See Her: Turn it Up, #1

By Natalie Parker

An emotionally captivating rock star romance… reading Jack and Mayzie's journey was an amazing love story! Highly recommend! - Goodreads Review

Romance here was done very well. You could believe that these two were meant for each other right from the moment they locked eyes. - Goodreads Review

She walks into his life and wakes him up. But he also shakes her life up as well. They are so good together, they are such creative people in their own way and so supportive of the other. It's interesting to see two creative people in one relationship that truly wants the other to succeed just as much if not more than that person. Watching them fall in love was a thing to see. - Goodreads Review

Jack is a ROCK GOD with a heart of gold. And holy cow is he just everything. I love that he is reserved, sexy as all hell, passionate about his music. - Goodreads Review


Blurb:

A music label wants my band... I just want her

I never knew a smile had the power to change the course of a life...

Until she smiled at me and shifted my world off its axis.

My band? Revitalized.

My writer's block? Gone.

My heart? Hers.

There's no way I couldn't marry her the first chance I got.

They said we were crazy, that getting married so soon was insane.

I don't care. I love her more than anything.

And then my band gets the call that changes everything…

My dreams are all coming true, but what will the sudden rush of rock and roll success do to our new marriage?

It's going to take everything to manage this new rise to fame and life on the road while hanging onto the love of my life, but there's no question…

I'm not doing this without her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natalie Parker
• Release date: Feb 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223143215

Book preview

PROLOGUE

JACK

The SUV pulls up to where all the buses are parked outside the arena. On a mission, I get out and slam the door, trudging to the bus I’ve been living on for the last two weeks. I climb on and walk a line straight to the back. 

Not two hours ago, I was happier than any man on the planet. Sure, Mayzie and I were struggling with this new life on the road while being newlyweds, but we were trying. We were working on it together, and didn’t need anyone, especially not one of my band mates, stepping in and stirring shit up. 

I hit the jackpot, as the person I’m looking for is in the back lounge area, and he’s alone.

The asshole rhythm guitarist I’ve called my friend for the last ten years is reclined back on the window seat, one leg in front of him with his other foot on the floor. I swipe up the remote to the flat screen and turn off whatever game he’s watching before hurling it in the corner where it cracks into a mess of plastic and batteries. Whipping around, I drop down into one of the chairs across from him. His eyes widen briefly in protest at my brash movements, but he reels it in when he gets a look at my face. He puts his other foot on the floor and leans forward slightly, gearing up for what he knows is coming.

Having a temper is something I’ve never been known for, but this asshole seems to have uncovered it when he chose to fuck with the love of my life. 

I don’t meet his eyes as I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and run a hand through my hair, leaving my fingers threaded in the strands as I stare at the floor.

What the fuck did you say to her, man? My voice is an ominous growl that even I don’t recognize, as I stare at the beige carpet of the bus. 

My question is met with a heavy sigh, and I don’t care for the obvious hint of exasperation I hear in it. I’m not the asshole here. 

I can just make out the shake of his head in my peripheral while he tries to formulate a response that’s as evasive as I predicted. Jack… come on, man… is all he has the balls to say, and I feel my anger rev a few thousand more RPMs. It’s both arrogant and cowardly as he avoids actually communicating, just dropping a few vague words instead, hoping I’ll pick it up. It pisses me off, especially when he knows, plain as day, what he did.

I shake my head before I snap my gaze up to meet his face, and the fucker doesn’t even have the balls to do the same. Don’t fucking play games! I snap, loud enough to make him jolt. I have his attention; his eyes finally meeting the seething look I’m giving him as I raise my head. I’m holding myself back as if my anger is one of the hounds of hell. I rise to my feet and take a step forward to tower over him. It’s a cheap, Neanderthal move, but here we are. Now I’ll ask you again, you sorry excuse for a friend. The words rumble from deep down in my chest. "I want you to tell me what the fuck you said to my wife that put her on a flight back home."

1

MAYZIE

O h my God, another one. You blew off another one. Annie’s voice comes through the phone in a hopeless drone from the back of her throat.

I… had work to get done, I spout off in a pointless attempt to defend my position. Annie’s never bought my shit, and this isn’t even good shit. It’s the lamest, most overused excuse in the book. But the work thing is kind of true, hence why I’m sitting here in Henderson’s, the hipster coffee shop/record store with my laptop open to my latest copywriting job.

What am I going to do with you? She draws each word out with an exasperated groan, ignoring my pitiful excuse. You’re going to grow old alone and be a crazy cat lady.

Excuse me, I keep company with a ninety-pound Rottweiler. Not even close, I rebuff her bleak prediction. Besides, I’m only twenty-four. I think I have at least another ten years before I reach spinster status or something.

I hear her begin to shuffle things around on her end, and I can tell she’s messing with her camera bag.

You have not been laid in-

How the hell do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been laid? I cut her off with a frown that I make sure she can hear in my voice.

Really? She draws the word out sardonically, because it actually is a stupid question. Annie’s my best friend, and I mean the attached at the hip, cosmic ESP connection, up each other’s ass kind of best friend. She knows.

Fine, I grumble, and pop a piece of apple bran muffin in my mouth.

Anyway, you haven’t been laid in ten months, she states, the sharp zip of her bag in the background echoing down the phone line.

That’s harsh, I mumble as the bell over the main door gives a welcoming jingle to a new patron.

It’s true. You haven’t been with anyone since that fuckwad, Eric, played you like a cheap kazoo and fucked you over.

Thank you for that reminder.

You’re welcome. Anyway, the fact that he’s the last person you’ve been with is bad juju or something. You need to get back out there, and you’re not even trying.

She’s got me there.

So, what was wrong with this one? I can hear her rolling her eyes.

Besides the fact that he suggested dinner in the form of samples at Costco as a date?

A pause follows on her end before a monotone You’re shitting me.

It’s the whole app, honestly, I continue forth when that revelation is met with a despondent scoff. The majority of these guys aren’t even serious.

Tell me about it, she agrees. With all the dick pics I’ve gotten, I don’t know why these winners bother using their faces as their profile pictures.

A laugh bubbles out of my chest, and I can’t control it. It bursts from between my lips and I try to contain it before I draw too much attention to myself, but this bitch won’t stop.

Seriously, since these guys like to show their wangs so much, they should just post that as their profile pic and women can go man shopping according to penis aesthetic.

My stomach muscles are constricting to a painful extent, and tears are forming at the corners of my eyes in my efforts to not make a scene.

And when they show up to a date, they have to drop their pants to prove you’re not being phished.

Do you mind? I’m in public! I squeak out between belly laughs. I can feel my cheeks turning pink.

Calm down, Mayzie, my horrible best friend cynically chides in my ear. Don’t make a testicle of yourself.

Stop! I run a hand through my hair, trying so hard to compose myself, and of course, that’s when I look up and see who’s come into the café.

My spurts of laughter are stifled in my stomach when my world tilts and shifts sideways at the sight in front of me.

He has long, sandy brown bangs hanging in straight, silky strands that he tosses out of his eyes, but it’s the warm, amused smile aimed in my direction that sends a pang up my spine.

Oh my God, he heard my obnoxious laugh and he thinks I’m ridiculous.

The thought seems to do the trick for squashing my laughing fit, and I nervously clear my throat. Annie babbles on in my ear as I take in the rest of what I just blew it with.

I’ve never seen a guy like this before, at least not in real life, and a certain essence seems to drift off him and breeze over to me.

From the way he stands at the counter, I can tell he’s laid back and confident just from the way he carries his tall frame – straight but with his shoulders relaxed. He casually looks around while he waits for his order, and my eyes are drawn to the way he’s lightly drumming his knuckles on the counter in perfect time with the beat of the mellow background music. It seems so natural that he doesn’t even appear aware he’s doing it. It’s endearing. It makes me inwardly smile to myself.

He has a swimmer’s body, with lean arms that are toned and muscular. Tattoos peek out from under the short-sleeved black button-down he’s wearing open over a black tank top which shows the top of another tattoo on his chest, accented by a cross hanging from a silver chain. My attention is then drawn to his dark, worn jeans as he reaches in his back pocket for his wallet (my inner idiot is biting her fist right now).

My eyes definitely like what they see. He has a bad boy look to him, and it’s almost intimidating. But when he picks up his coffee, he gives the barista a friendly nod and a faint smile, revealing that same dimple again.

Well damn if that doesn’t give my insides the slightest little glow. He seems so cool, yet there’s a warmth about him. He hasn’t uttered a word to me, yet I can feel myself blushing. It’s a good feeling, and it makes me wonder what it would be like to know someone like him; if I’d get that feeling from them all the time.

As he steps away from the counter, he turns his back, walking in the direction of a few empty tables, taking a quick glance at me over his shoulder and giving me a quick lift of his eyebrows.

Hellloooo? Annie shrills in my ear.

Oh my God, I just had a mini stroke or left my body for a second, because I startle, remembering I’m on the phone with her. 

Sorry, say that again? I ask, forcing myself to look away from the tatted fantasy man.

I said, forget the app and meet someone in the real world.

Ha-ha. I roll my eyes because she forgets my confidence doesn’t exactly match hers.

I’m serious, you can do it, she says around a bagel or whatever she’s just shoved in her mouth. You’ve worked really hard and come a long way since that limp-dick-assface, and I’m very proud of you.

Yay.

"In fact, do it today. Talk to somebody! No, wait, not somebody, because I know you too well. You’ll say hi to a girl and comment on her hair and clothes or some other small talk bullshit and you’ll tell me you did talk to somebody… so I’m gonna specify that you talk to a guy, and not just any guy – a hot guy somewhere in a dateable age range, and not a geriatric whose idea of a hot date is bingo at the local senior center. Oh no, young grasshopper, the guy must be grade A prime. And don’t even think of lying to me, because I can tell when you do."

Oh my God, come on! I protest like an insolent teenager. That’s not fair! I never know what to say to anybody at random, let alone a tall and toned, tatted, handsomely edgy man, and you know that!

That’s oddly specific.

Shit.

Or whatever aesthetically pleasing human the universe would present.

Do it, and I’ll leave you alone.

No, you won’t.

Okay, fine, you’re right. Do it just to show me you’ve got some guts, then.

I have no guts, and I own that shit. Try again.

Do it so you can say you did when I nag you about it later. And sneak a picture, if at all possible, you know, just for posterity and all that crap.

This could go on for days if I let it.

I gotta get back to work, I say instead.

I just make out her uttering the word loser as I disconnect, and sneak another look at the handsome stranger.

He’s found a seat by the window, having no idea what he’s done to me by simply moseying into the place with the confident yet casual way he carries himself. It’s like he already knows who he is and is comfortable and at ease with that; something I wonder if I’ll ever have.

My gaze darts back to my laptop and I stare at my screen without actually typing for a few minutes, my only focus being to not gawk at the stranger who has hooked my attention and will not let go. 

Okay, fine, I peeked, and now he’s flipping through his magazine while keeping a hand on his coffee mug, and now I need to get back to my intense staring at my computer screen. This summary of why Hunk ‘o’ Rubber Tires is the best isn’t going to write itself and pay me.

I get to work and the words start flowing, but I can’t help but give an occasional look up at the man by the window.

He looks dangerous but sweet, and one of the fifty times I look up, he lifts his head to look out the window, but he doesn’t seem to actually focus on anything outside. It’s as if he’s just giving his mind a moment to wander, and I find myself wondering where it goes. After a moment, his head turns back down to the paper, and he once again seems content in his own company.

Something in my chest starts to hum. Maybe I’m envious of the self-certainty he displays. Maybe it’s just a chemical reaction, but I’m definitely feeling something; a desire to be near him, to hear his voice, to find out what he smells like. It’s like I can see his energy coming off of him in waves, and they float over to me before grabbing onto me and pulling.

My first inclination is to hide over here behind my laptop, sneaking looks at him until he leaves so I can get on with my freaking life.

But when I try to go back to my work, I’m stunned by a sudden realization.

I don’t want to not see him again.

I don’t want him to leave and go back to his life without taking a small chance on meeting him. 

Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I’m standing.

Oh my God, I must be insane. This is all Annie’s fault for calling me on my gutlessness and putting ideas into my head!

I’m standing here awkwardly for seemingly no reason, and I have to push myself to step forward before someone thinks I’m having some kind of episode.

I suck some imaginary courage into my lungs and walk over to his table.

Hi, I say.  OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod what am I doing?! He looks up at me, so I finally get a look at the part of him I hadn’t yet seen. He has large eyes that are such a dark blue they could probably be mistaken for brown at a distance. His expression is one of surprise that immediately shifts to interest.

Hi, he returns, his dusky blues meeting my eyes and holding on, and for a moment, I forget how nervous I am. I can’t help what those eyes make me do. I smile naturally at him. 

On top of everything else, he has sharp and rugged facial features, including a strong jaw, but his eyes are kind. He looks at me expectantly with his eyebrows raised, the edges of his mouth seeming to be trying to decide if he wants to smile back or find out why I’m here first.

Are you done with your sugar? I ask.

Wow, smooth. I should be a columnist for how to hit on guys. Freaking Annie and her ‘talk to a hot guy’ bullshit. I’m going to kill her.

He looks confused for a few seconds before offering me a real, full-on smile as he reaches for his sugar canister and hands it to me.

Oh… yeah. Here.

Thanks, I say, taking him in for just one more beat before walking back to my table. I grit my teeth and curse myself and my stupidity the whole way, squeezing the canister like it’s done me some huge injustice and I want to strangle it. Basically, I pretend it’s Annie. I chance another look at him when I sit down. His eyes are cast back down to his paper, but then come back up to meet mine. I quickly look back down at my coffee, proceeding to dump about half a cup of sugar into it. What? I love coffee just fine – once I sweeten the ever-loving shit out of it. I look back up to see an amused smirk on his face. I feel my chest flush red as I put the canister down. I know how bizarre that must look to him, so I offer him a quirky smile and a shrug as he stares, like he’s waiting for me to take a sip of my over-sugared concoction to see if I immediately drop into a diabetic stupor. I take a sip of my drink, concentrating hard on showing him that it doesn’t faze me. I set it down and look up one last time to see him press his lips together in a smile and look back down at his magazine. I heave a sigh, lamenting my no-game self and go back to working on my laptop, doing my best not to look up at him again.

Amazingly, I find my focus again, adding a lot of substantial product to my work, although I must admit it’s hard not to look for the handsome stranger in my peripheral. From what I can tell, he continues to read, but I think I see him (maybe?) look up once or twice. I will not allow myself the satisfaction of looking up to see for sure.

Thirty minutes later, my paper is finally complete. I read it over and submit it with a huge feeling of relief. As I’m packing up, I decide to chance one more look at the gorgeous guy as I sling my laptop bag on to my shoulder, along with my handbag. 

Then I look up to see an empty table. 

Bummer.

Well that’s how my universe works, and probably why I don’t take chances that often – they don’t ever seem to pay off, thus my reason for the countless times I’ve settled.

As I weave myself through the tables to the door, I try to console myself.

I approached him, I let him know I existed, and that’s a huge thing for me. If something were to come of that, it would’ve, I reason with myself. I’m determined not to overanalyze or dissect the interaction to death. It’s self-sabotage. I let out a long breath and head for the door.

Passing through the door, I emerge out to the street, and almost slam right into the exact same tattooed, lean wall of muscle I’d been drooling over only moments before. The guy. You know, the one I was just depressed over seconds ago. The one I was going to think about tonight while I shoveled a pint of Breyers into my trap. Surprised? Yeah, me too.

Oh my God, I exclaim, catching a delectable scent of leather, musk, and man, before I back up slightly and look up to regard him. I’m sorry. The words seep out on a breath from my lips. Why do I feel so warm all of a sudden? Because his deceptively gentle hands are on my arms. This is just too surreal. 

Hi. He lets out on a breath as he hesitantly removes his hands, satisfied that I’m not going to fall on my ass. His eyebrows are up, almost in a question.

Hi, I say back. He stares for a minute and then looks to both sides like someone will materialize out of nowhere and tell him what to say next. It’s adorable – and sexy, if I’m being honest. That a guy that looks and carries himself the way he does, seems nervous? Swoon.

I can’t actually think of anything intelligent to say. I just wanted to talk to you. Again, he finishes with a smile that looks self-deprecating.

Say what now?  This can’t be right, but there’s no way I’m not going with it. I let out a big exhale as I briefly look away and then back to meet his eyes. Here goes nothing.

I’d like that, too.

His smile changes to one of relief and he lets out a soft chuckle. I like that he’s confident in himself, and yet is okay with showing me that he’s feeling awkward in this moment. He’s humble.

 I am so screwed.

2

MAYZIE

W hat’s your name? he asks in a thick baritone that accompanies his warm smile.

Mayzie.

I’m Jack. He reaches his hand out for me to shake, and I find it warm and callused when I slide mine into it. It’s strong but gentle as it squeezes mine, sending a wonderful buzzing sensation up my arm that settles in my chest. It’s like his hand is sending mine some kind of message as he releases slightly, and gives my fingers one more squeeze before letting go. It makes my entire soul glow, and I immediately miss the feel of his hand as he gestures to the park across the street.

Do you want to take a walk? he asks, and I’m surprised to find myself immediately nodding as I adjust the strap on my laptop bag.

Yeah, sure, I answer, falling into step with him as we cross the road.

So what were you working on in there? Jack asks as he nods at my laptop that swings at my side.

Oh, I reply, blowing out a slightly ruffled breath. Just a boring copyright job. Nothing exciting, it just pays the bills.

Do you usually go there to work? he asks, tossing his head back in the direction of the café we’re leaving behind us.

No, I just wasn’t getting anything done at home, I explain, letting my eyes dart up briefly to take in the dark blue of his before looking away. And here I thought I’d found my confidence. I thought a change of scenery might help, I add. What about you? What brings you out on a Thursday morning?

Kind of the same thing, he admits, and that cute dimple makes another appearance.

You work from home?

Well… He shrugs uncomfortably and his dark eyebrows draw together. More like a side gig.

And what’s that?

He draws in a long breath before letting it out. I write songs, he answers shyly. I almost stop walking.

Are you serious? I ask, as he gives me a curious look. Don’t tell me...  you’re in a band?

Would that stop you? he asks.

Stop me from what?

Talking to me.

I look him straight in the eye so he knows I’m sincere. No, I say plainly. I don’t tell him how I’m really feeling on the inside, that I have a serious weakness for guys like him. The kind that are creative and expressive. They bring me to my knees (metaphorically), every time. Not that it’s going to stop me from talking to him.

So if writing songs is your side gig, what’s your main gig?

I bartend at The Cedar a few nights a week, he answers. Ever been there?

A couple of times, yeah. I haven’t seen you there though.

Are you sure you would’ve remembered me? His smile turns playful.

Yeah, I think I would have. I try not to blush as I keep our slow stride. What about the band you’re in? Do I know you guys?

We’re called Turn it Up, he says, turning his head to me with a smile that borders on pride, yet still manages to be modest.

I like it. What kind of music? Please be alternative.

I guess you’d call us rock, or alternative rock. I don’t know if we really fall into a category. We just play what we want, what feels good. He continues to look between me and the view in front of us.

Again, I like it, I say, starting to feel myself relax a little. Do you play anywhere? Like local gigs or anything?

Yeah, we’ve played at The Cedar occasionally, and we’re hoping to line something up downtown.

What instrument do you play?

I do guitar and vocals. Wow.  The whole rock star fantasy starts forming in my head, and I try to picture this laidback guy rocking his guitar and singing into a microphone while a bunch of groupies (myself included) swoon below the stage.

And what about you? he asks with a tone that’s a remarkable mix of warm and cavalier as we sit down on a wrought iron bench. Tell me what you do when you’re not on your laptop.

That’s going to be hard since I’m on it a lot, I chuckle. I actually want to write creatively, like books, or a blog or something, I confess my first thing.

I love that, he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. I think it’s the dream to make a career out of being creative.

I sigh at that statement. This is too much. Having only just gotten my confidence back after my last so-called relationship, I’m not ready for all the wondrous perfection this guy seems to be so far. I know damn well it’s likely too good to be true.

Me too, I agree on a nervous breath.

That’s good, he gives me a sincere look. But you still haven’t told me what else you like to do with your time. His facial expression seems to be struggling with the sincere mask it tries to hold up before a sharp breath escapes through his nose. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he lets out a chuckle. Fuck, are you hearing this lame game I’m laying on you? I might as well talk about the weather.

His words take a beat or two to sink in, but when they do, an ecstatic humming bird takes flight, fluttering up in my chest, the beat of its wings sending little shock waves down my spine.

I let out a light, nervous laugh. "We’re both lame, I amend his statement, quirking my eyebrows at myself as my gaze drops down to my lap. If you’ll recall, I’m the one who made things weird, asking you for sugar back at the café. It was like an awkward thing neighbors say."

Hey, his soulful voice brings my eyes back up to see his blue pools soften as he gives an endearing tilt of his head. So we’re both out of practice. Let’s just use it to say what we want then.

Though one corner of my mouth likes the sound of that, I feel a bit unsure. It’s sad that a seemingly nice guy wanting to get to know me has my hackles up, but here we are. Thank you, male species.

Can I ask you something first? I redirect, with a scrunch of my brow. I feel like such an ass, but he lifts his eyebrows with considerate interest and nods. What made you want to stick around and talk to me?

I’m dying to know his answer. This cannot be happening just out of luck.

I know it was probably weird how I approached you, he says, looking at the ground for a moment before looking back up at me; his eyes are intent on conveying his next words. First, I heard your laugh…

I close my eyes in embarrassment, but try to offer a lighthearted smile. I can laugh at myself.

… and it lit me up inside, he finishes, tilting his chin up at me and staring me down with those sparkling dark blues. A bolt of beautifully soft lightning electrifies my insides, and I can’t help but wonder if it feels like what he just described.

My laugh? I parrot back in disbelief, leaning back to try and gauge if he’s messing with me. Seriously?

And then your smile, he adds, easily, and I shake my head, still blown away by what I’m hearing. I don’t think any guy has ever said this to me.

Don’t get me wrong, my life is just fine, he shares, sitting back and resting an arm across the back of the bench, but it’s also very mundane in some ways. He shakes his head with a sigh. The truth is, I haven’t been able to write anything decent in several months. I think I’ve hit a wall because nothing’s inspired me lately. He holds his hands out as if to say that’s life and he’s not feeling sorry for himself over it, but I can still tell it bums him out.

Then you laughed in the café… A warm smile comes across his face as if he’s reliving it, and it made me smile. It made me want to laugh along with you, and it made me realize I hadn’t felt much in a while. Like I’ve been on autopilot.

My heart squeezes itself so tight at what he just said I wonder if heart cramp is a thing. Even if I never see this guy again, I know I’ll forever remember this moment.

"Only I wasn’t man enough to come talk to you; you came to me. That blew me away all over again, along with your smile, and the obscene amount of sugar you put in