Title: STARAuthor: BB EastonSeries: 44 ChaptersRelease: April 12, 2018
Because BB Easton had so much fun writing her best-selling, award-winning memoir, 44 CHAPTERS ABOUT 4 MEN, she decided to give each of her four men his own steamy stand-alone. STAR is Hans’s book—a real-life rock star romance…with a twist. In 1999, Brooke “BB” Bradley met her Prince Charming. He was the tall, tattooed, wickedly handsome bass player for the up-and-coming rock band, Phantom Limb. But, more importantly, he was hers. She knew it the moment he flashed her that shy, dimpled smile. And he knew it too. Hansel “Hans” Oppenheimer wore his heart on one sleeve and scrawled lyrics about BB on the other. Unlike the assholes of her past, he showered her with tenderness, took her places she’d never been before, and showed her the type of all-consuming love she’d thought only existed in fairy tales. But, like any good fairy tale, BB’s road to happily ever after was paved with challenges, and right when she least expected it…it forked. In 1999, Brooke “BB” Bradley met her Prince Charming. In 2000, she met her soul mate.
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The First Star I See
When I looked out my window and saw acres of water instead of the usual wall of hundred-foot-tall pine trees, I knew we were almost home. To get to the Oppenheimers’ estate, you had to drive across the lake, over the top of a hydroelectric dam. That stretch of road always made me nervous because the only thing separating the cars from the lake was a few feet of grass, a simple guardrail, and a sheer drop-off to certain death. So naturally, Hans chose that exact spot to stop and admire the view.
When he slowed down and pulled onto the grassy shoulder, I panicked, thinking we must have gotten a flat tire or something, but Hans didn’t seem worried or upset. Instead of calling a tow truck or busting out a tire iron, he rolled down all four windows and cranked the stereo up.
“C’mere.” He grinned, squeezing my thigh before hopping out of the car.
I followed him without question, drawn to the pulsing glow surrounding his body. Hans’s energy field wasn’t red, red, red anymore. It was pink, pink, pink. I wanted to touch it. To swirl my fingers through it to see if it would dissipate like steam or flicker like a hologram.
Hans stepped over the metal guardrail, causing my breath to hitch, then turned and held his hands out to help me over. I forgot my fear when I reached out to grasp his glowing hands and perceived a faint pink light surrounding my own.
“Listen,” Hans said as I sat beside him on the guardrail. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and planted a kiss on my disheveled blonde head as the next song on his Jimmy Eat World CD began to play.
Hans had told me to listen, but I was too busy admiring the view to hear anything. The surface of the lake looked as if someone had taken the night sky and spread it out like a picnic blanket before us. A million crystalline points of light billowed and swayed below us while a million more floated overhead, just out of reach.
“Did you hear that?” he asked. “The first star you see might not be.” I blinked at him in confusion, then realized he was quoting a line from the song. “What do you think it means?”
I loved Hans’s random deep questions. There was an intimacy to them.
What’s in your brain? Can I see it? Will you show me yours if I show you mine?
“I don’t know,” I said, lacing our fingers together and watching the pink glow intensify everywhere that our skin touched. “But he’s right. Usually, the first star I see is actually a satellite or a planet or an airplane. Tonight, I didn’t really notice the stars until I saw them reflected on the water, so I guess those stars aren’t really stars either.” I gazed at the glittery black expanse before us and breathed it in. “It looks like two skies, doesn’t it?”
Hans nodded, rubbing his thumb over mine. I smiled, remembering how, just a few short months ago, that simple gesture had made my heart skip and my knees weak.
“I know what it means,” Hans said, looking down at me with eyes as black as the lake below. “You’re the first star I see. Before anything in the sky, I see you.”
I could barely make out the features of his face, but I kissed the first one that came into view. I think it was his chin. Then another. His nose? “I’m pretty sure you’re the star in this relationship,” I teased, finally kissing his lips.
“You’re wrong,” he murmured against my mouth, sliding his tongue along the top edge of my bottom lip. “You’re so fucking wrong.”
BB Easton lives in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia with her long-suffering husband, Ken, and two adorable children. She recently quit her job as a school psychologist to write stories about her punk rock past and deviant sexual history full-time. Ken is suuuper excited about it.