Traditions are important. Especially in the South.
College football. Rivalries. Tailgating. Halftime shows.
Some things just don’t change.
Until Reese Holland shows up with her long legs and no-bullshit attitude to audition for the prestigious all-male Rodner University snare line.
It doesn’t matter how much hazing she has to endure from Laird Bronson, with his narrowed green eyes and arrogant smirk. She wants that damn spot, and she’s more than good enough to earn it.
She expects there to be tension. Even friction.
But not sparks hot enough to burn the entire campus down.
Roxie and Jen’s Review
Those Friday night football games—what’s not to love? Hot football players, the cheering of the crowd, the feeling of those fall nights sitting on the bleachers making memories with your friends? Heaven. That’s what most people think of when they conjure up the great game of football. But what about those drummers? Never thought to notice then did you? Neither did we as we read Drumline by Stacy Kestwick.
But sweet baby Jesus, we’ll for sure notice them now! We were drawn to the cover of Drumline, that’s for sure. It’s what under the cover that will have you loving Laird Bronson, the captain of the drumline band at Rodner University.
Reese Holland arrived at the university to snag a spot on their all-star snare line. She’s feisty, talented as hell and is determined to prove she has what it takes to be the first girl on the line.
They have this great connection from the get go. The one that will give you butterflies. But as they get to know each other and we learn their history we quickly realize there is more two these two than chemistry. As they navigate the tricky path of being on the band and possibly becoming more we were rooting for them till the finish line.
“I wanted to know her everything.
I wanted to fucking be her everything.”
Laird, a golden boy at first glance harbors a painful past. We couldn’t help but fall for this man as he struggles to face his demons and find love.
Reese, this girl is so feisty and fighter and we quickly learn why is she the way she is. She is independent and reluctant to lean on others. But truly she is no match to Laird’s charms.
“Who needed fucking air when Laird Bronson was kissing them? Not me.”
Drumline is a refreshing fun and sexy read with just enough angst that will keep you invested until the end.
“…you didn’t just abandon the ones you loved when it wasn’t pretty. When it wasn’t fucking convenient. That’s when you loved more. You loved harder.”
He devoured me.
Being eaten alive had never felt so good.
His lips. His hands. His heat. My entire being was overwhelmed by him finally, finally touching me.
The kiss started hard, desperate, the inevitable conclusion to the tension that had been building between us for two weeks. With my eyes closed and my breasts flattened against the wall of his chest, I gave into it, surrendered to the moment. My mouth clung to his as he tilted my head to the side, changing the angle to deepen the contact.
His hands moved over me restlessly, hungrily, skimming down my back on the way to my ass, then back up my sides to frame my face, his fingers leaving a trail of heat behind on every inch of skin he claimed for himself. I pulled at his shirt while he pushed me against the solidness of the door. My heart tripped over itself in its race to keep up. Muffled sounds came from both of us, vibrating in our throats but not escaping our lips because we hadn’t even parted for a breath yet.
Who needed fucking air when Laird Bronson was kissing them? Not me.
His lips were somehow firm and soft at the same time as he slanted them over me again and again. It was like being called up to the major league from the minors. Nothing in my past compared. I shivered from the intensity of it, from the innate authority of his mouth as he consumed me. Like I was made to bend to him, as inevitable as the moon ceding to the sun.
I lifted on my tiptoes to get closer, one of my hands snaking up to tangle in his dark hair. The strands were barely long enough at the top to grip, and when I gave them a tug, he rolled his hips against me, showing me just how much he liked it. I moaned and felt an answering wetness gather at the juncture of my thighs.
Dear sweet rosy-cheeked baby Jesus and all the saints in heaven.
His mouth needed to come with a warning label. Danger. Highly flammable.
But it was too late. I’d had a taste and I liked the burn.
About Stacy Kestwick
USA TODAY Bestseller Stacy Kestwick is a Southern girl who firmly believes mornings should be outlawed. Her perfect day would include puppies, carbohydrates, and lounging on a hammock with a good book. No adulting, cleaning, or bacon allowed
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