Title:
The Story of Lansing Lotte
Author:
L.B. Dunbar
Genre:
Contemporary Romance
Release
Date: April 28, 2015
Synopsis
I
get it. I’ve heard the jokes. My name sounds like some medieval
character who was a hero. Hell, my best friend’s named Arturo King.
Ring any medieval bells? But this is my story and I’m no hero. I
also get the jokes. Lansing Lotte is a play on the words lance and
lot. And a lance refers to a sword which is a euphemism for dick.
What does a man do with his dick? He screws. A lot. So if my name is
Lansing Lotte, I must be fucking lot. Get it? Fucking a lot. Which
I’m not saying I don’t. That’s not the point. Another reference
to something sexual. Get my point? Huh, I made a punny. But again
this is my story, and I haven’t done anything funny. In fact, I’ve
killed three women, and only one of them I loved. Yeah, that’s
right.
Not
laughing now. It’s not funny. And I’m definitely no fucking hero.
Playlist:
The
Story of Lansing Lotte: Playlist
“Toxic”
- Britney Spears
“Come
a Little Closer” - Cage the Elephant
“One
Year, Six Months” – Yellowcard
“Broken
(feat. Amy Lee)” – Seether
“Wicked
Game” – Phillip Phillips
“Mad
World (feat. Michael Andrews)” – Gary Jules
“Mind
Over Matter” – Young the Giant
“Do
I Wanna Know?” – Arctic Monkeys
“The
Distance” – Cake “Battlefield” – Lea Michele
“Walking
After You” – Foo Fighters
“Tighten
Up” – The Black Keys
“Today”
– Willamette Stone
“Stolen
Dance” – Milky Chance
“Let
It Go” – James Bay
“Take
Me to Church” – Hozier
“Giants”
– Bear Hands
“Broken”
– Lifehouse
“Shut
Up and Dance” – Walk the Moon
Excerpt:
The
Story of Lansing Lotte: excerpt (chapter 1)
I
could feel my head throbbing. Both of them. The night before was a
fuzzy mash of images in my brain, as I recalled the concert. My band,
The Nights, were rocking The Round Table something fierce and the
crowd was thumping. I remembered the muted bright lights and the
energy of the music I produced on my guitar next to the lead singer
and my best friend, Arturo King, while the girls screamed in response
to Arturo’s voice. Regardless of Arturo’s recent engagement, the
ladies still loved the Chivalrous Lover. They equally called out for
me and my guitar playing as well though, and I loved the attention.
There was no better high than the cry of a crowd cheering you on. On
the opposite side of the stage, focused on his bass guitar was
Tristan Lyons. He had model-like features and his nickname was the
Heartbreaker. He went through girls like they were food to be savored
and devoured, and his followers were nicknamed flavors. He enjoyed
the variety of woman who came his way and he never dappled in the
same flavor twice. Behind us had been Perkins Vale, who the band
called Perk, and his enthusiasm for playing the drummers equaled his
name. He was big and often played with his shirt off, exposing the
detailed tattoo of a shield on his chest and across his left
shoulder. His dark short hair shoved to his head, gave the impression
of someone serious and intense, but he was the contrary. That’s why
things went askew. I remembered Arturo and Perk having some kind of
conversation between their eyes, but I was more focused on the fact
that Mel Agent had somehow gotten into The Round Table. Last night
was a private function as a fundraiser for women of domestic violence
hosted by none other than Arturo’s mother, Ingrid Tintagel, and her
foundation WomenFirst. Mel Agent was the lead singer of a rival band,
who had become his own entity and now one of the Night’s sworn
enemies. I despised the man for his behavior toward women and at that
moment he seemed to be interested in a young thing with jet black
hair. She didn’t look like the typical girl to be in the club. She
didn’t look like the typical girl to follow a band. Her oversized
army jacket covered her small body and her delicate hands clenched
the coat closed over her chest. Mel Agent looked deep in conversation
with the girl who was holding her own, but that’s when Arturo’s
dark eyes started addressing Perk. Only the practiced ear of the band
knew that Perk slipped as he played. He was off a beat for just a
second, but recovered quickly. I was trying to question Arturo with
my own unspoken glance, but Arturo was too focused on Perk. When the
set ended, Arturo and Perk immediately hit the side stage. Both men
moved quickly through the crowd, parting ways as I realized that
Guinevere DeGrance was in the path of Mel Agent as well. I felt that
familiar ping in my heart, and I looked away before I could see the
guilt in Guinevere’s eyes. I was quick to follow them and pull
Guinevere from Mel’s immediate vicinity. It seemed I was
continually saving her from that man. Tristan had grabbed Arturo and
was forcing him back as well. We didn’t need an altercation in the
middle of the crowd, and Perk seemed to have the situation under
control. A situation that clearly involved trying to free another
woman from under the evil intentions of Mel Agent. I waited in the
wings with Tristan and Arturo as Arturo barked out orders to give him
my bike and for Tristan to take Guinie home. I knew Arturo sensed
something between Guinie and I, and he refused to ask me for help
when it came to her. Arturo paused for only a moment to continue what
looked like an argument with his girlfriend, no his fiancée, before
Perk and he disappeared completely, leaving Tristan and I to
entertain the endless questions of where had the other two gone.
Tristan and I could hold our own, though, and we did, with continuous
shots and free flowing drinks. I was sure that’s how I ended up
here – in bed. I tried to open my eyes which seemed too heavy. The
pressure on my temples was a rhythm stronger than Perk’s drumming,
but the feeling of warmth and moisture on my lower head made me moan.
The suction increased and I felt my leaden hands travel into the hair
of my capturer. I could remember snapshots of the night and the
countless women leaning up against me. The laughter of female voices
and the whispers of desire in my ear were muted by the loud sound of
the other bands playing in the background. The numerous lips burned
my skin subtly on my cheek and neck from stolen kisses by aggressive
fan-girls. I had only wanted one girl to be a fan. And she was
refusing. I was awakening slowly and the dream I was having moments
before I regained consciousness was still visible in my mind. Fresh
lips were on mine. Hands entwined in soft hair. Sounds moaned of
pleasure. I had a vague sense that some of the dream had been a
reality, but I couldn’t bring my mind to focus clearly on whether
any of it had been true. I should have been ashamed. She was. She was
embarrassed by how she responded to me. I had responded to her years
before, and I had never forgotten. Despite her denying now that the
first kiss had been intense, I knew she was lying. She kissed me back
after all that happened, and I wanted her. I couldn’t help it. As
my hands gripped female hair gently and finger nails tickled my hips,
my eyes began to peel open. I took in the dim sunlight beginning to
break the darkness in the room. The ceiling was grayed in shadow, and
I rotated my head on a soft pillow to get a whiff of stale roses and
observe the light pink of sheets. My eyes opened fully as I realized
I didn’t recognize the room painted in a pale rose color and
accented with frilly curtains over the shade covered window. My eyes
traveled down my naked body to the head of my temptress. Her hair
fell forward, veiling her as she worked me with her mouth. My hands
coiled in her hair; I couldn’t quite distinguish the color. My
concentration returned to what this temptress was doing between my
legs and I let my eyes roll back as I dreamt of the woman who kissed
my mouth with lush lips now using those lips to suck me off. I was
ready to burst and I tightened my clasp of her hair, warning her
softly with the words I’m ready. As the liquid strength in me
ejected down her throat, I growled like a prayer, “Fuck, Guinie,”
as I looked down at the head over my manhood to meet green eyes, not
blue. “Elaine?” I questioned.
Author
Bio:
L.B.
Dunbar loves to read to the point it might be classified as an
addiction. The past few years especially she has relished the many
fabulous YA authors, the new genre of New Adult, traditional
romances, and historical romances. A romantic at heart, she’s been
accused of having an overactive imagination, as if that was a bad
thing. Author of the Sensations Collection, Sound Advice, Taste Test,
Fragrance Free, Touch Screen, and the upcoming Sight Words, she is
also author of the Legendary Rock Star series, beginning with The
Legend of Arturo King. When not writing, she’s usually driving one
of her four growing children somewhere. She grew up in Michigan, but
has lived in Chicago for longer, calling it home with her husband and
children.
I’d
like to say I was always a writer. I’d also like to say that I
wrote every day of my life since a child. That I took the teaching
advice I give my former students because writing every day improves
your writing. I’d like to say I have my ten-thousand hours that
makes me a proficient writer. But I can’t say any of those things.
I did dream of writing the “Great American Novel” until one day a
friend said: Why does it have to be great? Why can’t it just be
good and tell a story? As a teenager, I wrote your typical love-angst
poetry that did occasionally win me an award and honor me with
addressing my senior high school class at our Baccalaureate Mass. I
didn’t keep a journal because I was too afraid my mom would find it
in the mattress where I kept my copy of Judy Blume’s Forever that I
wasn’t allowed to read as a twelve year old. I can say that books
have been my life. I’m a reader. I loved to read the day I
discovered “The Three Bears” as a first grader, and ever since
then, the written word has been my friend. Books were an escape for
me. An adventure to the unknown. A love affair I’d never know. I
could be lost for hours in a book. So why writing now? I had a story
to tell. It haunted me from the moment I decided if I just wrote it
down it would go away. But it didn’t. Three years after writing the
first draft, a sign (yes, I believe in them) told me to fix up that
draft and work the process to have it published. That’s what I did.
But one story let to another, and another, and another. Then a new
idea came into my head and a new storyline was created. I was accused
(that’s the correct word) of having an overactive imagination as a
child, as if that was a bad thing. I’ve also been accused of having
the personality of a Jack Russell terrier, full of energy, unable to
relax, and always one step ahead. What can I say other than I have
stories to tell and I think you’ll like them. If you don’t,
that’s okay. We all have our book boyfriends. We all have our
favorites. Whatever you do, though, take time for yourself and read a
book. L.B. Dunbar,
Social
Media:
Other
Books by L.B. Dunbar
(Click
on covers to buy now!!)
Hosted
by
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten