She hoped he kissed her. Only her. And that when he kissed her, he was thinking about her. Only her. If he kissed her, she would kiss him back. She would kiss him back with everything she had. Every last person in the stadium would watch her kiss him, and every last one of them would know she wouldn't have minded kissing him forever.

— Jamie Farrell

She ran her hands under his shirt, over his chest, her cool touch igniting shivers over his skin. “Is this a ploy to get another song out of me?” she asked.”It’s a ploy to get you out of your pants.”“And what, exactly, are you planning on doing once you get me out of my pants?” Will felt his lips curving up again. “Darlin’, you leave the details to me.

— Jamie Farrell

She was fixated on replaying the image of a tall, broad, Highland warrior marching into battle against the evil waterfalls of doom to rescue a stuffed dinosaur. He'd saved Cindy. For Noah. CJ Blue was making it very difficult for Natalie to continue to dislike him.

— Jamie Farrell

She was his, but she wasn’t. I don’t do love, she’d said. But with her, he didn’t know any other way. Even when he wanted to protect himself, he knew. She was the only one who made him hear music. The only one who made him feel home. The only one who wanted nothing more than for him to be plain, simple Will Pruitt.

— Jamie Farrell

She was the only one who made him hear music. The only one who made him feel home. The only one who wanted nothing more than for him to be plain, simple Will Pruitt.

— Jamie Farrell

Smoke hung heavy in the air. Will’s eyes stung. His throat. His nose. And the crackling. God, the crackling fire was like the devil laughing. Vera was in that house. Mikey gripped his arm. “Hold on, Will—” Will lunged forward. “Vera—”“Whoa, Will.” Mikey’s grip tightened. “Stop.”“The hell I will. Vera—”“Billy?” One of the cops approached him. Said a bunch of words. Helped Mikey hold Will back. Vera was in that house. Vera, her trusty wooden body, her frets, her new strings. Vera, who’d had his back everywhere from Pickle berry Springs to Nashville to New York to LA, from seedy bars to stadiums. Vera, who’d helped him write his first song. His last song. Every song in between.

— Jamie Farrell

Some days, Will wished he could’ve been like Mikey. Living it up, having fun, embracing the moment. But Will had never been the kind who could keep his heart out of it.

— Jamie Farrell

Speaking of cupcakes, Will wants two dozen off your special menu to take on the road after the wedding.” “The ERM, peach kind?” “The peach kind,” Lindsey said. “I like the peach kind,” Josh said. Mikey had named them Sex on a Peach. And they were Jimmie’s second-biggest seller, after the Hairy Dicks, which were coconut cake balls strategically placed with Dahlia’s chocolate-covered, ice cream-filled bananas. And Josh’s frown had disappeared, and now he was grinning as if he knew it. All of it.

— Jamie Farrell

That was his biggest regret. He loved playing for living, loved hearing his songs on the radio, loved being on a stage and the road, but some days, he wouldn’t have minded going home every night to a sweet wife and a couple babies and fried chicken on the table. That was what Lindsey had taken from him. He’d fallen hard. He’d seen what his momma must’ve felt for his daddy, he’d felt his world crack right down the middle when the girl who had become his everything ripped his heart out of his chest.

— Jamie Farrell

The Milked Duck was empty, save for Dahlia’s two part-time helpers, but they were all rushing around, anticipating the first guests for her Risqué Flavor Tasting event any moment now. The up front freezers were stocked with Chocolate Orgasm, Peachy Passion, Sexual Favors, Mikey’s favorite Cherry Popper and more. She had a case of Sin on a Stick treats ready to go and temporary menu up on the board behind her.

— Jamie Farrell