Bad Moon (BBW Paranormal Romance) (2 page)

"I guess you're right," I grumbled, sad that
my new leather jacket didn't qualify me as enough of a badass to
stalk the back alleys of Orlando.

"I'll go with you," Trent said, pushing his
body off the grimy wall. "But you can do all the boring paperwork,"
he gave me a small wink.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically. We walked
down the side of the creepy, puke-yellow hotel, wading through the
humid Florida air. Even nighttime was awful and sticky. I couldn't
wait to be somewhere that made me shiver at night. Somewhere where
my leather jacket would actually be necessary, even in the summer.
We passed by a group of young college guys, probably several years
younger than ourselves, guzzling down forties against the wall
outside their hotel room. I moved to the side, trying to avoid
stepping over their sprawled out legs.

"Hey
baby
," one
called out crudely, causing the others to snigger. "That's one big
ass you got there."

A wave of hot shame came over me, immediately
causing tears to well up in my eyes. I balled my fists closed,
digging my finger nails into my palms as I tried to calm the pain
pushing up against my eyelids. It’s so dumb how sensitive I can be
about stupid stuff like this, and even in that moment I knew it. If
someone were to insult my intelligence, I would just laugh. If
someone told me I was a bad person, I wouldn't even give them a
second glance. In every other instance where someone could try to
cut me down, I was a very logical, reasonable person. I prided
myself on being in control. But when it came to my looks and my
size, well that’s different. That’s were the hot button is.

I didn't even have time to react before Trent
turned around and, in a flash, gripped the boy by his shirt and
pulled him up against the grimy wall. The kid looked terrified as
the white collar of his shirt cut into the back and side of his
neck. I gasped in horror, recognizing the hot flash in Trent’s
eyes. It was hard and inhuman, like a wild beast was trying to
break through.

I had seen that look only twice before. The
second time was when his sister came home crying because a boy at
school kept touching her ass in the hallways. The other time, the
first time, was when he was in the hospital after a terrible
camping accident. The look in his eyes was so hard and cold that I
remember praying that I would never have to see it again.

And here we were, Trent seconds away from
killing this idiot guy, and me, ready to bolt for the hotel room
and hide under the covers until morning.

"Did you say something?" Trent's normally
playful voice was completely livid, tense with cut-throat
anger.

The guy just opened his mouth and shut it,
making strange noises like he couldn't think of a damn thing to
say.

"That's what I thought," Trent said, inches
from his face before throwing him down to the floor.

And then he just turned around. Just like
that. He turned on his heel and continued on his way, leaving my
sorry ass to gape for a few moments. The boy made eye contact with
me, and his eyes were wide with shock and terror. His friends were
chiding out things to the tune of, "whoa, bro!" But he wasn't even
listening. I quickly looked away and ran to catch up with the long
strides of Trent's legs. I was about to say something, but like the
poor kid on the floor, I couldn't think of anything to say.

"Um...thanks," I finally managed, my cheeks
heating at the thought that I still needed a savior from bullies at
twenty-two. It wasn't that I wasn't grateful, but it was pretty
humiliating for your fat ass to be pointed out in front of someone
you once had a major crush one.

"Yeah," was all Trent said, his eyes trained
before him. Thankfully, we reached the office before long, and we
rang ourselves in with the sketchy buzzer. Even the desk inside was
behind a wall of bulletproof glass.

"Great," I mumbled.

A nice, middle-aged Indian woman was sitting
there and she handed me some paperwork to fill out. "You are
married?" she asked us.

"Oh God no," was the immediate response from
my lips. I looked at Trent to exchange an amused glance with him,
but I realized he must still be angry because his face lacked any
expression. "I mean, no. We're just friends."
"Okay. So, two beds?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes please," I mumbled, working quickly to
finish the stupid paperwork and be out of there.

"So, 'God no,' huh?" Trent said once we got
the keys and were out in the corridor.

I turned to apologize but soon saw the amused
grin on his face and rolled my eyes.

"I always thought I'd make a great
husband."
"I'd say you're more like the older brother protector type," I
said, recalling his actions with a small wince. Still, I was glad
that he was joking again. It let me breathe easier.

"Well what I can I say," he flashed me a
smile, the dim light bouncing off his blindingly white teeth. I
could see that his good humor was returning to him. "You're like
the little sister I never had."

"But...you have three," I pointed out.

"Exactly. They suck. You're the cool one I
never had."

I laughed and shook my head. I gave a small
wave to the guys before us and flashed the key. They all cheered,
and Martin tossed one of Nick’s drumstick up in the air and caught
it in celebration.

"Alright, alright, settle down. We have time
to get our stuff up but we need to get our butts over to The Moon
like
immediately
after. We are running an
hour behind,” I said, giving Brandon a dirty look. He scowled at me
but I stood akimbo, letting them know I wasn't messing around. This
was their first gig, and it was going to be a success if it killed
me.

An hour later, when I finally got the four of
them into the van, I was sure we were never going to make this tour
thing work. Upon dispatching them to get their stuff, Nick
disappeared for a “cigarette” break and Martin ordered a pizza,
insisting that we just needed to wait
ten
minutes
. In no world does a pizza deliver in ten minutes, I
don't care what the commercials say. I tried to turn the other guys
against him, but suddenly Brandon and Trent thought pizza was the
best idea ever, and they pleaded with me to wait until I had enough
and stormed off to sit angrily alone in the van.

And by "angrily alone" I mean with a really
steamy romance about a sexy playboy and the woman who had his
secret love child. And, okay, I admit that my anger subsided once I
got to the scene where they were finally...
reunited
under the stars. I mean, seriously, how often
do you find a guy who owns a private ranch that you can just do it
on, whenever you'd like?

The boys came crawling back to me with
offerings of cheese pizza, and I relented, mostly because cheese
pizza is probably the most delicious thing on the whole frickin'
planet. So, we finally drove off an hour later with none other than
myself at the wheel (Nick had fallen asleep, as usual. It was one
of his favorite things to do after eating and smoking weed). We
were minutes away from missing our sound check. I drove like a
maniac, managing the six lane expressways and terribly aggressive
drivers to the best of my ability. I had to hand it to myself, I
did a pretty good job considering I was eating pizza at the same
time.

When we arrived at The Moon I ripped the
doors open to the van and hurried them out. "Come on. Each one of
you grab something from the back and go, check yourselves in. I'll
take care of the rest," my heart was racing furiously against my
chest. I could see the line of people winding around the building
and I knew we were moments away from being replaced by some
awesome, prompt local band.

"But, sweetie, all that stuff is heavy..."
Brandon said, his voice laced with concern.

"Just take what you can and go.
Now
." I said, giving him a murderous look. I knew there
would be a few speakers and pieces of the drum set left over, but I
could manage. It would suck, but I'd unfortunately been in similar
situations before. Trent seemed to have a penchant for finding
bandmates that liked ordering food more than getting to gigs on
time.

"Just go," Martin said, avoiding eye contact
with me. "You'll never here the end of it if you don't" he
whispered.

"I heard that! Now get your asses out of
here." The guys scurried off, a bleary-eyed Nick in tow behind
them. I sighed at the leftover equipment, realizing more often than
not I was going to be their part-time roadie. I pulled out the
fold-up trolley we had and set it up, forcefully pulling at the
creaky handle bar to get it upright. I wished I was strong enough
to just lug speakers half my size across the parking lot, but I
knew even the guys weren't and I'd have to make do with the
second-hand piece of crap in front of me.

I tugged at the behemoth speaker in the
trunk, getting it to budge a few inches. I realized with dismay how
out of practice I was with this kind of work; studying marketing
techniques all day had really done a number on my body.

“As soon as I can get this thing on the
trolley, I'll be fine," I muttered, encouraging myself.

"Can I give you a hand?" came a deep voice
behind me that sounded like Martin.

"I thought I told you—" I turned around to
find myself face to face with some guy who was most definitely not
Martin. He was tall and well built, his sexy frame covered with a
tight black shirt and snug dark jeans. His hair was a deep,
luxurious brown, and was combed over neatly in a pompadour that
would normally make a guy look like a total try-hard, but for some
reason made this guy look totally hot, like he had just fallen out
of a middle-eastern remake of
Grease
. His
eyes weren't bad either: they were a smoldering dark brown and
fringed with luscious, enviably thick lashes.

"I...oh I'm sorry, I thought you were someone
else," I stuttered, feeling a heat spread across my cheeks. Of
course, this was the day I decided to wear gray sweatpants and a
shirt with pit stains that said "World’s Greatest Dad!" under my
completely unnecessary leather jacket. Needless to say, I was
pretty embarrassed to be myself just about then.

"Don't worry about it. It just seemed like
you could use a hand," he said, flashing a brilliant smile at me
that revealed a set of gorgeous dimples. I felt my knees go weak.
Part of me wanted to bashfully deny his help, but the logical,
managerial side of me knew the guys needed their equipment for
sound check, and fast. That was the side that won out.

"You know, that would be totally amazing. I'm
Bailey," I said, extending a hand. He took it and shook it firmly,
giving me a slightly amused look. So sue me. I'm a business woman,
even if I am really young.

"I'm Aamir," he said. "Let's get this stuff
out of the van, huh? Sound check is almost over."

"Thanks so much," I said, grateful for his
understanding. Together we got the speakers onto the trolley
without too many issues, but I couldn’t help that I was
occasionally distracted by his flexing biceps as he pulled the
speakers towards his buff chest. Eventually I pulled the annoying,
squeaking cart across the parking lot as he carried the remaining
pieces of the drum set. I followed his lead, well aware that he
knew this place better than I did.

"So," he said as we moved ourselves briskly
around the building. "What do you play?"

"Piano..." I said, slightly confused by his
question. "Oh! No, I'm not part of the band. I'm their
manager."

"Manager, huh? You must be a pretty good one.
We can hardly keep one down.”

"Hardly," I laughed. "These guys just
desperately need someone to keep them from completely missing their
gigs. I'm more like their professional nagger."

"We should all be so lucky to have a
professional nagger that's so beautiful."

I stopped moving for a moment and the cart
slammed into the back of my heel. "Oh shit!" I howled, bringing up
my foot to grip it in my palm.

"Are you alright?" Aamir asked, a look of
concern flashing over his eyes.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry, I'm such a klutz. It's
hardly even bleeding."

Aamir frowned, trying to get a peek at my
foot. "Well they should have a first aid kit backstage. Let's get
you a Band-Aid or something after you drop off the equipment."

"I...yeah," was all I could manage. My mind
was still dizzy with what had caused the small accident.

'Did he really just call me
beautiful? That's insane. Someone this hot cannot think I'm
beautiful, that's just impossible...
'

I realized that my own boyfriend had never
called me beautiful. I just wasn't used to being called that; it
was actually pretty ridiculous. I felt a ball of sadness well up in
the pit of my stomach, rising up into my chest to grip to my heart
as I thought about what Jason had said to me earlier that day. But
before I had time to wallow in self-pity, I was distracted by the
challenge of getting the stupid trolley in the back door without
slamming it into a wall. The stupid thing was really bad with sharp
turns, so I had to spend a while adjusting it to get it through the
doorframe.

Inside I was immediately greeted by Brandon,
who was waving his arms frantically and making a silly face as he
approached me. I smiled and shook my head at the flamboyant
goofball.

"Thank God you're here!" was the first thing
he said, immediately followed by, "hellooo, who's this?" He swept
his eyes up and down Aamir’s body and I groaned at his
obviousness.

"I'm Aamir," he said, giving a polite wave
and smile. It made him even hotter that he wasn't creeped out by
Brandon so blatantly checking him out.

'But what if it's because
he's gay?
' I thought to myself, my heart sinking a little at
the thought. I shook my head. It didn't matter because I was
totally seeing someone.