From New York Times Bestseller, Mimi Jean Pamfiloff, Comes Book #2 of The Happy Pants Cafe Series
It Only Takes One Hot Rock Star To Ruin Your Life…
The youngest woman to ever sit on the bench, the Honorable Sarah Rae Alma has busted her butt to get where she is. No fun. No distractions. And definitely no bad boys. In fact, she takes a certain pleasure in crushing their souls—yes, she has her reasons.
So when rock-n-roll’s most famous bad boy, the legendary Colton Young, enters her court, looking hotter than sin and smugger than hell, she’s just itching to serve a little justice.
But Sarah’s about to make the biggest mistake of her life. And her fate will land squarely in the hands of the world’s most notorious rock star rebel.
Will he crush her? Or will he tempt her to take a walk on the wild side?
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Sarah gulped. God save me. Because this man…this man…He’s too sinful for words. Not that she was into him. She hated bad boys. They were smug and all talk until it came time for sentencing. She took a certain pleasure in watching them blubber like babies when they were found guilty and sentenced to prison.
But Colton Young could make her squirm merely by subjecting her to his hotness. Did he have superpowers?
“Your Honor? You okay?” Maria rasped while everyone watched Colton do his I-don’t-give-a-fuck strut toward the seat beside his legal counsel—some big lawyer guy in a fancy suit.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.” Sarah bobbed her head and brushed a few wayward clumps of sad dull hair from her eyes with her trembling hand.
Maria’s left eyebrow did some acrobatics on her forehead and returned to neutral. “Okeydokey. Here we go.”
Maria faced the room, and the court clerk kicked off the trial, reading the charges against the defendant.
Meanwhile, Sarah tried her best to divert her eyes from the man with the body that reminded her of how at the end of the day, she was an animal—no brains, no evolution. Just a savage she-beast wanting to bang her way to happiness.
“Your Honor?” Maria prodded for the second time.
Crap. I zoned out again. Sarah focused on the documents in front of her, frantically skimming the list of charges. What the hell? Assaulting an officer with a deadly weapon? Destruction of private property? Urinating on another officer, and public indecency? Jesus, this guy was out of control. Hot, but out of control.
See. He’s just another bad boy with no regard for others. Just pretend he’s not a famous rock star. With beautifully sculpted cheekbones. And a perfect square jaw. And pouty man-lips framed by a week’s worth of rich brown stubble perfect for tickling the inside of your thighs while he makes you come with that wicked mouth.
Sarah gulped and finished reading through the mandatory proceeding documents, informing the jury of the instructions, all without missing a step.
She looked up and met Colton’s steely gaze. Her heartbeat went into hummingbird mode.
“Mist-Mister Colton.” Sarah cleared her throat, her eyes still locked with his. “You may proceed with your leather pants—I mean arguments! The opening arguments.”
A chuckle erupted from the room and Colton gave her a hard look, as if to say: “Hey, woman, I am not your piece of meat!”
What’s the matter with me? Of course, there wasn’t a female on the planet who could remain calm in such a man’s presence—fifteen Grammys, including album of the year, abs of steel (as seen on his last album cover), and a set of dimples so deliciously deep you could practically take a bubble bath in them.
Not that she was interested. Because he’s just a big dick in leather pants. Of course, Sarah’s mind produced an image of exactly that. Ugh!
Colton’s lawyer stood. “If Your Honor doesn’t object, I will be representing Mr. Colton and presenting arguments.”
Dammit. I said Colton, didn’t I? Focus. Focus, Sarah.
She smiled stiffly. “Yes, I meant to say counsel for the defense. Please proceed.”
“If I may, Your Honor,” said the DA—a bald, gangly man with deep frown lines and thick glasses, “new evidence came to light five minutes ago. I request that we recess and confer in your chambers.”
Relief washed over Sarah. She needed a quick break to gather herself. If only she’d known about today’s special guest, she could’ve prepared herself—freezing her panties and maybe a lobotomy.
“Recess granted.” Sarah picked up her gavel and gave it a whack. “The jury will return to the jury room while we leather—I mean recess for fifteen minutes.” Jesus, Sarah. She stood and tried not to appear hurried, but she needed to make it to her chamber to gavel herself in the head a few times before the lawyers got there.
She entered her office, dug a cold bottle of water from the mini-fridge in the corner, and slugged it down. Okay. I can go to Wright and ask him to assign another judge. Wait. No, she couldn’t. Wright, the presiding judge who oversaw the courts in this county, hated her. Big time. He’d use any excuse to damage her career, including malicious gossip to prevent her from being considered for the state supreme court, her ultimate goal.
Crap. I have to stick this out.