When two former bandmates—and bedmates—are thrust back into each other’s lives in a fake dating scheme for publicity, they’ll be forced to face the music.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from For One Night Only by Jessica James, which is out January 7th 2025.
After her recurring role in tabloid headlines, Valerie Quinn’s musical TV show is on the network chopping block. Desperate for good press, she hastily reassembles her wildly beloved pop punk band, Glitter Bats. A reunion concert could be the former lead vocalist’s ticket to a media makeover, especially if it renews public speculation around her iconic situationship with bassist Caleb Sloane.
The only problem? They haven’t spoken in six years.
Caleb had the makings of a rock god, but fallout from the messy Glitter Bats breakup left him broke, anxious, and resentful of the industry. But when Valerie shows up at Caleb’s doorstep with that devastating smile and a plea for help, he reluctantly agrees to put on one last show.
So what if the fandom assumes the two of them are back together too? They’ll play along. You know…for the press.
Making music together not only revives the harmony between them, but also the discord that led to the band’s downfall. With their futures—and the Glitter Bats—in the balance, can they survive a romantic reprise?
“You’re the One That I Want” cues up on the screen, but we don’t need the lyrics. This was our go‑to karaoke song back in high school, when we were playing smelly pubs and crappy time slots and would find a random place to unwind after a show—usually the pizza joint near Riker’s house that was open super late. The arcade was full of broken games, but somehow the karaoke machine always worked.
As the tinny, generic version of the opening bars plays, I flip my hair and smirk, mouthing Tell me about it, stud to Caleb. He grins, then literally gyrates his hips, and I cackle as he turns to the audience, channeling Travolta.
But damn, my throat catches when he sings the first line. I always thought Caleb should have done Broadway, and I believe it even more tonight. He’s got the chops. Caleb slides up to the high notes like they were made for him, and I enjoy getting to hang out in my low register after singing all day. Still, my voice aches a little from fatigue, and I pull back, letting Caleb steal the show this time.
As I finish the second verse, he gestures up with his chin, urging me to join him on his microphone. Heat creeps up the back of my neck. Too many feelings are swirling in my gut and I’m afraid that if I get any closer to him, I’ll fall back into old habits entirely. So instead, I turn to face the room and grip my microphone tighter as I belt the chorus out to everyone. To make it look intentional, I use the mic stand as a prop, making it sway with my body as I serenade the tableful of bachelorettes near the stage. They whoop at my efforts, and I blow them a kiss. I avoid looking at Caleb as we finish the song, but it doesn’t matter—the crowd is going completely bananas.
A crowd that has clearly doubled since I joined the stage. It’s standing room only now.
Breathless from the performance, I finally look at Caleb. My chest heaves, but I’m grinning—and his smile is completely gone. Instead of looking happy, his face has lost all color. He swallows thickly, glancing around the room.
Shit, he mouths to me, indicating the crowd with his eyes in a subtle way only I can understand, even after all this time. I can see by his wide eyes that he’s panicking, which is strange.
Caleb was always so great with fans. He could hang out for hours after shows, signing merch and taking selfies and just getting to know the people who loved our music. Hell, he used to lecture the rest of us when we’d get tired, reminding us to honor the fans who made all of our success possible. And I’d sign tickets and posters and pose for photo after photo, no matter how my feet hurt, because he was right. We owed it to them.
Something is wrong.
“Thanks, everyone, have a good night,” I say quickly into the microphone. People rush up to the stage.
“Keep your pants on, kids,” Keeley shouts from her place near the stage, where she must have shouldered through the crowd, but her voice is drowned out by the commotion in the room. We’ve really done it now. People aren’t just pointing at us—they’re taking not‑at‑all‑subtle photos of the rest of the band too. I blink when I notice Mary Kate Hampton from Buzzword next to Riker. When did the press figure out we were here?
Glancing around frantically, my pulse steadies when I don’t recognize anyone else. And maybe MK’s presence is totally innocent—I know she and Riker are friends. Still, as much as I wouldn’t mind some decent headlines, I can tell Caleb needs to get out of this room.
Setting my jaw, I square my shoulders and turn to the emcee. The guy is broad‑shouldered, maybe late fifties, wearing a black bar T‑shirt, black jeans, and an LA Kings cap. He looks like every reliable sound technician I’ve ever worked with, and it makes my muscles soften a little. “I’m so sorry about all the fuss.”
He shrugs. “It’s good for business. But I do have to get to the rest of the karaoke list at some point.”
“Do you have another exit?” I ask. I don’t blame him for wanting to get on with his night. We made a spectacle of ourselves.
He turns to us, grimacing. “We do, if you can make a run for it. Head left past the bathrooms through the door that says staff only.”
“Thank you,” Caleb says.
I shoot a desperate look at Keeley behind the fans, and instead of ignoring me the way I deserve after rehearsal today, her eyes fall to Caleb and light up in understanding.
I got you, she mouths, and I want to cry as she makes a beeline for our table.
Excerpted from FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY by Jessica James, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2025
