Heart Shaped Rock
by Laura Roppe
Release Date: May 2014
Summary from Goodreads:
"If you liked the music
collaboration of Maybe Someday, you've got to check out Heart Shaped Rock." -
New York Times best-selling author of Maybe Someday, Colleen Hoover
"Laura Roppé has written a moving and emotional novel of first love, accurately capturing the voice and mind of a dramatic and emotional sixteen year old girl caught in a maelstrom of grief and loss, love and heartbreak. And then there's Dean…you'll just have to read the book, 'cause I can't do him justice in a few short sentences." -Jasinda Wilder, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of Falling into You
Sometimes a shattered heart needs to sing to love again . . . Sixteen year old singer-songwriter Shaynee Sullivan hasn't so much as touched her guitar since her mom died six months ago. In fact, Shaynee hasn't felt like doing much of anything lately, except maybe playing Whack-a-Mole on her "emotionally intelligent" brother's head. But when she meets a gorgeous and surprising rocker named Dean, her shattered heart begins to mend . . . and then burst at the seams. Heart-wrenching, heart-warming, and sometimes even heart-racing, Heart Shaped Rock will leave you laughing through tears and rooting for love in all its forms.
Hear the original music performed in Heart Shaped Rock at www.LauraRoppe.com. All music available on iTunes.
"Laura Roppé has written a moving and emotional novel of first love, accurately capturing the voice and mind of a dramatic and emotional sixteen year old girl caught in a maelstrom of grief and loss, love and heartbreak. And then there's Dean…you'll just have to read the book, 'cause I can't do him justice in a few short sentences." -Jasinda Wilder, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of Falling into You
Sometimes a shattered heart needs to sing to love again . . . Sixteen year old singer-songwriter Shaynee Sullivan hasn't so much as touched her guitar since her mom died six months ago. In fact, Shaynee hasn't felt like doing much of anything lately, except maybe playing Whack-a-Mole on her "emotionally intelligent" brother's head. But when she meets a gorgeous and surprising rocker named Dean, her shattered heart begins to mend . . . and then burst at the seams. Heart-wrenching, heart-warming, and sometimes even heart-racing, Heart Shaped Rock will leave you laughing through tears and rooting for love in all its forms.
Hear the original music performed in Heart Shaped Rock at www.LauraRoppe.com. All music available on iTunes.
Excerpt:
A log in the bonfire falls, and the entire fire crackles and pops and sizzles. A wave of thick smoke envelops me for just a moment with the shifting of the breeze. I begin to cough and wave the air with my hands to clear a clean patch to breathe.
"Looks like you've picked a dangerous spot," a voice says. I turn, expecting Jared. But it's not Jared. It's some guy I don't know.
Wow, yet another Casanova. Do I have "please talk to me" stamped on my forehead? What's going on tonight?
I don't reply to his pick-up line. I mean it's pretty lame.
"Is this seat taken?" he asks, motioning to the sand next to me.
I shrug.
His voice seems really familiar to me. But I can't place it.
He looks to the fire for a moment, and the flames dance across his face. Wow, he has the most alluring collection of features I've ever seen. Well, in person, anyway. I've seen movie stars and rock stars rival this guy, but I've never seen such perfection up close. He truly is a work of art. His hair is dark. His cheekbones are high. His nose is sculpted. His lips are . . . wow.
"I'm Dean," he says, extending his hand.
I put my hand in his and immediately feel a current of electricity jolt through my body. I jerk my hand away.
"I'm Shaynee," I say, sounding more confident than I feel. "I recently learned I'm supposed to say my name when someone says theirs. So, there, I did it. I said my name. It's Shaynee." Oh God, I'm rambling.
He laughs a masculine, guttural laugh.
I freeze. I know that laugh. Oh my God. I look down at his clothes. Jeans. Combat boots. He's not wearing the leather jacket, but . . .
Another plume of smoke from the bonfire hits and envelops us. Again, I cough ferociously. But he isn't coughing at all.
When the smoke clears, he lets out his breath. "You're a bonfire rookie, Shaynee." When he says my name, my stomach flips over and that electricity from our handshake bounces throughout my body.
He turns to look at me, flashing a wicked grin, and I finally see those startling blue eyes in the flickering light confirming what I already know. Motorcycle Boy.
"When you see smoke coming," he says, "you gotta hold your breath 'til it passes."
"Or, hey," I say, "here's an idea-we could just move back a bit."
"What, and sacrifice warmth?" He grins.
"It is a bit of a Sophie's Choice, isn't it?"
Dean laughs like he actually understands my movie reference.
Gah, is it super-duper hot out here tonight? Am I sitting way too close to the fire? Is my hair burning? "Actually, holding my breath is my superpower," I blurt. "I can hold my breath all day long." God, I sound like such a dork.
"Well, that's a handy superpower. You could totally team up with Aquaman and fight underwater crime and stuff." He shoots me a crooked smile. "And make some really beautiful tadpoles."
I can't take it anymore. I have to call a spade a spade. "You're the guy on the motorcycle." It's a statement, not a question. "Motorcycle Boy."
"Yes, I am. And you're the girl with the walkie-talkie. Walkie-Talkie Girl." He laughs.
"Looks like you've picked a dangerous spot," a voice says. I turn, expecting Jared. But it's not Jared. It's some guy I don't know.
Wow, yet another Casanova. Do I have "please talk to me" stamped on my forehead? What's going on tonight?
I don't reply to his pick-up line. I mean it's pretty lame.
"Is this seat taken?" he asks, motioning to the sand next to me.
I shrug.
His voice seems really familiar to me. But I can't place it.
He looks to the fire for a moment, and the flames dance across his face. Wow, he has the most alluring collection of features I've ever seen. Well, in person, anyway. I've seen movie stars and rock stars rival this guy, but I've never seen such perfection up close. He truly is a work of art. His hair is dark. His cheekbones are high. His nose is sculpted. His lips are . . . wow.
"I'm Dean," he says, extending his hand.
I put my hand in his and immediately feel a current of electricity jolt through my body. I jerk my hand away.
"I'm Shaynee," I say, sounding more confident than I feel. "I recently learned I'm supposed to say my name when someone says theirs. So, there, I did it. I said my name. It's Shaynee." Oh God, I'm rambling.
He laughs a masculine, guttural laugh.
I freeze. I know that laugh. Oh my God. I look down at his clothes. Jeans. Combat boots. He's not wearing the leather jacket, but . . .
Another plume of smoke from the bonfire hits and envelops us. Again, I cough ferociously. But he isn't coughing at all.
When the smoke clears, he lets out his breath. "You're a bonfire rookie, Shaynee." When he says my name, my stomach flips over and that electricity from our handshake bounces throughout my body.
He turns to look at me, flashing a wicked grin, and I finally see those startling blue eyes in the flickering light confirming what I already know. Motorcycle Boy.
"When you see smoke coming," he says, "you gotta hold your breath 'til it passes."
"Or, hey," I say, "here's an idea-we could just move back a bit."
"What, and sacrifice warmth?" He grins.
"It is a bit of a Sophie's Choice, isn't it?"
Dean laughs like he actually understands my movie reference.
Gah, is it super-duper hot out here tonight? Am I sitting way too close to the fire? Is my hair burning? "Actually, holding my breath is my superpower," I blurt. "I can hold my breath all day long." God, I sound like such a dork.
"Well, that's a handy superpower. You could totally team up with Aquaman and fight underwater crime and stuff." He shoots me a crooked smile. "And make some really beautiful tadpoles."
I can't take it anymore. I have to call a spade a spade. "You're the guy on the motorcycle." It's a statement, not a question. "Motorcycle Boy."
"Yes, I am. And you're the girl with the walkie-talkie. Walkie-Talkie Girl." He laughs.
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