Sunday, July 3, 2016

Falling for Chloe

Falling For Chloe Blog Tour Banner Welcome to my stop on the Falling for Chloe Blog Tour - Really excited to share the latest book by author D. Stearman with you!
Falling for Chloe cover
Jake Marley always dreamed of making it big as a singer / songwriter, and when a chance meeting in his hometown ends with an invite to Nashville, he’s sure fame and fortune are just around the corner. After Jack jumps on the fast track to success, his notoriety grows - but so do his addictions.
Jake expected fame to take its toll. He just didn’t realize how much he’d have to give up in the pursuit of stardom. But the hardest thing? Losing Chloe, his small-town girlfriend and the only person who knows the real Jake. Can Jake and Chloe find their way back to each other? Or will the price of fame remove any chance he has to prove his love for Chloe?  

Excerpt:

The problem was that he was hot and I was not. So he got all the girls and I got, well, mostly myself, which was not that great a thing. That was the general run of our lives and the way it was on that pivotal afternoon. He, Brandon Burke, with his insane football skills and movie-star looks, sat in a corner booth at our local Micky D’s with out-of-my-league Alison, her shadow Erika, and some other celestial being. Me, I was with my ace Snort, which was also not that great a thing. “Hey Jake,” Snort croaked, “who’s that luscious morsel over there by Ally?” “Don’t objectify women, Snort. It’s dehumanizing.” His gaze lowered. “I … I can’t help it. It’s genetic. I have a Y chromosome.” Snort wasn’t all that bad a guy; it’s just that he came off as kind of a loser. But then again so did I, mostly because I was one. But my fortunes began to turn the moment the Great One entered the room. Being a Classic Rock freak, I recognized him at once. Brandon, not so much since he lived in a parallel universe anyway. What prompted the amazing Steven Tyler to grace our humble hometown hangout will remain a mystery throughout the ages. Nevertheless, there he stood, in all his braided, beaded glory. Snort squinted. “I’m hallucinating.” “Definitely an apparition.” My eyes drifted back to the unapproachable angel in the corner booth. Snort cleared his throat. “He looks old.” I shrugged. “He is. Who cares?” Snort shoved a napkin my way. “Get an autograph.” “No way. It’s embarrassing.” He slid his phone across the table. “Then take a pic.” “Too invasive. And cheesy.” “C’mon Jake, we can’t just do nothing.” I groaned, struggling to my feet. “OK, I’ll figure something out.” A couple of WWE-types stood nearby, clearly the celebrity’s bodyguards. They ignored me, probably figuring a skinny teenaged nerd offered little threat to their charge’s security. Approaching him, I mumbled. “Um, hey, Mr. Tyler …” I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy. “I love your work.” OK, that was lame. “Thanks,” he replied, addressing me as if I were a regular human being. “Are you a musician?” “Uh-huh. A rock singer. Following in your footsteps.” The Celestial Being appeared at my side. She looked up at him with eyes like aquamarines. “Mr. Tyler, would you please sign this? It’s for my dad.” “Sure, sweetie.” He winked, took the paper, autographed it, and returned his gaze to me. “You any good?” I shrugged. “Some people think so.” “Do you write?” “Yeah, a little bit.” “Care to send me a demo?” You’ve gotta be kidding. “Sure. Where to?” He burrowed into his pocket and pulled out a gum wrapper, upon which he scribbled an email address. “But no covers, OK? It’s gotta be original.” As he handed the wrapper to me, his eyes shifted back to the girl. “Take care of him,” he quipped. “He just might be the Next Big Thing.” My face felt warm. “We … we’re not together.” He eyed us both up and down. “Too bad. You guys would make a cute couple.” He turned, ordered a Quarter-Pounder, nabbed it and waved as he headed out. I stood there, dumbfounded, the Angel still hovering by my side. She extended a graceful hand. “Hi, I’m Chloe.” Again, I’m not worthy … “Um, hi Chloe, I’m Jake. You new around here?” “Just moved in.” Makes sense. That’s why you’re unaware that I’m a social reject and unqualified to receive communication from your kind. “Really? From where?” “Riverside.” “Is that back east?” “No, it’s in California.” She giggled, and the ring of it was sweeter than the sound of Metallica’s lead guitarist trilling triplets on the twelfth fret. I felt a grin warm my face. What an afternoon. Steven Tyler, and now this Chloe. Would anything ever come of any of it? My shoulders slumped. Dream On.

About D. Stearman:

D. Stearman Photo
I'm a professional songwriter/recording artist-turned novelist, who likes to write adventures set in exotic locales. I have a special love for the tropics--jungles and beaches--that's reflected in both my stories and personal life. (In the form of hobbies like breeding parrots, growing orchids, and keeping saltwater reef aquariums.)
I travel widely and strive to write about the places I visit in a way that will make readers feel they've been there too. I've always seen this world as a place of wonder, surpassed only by the people who inhabit it and it's divine Creator.