My Kinda Song Read online

  My Kinda Song

  Summer Sisters Book 3

  Copyright © 2017 Lacey Black

  Photograph & Cover design by Sara Eirew

  Website: www.saraeirew.com

  Cover Models: Dylan Horsch and Tiffany Marie

  Editing by Kara Hildebrand

  Proofreading by Joanne Thompson

  Format by Brenda Wright, Formatting Done Wright

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  All rights reserved.

  Index

  Also by Lacey Black

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Another Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Lacey Black

  Rivers Edge series

  Trust Me, Rivers Edge book 1 (Maddox and Avery) – FREE at all retailers

  ~ #1 Bestseller in Contemporary Romance & #3 in overall free e-books

  ~ #2 Bestseller in overall free e-books on another retailer

  Fight Me, Rivers Edge book 2 (Jake and Erin)

  Expect Me, Rivers Edge book 3 (Travis and Josselyn)

  Promise Me: A Novella, Rivers Edge book 3.5 (Jase and Holly)

  Protect Me, Rivers Edge book 4 (Nate and Lia)

  Boss Me, Rivers Edge book 5 (Will and Carmen)

  Trust Us: A Rivers Edge Christmas Novella (Maddox and Avery)

  ~ This novella was originally part of the Christmas Miracles Anthology

  Bound Together series

  Submerged, Bound Together book 1 (Blake and Carly)

  ~ An International Bestseller

  Profited, Bound Together book 2 (Reid and Dani)

  ~A Bestseller, reaching Top 100 on 2 e-retailers

  Entwined, Bound Together book 3 (Luke and Sidney)

  Summer Sisters series

  My Kinda Kisses, Summer Sisters book 1 (Jaime and Ryan)

  ~A Bestseller, reaching Top 100 on 2 e-retailers

  My Kinda Night, Summer Sisters book 2 (Payton and Dean)

  My Kinda Song, Summer Sisters book 3

  Standalone

  Music Notes, a sexy contemporary romance standalone

  *Coming Soon from Lacey Black

  Book 4 in the Summer Sisters series, My Kinda Mess (Lexi and Linkin)

  A Holiday Anthology Novella, still untitled

  Dedication

  To everyone who has ever fallen for their best friend.

  Chapter One

  Abby

  It’s a Summer sister tradition that on the first Saturday of each month, the six of us get together. We take turns picking the location or activity, anything from margaritas and a movie to wine and painting classes at the small gallery uptown. One thing, though, is as certain as the sun rising over the Chesapeake Bay every morning; there will be alcohol involved.

  Always.

  The pleasant July night is perfect for a beachside round of disc golf; or at least that’s what AJ said. It was her month to choose our activity, and since she’s enjoying the heck out of her summer away from the teenage kids she teaches at the junior high, she opted to live it up along the Bay. We’re one of several groups playing tonight, which is higher than normal. Of course, the main reason for the extra bodies on the beach isn’t just because of the gorgeous evening. It’s because the band Crush is playing.

  Levi’s band.

  As much as I try to tune them out, his deep vocals can be heard all the way over here, on the opposite end of the public beach. He’s been the lead guitar player and backup vocalist since they started the band when we were nineteen. I can still recall the day he called me at school and told me his news. We celebrated together on my next trip home from college the one way we always did: a movie and strawberry ice cream.

  I push the memory out of my mind and focus on now. My next throw is coming, and I’m trying to figure out how to get out of it. I hate sports. Okay, I don’t hate them, I’m just not good at them. Bowling, mini golf, Frisbee golf, you name it, I stink at it. The whole sports gene was just used up by the rest of the Summer sisters by the time I came along.

  Let’s roll back around to disc golf, or Frisbee golf as some like to call it. The object is to take your plastic disc (think Frisbee) and throw it into a basket on a pole. There are chains and a technique to it, but I don’t really care about all of that. I’m basically here for the margaritas. Oh, back to the game. It’s like golf, except without the club. You throw your disc and try to get it in the basket. The person with the least amount of throws wins. I never win.

  Our beach is considered a nine-hole course. It’s not sanctioned by the powers that be, the Professional Disc Golf Association. (Yes, that’s a real organization. Look it up.) It serves its purpose to those who enjoy the game in Jupiter Bay. Six holes are positioned along the beach, whereas the remaining three can be found just off the sand in areas of dunes and tall grass.

  I suck not only at sports, but well, anything that doesn’t involve words. I like to read, always have, which is why my job as an editor for Stonewell Publishing is heaven-sent. I get to work from home, editing and correcting manuscripts for romance authors all over the world. The best of the best write under the Stonewell name, and I’m lucky to be attached.

  “Abby, your turn,” Payton hollers as she stands by and waits for me to throw.

  “Are you all set to move at the end of the month?” I ask, taking aim at the big chain-made basket.

  “All set. Everyone’s available to help, right?” she asks, opening another can of beer.

  “Did you really leave us a choice?” AJ quips, a smile on her face.

  “Nope. You’ll all be there. I’ll make lunch,” Payton adds.

  “You’ll make lunch?” Lexi asks, her eyebrow posed high into her hairline, an ornery smirk on her face.

  “Well, Dean will make lunch. Whatever. Same thing. Don’t be a brat, just be at my house at eight a.m.”

  “We only get lunch? You’re making us move everything out of your place and into either storage, take it to Goodwill, or to Dean’s. That calls for dinner too, I believe,” Jaime says, glancing over her shoulder towards the crowd on the beach.

  “Stop it. He’s out there somewhere watching you. His lips are probably going to fall off because he hasn’t kissed you in like,” AJ says, checking her watch, “fifty-five minutes. Poor baby.”


  “What did I do to you? Is tonight pick on Jaime night?”

  “Nope, that was last night,” Payton adds.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Anyway, I’ll be there,” I tell Payton.

  “Good. Bring Levi. We need more muscle.”

  Ah yes, Levi. The man we’re not discussing right now.

  I don’t acknowledge the statement, but instead, turn towards the basket. I let the disc fly, but it doesn’t go anywhere near the intended target. Instead, it flies to the right by a good ten feet. At this rate, I’ll never get that stupid round thing inside the stupid hole.

  Huh. Much like my sex life.

  “Grandpa stopped by the shop yesterday and grabbed flowers for Grandma,” Payton says.

  “That’s sweet,” I chime in.

  “It was, until he asked me to make an arrangement with pussy willows and poppies,” she mumbles.

  “Gross. Why is there a flower called pussy willow?” Meghan asks.

  “It’s not even a flower. It’s a plant. It’s actually called the Salix Discolor, and they grow wild along ditches and places where water gathers.”

  “But why pussy willow? They look more like cocks than pussies.” Lexi looks deep in thought as she contemplates the answer to her question.

  “Why are we talking about this?” I ask.

  “Because our grandparents always talk about the sex, and they’re rubbing off on us,” Jaime says. We all giggle at her reference of the sex. It’s how Grandma always refers to it.

  “Poppies are fairly popular though, right?” AJ asks, taking her shot at the basket.

  “Yeah, if you like hairy ball sacks. Grandma always says they look like balls.”

  “Or vaginas! Don’t forget that everything looks like a vagina,” Meghan adds through her laughter. It’s so nice to see her smile.

  Our grandparents helped raise us, and are the most inappropriate couple on the face of the planet. Their constant groping, mixed with language that would make a sailor blush, makes them over the top in the PDA and embarrassment departments. But we love them, even with the constant mortification that follows in their wake.

  Our dad, Brian, is amazing. When my mom died sixteen years ago from ovarian cancer, it took a toll on everyone, especially him. He was left alone to raise six girls ranging from nine to seventeen. But he did it. Sure, he had the help of our grandparents, our mother’s parents, but he made sure to stay an active part in our lives. He took a job flying private planes that didn’t take him away as much as the commercial jets, he did everything he could to attend ballgames, dance recitals, and award assemblies. He rarely missed a milestone and has remained very much a part of all of our lives.

  My sisters all talk over each other, laughing at stories and teasing each other mercilessly. We’re brutal in a pack, competitive by nature, and loyal to a fault. I’m second to youngest of six girls. Yes, all girls. I’m also a twin. I can see you now, panicking at the thought of trying to keep all of us straight, so I’ll try to help you out and keep it simple.

  First, there’s Payton. She’s the oldest and owns Blossoms and Blooms, the small floral shop in downtown Jupiter Bay. She’s also getting ready to move in with her boyfriend, Dean, and his daughter, Brielle. I adore that little girl. She’s the first child in the Summer family, even though she’s technically not flesh and blood. But that doesn’t matter to us. She’s already as much a part of the family as if she were actually born into it.

  Up next comes Jaime. She works for Addy’s Place, a program where kids who come from hard situations can go after school for help with homework, a healthy snack, or just to hang out socially. She’s dating Ryan, though my sisters and I all expect a proposal soon. They live together with their deranged cat, Boots.

  Third is Alison, or AJ. Teacher. Coach. Smartass. She’s one of the remaining single ones, and I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon.

  Meghan. Oh, sweet, heartbroken Meghan. It’s hard to talk about Meg. She’s fourth in line, and recently lost her fiancé in a car accident. Josh was…everything to her, and our family. She’s learning to navigate a new normal right now, and all we can do is be there for her when she needs us.

  As I mentioned, I’m a twin, so that leaves Lexi. Alexis is my mirror image, even though we are nothing alike. She’s fierce and feisty, and loves to stir the pot with her big wooden spoon. She’s married to her high school sweetheart, Chris, but there are rocky waters there.

  She’s also my other half. When I need to talk, to cry, to laugh, she’s my first call. Lexi and I share a special bond that most don’t quite understand. I mean, we shared womb space for nine months; that’s something pretty gargantuan.

  Then there’s Levi, but we don’t need to get into him right now. I’m here tonight to have a good time with my sisters and don’t need the distraction of letting my mind wander in his direction. Just know that he’s my friend.

  My best friend.

  And I might be a little bit in love with him.

  Chapter Two

  Levi

  I scan the faces in the crowd, but don’t see the one I’m looking for. Dozens of half-drunk girls are swaying along to the music we play, singing every note. There was a time when seeing their lustful eyes, watching me play, was the biggest high ever. And it is, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that things might have changed.

  Playing with Crush is fun, but it’s not what I live for anymore. It’s a way to unwind after a long-ass workweek. If I’m not on the rig, working as an EMT for Jupiter Bay Hospital, then I’m at the station as a volunteer firefighter. Both are an adrenaline rush that I crave. Just like playing in the band has been.

  But now things are different. I’m getting older, and hopefully wiser. Yes, I know I’m only twenty-five, but back when we started six years ago, it was all about the music, booze, and girls. And there were plenty to go around, believe me. Now, it’s still the music, but it doesn’t own my heart the way it used to. There’s still plenty of the other two. Most places we play give us free drinks, and most women we meet are ready for a little one-on-one time with someone in the band. Oh, and I used to take full advantage of it, all that I could. Girls were practically handing it out like cocktail napkins at a party. But lately, I’m just not looking for a quick hookup. Does that make sense?

  I guess I’m just getting tired of all this bullshit.

  My band mates say I should be having the time of my life, living up the fame that comes with being a small town, local musician. Oh, and I do, believe me. I get passed more phone numbers than a phonebook everywhere I go. Blonds, brunettes, redheads of all shapes and sizes. Thongs, double D’s, black mascara, and stilettos. I have my pick of the party everywhere we play, but lately, they’re just not doing it for me.

  We’re getting closer to a break, and damn, could I use one. I need some water to rehydrate, and I wouldn’t mind finding Abby. I haven’t seen her since the sun set and we started to play. She was out on the poorly lit Frisbee golf course with her sisters, enjoying another night with the girls. It kinda makes me jealous that they’re so close, especially because my only sibling is a brother who doesn’t live around here anymore. He’s super smart, went off to college, and now lives in New York, raking in the dough for a finance firm.

  Much smarter than me, that’s for sure. He’s all straight-laced and proper, and I’m all tattoos, piercings, and rock music. Sure, I went to the community college and worked hard to be an EMT. Those classes were fucking brutal for someone who hated school, especially when you mix in volunteering for the local fire department AND playing in a band. But I made it through.

  Some nights, I wasn’t sure how. I’d call Abs who was away at State. Sometimes when my mind gets going in fourteen different fucking directions, I need to hear her voice. It grounds me, soothes the turmoil brewing in my head. That’s why, after almost fifteen years of friendship, she remains the only constant in my life. Well, besides my job and my parents. Abby is the one person who knows me, inside and out, and doesn’t give a
shit that I sometimes transpose letters when reading or that I can’t balance my checkbook to save my life. She doesn’t care about my status in the band or how great my ass looks in my uniform pants. (Don’t judge–I hear it all the time.) She’s one of the only girls to know I cook and bake better than Martha fucking Stewart and that I make my own laundry soap.

  I know you’re wondering, so I’ll tell you. The whole laundry soap thing happened after Abby talked about having sensitive skin and how difficult it was to find a laundry soap that didn’t make her break out. Do you know the kinda shit they have on Pinterest? Well, I found this recipe for this do-it-yourself laundry soap. Long story short, it worked so well for her–and smelled so fucking clean–that I use it myself to this day.

  She’s my rock, my constant, my best friend, if it’s okay for dudes to say they have one. But she is, dammit, and I can’t imagine my life without her.

  And she’s out there somewhere in the night, I can feel it.

  When we finish our set, I put down my guitar and jump off the hay wagon we’re using as our beachside stage. We’ve played many shows atop this wooden beast over the years, that’s for sure. As soon as I head towards the cooler and start digging for a bottle of water, I feel long, slender fingers slide up my back and wrap around my shoulder. I don’t know who it is, but I can tell you who it isn’t. Abby would never touch me like this, even though part of me wouldn’t mind that one fuckin’ bit. Just the thought of her fingers –

  No. I will not go there.

  “Hey, handsome,” the owner of the hand purrs in my ear. Her body is now pressed against my back, ample tits smashed against me. I can feel nipples through the material of my shirt, which doesn’t bother me much, since I am a red-blooded, heterosexual male.

  Turning around, I come face to face with the owner of the hand. Ahh, yes. I’ve had those hands on me before. “Crystal,” I croon in a deep voice. “Lovely to see you this evening.”

  Her hand slides from my shoulder, down my chest, and lands on my abs. Apparently, she doesn’t care that I’m a bit sweaty from playing. Instead, it seems to only wind her clock that much more. “I’d let you see a lot more of me later tonight,” she replies with a coy smile.