Provoke_ A Seaside Pictures Novella (Seaside Pictures #3.7) - Rachel Van Dyken

Prologue

“Hey, guys! It’s Braden the musical musician, hitting you up from my home in Portland, Oregon!” I made a little drum sound effect with my keyboard and then added in my normal cymbal. “And here’s the thing. I’ve been getting a lot of requests on my YouTube channel for something sexy. But, guys, I mean…have you seen my hair?” I pointed to my red hair and shook my head. “Told my mom I was gonna dye it, and she told me if I did, then I would, in fact…” I gave an exaggerated gulp and hit a low key on the keyboard. “Die.”

I made a slicing motion across my neck and grinned. “Hey, at least I have a nice, strong smile. Thank you, Dr. Pain—his nickname—for letting me wear braces for four years and then saying that one day I’d be at the Grammys dedicating an award to him.” I busted up laughing.

“All right, all right.” I cleared my throat. “This is as sexy as it gets, ladies. And for all the dudes who have to suffer through this ballad with me, I’m not even sorry because you know you’re gonna get lai—”

“Braden!” Mom yelled for me.

I made a face at my computer. “I’m going to be dead if she heard me. Also, hi, Mom. I assume you’re watching my live feed. Hey, we’re out of Pringles so—”

She stormed into my room, swatted me on the head with an empty can of Pringles, then barreled back out.

“Love you, Ma!” I called over my shoulder.

“Love you too!” she yelled.

I put my hand on my heart. “All right, let’s do this.”

I had been singing the shit out of my newest song. Within a day of its first airing, it had garnered over two million views. Actually small by comparison to my biggest hit, which had over forty million.

My channel was doing so well that my mom was able to stay home with my little sisters, which just made me feel like the man of the house—I was somehow contributing since my loser dad stopped sending child support eons ago.

I closed up for the night and headed downstairs just as the doorbell rang.

“Braden, can you get that?” Mom said from the kitchen. “I’m elbow-deep in chicken.”

“Ew, Mom, take your fetishes elsewhere.”

A curse and then, “Braden, I swear I’m going to put naked chickens in your bed if you say something about that on your channel.”

I paused for effect and then said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Braden!”

I busted out laughing as the doorbell rang again. “Hold your ass, man.”

I jerked open the door and nearly died when Drew Amhurst, Adrenaline’s front man and all-around A-list rock star stood there, sunglasses low on his nose, and both hands on his ass, smirking. “Like this, bro? Or am I doing it wrong?”

I grinned. “Did we just become best friends?”

“I’d shake your hand but you told me to hold my ass.”

“Brothers don’t shake hands.” It totally slipped from my mouth. Before I knew what was happening, Drew charged me, pulled me in for a tight hug, kissed both my cheeks like we were Italian or something, and then set me down.

“Brothers hug.”

A side-splitting laugh erupted before I could stop it. I’d only chatted with Drew once when his tour made its way through Portland. He gave me backstage passes since he was a fan of my channel, but that was the extent of our relationship.

“So, any reason my fairy godmother decided to just randomly stop at my apartment? Or were you just out wandering the streets in leather pants, trying to see how many prostitutes offered you drugs out of confusion?”

“Off the drugs.” He walked farther into my house and pulled off his aviators. “Thanks, though, for the temptation. I’m actually in the area looking for some wiseass nineteen-year-old who seems to be in competition with our music videos for how many views he can get.” He shook his head. “Releasing a live stream the same day we drop our new single? That’s cold, man.”

I led him into the kitchen and felt my circle of life complete as my gorgeous mom took one look at Drew, then glanced at me, then stared down at her hands all covered in chicken guts before glaring daggers at me like it was my fault the universe was against her.

“Whoa, Mom.” I held up my hands. “We’ve only met once. I did not invite him here to watch you do”—I pointed at the chicken—“whatever it is you do when your hands are all…inside.”

She