Title: The Story of Lansing Lotte
Author: L.B. Dunbar
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 28, 2015
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.
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
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.
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,
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