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PW #405: Adult Contemporary Romance: CATCH A FALLING STAR

Monday, 2 November 2015  |  Posted by Nikki Roberti

Pitchwars Badge (Square A)Manuscript Status: Finished

Mentor Name: Mary Ann Marlowe
Mentee Name: Laura E. Adams
Category: Adult
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Word Count: 91,000



Desperate to ditch his boyband image, sex-on-a-stick Devon Jacobs obsesses over partnering with one brilliant lyricist. But Rosie Andrews abandoned writing love songs after her last devastating heartbreak, and she mistrusts the fangirling lothario. When Devon charms her into a songwriting deal, the lines between life and lyrics blur.



I can’t mess up again.

Christ. What is wrong with me?

I’ve spent the last forty-nine minutes and twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five seconds onstage obsessing over one woman I’ve never even met. My chant for her beats in my body (where it better bloody stay) while behind me, drums, a keyboard, and an acoustic guitar weave their sounds into a song I’ve performed fifty-seven times on tour.

My eyes connect with “not-hers” in the front row, and I grab my chest in what must look like a heartthrob’s gratitude. In reality, my heart’s throbbing; my palms are so clammy I’ve dropped my mic twice; my trousers are tighter. The possibility of meeting her tonight and existing in her real-life presence has me half-hard.

“Your part, Dev!” Brice and Artie yell over the shrieks inside this arena.

“…rock my nighty night,” I sing. Christian continues verse two while I do my not-for-your-mum thrusts toward women squealing for “my” rumpy-pumpy style. A girl tosses me an extra-large condom packet with a number scribbled on it. My fans, bless them, have extra-large faith in my willy.

I have extra-large faith in Rosie.

“Oh, yeah!” I thrust, glancing at my mobile. Fifty-two minutes and twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one seconds onstage obsessing over one brilliant woman, who’s likely to hate me and my slightly-larger-than-average manhood.

Still, if I miss my chance—

Lights cut to black cueing the encore.

cue to run.

“Bugger off!” I shout toward frantic band hands trying to catch me sprinting past them offstage.

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