Lithium Waves: A Lithium Springs Novel Read online

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  SHOUT OUTS

  DEDICATION

  EPIGRAPH

  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

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  SNEAK PEEK OF LITHIUM TIDES

  Copyright © 2017 by Carmel Rhodes

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Proofreading: Shanesmommy

  Editing: Kristen- Your Editing Lounge

  Cover Design: Designs by Kirsty-Anne Still

  Interior Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  SHOUT OUTS

  DEDICATION

  EPIGRAPH

  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

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  SNEAK PEEK OF LITHIUM TIDES

  To my husband. Thank you for reminding me of my gravity. Also, thank you for dealing with my insanity throughout this process. Thank you for keeping the pantry stocked with hot chips, coffee and pepperoni. Also, thanks for not commenting on the amount of wine ( and vodka) I consumed while writing this story. I love you. Always. Forever.

  Shanesmommy. Thank you for loving Ryder and Jamie as much as I do. Thank you for knowing them better than I do. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.

  Diana and Kelly. My book pushers. Thank you for keeping it real. Thank you for believing in these characters and for encouraging me always.

  Erica and Brittany. Squad. Thank you for keeping me sane and helping me laugh. Thank you for talking me off all the ledges. Thank you for your honesty. Thank you for reading this in every stage, and for understanding the vision.

  My Ride or Dies: Jeanette, Helen, Michelle (x2), Niki, Melisa, Alexis, Suzan, Lori, Cindy, Linda, Loretta. (Sorry if I forgot anyone!)—Thank you for reading, giving feedback, supporting.

  Boot Camp: Paula, Nikki, and everyone else. Thank you for teaching me how to be a better writer.

  The Lithium Army. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do any of this without you. It’s really kind of amazing to have found my tribe so early on.

  Readers. Thank you for taking this journey with me. I promise I won’t let you down.

  For Rosemary and her babies.

  We return to each other in waves.

  This is how water loves.

  —Nayyirah Waheed

  Life was suffering; at least that’s what the Buddhists believed. It was a philosophy James Michele Manning understood all too well. Jamie spent the first half of her life craving the conditional love of her parents, and the second half rebelling against them.

  Nothing she did was good enough, including graduating from the University of Southern California with honors. It didn’t matter if she was at the top of her class because, as her father put it, broadcast journalism was a dying art. “In fifty years when all the baby boomers are gone,” he’d say, “no one will look to the television for the news. The internet is the wave of the future.” The internet, where he made his millions.

  Well, her father could go fuck himself. Her mother too. She gave up seeking their validation last fall when they abandoned her when she needed them most. Jamie was on a downward spiral. She indulged in the suffering of life, in drinking, in partying, and in casual sex. She relished the numbness alcohol provided, but recently, that life left her unfulfilled.

  Party girl Jamie died months ago. Most days, she was happy that girl was gone, but there were days, like today, when she missed it. Then, as fate would have it, Lo called. Lorena Davis was her party friend. They met at a bar the year before and hit it off instantly. She had a front row seat for Jamie’s, ‘Britney circa 2007’, meltdown, but she never judged. So, when Lo asked her to come to the edge of Seattle to see some local band perform, Jamie agreed.

  That’s how she found herself falling down The Rabbit Hole—literally.

  The Rabbit Hole was a dive bar on the outskirts of town. Its claim to fame was a weekly skee-ball tournament, eight-dollar fish bowls, and live music.

  Jamie sat at the long oak bar, nursing a cold beer. The only thing on her mind was getting shit-faced, but as usual, Lo was late.

  Checking her watch, Jamie sighed, “Fuck it.” She wanted to wait for her friend before she started taking shots, but Lo was twenty minutes late and she was bored. Jamie being bored in a bar was a Molotov cocktail of trouble.

  She signaled for the bartender; a tall, curvy woman with bright green streaks in her brown hair. Her breasts spilled out of her black tank, and the itty-bitty shorts she wore made her ass look spectacular. Jamie made a mental note to ask her trainer about squats the next time they met.

  “Hey,” the punk rock Victoria Secret Model greeted, sashaying her way over.

  “Is this band any good?” Jamie asked, shamelessly using her arms to press her boobs together. The move, coupled with the low-cut, black bodysuit that was painted on her body, made her small breasts look fuller.

  The woman’s brown eyes lit up as she leaned over the bar, her tits on full display, “Lithium Springs?”

  Jamie nodded to her chest. Eyes up James, she scolded herself. Fuck if she knew the name of the band, fuck if she cared. Sh
e was only there for the drinks.

  “They’re amazing.”

  “There aren’t very many people here,” Jamie said, glancing over her shoulder at the fourteen or so people milling about.

  The hot bartender opened her mouth to speak, only no words came out. Instead, her face turned a bright shade of pink, and her eyes darted over Jamie’s left shoulder. “Hey Ry,” she whispered in a breathy voice.

  A long, tattooed arm brushed up against Jamie’s. Honey colored eyes peered down at her. The energy between Jamie and the owner of the arm was electric. The hair on the back of her neck prickled when the man, Ry, settled into the space between her and the stool to her left.

  He was close, too close, considering they were the only two people sitting at the bar. Too close, considering it had been a month since she’d gotten laid. Too close, considering she was just checking out the woman behind the bar.

  Tilting her head, Jamie snuck a better look at the man who smelled like sunshine and sex—her favorite combination. He was gorgeous, tall and lean with wavy, blond hair that fell just above his shoulders. His eyes were hazel, his skin sun-kissed, and most importantly, he was covered in tattoos.

  “I thought it wasn’t the size of the boat but the motion in the ocean?” he asked. His voice was like hot fudge, slow, thick, and sinfully good. He eyed her, waiting for her to speak. His gaze held so much intensity it caused her cheeks to heat. She was fucking blushing, and James Michele Manning didn’t blush.

  “That’s a lie created and perpetuated by dudes with small dicks,” she smirked. Her tongue swept over her top and bottom lip, and Ry’s eyes shifted down to her mouth. Good, she was desperate to take back control. This man, with his tattoos and steady gaze, unnerved her. Jamie wasn’t a damsel in distress and she didn’t do vulnerable.

  Ry laughed, a deep belly laugh. The sound sent a rush of moisture between her legs. “You’re probably right.” He chuckled again, ignoring the stool behind him, leaning into her. “What’s your name?” His gaze dropped from her lips, down the length of her body, and back up again. He was eye fucking her, and discretion was not in his vocabulary.

  “You know,” Jamie said, angling away from him, “there are plenty of empty chairs. You don’t have to hover over me.” His closeness diminished her ability to make rational decisions, and nothing about the way this man made her feel was rational.

  “I kinda like hovering over you,” he murmured, closing the space she created.

  He was trouble. Jamie could see it dancing behind his hazel eyes, and fuck if she didn’t want him, but unfortunately, she gave up trouble for lent. “Look, you’re hot and everything, but this isn’t happening,” she waved between them, “so enjoy the show.”

  Jamie slid her phone out of her back pocket, and fired off a text to Lo.

  Jamie: I’m at the bar. Hurry your ass up!!!!!!

  “Tiff, babe,” the blond hottie called the bartender in a voice that made her thighs clench.

  Breathe James, he’s just a man. Just skin and bones, breathe.

  “What’s up Ry?” the woman asked in a voice that made her sound like a baby. Jamie had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes; she never understood why women did that. It was annoying and men couldn’t possibly like that shit.

  “A shot of fireball for me and one of those fruity, Swedish fish ones for my little, Kitty Cat here.”

  Tiff nodded, looking from Jamie to the man, then back again. “Sure thing,” she murmured, her face awash with disappointment. Jamie wanted the bartender. The bartender wanted Ry. Ry wanted Jamie. They were all screwed.

  “Kitty Cat? Do I even want to know?”

  He grinned a mischievous grin, one that had her clenching her thighs. ”You look like you have a pretty pussy.”

  Yep, he was trouble.

  Jamie was a lot of things, and modest wasn’t one of them, but even she had to pick her jaw up off the bar after that. “You are so lame,” she huffed incredulously, all but throwing her phone down. “I’m embarrassed for you. There’s no way that has ever gotten you laid.”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, Kitty Cat,” he said finally sitting on the damn stool. “I was talking about a pet.”

  Jamie snorted, narrowing her eyes at him. “Ry, is it?”

  “Ryder” he nodded, entirely too pleased with himself.

  “Well, Ryder, you’re full of shit.”

  Tiff set their shots on the counter, looking to Ryder expectantly. “Let me know if you guys need anything else.”

  He nodded but never took his eyes off Jamie. “I’m full of shit?” he asked with a raised brow.

  “Yes, filled to the brim.”

  “Well, Kitty Cat, if you play your cards right, you might have the pleasure of being full of me,” he smirked, staring at her denim clad thighs, “and for the record, I bet she’s pretty too.”

  Jamie picked up the whiskey and knocked it back without flinching. “You’ll never know.” Her voice was surprisingly strong considering the way she felt inside. She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her, but she was going to fight the attraction like hell because she could tell by spending five minutes with him, Ryder had the potential to fuck up her life. Jamie then lifted the Swedish fish shot and gulped it down before hopping off the stool. “Thanks for the drinks.”

  He grabbed her hand, “At least tell me your name.”

  “You gotta earn that, Ry,” she purred, winking playfully at him.

  Jamie did her best to keep her composure. Part of her wanted to fuck him right there on the bar and another wanted to kick him in the nuts. She had slept with plenty of assholes in her time, but never one who made her feel like Ryder. Never one who set her world on fire.

  Don’t even think about it James.

  Lo needed to get there fast before Jamie found herself covered in Ryder’s sin.

  Jamie stared at her reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail, her skin was flushed, and her pupils were so dilated that her emerald green eyes looked black.

  The Ryder effect.

  The cocky bastard had her hiding out in the ladies’ room for the past ten minutes. Old Jamie wasn’t the type to duck and run, she confronted things head on. Then again, old Jamie would have been face down and ass up within twenty minutes of meeting a guy like Ryder.

  Old Jamie was kind of a mess.

  New Jamie, on the other hand, was responsible and career-oriented. She wasn’t interested in random hookups at dive bars. That’s what she told her reflection anyway, over and over and over again.

  Sighing, she considered calling Lo again when the bathroom door burst open and the five-foot-three fire-cracker, sauntered in.

  “I’m sorry,” Lo said, her high-pitched voice as full of energy as the woman herself. “My dickhead boss wanted me to swing past the office and get some business cards. Can you believe it? Like a bunch of dudes in a punk band are going to keep track of a damn business card.” Lo worked as a PA to one of Seattle’s top record execs. They were there that night on a scouting mission.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Jamie huffed, rubbing her tattooed finger across her lips. It was her little secret, a white ink semi-colon, a physical reminder to breathe.

  “Whatever, party pooper,” Lo rolled her eyes. “And why are you hiding out in the ladies’ room anyway? I looked for you for ten minutes.”

  Jamie had no sympathy for Lo. She had waited for her for nearly an hour. “Some dude started hitting on me, so here we are.”

  “Was he hot?” Lo asked, because of course, what he looked like was really all that mattered.

  The women locked arms and headed back out into the main bar and Jamie’s anxiety began to wane. With Lo there, she would be less likely to buy whatever it was Ryder was selling.

  “I guess, in like a tattooed surfer kind of way.”

  “Is there any other kind of way?” Lo questioned.

  On the hotness scale, tattooed surfer was up there with
brooding rock star, but Jamie would never admit it. “I think I’m over random hookups.”

  “Don’t tell me James Manning is looking to settle down?”

  Jamie frowned, settling down wasn’t something she liked to think about. In her world marriage was a contract, a business arrangement used for the purpose of closing deals and forging new allies. Kensie, her roommate and best friend since diapers, was the only person in their group with parents who actually liked each other. The Roth’s were unicorns.

  “No,” Jamie shook her head, ”fuck that. I’m just bored. I need to shake things up, try something new. Maybe switch teams for a while. The bartender was hot.”

  Lo chuckled, pulling her toward the sounds of a guitar strumming in the main bar. “Hot surfer dude or sexy bartender?”

  “I don’t know,” Jamie whined, “neither.”

  Both.

  “Boring,” Lo snoozed. “One night, come out of retirement for one night.”

  Jamie rolled her head from side to side, mulling over Lo’s words. Jamie made so much progress distancing herself from the wild child she used to be, she deserved to have a little fun. She scanned the bar for her surfer, gasping when her eyes swept across the stage. “Holy shit.”

  “What?”

  “That’s him,” she said, tilting her chin. Ryder stood center stage, a microphone clutched in his hand and a guitar strapped around his shoulders.

  “The lead singer of Lithium-fucking-Springs is your surfer?” Lo’s voice held a tinge of jealousy, but Jamie was only half listening. Ryder, was both surfer and rock star. The hotness meter was about to explode.

  “What’s a Lithium Springs?” Jamie mumbled.

  Lo snapped two manicured fingers in her friend’s face. “The band, James, the one we’re here to see? You know for a reporter, you sure don’t seem too concerned with details.”

  Jamie tore her gaze from the stage long enough to flip Lo the middle finger. This was her fault.

  “You already know Ryder,” she yelled over the music. “That’s Javi on bass.” Javi was equally as handsome as Ryder and his light-brown skin equally tatted, but there was a playfulness about him. “And that,” Lo, pointed to the drummer, “is CT.”