**Kind of Famous by Mary Ann Marlowe**
Good Morning,
Everyone! So thrilled to see you all today! We have another new-to-me author
and book! Please allow me to feature on the blog Mary Ann Marlowe and her
latest release, KIND OF FAMOUS … And HAPPY RELEASE DAY!
**MARY ANN MARLOWE **
**BIO**
Some
Kind of Magic is Mary Ann Marlowe's first novel. When not writing, she works by
day as a computer programmer/DBA. She spent ten years as
a university-level French professor, and her resume includes stints as an
au pair in Calais, a hotel intern in Paris, a German tutor, a college radio
disc jockey, and a webmaster for several online musician fandoms, plus she
has a second-degree black belt. She has lived in twelve states and three
countries and loves to travel. She now lives in central Virginia where she
is hard at work on her second novel. She loves to hear from readers and can be
reached through her website.
To
find out more about Ms. Marlowe please visit:
**KIND OF FAMOUS**
Publication
date:
April 7th, 2020
Genres: Adult,
Romance, Contemporary
**BLURB**
Layla
Beckett has a secret. For the past ten years, she’s run the most trafficked fan
site on the Internet for her favorite band—under an alias, naturally. When she
lands a job at the prestigious New York City music magazine The Rock
Paper, she’s suddenly thrust into the world she’s only observed from the cheap
seats. Now that she’s brushing elbows with sexy guitarists and hot frontmen,
she wants to play it cool and keep her superfan status on the down low.
Although she’s dying to gush on her forum, posting her insider adventures
online could expose her real-life identity and blow her cover.
And that’s all before one of those sexy musicians becomes a fan of her.
From the minute he meets Layla, Shane Morgan’s heart beats a heavy metal rhythm, but his head is full of doubt. Since only the most hardcore fans could pick the drummer out of a lineup, he’s resigned to groupies using him to get closer to the more famous guitarists. But he doesn’t want to be Layla’s passthrough.
As Layla gets to know the real people behind the music, she’s drawn to the less-than-flashy drummer’s sweet charms, fascinating mind, and banging hot body, but she worries about his insecurities. She needs to convince Shane she’s moved beyond fandom before he discovers her online history and loses all faith in her intentions.
But the Internet is forever, and secrets have a way of getting out.
And that’s all before one of those sexy musicians becomes a fan of her.
From the minute he meets Layla, Shane Morgan’s heart beats a heavy metal rhythm, but his head is full of doubt. Since only the most hardcore fans could pick the drummer out of a lineup, he’s resigned to groupies using him to get closer to the more famous guitarists. But he doesn’t want to be Layla’s passthrough.
As Layla gets to know the real people behind the music, she’s drawn to the less-than-flashy drummer’s sweet charms, fascinating mind, and banging hot body, but she worries about his insecurities. She needs to convince Shane she’s moved beyond fandom before he discovers her online history and loses all faith in her intentions.
But the Internet is forever, and secrets have a way of getting out.
**EXCERPT**
Sitting
at the kitchen island were three men I’d recognize anywhere. Closest to the
door sat Micah Sinclair, lead singer for the band Theater of the Absurd, Jo’s
hot-as-fuck boyfriend. On his right, the unmistakable red hair of his drummer
whose name completely escaped me. My eyes were drawn immediately to the
pretty-boy lead guitarist, Noah Kennedy. My heart tripped over itself.
I
confess I’d
ranked the guys’ hotness over the years. I’d gone through a phase where Micah
was my number one pretend musical boyfriend from his band, and I wasn’t alone.
As the front man, he got the most attention, plus he’s simply beautiful with
his blond hair, blue eyes, and broad build. Once he’d fallen into a serious
relationship with Jo, it became a bit harder to even joke about him in fake
romantic ways. Not that it would stop me from drooling over a photo. I mean,
they’re just pictures.
But
that was no photo, leaning over the kitchen island with that thousand-kilowatt
smile.
Then
there was Noah, a bit mysterious, sometimes distant with fans, but onstage, he
exploded. I’d
seen him shred a guitar at a show, and I could still remember what color pants
he’d had on that day, because his ass was one of those works of art that people
had made a point of photographing whenever possible. Jeans, red leather pants,
or the rare suit slacks all worked in service of his perfect butt. And it was
sitting on a stool five feet away from me. All that separated us was a
plate-glass door.
The
other guy—I wanted to say Shawn—had the other two entranced with some story he
was telling. His hands shot dramatically forward and up and down and back, in
circles, in swoops, like he was drumming out the narrative. His face lit up so
that I desperately wanted to hear what was so funny. Micah and Noah leaned in
to listen, both so engaged, it made me hesitate to interrupt.
On the
other hand, I was dying to actually meet these guys. What a day.
With a
good shake of my hair to maximize volume, I slid open the glass door, and three
heads turned my way.
Micah
said, “Well,
hello.”
I
swallowed hard. My brain fritzed, and I stood there, frozen.
Jo
popped up from the base of the fridge. “Oh, here you are. Someone came home
early. Let me introduce you to my boyfriend and these other clowns.” She
flipped her hand toward Micah. “This here is Micah Sinclair. This is his house,
actually. I’m just a guest, alas.”
Micah
grabbed her upper arm and reeled her in for a kiss. “Liar. You’d be out
on the streets if you didn’t live here.”
She
pushed his chest away. I admired her restraint. “Stop. We have guests.”
“I thought you
were a guest.”
He chuckled at himself.
Jo
simply rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Excuse him. He’s literally the worst.
Meanwhile, over here, we have the insufferable Shane Morgan.”
Shane! Right.
Shane
tipped an invisible hat and said, “My lady.”
He
still wore a mischievous smile leftover from the anecdote he’d been sharing
before I walked in.
“Finally, this brat is Noah Kennedy.”
Noah
winked, and I melted a little.
“Gentlemen, let me present my newest
coworker and a brand-new resident of our fair city, Layla—” she faltered
“—shit, I’ve already forgotten your last name.”
“Beckett. Layla Beckett.”
Noah
waved his hand toward me then Shane. “Can you imagine the children these two
would have?”
Shane’s head rose as he
realized Noah was talking about him. A blush crept up his pale skin to the
roots of his hair.
“Red’s turning red!” Noah laughed.
I
trained my eyes on Shane, willing him to look my way. His milky skin had a
definite reddish cast to it, but I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or
embarrassment. I’d heard every red-haired taunt in the book, and although Noah
probably thought he was gently ribbing his friend, Shane’s tense jaw and
gritted teeth belied years of buried hurt with layers of insults heaped on top.
Finally,
with a flick of the eyes, he glanced over. I pegged him with what I hoped was a
penetrating gaze, a telepathic communication to say, “I know.”
A
small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and he breathed in and exhaled. “You’re right, Noah.
We’d have gorgeous kids. Look at her.”
It was
the first time he’d
been completely still. His hands settled onto the counter, and all the mischief
and mockery drained from his face, leaving behind an open sincerity that
sucker-punched me. Time slowed, and I brazenly stared at him, as if he were
another photograph posted in some fictional Hot drummers thread. He might not have the glitz of Micah or the glam of
Noah, but next to them anyone would appear ordinary. Overall more boyish than
his two pretty bandmates, Shane had a rugged build, wide shoulders, and a tight
muscle running up the side of his neck. That cord could have spawned a photo
thread of its own. I followed the set of his jaw to his mouth, dragged my eyes
over his plump lower lip, took in his slightly crooked nose and high
cheekbones, and studied the small gauges in his earlobes.
By the
time I’d
made the circuit back to his arresting eyes, I’d concluded he was very easy to
look at. And he didn’t seem to mind looking at me either.
My
lips curled to match his. And quite possibly, my cheeks now matched my own
hair.
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