Cover design: Najla Qamber Designs

Photographer: Lindee Robinson

Models: Chad Feyrer and Madison Wayne

Summer Star is a retelling of part one of Summer Sky from Dylan’s point of view

“I love the world we’re in, where you’ll always be my summer Sky. I could live here forever.”

Dylan Morgan has lived and breathed his life as lead singer of Blue Phoenix for eight years and now it’s suffocating him. On the verge of a breakdown, he cuts off his signature long-hair and walks away from the band.

Returning to a place from his childhood, Dylan’s life collides with Sky Davis, the girl who doesn’t know or care who he is. Usually girls fall at his feet in a star-struck heap, so Dylan is intrigued by and attracted to the girl who’d rather read about hot guys in books than succumb to his charms.

What follows is an unsuccessful battle to keep his rock star ego under control and his hands off Sky. The harder Sky fights her attraction to him, the harder Dylan tries to get her attention. But a girl like Sky needs more than a smouldering look and a bacon sandwich to win her over.

Dylan and Sky find themselves lost together in the fantasy of a holiday romance by the sea, but the reality of who Dylan is threatens to break the illusion at any moment.

Goodreads Link:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23572257-summer-star

Extract: Dylan Meets Sky…
(pre-edit, subject to change ~ strong language warning)

My mobile phone rings again, whoever’s calling isn’t giving up any time soon. I scrabble around on the seat next to me, pushing my leather jacket on the floor as I retrieve my phone. I should’ve figured out how to work Bluetooth before I started driving my newest car any distance. Glancing between the road and the phone, I see Bryn’s name on the screen and ignore him.

The country lane I’m driving down is quieter than the main roads, a bit narrow for my large Audi, and the trip will take longer, but if there’s no other traffic I’ve less chance of someone spotting me.

The only other car on the road is a beaten up silver hatchback in front. I fucking hope the car leaves this road soon, it was bad enough when we were trundling behind a tractor but now she’s sticking to the pathetically low speed limit. I say ‘she’ because I doubt a guy would drive so slowly. Unless it is a ‘he’ and he’s some kind of pussy.

Still crawling along behind Miss Go-Slow, I give up and pick up the incessantly ringing phone.

“Dylan?” Bryn.

“Yeah.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m not saying.”

Bryn exhales loudly down the phone. “Jesus, Dylan. You can’t just fuck off and not tell anyone where.”

Distracted by Bryn’s words, I’m not alert enough to stop my car in time when the idiot in front of me decides to suddenly hit the brakes. My car smacks into the back of the hatchback, jerking me to reality. There’s nobody else around, nothing obstructing the road. What the hell?

“For fuck’s sake!” I yell. “Bryn, I have to go.”

I throw the phone on my seat and my arms into the air in a ‘what the fuck’ gesture to whoever’s car just ruined my paintwork. Just what I need…

A petite girl with dark blonde, wavy hair climbs out of the car and slams her door shut, fury in her stance as she stomps towards the car. Shit, shit, shit she’s bound to recognise me. I hesitate. I could drive away?

The girl gesticulates at me to lower the window, her blue eyes narrowed. Ah well, wait till she sees who I am, then she’ll calm down. I wave at her to stand back then I climb out of the car.

I check her out – I wonder if she realises the top button of her blue and white summer dress is undone or that I can see the top of her very nice pair of natural tits? I inspect the rest of her from behind my sunglasses and wait for the inevitable reaction to meeting Dylan Morgan.

She’s hot – in a pissed off way. Her anger puts pink in her pale cheeks and those curves… I’m sick of skinny chicks with fake boobs, and so rarely come face to face with one who isn’t. This is why I’m so fucking lost – I don’t see real people anymore.

Definitely not anyone like her.

I yank off my sunglasses, partly to see her more clearly and partly to give her more of a clue who I am. Yeah, I’m running and hiding from the world, but my ego always wins.

Nothing. No reaction to me at all. Okay, this is new. I don’t speak and inspect the front of my car instead, brushing the damage with my fingers. Flakes of silver paint stick to my hands. Great.

“It’s your fault if you ran up the back of me,” the girl says from behind. She has a local accent, one that reminds me of past summers in this part of England. A past I’m trying to escape to by coming back here; time away to switch off from the crazy shit in my current life.

And she’s wrong about the accident, this is not my fault. I straighten and turn back to her. “You stopped without any indication!”

“A dog ran out in front of me,” she snaps.

Is that an excuse? A bloody weird one. “What dog?”

“The dog’s not here now. I don’t think the dog realised it needed to be a material witness and ran off!” The girl narrows her eyes at me but her anger is doing nothing but amuse and attract me. She’s funny and has no clue who she’s dealing with. That open button at the top of her dress catches my eye again and, in response, the girl crosses her arms over her chest, the sexy pink on her cheeks flaring. An image of her naked in my bed jumps into my mind.

What the fuck do I do? She’s evidently not going to fall in a star struck heap at my feet and I don’t want to hang around in a country lane where other people could pass by and see me. What do people normally do when this kind of thing happens? I don’t know. What I do know is I need to leave.

“I wouldn’t normally do this, but I’m in a hurry. Forget the insurance, I’ll give you the money. How much do you think it’ll cost to fix your car?” I ask her

She blinks at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language. “I don’t know.”

I inspect the damage on her car and from where I’m standing, it’s difficult to tell if the state of the car is all due to the collision. “Not much, I think. It’s an old model. Was the paintwork that bad before I hit you?”

She pulls herself to full height, which isn’t very tall compared to my six feet plus, and fixes me with an even sourer look. “I’m not taking your money. Repairs might cost more than you have! If you give me your name and number, we can sort the insurance out the proper way.”

Ah. There we have it. I knew this wasn’t a co-incidence. Groupies go to stupid lengths to get my details and this is one of the more insane attempts. Try again, sweetheart. “Very fucking clever. Do you think I would?”

Momentarily her mouth parts in surprise, then she takes a deep breath before saying, “Swapping details is a strange and ancient custom which occurs when dickheads on mobile phones rear-end the car in front.”

What the fuck? Who is this woman? People don’t say shit like this to me. I’m not often lost for words but she managed to knock them out of me. I should be pissed off but she’s a breath of fresh air.

“I don’t give people my personal details.” I scrutinise her, attempting to see if there’s a facade for me to push down. Then I switch on Dylan Morgan, the rock star, who has the girls doing whatever he asks them to. I give the angry chick the look, the one that wins them over. I never have to try hard, she’ll be falling over her words soon enough.

“What makes you so special?” she snaps.

Whoa. Okay.

“Nothing, what makes you so special?” I smile slowly, lingering a look on her lips.

No discernible reaction. Hmm. Maybe cutting my hair was a bad move?

“Do I have to call the police?” she continues.

Fuck. “No. Wait. Okay.”

She wins. Besides, if the chick sees my name when I give my details and finally realises who I am, I might be able to sweet-talk my way out of this. I fucking hope so because I want to get out of here and into some peace. I turn back to my car.

A door slams behind as the girl gets back into her car. In surprise, I spin round. She revs the engine and the silver hatchback screeches away.

What a weird chick. I rest against my car and watch her disappear along the lane. In case she changes her mind, I wait in my car for a few minutes. Then realisation hits. I’m sitting in a car, in the middle of nowhere fantasising about getting my hands on the body of a girl whose life I just crashed into and will never see again. I should be getting the hell out of here to anonymity, relieved she never found out who I was.

But I’m not, I wanted to talk to her more. Not because she was an amusing girl with nice tits who would be a challenge, but because she didn’t know who I was.

If she’s a taste of how people treat the anonymous Dylan Morgan, I like it.

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