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I always love having Christi Barth stop by but for some reason this time I’m even more excited … I think it’s gotta be the subject matter 🙂  So check out her post below and let us know what you think.  Do you agree?  And if so, let us know who you think is super sexy!


Why Are Rock Stars Hot?

I decided to write my Bad Decisions trilogy about a rock band because 1) readers love them, 2) it meant fun, over-the-top sex and plots, and 3) rock stars are hot.

Hang on.

Are they? Are they really?

At brunch yesterday, I posed this question to three (female) friends. Because let’s face it, when you think of rock stars, you don’t think of tans and bulging muscles like firefighters or athletes. One of my friends—who doesn’t even like country music—would crawl over her husband for the chance to jump on Blake Shelton….and so she reminds us every single week when she watches The Voice with drool running down her chin. We all turned our noses up at Axl Rose (too skinny and grungy) but couldn’t deny that in his heyday, we all knew dozens of women who lusted after him.

And then, after tossing out a few more names, the conversation turned to Justin Timberlake. I will say upfront that I love his music. All the way back to NSync right up to his latest release. I think he’s a tremendous entertainer, and sexy. Except….when they said his name, I thought about it and said – he’s got kind of a baby face. So why do I think he’s so sexy (aside from the super hot body, of course)?

Which brings me to the answer of why are rock stars hot? It is charisma. If you strip away their ability to pour $400 bottles of champagne all over your naked body, and the wish that they might limo you to a private plane to have their way with you on a private island (which can’t be discounted as a perk!) then you are left with charisma.

Rock stars can hold a crowd of fifty thousand screaming people in the palm of their hand. They strip down—both emotionally and sometimes literally—and pour their passion into their performances. Unleashing that amount and depth of raw passion impacts an audience. It is incredibly powerful.

That charisma and magnetism makes people lifelong fans. And it is the perfect ingredient for a romance novel. Now, I took a little authorial leeway and made Cam, the rocker hero in The Opposite of Right, pretty muscled and gorgeous. But I promise he’s got charisma, too, and that you’ll enjoy him. So tell me—which rock star do you think is drop dead dreamy?


TheOppositeofRight_200x300The Opposite of Right 

Book 1 in the Bad Decisions trilogy

by Christi Barth


Kylie Stafford has spent her whole life doing exactly what’s expected. The right major, the right sorority, the right guys, just like her mother and her sister before her. But when everything falls apart for her, Kylie wonders if doing everything right has been utterly wrong. There’s only one way to find out.

She decides to try making all the wrong choices for three months. Hit on a tattoo-covered rock musician? Check. Go back to his dressing room for a hot hook-up against the wall? Gulp. Drop everything to be a roadie for him to binge on more of the best sex of her life? Maybe. Start falling for him despite her better judgment? Um….yeah. Figure out why doing everything that seems wrong feels so darn right?

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Kylie tugged at the hem of her first ever Riptide concert shirt. It was faded. Too big, since she’d bought it to wear at the gym. So she quickly knotted it high over one hip. It exposed her midriff and pulled the material tight against her breasts. Perfect—in all the wrong ways. She could do this. She had to do this. So what if she’d never hit on a man before? This was the Metro, for crying out loud, one of Chicago’s most famous rock clubs. People probably hooked up by the bathrooms twenty times a night. If everyone else could do it, so could Kylie.

She looked back over her shoulder at Amanda, who grinned like a fool and gave her two thumbs up. Okay, then. Waiting wouldn’t make her any braver. So she marched right up to the hot man. Couldn’t even see his face because of the exposed single lightbulb hanging two inches above his head. Kylie focused on the late day scruff along his jawline instead.

“Hi. I think you’re hot. I’ve had a really lousy day, and I think kissing you will make it better.”

Silence—or what passed for silence in a crowded club at almost ten pm—hung between them just long enough for Kylie to decide she’d made a horrible mistake. She was only wearing jeans, not anything sexy. This guy was waiting for a bathroom to open up. Maybe he needed to pee more than he needed to be sexually accosted by a stranger. She tried to squint past the bright halo obscuring his face to figure out if he was smiling or shocked or just dismissive.

“Let’s find out,” he finally said in a good-natured tone.

Wow. That was easy. Except….asking him was only step one of her first bad decision. Implementing step two was something else entirely. Kylie had no idea how to start. Should she wait until after the bathroom? Go straight for the lips, or kick things off with an introductory neck nibble? And where to put her hands?

The man snaked out an arm around her waist, pulling her close enough that the buttons on their jeans clinked. Kylie stumbled, which ended up putting one of his legs between hers. Both hands flew up to rest on those taut pecs. “Hi,” he breathed softly against her ear.

Oh. That was nice of him. The polite ‘hi’ was all it took to spur her into action. Kylie pushed onto her tiptoes, turned her head sideways and aimed for his lips. She almost missed. Got the corner and some sharp stubble.

But this guy knew his stuff. He caught her lower lip with his upper, tugged her into place. And then he nibbled. Just soft, short nibbles. Ones that made all the hair on her arms stand up. His tongue traced the crease between her lips. Kylie parted them on a sigh, but he didn’t push the advantage. Instead, he just kept up the teasing, back and forth motion.

Heat seared into her lower back. Without her realizing it, he’d shifted his hand to the exposed skin between her jeans and tied-up tee. Big. Warm. Moving in a slow whoosh, like a brush across a snare drum. It made Kylie want to wriggle closer. So still on tiptoe, she wrapped her leg around his. That motion brought her flush against something very, very hard. Wow.

His other hand grasped the side of her face. Tilted it back a bit. Then his tongue finally swooped in, caressing—seriously!—all of her tongue as carefully and thoroughly as Kylie imagined he might treat her breast. God, she wanted to rip her shirt off and let him do just that.

Tipping his forehead against hers, he asked, “Is your day any better now?”

“Who cares about my day? My night is freaking fantastic.”


Author Info:

Christi Barth earned a Masters degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage.  A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning.  Ultimately she succumbed to her lifelong love of books and now writes award-winning contemporary romance.  Christi is President of the Maryland Romance Writers and lives in Maryland with her husband.

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