“If opposites attract, then I am nothing. Because you, you are everything.”
There’s no easy road traveled to such an intense sentiment, one I never dreamt I’d feel….
But I also never planned on Cannon Blackwell climbing aboard my tour bus.
Let’s start by saying that we are huge SE hall fans and we have read all of her books and love them all.
This book is no exception, I fell in love with Cannon. He’s funny, sexy and he plays a guitar, what more can you ask for?
Cannon is definitely my new crush! He is mix of the sweetness of Dane and the cockiness of Sawyer. I adored him.
From the moment Cannon and Lizzie meet I fell in love with the banter between these two. Lizzie and Cannon’s sarcastic comments made me laugh throughout the book.
“Why don’t you let me try this, since you suck at it? Cannon Blackwell, not a hitchhiker.” He offers his hand. “And you are?”
SE Hall is the absolute best with creating amazing banter between characters. I was laughing one moment and swooning the next with these two! I couldn’t get enough of their interactions.
I also loved Liz’s character. She was sassy and had the claws of a mama bear. Don’t mess with her brother or you will see those claws.
I adored Liz too. She could be overbearing at times, but it was clear how much she loved all the boys in her life. Speaking of the boys, loved Rhett and Jarrett! I really hope we see them in a future book.
“You’re my best friend, my medicine, my proof not everyone sucks. I don’t want to lose you.”
I am with you. Each character was unique; Conner stole my heart, Jarrett had me laughing, and Rhett’s intensity had me worried. I would to have more of all of them. SE Hall always has the ability to make me not only love the main characters but she has me craving for more of the secondary characters.
Of course, we can’t forget the character I’m most partial to; Marshall. What an amazing guy!
Even though this may be part of a future series, this is a standalone with a definite ending. It is mostly from Liz’s POV although I was so excited that we did get a few chapters from Cannon.
I really loved this book from SE Hall. I highly recommend it to any NA Romance fan. Cannon will steal your heart.
S.E.Hall resides in Arkansas with her husband of 18 years and 4 beautiful daughters. When not in the stands watching her ladies play softball, she enjoys reading and writing. She’s also being clutch at Baggo, when it’s warm outside!
“I can’t let a stranger on the bus with Bubs. What if he’s a mass murderer?” What if he’s not as pretty on the inside as he is on the outside?
“Ah, Mama Bear, run him through all the tests. You’re careful. And he might say we’re crazy and tell us to fuck off. Let’s ask before we worry about it.”
Biding my time, I chew on the inside of my cheek and look back, confirming Conner’s still tossing the Frisbee happily, Rhett watching him. “You asking or am I?” I sigh, hopefully masking the foreign tingle of anticipation working its way up my battered spine.
“He’s hetero, I can tell from here. I say we send in,” he flicks a finger back and forth between my boobs, “the big guns.”
“Don’t lick your lips!” I shove him, mouth agape. “You’re like my brother. That’s illegal in at least forty states, and gross.”
“You didn’t think it was gross when—”
“Enough.” I slap my hand over his mouth hastily. “I’ll go, but you stay right here and watch, closely. He makes a move for a weapon, dial 911 as you run to rescue me.”
“On it.” He grins at me, full of victory, a hint of his earlier teasing still lingering in his expression.
Girding my loins, I think, do women have loins and can they be girded or is that only a guy thing? Summoning my courage, I move with slow, hesitant steps in the miraculous unknown’s direction, reminding myself with each one that it’s for the boys, the band, the overall goal of staying the hell out of Sutton. And it is, but I’m kidding myself if I don’t admit I wouldn’t be this anxious if I was walking up to an ugly man. Or even a kinda good-looking man. Shallow much, Liz? Nah, I have no control over biological response.
Almost there now, his head lifts and turns at my approach, connecting eyes as sable brown as thick molasses to my own. He was tummy-turning enough far away. Up close, he’s better than photoshopped, a clear-cut case for Guinness Genetics. His lips are full, much plumper than my own, and he has a strong nose and jawline, both very masculine, the latter covered in a dark scruff. His hair is the same rich chestnut as his eyes, not too short, but definitely not too long. “Just fucked” hair (isn’t that what they call it?) be damned. He’s got “just fucked her and she had to hold on” locks, unruly in the most intricate fashion. The black boots at the end of long, thick legs are scuffed, faded jeans worn, well, and the long sleeved black thermal he’s wearing? Oh, he wears it, or rather, every muscle in his torso holds it up flawlessly.
Bottom line—he’s easy to look at.
“Are you a deranged serial killer and/or rapist?”
I like to open subtly.
“No, are you?” His timbre is deep and gravely, sending my vagina subliminal messages. Something along the lines of “yup, you want it.” With a voice like that, I’m praying he isn’t a chain smoker. To fuzz this perfect picture with the stench of an ever-present cloud of smoke would be one helluva slap in the face of the Almighty creator.
“No,” I answer too defensively, this instant, highly unusual attraction frying my staple “too cool to care” attitude that, up until right now, I’d like to think I pull off fabulously. “You any good?” I lean and point to the instrument on his back, brows bowed in questioning antagonism.
“Define good,” he deadpans, head down as he pulls the guitar off his back and puts it back in its case.
“Not left-handed.” He shrugs as he straightens back up and captures my gaze.
He laughs, treating me to one seriously enlightening sound, accompanied by the sexiest blindingly white smile. “Then no, not even close to good.”
Damn, I should’ve gone with a mediocre guitarist! Now I’ve backed myself into a corner, Stranger Danger not giving me anything in the form of segue. Struggling, I shove my hands in my back pockets and rock nervously back and forth on my heels, forced to come up with another revealing yet seemingly aloof question.
“Why do you ask?” he rescues me.
“Our band.” I toss my head back toward the bus. “We need a bassist. And since you’re hitchhiking, I thought maybe—”
He drops down from his perch on the top edge of the bench and stands, well over six feet of sinister sex appeal stretching out before my eager eyes. “Do you know what a hitchhiker is?”
“What?” I shake my head to clear it and take a step back. “Yes, of course.”
“You sure about that?” He eats up the steps I’d retreated, placing his body close enough to mine that I can literally feel the battle of push and pull between us. “‘Cause where I come from, hitchhikers stand at the road, where you can see them. It increases their chances of actually landing a ride.” His left eyebrow curves up at one end and that same eye, I swear it, twinkles at me. “Seeing as how I’m sitting at the back of a desolate rest stop, I’m either the worst hitchhiker in history,” another step closer, “or you’re labeling me with the wrong tag.”