on September 3, 2017
Genres: College, Music, New Adult, Romance
Traditions are important. Especially in the South. College football. Rivalries. Tailgating. Halftime shows.Some things just don’t change.Until Reese Holland shows up with her long legs and no-bullshit attitude to audition for the prestigious all-male Rodner University snare line.It doesn’t matter how much hazing she has to endure from Laird Bronson, with his narrowed green eyes and arrogant smirk. She wants that damn spot, and she’s more than good enough to earn it. She expects there to be tension. Even friction. But not sparks hot enough to burn the entire campus down.
So, as of *looks at watch* right this second, I’ve read 122 books so far in 2017. That’s a few, right? And I loved Drumline. Like a lot. So I figured I have to go back through those 122 books and pick out my favourites, just to see how Drumline compared.
There were 20 books on the favourites list, and Drumline is easily in the top 3. Just let that sink in for a minute. TOP 3 PEOPLE!
“You always this prickly? There a cactus somewhere in your family tree?”
The characters, the story, the banter, the balance between sweet and sexy, the connections between past and present, the addictive nature vs the intrigue of breaking tradition. Throw in the strength and the vulnerability that both of the main characters portrayed so excellently. All of it. Perfection. I loved every single word.
“I wasn’t lost.”
“But I was, Reese.” I opened my eyes and searched her face. “I didn’t know where you were, so I was.”
I now need to:
1. Reread this book
2. Learn how to play the drums
3. Watch a college halftime show and focus on the Drumline
4. Conquer the world.
I’m going to tell Oscar to expect you. Don’t be late. He’s perfected the sad puppy dog look.”
“I’d hate to disappoint your dog.” Her voice was muffled from the blanket but the sarcasm came through loud and clear.
“There’s nothing worse than an unhappy wiener,” I agreed.
This was so much more than I could’ve possibly expected it to be. I’ve had a crap time lately with reading, nothing’s been grabbing my attention, and I just felt uninspired. But then Drumline popped up out of nowhere and Stacy’s like, “Don’t worry girl, I got you”, and here we are. I feel the need to flail and dance around and sing with the Von Trapp family.
“I shouldn’t be here.” My voice sounded weak and a bit defensive as I looked at his neck, his chin, his nose—anywhere but his kryptonite green eyes.
“Wrong. This is exactly where you should be. […] Right here. With me. In my arms.”
Laird was amazing, of course, and he was quite equally matching with Reese being the little firecracker that she was. They complimented each other so perfectly while kicking butt in the process. Now don’t get me wrong, everyone loves a good hero (and Laird really does take the cake) but just look at Reese for a second, will you? Tradition, smadition. She fought through challenges that took down men twice her size. She fought, she scraped, she clawed, and she did it all with sass, wit, and a smile on her face. She knew what she wanted and she came to the school to get exactly that. She proved that she has what it takes to not only be worthy of the iconic drumline, but to silence the doubters as well.
“Yeah, this wasn’t a girl who’d let me do the dirty work for her, slay her dragons while she cowered in the ivy-covered tower. Reese would be on the front lines, carving her own path and wielding her own sword. And I wanted to be the one to have her back on the journey.”
And who says that being in the band can’t be sexy? Because if this is what a band book is like, I don’t think I’ll ever need to read another football romance! Quarterback? Who Cares? I’m more interested in the snare captain. 😉
This is the perfect book to grab your attention from the get go. It’s detailed, alluring, deliciously dirty and addicting. I could NOT put it down, and had the biggest, cheesiest smile on my face at the beginning. I loved the heroine’s spunk and the heroes cocky, can do attitude. But underneath, they both had something that was so sweet and alluring. The chemistry between the two was undeniable, their personal time was scorching, and their relationship as a whole is the stuff girls dream about. Bravo Stacy. And sorry to my future boyfriends, because I’ve now got Laird as a reference. Better step up, boys.
“Laird,” I started, but his eyes closed and his whole body relaxed. “I—”
“Say it again,” he interrupted.
“Say what again?”
“My name,” he growled. “Say my fucking name.”
*An ARC was received in exchange for an honest review.
He devoured me.
Being eaten alive had never felt so good.
His lips. His hands. His heat. My entire being was overwhelmed by him finally, finally touching me.
The kiss started hard, desperate, the inevitable conclusion to the tension that had been building between us for two weeks. With my eyes closed and my breasts flattened against the wall of his chest, I gave into it, surrendered to the moment. My mouth clung to his as he tilted my head to the side, changing the angle to deepen the contact.
His hands moved over me restlessly, hungrily, skimming down my back on the way to my ass, then back up my sides to frame my face, his fingers leaving a trail of heat behind on every inch of skin he claimed for himself. I pulled at his shirt while he pushed me against the solidness of the door. My heart tripped over itself in its race to keep up. Muffled sounds came from both of us, vibrating in our throats but not escaping our lips because we hadn’t even parted for a breath yet.
Who needed fucking air when Laird Bronson was kissing them? Not me.
His lips were somehow firm and soft at the same time as he slanted them over me again and again. It was like being called up to the major league from the minors. Nothing in my past compared. I shivered from the intensity of it, from the innate authority of his mouth as he consumed me. Like I was made to bend to him, as inevitable as the moon ceding to the sun.
I lifted on my tiptoes to get closer, one of my hands snaking up to tangle in his dark hair. The strands were barely long enough at the top to grip, and when I gave them a tug, he rolled his hips against me, showing me just how much he liked it. I moaned and felt an answering wetness gather at the juncture of my thighs.
Dear sweet rosy-cheeked baby Jesus and all the saints in heaven.
His mouth needed to come with a warning label. Danger. Highly flammable.
But it was too late. I’d had a taste and I liked the burn.