her name branded over my heart, and begged her to love me. And in my dream, she does. And it hurts like fucking hell when I wake up, because I know it’s not real. She didn’t choose me. My dark thoughts made it hard to stand upright, and both of my hands dropped to the table. Griffin stopped his conversation with Matt to glare at me.
“Dude, are you gonna hurl?” Matt’s eyes were as sympathetic as Evan’s. “You okay, Kell?” Sniffling, I shoved myself away from the table. I stumbled, but managed to stay upright. I guess I had more than I realized. Oh well, a couple more won’t hurt then. When I moved to head towards the bar, Evan stood and grabbed my elbow.
“Let me go, Evan.” Evan’s mouth compressed into a firm line. I knew what he was going to say, even before he said it.
“You’ve had enough, I’ll take you home.” Scoffing, I jerked my arm away and pointed at the table.
“I had two.” My words were slightly slurred, but I didn’t care. Matt rifled through my pile of labels, then looked up at Evan.
“Uh, more like seven, Kell.”
“Whatever.” Annoyed, I grabbed my jacket. If I couldn’t drink in peace here, then I would drink in peace somewhere else. Scowling at Matt and Evan, I slipped my jacket on. Or tried to anyway. I couldn’t seem to find the right holes. Matt stood up when he figured out I was leaving.
“You’re not driving.” Irritated at my guitarist, irritated at my drummer, irritated at my life, I jerked my head from one band member to the other. The room spun a little.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want! Leave me alone!” Finally successful, I slipped my jacket over my shoulders. Inexplicably, the leather smelled like Kiera to me. Matt rolled his eyes and looked over to Evan. The buzzed-cut rocker sighed, then started rifling through my jacket pockets. I batted his hands away, but he was way more coordinated than me at the moment. After fishing my keys out of my pocket, he tossed them down the table, out of my reach. They landed in front of Griffin; he stared at them blankly, then turned his attention to a girl at the next table. I dove across the table to snatch my keys back, but Matt was quicker and nabbed them first. All I ended up doing was falling onto the table and knocking over Griffin’s beer. That got his attention focused back on me.
Saving his bottle from rolling off the table, he snapped, “Dude! What the fuck?” Wishing I was anywhere but here, I laid my cheek on the cool table and stared up at Evan. He was even more concerned than before, if that was possible. Conversations battled in my brain. Some with Kiera, some with Denny. Some of them were good, some really, really bad. All of it made pain rocket through my body; I felt my chest sizzle, like someone was holding a hot iron to my heart…right over her tattoo. Not wanting to look like an idiot anymore tonight, I carefully stood up.
Feeling weak, defeated, and utterly alone, I muttered, “All right…take me home.”