Banned Read online Madison Faye (Winchester Academy #4)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Winchester Academy Series by Madison Faye
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Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
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“So,” Anders purrs quietly, nodding at me when I look up. “Stay or go?”

Griff pushes his fingers through his hair, the huge tattoo on his arm rippling as his piercing green eyes slide over me in a way that sends a tingle of heat through me.

“You in or out, Zara?”

My heart thunders, my pulse skips a beat, and my tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. My eyes slide over each of them, then to the instruments set up behind them, then back to them.

They have gigs set up. They can actually play, as I’ve heard from the samples on their website. And they’re gunning for the biggest Battle of the Bands the greater New York area has to offer.

It’s too good to say no to.

And before I know what I’m even doing, I’m nodding quietly.

“I’m in.”

I mean, fuck it. One band nerd and three completely gorgeous, mostly naked football jocks. One band. What could possibly go wrong?

You know, besides everything.

2

Carson

At first, I don’t even know what to make of it all. One second, we’re all still out of breath after basically breaking every speeding law possible to get to our rehearsal space after the game in time for the audition. One second, we’ve got some tunes playing while we strip out of our football gear to get ready for this new singer, we’ve got lined up to come in. And the next second, she’s literally falling right into us out of the elevator. And it’s not just anyone. The blonde-haired angel that tumbles right into our world is Zara fucking Bateman.

The chick that emailed us her online demo was the only legit-sounding applicant we got from our coffee-house ad, so she’s the only audition we set up. But even so, her demo was fucking amazing. Of course, none of us ever could have imagined that “bluejeanbabygirl” was her.

Zara. Fucking. Bateman.

In the movie version of this life, we would have no idea who she is. We’re the dumb jocks, she’s the nerdy, ugly-duckling band geek. And never do our paths cross. Except, this ain’t a movie, and the three of us damn well know who she is. First of all, she’s a musical fucking prodigy. First chair trumpet in the school orchestra, lead guitar in the jazz band, and she plays the freaking tuba in the marching pep band. In short, she’s a fucking ringer. She’s the best possible thing our shitty little band could have hoped for, and here she is literally falling into our world.

I mean we’re not terrible. We’re actually pretty good, considering we’ve had to basically hide our music from the world in order to play the parts everyone wants us to play. Football jocks don’t play in rock bands, after all. We’ve all snuck lessons and practices in, and we’re okay. But Zara is the real fucking deal.

Also, she’s fucking beautiful. Blonde, big brown eyes behind these ridiculously sexy thick-framed glasses. Pouty lips, dimples, this crazy cute little button nose. I mean, she’s not the kind of girl I should go for, by which I mean, not the kind of girl everyone else thinks I should go for. Or any of us for that matter. She’s artsy. Sassy. Spunky. Zara’s the furthest thing from the “popular crowd” you could get. I mean Christ, I’ve seen her reading comic books at lunch for God’s sake. Certainly not a cheerleader type, like football players are supposed to go for. In fact, I seriously doubt she’s ever even been at a football game aside from the ones she had to be at playing in the marching band.

But damn is she gorgeous, and in that way where you know she doesn’t even realize it. The blonde hair, the super cute face. The full tits that I have definitely caught myself staring at before, and an ass I could sink my teeth into. Repeatedly. I’ve pretty much only ever seen her in her school uniform—which, is certainly fantasy material enough. Or her band uniform. But tonight, is something new. The tiny skirt. The ripped rock tank top. Those fuck-me rock n’ roll boots that I would love to throw over my shoulders, spread.

I groan, and I don’t even realize I’m staring at her until I realize she’s looking right back at me, a little scowl on her face along with a cute blush.

Okay, she’s pissed. I mean, she probably thought we were more of a legit band than we maybe are. And it’s possible our website and our ad hypes us up a tad bigger than we actually are. I mean, we do have some gigs lined up, and we are going to gun for the Battle of the Bands next month. But, that’s about it. I mean, I think we’ve done pretty good considering we’ve had to hide this whole band project away from everyone we know.



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