Naomi Isabelle Knox. Lead guitarist for Amatory Riot. Twenty-three years old. Hot as hell. Mean as sin.

I want it so bad, but no glove, no fucking love.

I'm sorry," he said and his voice was neutral this time, almost too neutral. "But you'll be safest if I maintain my position here."And you're trying the limits of my self-control, I thought. You can't just throw me a few clues and then take it all back. I will figure you out, I swear it."Suit yourself," I said and then paused. "I'd rather have you behind me anyway."How's that for a little sexual innuendo?

Your past doesn't have to dictate who you are, but it can help you discover who you're meant to be.

Roses are red,Violets are blue,Never Ross, I heart the fuck out of you.

Naomi's my girlfriend,” I say aloud, just to test the words, see how they feel fucking across my lips. Ronnie flips a page in an old copy of Rollin' Strong magazine and ignores me. “Yeah, we heard. Sixteen times since we came in here,” Josh bitches.

I get the niggling feeling in my belly that says it's time for a new song. It hits at the most random, inopportune times. Fucking creative muse bitch. I stand up quick and grab a pen from the desk in the corner, flipping my arm over and finding a space between the tattoos.

It's normally just wham, bam, thank you ma'am, (...)

Just hold my fucking hand,” Turner whispers against my ear, giving me goose bumps. “Just lace your fingers with mine and hold on like your life depends on it, like our pulse is dependent on this one, single connection.

Charlie …” he starts, and then he shakes his head, reaching up to scrub a hand down his face. “He raised an amazing daughter.” I keep smiling, even though everything hurts. Everything. My heart, my soul. “I’m in. I … don’t want to know what college is like without you.