Contents
Title
Copyright
Gift For You
Curves For Her Rockstar
Free Book Excerpt - My Werewolf Romance
About Leslie
CURVES FOR HER ROCKSTAR
by Leslie Hunter
CURVES FOR HER ROCKSTAR
Leslie Hunter
Latest Stories at Newotica
All Rights Reserved ©2015 Leslie Hunter. First Printing: 2015.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Author’s Note: All characters in this story are 19 years of age and older.
BOOK WITH SIGN-UP
Subscribe for Updates and Bonuses
For the first 24 hours, all my books are offered at a special rate.
Subscribers stay updated with sales, promotions, and new books!
Your contact information will not be shared with anyone.
CURVES FOR HER ROCKSTAR
Miranda’s fake sweet as sugar voice called from behind. “Jodi! Get your fat ass over here.”
My shoulders tightened. Her voice was the only thing sweet about her. Everything else was as phony as the wood paneling in my old apartment.
I hurried as best I could with a long music keyboard in my right hand. My left shoulder carried fifty pounds of electrical cable for tonight’s concert. Since I was The Big Girl, I did the grunt work. I suspected even if I were thinner and shorter, she’d still have me move heavy equipment.
I looked for a bare spot within the snake nest of wires. Last thing I needed was broken equipment, and money taken out of my small paycheck.
I stared at her pursed lips and sharp features accentuated by her tightly pulled back blond ponytail.
She should let her hair down. All it does is enhance her frown.
Maybe that’s what she wants?
I shrugged mentally and waited for the ass chewing. Back home in Arkansas, someone like her would give me grief – once.
We wouldn’t get along. That’s for damn sure. Girls like her made school a living hell. Might be why I left town.
I’m what folks back home call a big girl. For most folks it’s a polite way to say you’re… not thin. Most folks don’t mean anything by it. Then there’s the type like Miranda that do.
“About damn time you wallowed here.” She took a long drag out on the cigarette while the cords dug into my shoulder. “Blake Brooks sings in one hour.”
She held out her middle finger to flip me off and give the time. “We don’t have the fireworks ready.” She took another drag and pointed a long finger. “We don’t have the damn fireworks because we can’t turn on the panel.” She took another inhale and blew the smoke in my direction. I forced myself to just look and not cough. “We can’t turn on the panel because–”
I raised my shoulder and the electrical cable in response.
She held out her arms and raised her eyebrows. “Well, don’t just stand there.” She waved toward the stage to her right. “Get them connected!”
I holstered the cables along my shoulder and nodded.
As I passed, she spoke to the security guys. “Jodi here thinks she’s an undiscovered country music star.” She laughed. “All she needs to do is be around Blake and he’s sure to notice her.”
She called out from behind as I set up the keyboard. “Been six months but tonight’s the night right Jodi?”
I pursed my lips and dropped the cable as the last six months went through my mind.
Saying Blake Brooks was popular was like saying sex is good. True, but nowhere near to conveying the true intensity of the man... or sex. Originally, Blake and his crew were The Flattop Boys. The other musicians were good enough but most people just saw Blake – including myself.
I looked at one of his posters on the wall. It’s easy to see why. He had that perfect mix of boy next door clean cut wholesomeness with just a dash of bad boy smirk. Blond short hair, and a lean taut muscled baseball player’s body didn’t hurt.
God, I’d give anything to squeeze those bulging muscles.
So would every other woman on the planet.
My eyes went to another poster where he had his famous guitar out. His publicist wisely decided to photograph him without a shirt. I bit my lip as I stared at his chiseled chest and defined abdominal muscles.
Unfortunately, his publicist saw fit to let him wear pants – damn. Still they were tight denim blue jeans that squeezed into every crevice. Anyone with a good imagination – like me – easily imagined him naked.
A throb of liquid heat went through my legs. Just the poster’s doing that. I could only imagine what would happen if I saw him naked for real. I smiled for a moment and my shoulders dropped.
A billionaire musician could have any girl on the planet.
Why would he pick me - the big girl?
I know I’m not ugly. I just don’t fit conventional standards of beauty. Sure, I can repeat positive affirmations till the cows come home but a man like that isn’t interested in a curvy girl. That’s not bad self-esteem, just a long line of men all saying the same thing.
I shook my head. Time to be realistic. You’ll get as far with Blake as you did with your singing career. Six months as a roadie and I’m still making less than minimum wage.
Some roadies join to hang around their favorite musicians or bands. The latest crop of girls from Tennessee fit that bill. They go on the road just for the fleeting chance to fuck Blake Brooks. Others hope they win the marriage lottery and become Mrs. Blake Brooks.
Who could blame them?
I looked up into the poster again and ran my eyes down his chiseled six-pack towards the ‘V’ pointed at his crotch. I let out a long breath.
I’d let him fuck me like a wife on her honeymoon.
So would everyone else, but unlike the crowd of screeching girls, I’m a fan. A true fan.
I’m not one of those girls who know a few songs or worse just the ones in the commercials. I know every song including the ones from his garage days in Texas. Name any song of his and I can sing it.
It seemed like a good idea to join his crew. The chance to make connections and jump-start my musical career? Yes, please!
They weren’t officially looking for roadies and most men don’t believe I know electrical systems. Instead of asking, I gave myself the job.
I snuck backstage during their Austin, Texas show, loaded the truck, and set up the lighting. After a week they found out I didn’t really work there but offered me the job anyway. Can you imagine how elated I felt? I was official – a real life member of Blake Brooks show and getting paid for it.
Thoughts of what was sure to come next went through my mind. Travel all around the country and world, meet celebrities, and attend every single concert free. On top of that, I get to hang out with Blake Brooks.
I let out a small laugh. Yeah, about that.
I’m in a rickety converted bus that smells like fumes and cough, recreational smoke. Cheap hotels look the same in every city – when I’m lucky enough to get one. Most times, I’m in the bus or trailer. Sometimes it’s a tent on a campground before the cops chase us out.
Six months later, I’m still a newbie so they won’t let me around Blake or anyone famous. Although I suspect Miranda’s behind that. For the most part, it’s just hard work. I’m a Southern girl so I’m used to sweat but I thought it would be better than this six months later.
Of course, it’s not like I’ll get benefits with Miranda riding my ass.
Heat flashed through my face as I remembered giving Miranda my music CD. She seemed nice at the time. The sound of my voice rang through my head. “Can you give this to Blake? It’s a collection of his songs I sang. Track three has interesting changes I think he’ll like.”
I pulled at the cable and shook my head. Miranda told everyone what I did. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t protocol? Turns out every wannabe musician passed out their music. Now I joined them.
One day I’ll get on his stage. My eyes went off to the side in thought. Why not now? I looked at the large black velvet curtain separating the snake nest of electrical cords and controls. Nobody said I couldn’t be on stage now.
I slipped through the heavy velvet curtain and stepped into a world more my liking. They were still setting up. Guitars, keyboards, and other instruments were on stage waiting for their owners.
It was just me on stage but for a moment, I saw a full stadium in my mind. In my imagination, fireworks went off behind me. On stage, Blake ran back and forth while his calf muscles fanned out. During an intense note, he’d hold his mike high in the air and flex out his taut arm muscles. If we’re lucky, his developed chest muscles would fan out and stretch the fabric of his T-shirt as he sang his famous long notes.
Once his sweaty body reflected the bright overhead lights and fireworks, he’d pick up his famous Gibson guitar. The loud sound of thousands of fans would die out as a hush went over the crowd. The fireworks faded away followed by the dimming of lights and a single spotlight on that perfect muscled man would remain. Just him playing his Gibson.
I shook away the fantasy. My eyes widened at the familiar pink guitar on a chrome mental stand. I swallowed.
Certainly not.
That’s his Gibson.
Why is it here?
I bit my lip and looked around quickly to see if anybody else was on stage. There wasn’t.
I let out a long breath and just stared. It was a piece of music history. I scratched away at the growing gooseflesh on my arm as I walked closer. It was his Gibson. No other guitar has that pink color.
I let out a breath mixed with nervous laughter.
He wasn’t the first to own it. A long string of successful musicians had it before him. Rumor said he sunk every bit of money he had into buying it. I don’t believe in magic or the supernatural but the band stopped playing bars in two horse towns once he got it.
It shouldn’t be here unguarded.
It was a mistake or somebody would come soon. I grit my teeth as a bad thought went through my mind. I shook my head hard as soon as I visualized it.
You have to touch it.
I walked over and ran my fingers over the long shaft of the fret board and strings. So much history. My eyes widened, and I held back a tear. It saw free love, disco, heavy metal, alternative, grunge, and everything between. My heart raced, and I heard the sound of my heavy breathing.
Just take it. Strum a few licks over the strings.
I shook my head. I can’t. It’s Blake’s guitar and disrespectful.
When are you going to get a chance like this? You didn’t wait in Austin.
My head tilted. Shit. I make a good point.
My hands went under it and I lifted up slowly. The smooth wood grain pressed against my fingertips. I’m a big girl and I can lift several guitars but this was heavy in my hands. Almost like the decades of music had weight.
I blinked several times and bit the side of my mouth.
Just a few notes. You can say you played Blake Brook’s famous Gibson.
My heart pounded in my chest.
After six months, didn’t I deserve some bragging rights?
I nodded my head and looked toward the sides then behind.
If you going to do it, do it now.
I softly stroked the long strings along the fret board. My hand went out an inch from the strings and I closed my eyes and my body trembled.
Just a few notes of ‘Dream Girl’.
My hand went down and a sharp yell came from behind. “What the hell is this?”
Her voice wasn’t sugary sweet, but I still recognized Miranda.
I jerked and the guitar with decades of musical history fell out of my hands. It took less than a second but it seemed longer. The guitar spun down toward the hard wood stage. I reached out to grab it and missed by several inches. The leather strap ran over my hand and caught on my ring. Blake’s guitar stopped two inches from the floor with a jerk.
My eyes were still wide when Miranda stepped in front. Her face flushed with red as her nostrils flared. She reached out and bared her teeth. Her fingers reached under the guitar and she took it back.
Her voice was quick and quiet when she spoke. “This isn’t for you. None of this is. It’s for real musicians.”
I swallowed away at the lump in my throat as best I could. “I’m sorry. I just saw it here and–” I coughed hard as I tried to finish explaining.
She shoved me back or as best she could. “Shut up. You must be stupid as you are fat to touch anything of Blake’s.”
I grit my teeth.
She smiled and her sweet as sugar voice returned. “See me in twenty minutes about your new assignment.”
***
I wasn’t sure what my new assignment entailed but anything that made her smile wasn’t good. I walked to her office. Miranda was there watching Blake through the monitors. She saw me and smiled. “Giving you a new assignment so you won’t touch his equipment.”
I took in a big inhale as I waited for the bomb to drop.
She handed me a clipboard. “Here’s your new assignment. Gopher duty.”
The hell?
She smiled wide and batted her eyes. “That’s not a problem is it, dear?”
My jaw tightened. My normal duties were hooking up electrical and pyrotechnics equipment. Gopher or ‘go for’ duty was the lowest of lows. Newbies did that work free.
“That’s bull. Let someone else do it. You need me for electrical.”
She shook her head. “Not right now we don’t, dear.” She tilted her head. “Can’t handle life on the road? Maybe you should leave?”
I let out a long breathy sigh. Despite working with Miranda and the lack of music career advancement, I took pride with my job. I was on tour with Blake Brooks – country music rock star. If I left, that’s six months of my life wasted. For all I knew, I might run into Blake next week and who knows?
I tightened my fist and my nails dug into my palm. Who am I kidding?
It’s been six months and nothing like I imagined. Still, I was in a strange town with nobody I knew and a week away from my payday. If I walked off the job, I’d have to beg for airfare or more likely, take a bus back home.
Besides, it wasn’t right to leave. Despite Miranda’s assessment, they needed me. If anything went wrong with the fireworks or electrical equipment people might die. I had to stay on site so they could get me. I owned Blake and his fans that much.
Miranda didn’t wait for my decision. She tapped the clipboard with a long list of gopher duties for the band.
“Have fun Miss Musician.”
For the next two hours, I had to go for green tea ice cream, pick up a package of lingerie, gluten-free pizza, coffee with soy milk, and a gorilla suit. If I didn’t spend the last six months on tour, I’d think Miranda was playing a joke on me. She wasn’t.
Band members have money and influence to indulge in idiosyncrasies no matter how weird. It’s up to gophers to make it happen. Most of the food was easy to find except for gluten-free pizza. Amazingly, I found the gorilla suit faster.
I dropped off most of my packages and food. Just one last delivery, then I’m done.
I walked to the last door in the hall. The doors didn’t have names in case a crazed fan made it past security. I gave the secret three quick knocks, waited, then knocked again. If they were fucking someone, I’d hear “Go away” or “Fuck off” if there were in the middle of something – so to speak.
> I pursed my lips as nobody answered.
Hope it’s the right door or somebody’s getting a surprise lingerie.
I slowly unlocked the door to give anybody a chance to stop me. Nobody did. I stared at the empty room as the door squeaked open.
One end had a lighted mirror with my reflection. I gave myself a mock hello. The surrounding yellow lights weren’t flattering, but I thought I still look good – especially around the eyes. Besides my tits and ass they were my best feature. I always put extra effort there. My eyes went down toward the rest of my big girl body. Wouldn’t mind losing a few pounds but who wouldn’t? I pursed my lips.
If you did that, you might lose your curves.
Like that matters. Nobody appreciates them.
I looked around the room. Whoever it was, they got the best room. The other rooms were smaller, but this one was double the size and even had a side room I took to be a bathroom. Next to the door was a plush wide couch – more of a bed really. I thought about sitting on it for a while to rest my throbbing feet. After touching Blake’s equipment, I decided not to chance it.
“Special delivery,” I yelled. Geez, that sounds stupid.
A muffled raspy voice called out from behind the side door.
“Oh good, you’re here. Did the agency tell you about my request?”
My eyebrow went up. “Agency?”
The door cracked open another inch and then closed to just a thin crack. An eye blinked back through the crack in response.
“Damn. They didn’t tell you?” I heard a long drawn out sigh.
“Morons. All of them.” He paused for a heartbeat. “See the black blindfold near the mirror?”
I looked and nodded.
“Put in on.”
My forehead scrunched. “Why?”
“It’s just my kink.”
Kink?
He said nothing for several seconds. “Can you please hurry?”
I shrugged. I’ve done stranger things.
My fingertips slid along the black silk material. I folded it a few times and then tied it around my eyes.
Curves for Her Rockstar Page 1
