Lost Track, an all new friends to lovers slow burn romance from Heidi Hutchinson, is available now in Kindle Unlimited!
Read my 5 ⭐️ review HERE.
Sabine Debois likes her wine pink and her life predictable. As a private tutor for the rich and famous, she doesn’t get starstruck. But when a tattooed espresso fiend saves her from death by sweater, she’s a little bit… grateful. That’s all. Just grateful.
Sunshine Capone just had the best album of his career, and then his girlfriend burned down his house. Well, his ex-girlfriend now. So he moved to Chicago to focus on his music and avoid the drama of relationships.
He should not be creating any excuse to hang out with the sweet teacher with the hazel eyes and bright smile. She doesn’t need his kind of confusion in her life.
But Sabine’s about to teach this superstar a thing or two about peace, love, and understanding.
Lost Track is a full-length contemporary romance and can be read as a standalone. Book #5 in the Common Threads series, Seduction in the City World, Penny Reid Book Universe.
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Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/3zHmX37
“Help,” she whispered to no one.
Again, the panic threatened to take over.
She wasn’t an overly anxious person. She liked to think of herself as fairly Zen.
But whatever piece of plastic or thread or glue that had tormented her all day long had driven away her sensibleness and she was now gulping for air, trapped in a jumper.
A prison of her own making.
New fear unlocked: small, confined spaces.
She would not die here.
Not like this and not this day.
The studio wasn’t devoid of human life. She’d passed at least two sound engineers on her way to the lounge.
Sure, she didn’t know their names, but she could ask them to help her. Maybe Nikki was working. Nikki seemed nice those two times they had almost interacted. Maybe she would rescue her.
She took a tentative step in the direction she hoped was the door. Another step.
Okay, so far, so good.
Another step and her hip bumped into the edge of the table.
Or was it the counter in the kitchenette?
She tried to rub her hip and butt along the edge to orient herself.
The sound of a door opening spun her around and she almost lost her balance.
“Hello?” she called, hearing the tremor in her voice.
“Hello?” a male voice replied and there was no mistaking the amusement in his tone.
She exhaled loudly and tried to walk toward his voice but collided with the table again.
“You are all turned around,” he said, coming closer. “Just wait.”
“Please help me,” she said. “I’m stuck and I can’t—” She wiggled her arms above her head uselessly. Her fingertips tingled. That couldn’t be good.
“What can I do to help?” he asked, now standing in front of her.
She hinged forward at the hips. “Can you pull the sweater off?”
Silence for a beat and then a deep breath.
He smelled like coffee and fresh air. She wondered which engineer this was. His voice didn’t sound like Johnny, the owner of the studio, and it definitely wasn’t Johnny’s younger brother Shawn because he would have just started laughing and wouldn’t have stopped.
“Okay, I’m going to have to touch you. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” she replied, slightly confused by his statement. Because it was pretty obvious that if she’d asked him to help her, he was going to have to touch her.
But when cool fingers brushed against the exposed skin near her armpits, she flinched.
Oh, now that made sense.
He tugged on the fabric around her armpits and it didn’t budge.
“Hm,” he said to himself and she sensed him step back. “It’s really stuck.”
She bobbed her upper body in agreement.
He stepped closer and tried again in a slightly different place.
“I don’t want to ruin your sweater,” he said, sounding distressed.
“And I don’t want to die dressed like a traffic cone,” she replied a little more hotly than she should have.
He chuckled and tugged at the sleeves over her head.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“You do not have to apologize.” His voice moved like he was walking a circle around her. “Though I don’t think you look like a traffic cone. I actually saw you as one of those inflatable tube man things you see outside car dealerships.”
She laughed despite herself. “That’s not better.”
“You think if I pull straight up, we’ll end up with a finger trap situation? Because that’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I am very willing to risk it.”
“Okay.” He fiddled with the top of the sweater. “Stop me if it hurts.”
The fabric tugged, pulled and smashed her face as he worked it off of her. She held her breath, like that would somehow ease the progression. The hem pinched and rolled over her armpits and then…relief.
She sagged forward and then cried out.
“Earring! Earring!” She moved her head with the sweater. Her hands, newly free, gripped his wrists. “Stop!”
He already had stopped. The moment she had cried out he froze.
She let go of him and dove her fingers beneath the loosened fabric to detangle her earrings.
“Okay,” she said, wincing in preparation for more pain.
But the pain was over.
The sweater came away and she took her first full breath in what felt like hours.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, finally getting a look at her rescuer.
Sleepy indigo eyes met hers, and the smile on his face crinkled the stem of the rose tattooed near his right eye.
Here was the thing about working with famous people and their kids, they were too often hypersensitive to people’s attention. She’d learned early on that most didn’t like to be stared at. And because they were hyper-aware of being watched, any kind of eye contact could feel like it was staring.
But she understood it enough that looking around them instead of at them was a safe option. At least until new expectations had been established.
So, it was very off-brand (again) for her to have full eye contact with a rock star.
She immediately looked down, but not before she’d clocked the dove tattoo near his hairline and the words “As Yourself” above his left eyebrow. Her gaze dropped to his neckline where a large black and gray tattoo of the sun on his throat was just barely visible from the collar of his gray hoodie.
So… not really a rock star.
But kind of.
He was more hip-hop, right?
Why was she trying to specify what kind of star he was?
A star was a star.
“Thank you,” she said again.
“Not a problem,” he replied, and his tone caused her eyes to jump back to his, even though it went against all her instincts. He was still smiling. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and chuckled at her own circumstances. “I am now, thanks to you.”
About Heidi Hutchinson
Heidi Hutchinson creates funny, clever, slow burn romance for readers looking for a guaranteed happily ever after.
She hopes the stories she writes inspire her readers to take their hearts on one more adventure.
She lives in the Black Hills with her alarmingly handsome husband, their fearless child, and a rather large and spoiled dog.
She is fueled by her unwavering and perfectly normal devotion to Dave Grohl and coffee.
And a whole lotta love.
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