Tulsa by S.L. Scott

The rumors are true. At least where I’m concerned. Drummers hit it harder and do it better. Women love me and I love them. But I like to think of myself as a sensitive soul trapped in a lady-killer’s body. Not so surprisingly, I’ve been called cocky a time or two. What can I say? We can’t all be boy scouts. Nikki Faris has thrown off my rhythm. With her red lips, smart aleck mouth, short skirts, long legs, and blue-sky eyes, the beautiful lead singer has become a complete distraction on this tour. She loves to give me a hard time when all I want to do is give her the pleasure of my hard—time right back.

Tulsa Crow can save his pick up lines, great eight-pack abs, and cute dimples to use on someone else. My band earned their spot on The Resistance’s tour just like The Crow Brothers. I’m not going to blow it getting sidetracked by a cocky rock star that wants to sleep his way through the states. I’ve been called a name or two, but easy isn’t one of them. But the best intentions with him turn into a walk of shame for me. Only, I don’t feel shame. Instead, I’m doing the very thing I said I wouldn’t—falling for a playboy. We make sinful music when we’re on the road, but what happens to our melody when the tour ends?