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Noble Intent (HARDCOVER)

Noble Intent (HARDCOVER)

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Hardcover

One steamy night with my best friend becomes the ultimate test of my noble intentions.

 

I’m one of the biggest rock stars in the world and the lead singer of the chart-topping rock band, Rapturous Intent. Everyone thinks I have it all, but something’s missing. 

 

Then I run into my childhood friend Becka—literally—who I haven’t talked to in years and suddenly everything I’m looking for is right in front of me. She knew me when I was a nobody and instead of having to put on a show all the time, I can finally be myself with someone. Except, now there’s a tension between us that wasn’t there when we were kids. As much as I ache to have more with her, I’m not willing to sacrifice the solace that her friendship brings to my life. 

 

When one moment of weakness leads to the best night of my life, I’m forced to choose between my best friend who’s become my lifeline, and the possibility that she could be so much more. In my attempt to be noble, I end up making the biggest mistake of my life.  

Now I need to prove to Becka that her friendship isn’t enough for me. I want all of her, and this time, I’m not giving her up for anything. 

 

Noble Intent is a steamy friends to lovers romance and the first book in the completed Rapturous Intent Rockstar Series.

This is the hardcover, discreet edition.

Main Tropes

  • Lead Singer
  • Childhood Friends to Lovers
  • One Night Stand Gone Wrong

Read Chapter 1

Trent

The crowd gathered around my SUV erupts in cheers as I exit from the backseat, my bodyguard already standing by my door. My smile is pasted on my face, and I’m thankful for the sunglasses that hide the dissatisfaction in my eyes at the scene in front of me. The screams from the women being held back by security are nearly deafening as my bodyguard helps guide me safely inside the popular downtown building where I’ll be having my magazine interview and photoshoot today. 

Simone Jacobs, the journalist who’s interviewing me today, meets me inside, a coy smile on her face. “Mr. Bridger, it’s so great to finally meet you. Sorry for all the craziness out there.”

“How’d they know I’d be here?”

She’s trained well because her face only freezes for a second before she gives the standard line of bullshit claiming there was some internal memo that accidentally got out. We both know the truth. They wanted extra publicity and they got it. That’s why I’m here after all. For the publicity. 

Some days that’s all my life feels like—some publicity stunt. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. But more and more it feels like just that—a job—instead of the dream come true that it used to be. 

Being a famous rock star isn’t all it is cut out to be. There are perks, sure, but no one tells you about the rest of it. The fact that you can never go anywhere in public without being recognized—and subsequently swarmed—by people wanting something from you, or worse, touching you without your permission. You’re no longer a person to them, you’re an ideal. You’re their chance to be close to fame. 

I remember the feeling well. I remember the first time I met my idol backstage at a concert when we opened for his band. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I couldn’t understand the jaded look in his eyes at the time, but I get it now. 

Some days I wish I could go back to being that naive Texas boy who thought hitting it big was going to change my life for the better. It changed my life, but I don’t know if I’m better off than I was when I was broke and couch surfing with friends as we’d hop from town to town playing in dive bars. Back when people cared who I was as a person and not just a rock star. 

Simone walks us down a hall and then we’re in a large open room with a couch and some chairs set up in one corner and camera equipment and wardrobe options taking up the rest of the space. I know at least one of our shots will be on the roof with the backdrop of LA behind me; that’s why they picked this specific building to begin with. 

She leads us straight to the couch and chairs and gestures for me to choose where I’d like to sit. I elect a chair, preferring the comfort of knowing she can’t sit right next to me. I’ve had a few journalists try to cross that professional boundary, and while I might have considered it when I was younger and still new to this lifestyle, it’s not something I’m interested in now. 

Meaningless fucks lost their appeal a long time ago. 

She’s still starry-eyed when she sits down and gushes about how she’s such a big fan. I dig deep—deeper than I usually have to—to get into character. To become the Trent Bridger she expects. The only version of Trent Bridger most people expect these days. 

“So, I’ve been wondering this since you guys broke out on the scene a few years ago and blew up. How’d you come up with your band name, Rapturous Intent?”

I offer her my most charming smile. “It means that we expect the women we’re with to experience rapture when they come. The kind of blinding pleasure that’s so intense, they forget their own name.”

Her eyes widen, and she nibbles her lip before clearing her throat. “I have no doubt you deliver. So, how did you guys meet? Tristan is your brother, but what about your drummer, Miles Tallon, and bass player, Kasen Stone?”

“Tristan is my younger brother, and we went to high school with Miles and Kasen. I first met them in band class my freshman year. Miles was a sophomore, and Tristan and I had been playing together and writing songs for a couple of years, but more as a hobby than anything serious. Then when Tristan finally came to our high school—Kasen and I were juniors—we decided to take it a little more seriously. We played local shows until Tristan graduated and then his best friend, Robbie Nolan, became our band manager and got us booked at a bunch of different smaller venues all over the country. We did tours like that for a year or two before we got the chance to open for a fairly popular band, and that kind of opened the door for us. We started getting more gigs and then got signed with our label, and the rest is history.”

“And you and your brother are the main songwriters, correct?”

“Yep. We’ve been writing together since we were eleven and thirteen respectively. We’ve perfected our process over the years, and it hasn’t let us down yet.”

“No, it certainly hasn’t. Your latest single has been number one on the charts for eight weeks straight. And your upcoming tour sold out in minutes. How does it feel to know you’ve become one of the most famous bands in history? I mean, people are comparing you to Foo Fighters.”

My body warms at that comparison. It started with our last single and has been making the rounds in the press. It’s probably the single greatest compliment I’ve ever been given in this industry because that band was definitely a huge influence on me growing up. 

“It’s a huge honor to be compared to people I admire so much, and it’s a distinction I always dreamed of but never thought we’d actually achieve.”

If only it made up for the empty feeling that comes whenever I leave the stage. The isolation I feel even when I’m in a crowd of people, and the unending loneliness when I realize I’ll likely never find someone who truly wants to know me, the real me. 

If such a woman exists, I’ve yet to find her. 

Every woman I’ve dated in the past few years has ended up wanting some part of my fame—whether it was to make Hollywood connections or just to rub elbows with other rock stars. None of them have really cared about me for me. They just wanted to say they dated the Trent Bridger. 

My stomach sours because I hate feeling ungrateful for this crazy wonderful life I live, filled with more luxury than I ever dreamed of. But more and more lately I miss the simplicity of my life before I was famous. 

“Here’s another one I’m dying to know.” Her eyes spark mischievously. “What’s the wildest thing that’s ever happened on tour?”

I rub my chin like I have to think about which story to tell her. I can imagine what she thinks would be wild, but it’s probably tame compared to some of the stories I could tell her. Like the time I showed up to my hotel room to find a naked groupie on my bed with rose petals and my name tattooed on her body. Or the time I walked into a popular coffee chain to grab a coffee after a long night recording in the studio and had a woman walk up to me and grope my dick through my jeans and proposition me. No, she probably wants some wild story about the band. But Kasen’s a party boy, and I don’t particularly want to get into his history of drug use. Tristan is a playboy, but only because he can’t have the one woman he’s actually in love with. And Miles…well, let’s just say Miles has quite the adventurous sex life, which is something you’d never guess based on his normally chill, stoner-esque personality. That man likes it dirty. 

But none of those stories are mine to tell. 

So instead, I lean forward like I’m about to tell her the best secret of her life and whisper seductively, “What happens on the road, stays on the road, darlin’.”

Her lips part and her breath quickens—just the reaction I was going for. I sit back in my chair, and it takes her a moment before she returns to her own upright position, her eyes still a little distant like she’s imagining a lot of naughty things that might happen on the road. 

She’s probably not too far off from the truth. 

She clears her throat again, clearly trying to regain her composure, but her husky voice gives her away when she speaks. “I’ve got just a few more questions, and then we’ll move to your photoshoot.”

My body already feels exhausted from having to maintain this persona and pretend like I’m into this whole interview, but this is what I signed up for. 

If only someone had told me to read the fine print of becoming famous.

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