Wild Collision, page 1
Wild Collision
Micalea Smeltzer
Contents
Wild Collision
Also by Micalea Smeltzer
Prologue
1. Mia
2. Hollis
3. Mia
4. Hollis
5. Mia
6. Hollis
7. Mia
8. Hollis
9. Mia
10. Hollis
11. Mia
12. Hollis
13. Mia
14. Hollis
15. Mia
16. Hollis
17. Mia
18. Hollis
19. Mia
20. Hollis
21. Mia
22. Hollis
23. Mia
24. Hollis
25. Mia
26. Hollis
27. Mia
28. Hollis
29. Mia
30. Hollis
31. Mia
32. Hollis
33. Mia
34. Hollis
35. Mia
36. Hollis
37. Mia
38. Hollis
39. Mia
Epilogue
Bonus Scene - Hayes’s POV
Bonus Scene - Hollis’s POV
Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
Wild Collision
He was a beautiful nightmare.
Mia Hayes is comfortable with her life as it is.
Boring is good.
Boring is normal.
Boring is safe.
But the thing with boring is it makes temptation all the sweeter.
She was a sweet dream.
Hollis Wilder goes a hundred miles an hour after everything he wants.
Fast is fun.
Fast is crazy.
Fast is dangerous.
But the thing with fast is it keeps you from thinking before you act.
Together they were the notes in their favorite song.
When Mia and Hollis collide—literally—music’s new bad boy can’t help but notice the beautiful red-haired woman with soft curves. She calls to him like a siren, and since the word no isn’t in his vocabulary he’s determined to get what he wants.
The problem is, one night won’t be enough, and the fact that Mia is his mentor’s daughter complicates things royally.
Mia’s the one girl that’s off limits, but she might be the only one he wants for real.
© Copyright 2018 Micalea Smeltzer
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design © Regina Wamba
Cover Photo © Wander Aguiar Photography
Models: Forest & Evan
Editor: KBM Editing
Created with Vellum
Also by Micalea Smeltzer
Light in the Dark Series
Rae of Sunshine
When Stars Collide
Dark Hearts
When Constellations Form
Broken Hearts
Second Chances Series
Unraveling
Undeniable
Trace + Olivia Series
Finding Olivia
Chasing Olivia
Tempting Rowan
Saving Tatum
Willow Creek Series
Last To Know
Never Too Late
In Your Heart
Take A Chance
Us Series
The Road That Leads To Us
The Lies That Define Us
The Game That Breaks Us
The Wild Series
Wild Collision
Wild Flame (coming soon)
Standalones
Bring Me Back
The Other Side of Tomorrow
Beauty in the Ashes
Temptation
A Love Like Ours
Janiece, this book is for you because without what you’ve done for me it wouldn’t be here. You saved my life.
You’re my hero. Forever and always.
Prologue
Hollis
The pounding pulse of the club music vibrates through my entire body.
It doesn’t matter what country or city you’re in, all these places are the same.
Too loud music, overflowing drinks, and sweaty bodies gyrating together.
The sexy brunette who’s latched onto me for the night grinds her ass against my dick.
“Someone’s getting laid tonight,” Cannon, one of my best friends and the bass player in our band, calls out to me.
I smirk back at him even as he looks on in disapproval.
Last night. Tonight. Tomorrow night.
They’re all the same, only different faces—and fuck, most of the time I don’t even remember them.
The girl turns, wrapping her arms around my neck and pushing her rock hard fake breasts into my chest. I suppress a groan.
She licks her plump overly filled lips, looking at me through hooded eyes. “My place or yours,” she purrs.
“Neither,” a new voice growls.
I turn, stumbling in my drunken state.
“Oh shit,” I mutter.
My bandmates exchange similar sentiments.
“I drove all the way to D.C. for your sorry asses. Why am I not surprised you’re at a place like this?”
The middle-aged man shakes his head, clearly disappointed with us.
“Hayes, man,” I plead. “It’s only some harmless fun.”
“Yeah, harmless fun when you’re supposed to start recording your first studio album tomorrow. You might’ve had a few successful singles but don’t think for a minute if you fuck up people won’t move on to the next band.”
I swallow thickly at his threat.
Joshua Hayes is the guitarist for one of the biggest bands in the world and we’re damn lucky he wants us to be his first producing job.
“I’m sorry.”
He looks like my words mean nothing. I guess they don’t—they’re some of my favorite and I rarely mean them, so why would now be any different.
“We thought one more night of fun before we buckled down to record our album would be okay,” Fox, another friend, and the guitarist, calls out. He’s the jokester out of all of us—the rest of us are far too broody and serious, at least according to the media. They have no idea who we really are.
I prefer to think of myself as introspective and a deep thinker.
Unless you put a hot chick in front of me—then all I think about is ass, ass, and more ass.
“Yeah, well it’s not okay. At least not for me. I want to know you’re serious—because if you aren’t then I’m not wasting my time. What you’re doing here … this does nothing to alleviate my worries.”
Harsh.
“How’d you find us anyway?” Cannon asks, having ditched the girl he was dancing with and joined us. He crosses his muscled arms over his chest.
I belatedly realize the girl I was with has left, blending into the crowd and lost from my sight.
Hayes tosses us a look like a pissed off dad who found his kid sneaking out the bedroom window.
“Rush,” is all he says.
The three of us turn and as one we cringe when we spot our drummer on top of the bar, with a bottle of whiskey, on fucking SnapChat.
“Get your asses outside and into my car. It’s the Range Rover. I’ll get Rush.”
Before we can reply to Hayes he’s bled through the crowd and is heading toward the bar.
“I thought he was our producer, not a fucking babysitter,” I mutter.
“He is part of one of the most successful bands ever, maybe we should listen to him.” Cannon shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears. I swear I hear a girl moan when she gets a look at his neck tat.
I have a bigger cock.
And isn’t that what’s most important?
“Fine, whatever.” I weave my way through the crowd to the exit, Cannon and Fox on my heels.
“He’s going to be unbearable tomorrow,” Cannon sighs, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He smacks the new box against his hand and pulls one out, sticking it between his lips but not lighting it.
“Why?” Fox asks with a laugh, though he already knows the answer.
“No pussy for Hollis means he’s an insufferable bastard.”
I don’t even try to defend myself because they’re right.
We step outside into the crisp fall air and spot the Range Rover easily.
“Shotgun,” I call, and stand by the passenger’s side before one of these fuckers gets the bright idea to steal it from me.
We wait outside the car and it’s a few minutes before Hayes comes out, supporting a stumbling Rush.
“My boy never can handle his liquor,” Cannon chortles, tossing his cigarette on the ground.
Hayes unlocks the Range Rover and I slide into the passenger seat while the other guys tumble in the back. Hayes dumps Rush with them.
Hayes jogs around the front of the car and into the driver’s seat.
Glancing in the rearview mirror he warns, “Don’t throw up in my fucking car.”
“Of course not, sir,” Fox re
Hayes stares for a moment longer before pulling out into traffic.
We barely make it to the stoplight before Rush retches up whatever cocktail he’s consumed tonight.
Hayes pinches the bridge of this nose. “What have I gotten myself into?”
What indeed.
1
Mia
I trudge into the house through the garage, my backpack slung over my shoulders.
It looks like I’m doing the walk of shame. I’m definitely not. But my dad is bound to give me a lecture anyway, even though I did call home last night to let my parents know I was staying at my best friend’s apartment for the night since we were studying. Crashing on her couch isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but it is better than making the drive home late at night. Sometimes I wonder why I chose to continue living at home while I went to university. Our house is nearly an hour away from campus, and where I work, but I’d hated the thought of leaving my parents and siblings so I chose to commute instead. I know if I’d wanted to stay on campus they would’ve supported my decision … well, my mom would have. My dad on the other hand… he takes overprotective to a whole new level even now with me being twenty-two.
The alarm chimes, signaling my arrival.
“Mia? Is that you?” My mom calls out.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I sigh, dropping my cheery yellow backpack by the stairs.
I’m tired. Kira’s apartment is small with only her bed and the couch—which means I sleep on the latter. Kira always offers for me to crash in her bed with her but she’s a bed hog, so I choose the couch over being kicked onto the floor in the middle of the night. Yeah, that happened once.
My neck is stiff and my back feels like someone kicked my spine all night long, but this pain can’t be blamed on Kira. For all I know there are little gremlins living inside her sofa.
I follow the sound of her voice to the kitchen and find her making breakfast. Eggs and pancakes. My tummy rumbles but I have more pressing matters at hand, like peeing and taking a shower. Oh, and changing my clothes. I slept in my actual clothes and not my pajamas and it shows.
My two younger siblings sit at the kitchen table waiting for breakfast. Adalyn is so absorbed in her phone she doesn’t even look up upon my arrival. Noah gives me a cheeky smile and lifts his feet onto the table. He winks. We both know Mom will blow a gasket when she spots his stinky feet on the table.
Adalyn and I look a lot alike. We both have red hair, but hers is closer to a strawberry color and not my vibrant hue. We even have features that match our mom’s, but she got Dad’s eyes.
Well, there was no way I’d have gotten Dad’s eyes—he’s technically my adopted dad, but he’s all I’ve ever known as a father, and therefore in my mind, he is my dad.
Noah, on the other hand, is a complete clone of our dad. Same sandy shaggy hair, same shade of blue eyes, and perpetual smirk. It’s uncanny at times and like looking at a teenage version of Josh Hayes.
The only difference is where our dad eats, sleeps, and breathes music, Noah prefers building things—ranging anywhere from Legos to legitimate robots which actually work. Noah’s a borderline genius. Heck, maybe he’s an actual genius for all I know. Point is, the kid is smart.
“Do you need help?” I ask my mom.
She shakes her head. “No, no, I’m fine,” she assures. “I wanted to see you.”
“You saw me yesterday morning,” I remind her.
“Am I not allowed to miss my daughter?” she jokes, blowing a stray piece of red hair from her eyes.
I stick my tongue out. “I guess.”
“Have you eaten yet?” she asks.
I shake my head, my shoulders sagging with tiredness. “No, I wanted to get home first. Save me some, please. I want to shower. I feel icky.” I pull my day old shirt away from my body.
She waves me away. “Go shower then. I’ll save you a plate.” She glances significantly in Noah’s direction because we both know if she doesn’t save me a plate the little shark will eat everything. She spots his feet on the table and glowers. “Feet. Off. The. Table.”
He doesn’t move his feet.
“Do I need to get your father in here?” she warns with her hands on her hips.
He drops his feet immediately, mumbling something we can’t hear under his breath.
Honestly, our dad is a pushover. He hates scolding any of us, but if Mom is mad enough and calls for him … yeah, he gets scary if we don’t listen to her.
I slip from the kitchen making my way upstairs to my bedroom.
It’s my favorite room in the house, mostly because it’s mine.
I push open my bedroom door and smile. Three of the four walls are solid white, with the main wall where my bed sits painted with horizontal black and white stripes. The four-poster bed is accented by a large canopy hanging from the ceiling by ropes. In the corner is my desk with a wire chair and fluffy pillow. The desk is blue, matching the blue quilt on my bed. Blue and yellow are speckled throughout the room along with more items in black and white. Like my black dresser with a large yellow-framed mirror hanging above it. It’s different, but it’s my style.
I kick my shoes off and they land on the fluffy white rug. It was important to me to have a large rug to soften the floors since the whole house is hardwood.
I take off my outer shirt, leaving me in a white tank top and jeans. I press the button on my Bluetooth speaker and music begins to play.
Music is the steady drum that beats my heart. Without it I would die.
I guess that’s why I decided to study music production and composition. Growing up so close to the music industry—my dad is a member of one of the most popular bands in the world, Willow Creek—it was bound to rub off on me.
When I told my dad I wanted to pursue a career in music, but behind the scenes, he told me he was proud but it was on me to make it happen. He wasn’t going to give me a leg up in the industry.
I admire him for it. I didn’t want it handed to me anyway. I want to make a name for myself and not be known as Joshua Hayes’s daughter who only got where she is based on her last name.
He does let me work at the record company he started in our small town to get hands-on experience, but I’m a coffee bitch, more commonly known as an intern.
The door to my bathroom swings open, steam billowing out and I whirl around, my body sliding effortlessly into a fighting stance.
My jaw drops.
“Who the hell are you?” I stare at the gorgeous guy in front of me. His brown hair is damp and shaggy, hanging into impossibly golden colored eyes. His chest is bare and while he’s on the thinner side it’s obvious he works out a lot. He’s muscular and lean. I swallow thickly, my eyes zeroing in on his bare chest and then sliding down to the towel hanging precariously on his hips.
Mia, stop staring at him! He’s probably homeless and broke into your house. Do something!
“I know jiu-jitsu,” I warn.
His lips tip up into a half-smirk. “Is that so?” His voice is raspy and impossibly sexy.
Snap out of it! You don’t even know who this guy is and he just came out of your bathroom.
“Why are you in my bathroom?” I ask, not losing my fighting stance.
“Uh … I needed a shower … obviously.”
“There are like fifteen bathrooms in this house, why mine?” I ask. Okay, there aren’t fifteen. More like five and a half, but whatever.
