Bad Moon (BBW Paranormal Romance)

by Jackie Sexton

  "Ugh! I'm going to get some water bottles from the van. You guys go introduce yourselves to the people in the green room and make sure you go to the bathroom," I said before storming off, all flustered and annoyed.

  "Okay mom!" Martin called after me. I heard Nick titter and I hurried off even faster. If Nick was laughing, and he was usually either too stoned or unconscious to know what was happening, then I knew the teasing wasn't going to end there.

  All of Brandon's teasing aside, it did seem like something fishy was going on between us. I held steadfast to my belief that Aamir was just looking for an easy lay, and I wasn't going to give it to him. I was going to go to the party strictly for networking purposes—it was a good way to force myself into it. If he wanted to shower me with attention, that was his problem. Besides, it's not like it's a sin to look...

  I stopped halfway through the parking lot and whipped my out my phone to call Jason, guilt fraying my jumpy nerves.

  "Hey," his voice came through the phone. It almost sounded like he was caught off guard.

  "Hey," I said, cradling the phone against my ear as I proceeded to the van. "Bad time?"

  "Uh, sort of," he said. "What's up?"

  "Oh, sorry. Just wanted to tell you I was thinking about you," I said, forcing myself to smile and imagine his nice green eyes. We had been having some issues lately, it was true, but in that moment I recalled all the stuff that was my fault. I was the one who forgot to make reservations for dinner on our anniversary. And there was that time I told his fundamentalist cousins I thought anyone who thought gays shouldn’t get married could go jump off a cliff. Besides, I never clearly communicated my hurt to him, and aside from all the fat remarks, he could be really sweet to me.

  'Maybe that's what love is,' I told myself, reaching for some kind of hope. 'You put up with other people's crap.'

  "Oh, okay," Jason's distant voice came through the line, vacant and hollow, an echo of his disinterest piercing through my ear. "Call me later, will ya?"

  "Sur—," I said quietly as the click on the other end cut me off. Hot tears welled up in my eyes and I didn't bother to fight them. I let them fall, the aching thud in my heart threatening to consume me.

  "What did you expect?" I murmured to myself bitterly. The tears stung down my cheeks, coursing down in small streams. I quickly wiped the hot flood off my face and ripped the van door open, shoving the water bottles in the trunk into an empty bag.

  It was then that I resolved not to put up with anyone's shit any longer. The little pools of pity I had created inside myself welled up into hot, steaming geysers. I grabbed a bottle of rum from our booze backpack and slammed the van door shut, the sound of the clashing metal kindling the anger inside of me.

  "Fuck this," I muttered. I was sick of treating myself like a second-class citizen and then feeling bad about it later.

  'I'm fat, not worthless,' I reminded myself before whipping out my phone and scrolling through my contacts for Jason’s name.

  I typed in two words.

  "We're done."

  A weight lifted off of my shoulders and I held my head high as I marched back to the backstage area, nodding to the bouncer and lifting up the bottle of rum as I traipsed into the green room.

  "Who wants a shot?" I called out, a jolt of electricity bolting through my veins. The group of a dozen guys and handful of girls fell silent for a moment, before breaking out in a cheer. I caught Trent's gaze and his eyes went wide with disbelief. Brandon and Martin exchanged amused glances.

  I threw my head back and poured a splash of the rum into my mouth, shivering at the strong grip of alcohol burning down my throat. I smacked my lips and grinned as several people approached me.

  I was ready to be a little reckless.

  Chapter 3

  "Are you sure you're okay? Trent asked me for the fifth time since I entered the green room.

  "Yes, I'm fine," I said, patting his face and giggling. Okay, so I was a little tipsy. So sue me, I just broke up with my boyfriend impulsively via text message. Things were bound to get crazy. But it really wasn’t all that bad, I met the drummer and bassist from Full Force Rockets, the second opening band. I managed to avoid bringing up Aamir, even though I realized they must be his bandmates and I was dying to know more about him.

  "Go and play your music for the happy people, I'll watch from the chair," I slurred, falling into his shoulder.

  "Oh God Bailey, I need to get you some water." Trent looked around the room like a madman, and I giggled because as out of it as I was, I knew the bright blue water cooler was on the table to my left.

  "You're cu—" I brought my hands over my mouth quickly, mortified by what almost slipped from my mouth. Then I hiccupped, loud and painfully.

  "Here it is," Trent said, finally noticing the water cooler and getting me a drink. He seemed completely unaware of whatever I was going to say.

  Just then the door behind me opened, the doorknob jabbing into my back and propelling me forward into Trent's arms.

  "Ow," I mumbled. It was surprisingly warm in Trent's embrace. He gave me a small smile, and wrapped his arms protectively around me. I could get used to being a klutz if these were the results.

  "You okay?" he muttered, looking down at me with his steely gray eyes.

  My heart thumped funnily in my chest, as if someone had turned it on its side. Before I even had a chance to respond, though, a frantic looking girl with a blonde bun and glasses behind me yelled out to the room:

  "Where the hell is Bad Moon? You guys are on in ten minutes!"

  I immediately pulled myself off of Trent and grabbed his wrist, raising it high in the air. "They're here!" I called, cheering out giddily when I saw that the rest of the band was coming up behind us. Nick cocked an amused brow up at me. I turned to take in the severe looking woman, and couldn't believe that I hadn't even bothered to meet her yet when she was probably the stage manager.

  "Come on then," she said gruffly, turning on her heel and out the door. Such was the treatment of the first opening band; really I only sent their demo to this venue on a whim. They knew as well as we did that no one was here specifically for us. We were time fillers, as far as they were concerned.

  Time fillers with a drunk-o manager.

  "Guys," I said, turning my head back to them as we walked out into the corridor. "You have to kill 'em tonight, okay?"

  I could see the fear wavering in their eyes, bright like the nerves that were shooting through their bodies. I wondered for a minute what we were getting ourselves into. Young people with promise, throwing our lives into the fiery throes of rock n' roll.

  "We'll knock 'em dead," Martin said with a smile, betraying the petrified look in his eyes. "Now look where you're going mother dearest." Trent pulled me to my right, and my gaze followed his movement in a delayed, drunken manner. I had almost walked into a busted amp that sat where the corridor ended.

  "Well that's a fire hazard," I mumbled.

  The woman with the blonde bun turned on her heel and surveyed our hodgepodge crew. I could see the shrewd judgment in her eyes: there was the tall, brooding leading man who was lean and wearing a studded belt, and was perhaps the only one with a stereotypical "rocker" look; Martin came in a close second, except that he found it amusing to wear a pink shirt that said "I'm with the band." Then there was Brandon, with a hair metal-like leopard print tee and fishnets under his black shorts (Martin dubbed this his Cyndi Lauper look) and Nick, who look like he had just snapped out of some sort of yoga meditation, with long thick dreads and a light pair of cotton pants.

  Oh yeah, and then there was me. The world’s greatest dad.

  "So you guys already got the technical rundown while you were doing a sound check, right?" she said severely, her tone more probing than questioning. The guys nodded and broke out into a chorus of "yeahs" and she continued to drill them, making sure they knew the names of the other bands, how long their set was, and the promotions at the bar they were obligated to bring up. My atte
ntion drifted to the clamoring sea of people I could catch glimpses of beyond the stage, moving around in the blue light, an undulating sea of faces. The nerves returned to me, bursting through my stomach less like butterflies, and more like an angry hoard of hornets.

  They were there for Fun Aim, and depending on how the guys played, they could love them, or totally hate them for wasting their time.

  Once the annoyingly severe woman stopped talking and turned her back to address some mumbling voice on her headset, I turned to the guys and let the buzzing alcohol take over my percolating nerves.

  "Hey, you're going to do fantastic. You're here because of how great your demo is, don't forget that," I slurred, throwing a finger forward pointedly, and probably a little too dramatically. I did believe in them. No amount of doubt could change that. "Remember that your number one fan is backstage, cheering you on."

  "Aw!" Brandon said, running up to grip me and a smothering hug. "Come on, group hug!" he called, and the other guys came up around me, laughing and groaning, and squeezed their arms around each other forming a tight rim of limbs around me. The raging hole of empowerment and sadness that my break up tore into me only an hour earlier was filled momentarily by the embrace, as I was reminded that I wasn't alone.

  "Okay, come on you dopes!" I laughed. "Go plug in your guitars and blow them away!"

  The guys cheered as they broke up the hug, picking up their guitars and wandering off to the stage to plug everything in. The crowd hushed for a moment, and then resumed their chatter, and I knew that the band would have to demand their attention with their music.

  "You can do it," I mumbled to myself, ignoring the annoying blonde talking into her headset. Then the lighting changed to a dramatic wash of purple and blue. The guys looked to each other and then backstage, where the blonde raised a thumbs up. Without hesitation Nick brought up his sticks and tapped them, "1, 2, 3—" and the guitars blared, ringing out the first chord of their newest song, “Believe In Hurt.”

  I held my breath where I would normally be tapping my foot with a big goofy smile on my face. I loved the song, it was one of my favorites (Brandon had written it about his ex-boyfriend who cheated on him), but I was too consumed with nerves to truly enjoy them. The crowd seemed to be reacting well, and that calmed me a little. It was hard not to fall in love with them, especially since Trent was such a brooding heart throb, with his gruff, gravely voice and his heady swagger. From what I understood of Fun Aim, a huge part of their fanbase were girls, so hopefully they were falling in love with my boys even if their aesthetic was a little shaky.

  They killed the opening song, Trent hitting the low final notes perfectly. Shivers went down my spine as he sang out: "I will never need you again." It was what I needed to hear. Nothing would bring me back to Jason.

  They played a few more fast-paced tunes, all of which I knew by heart. All of them were on their A-Game: though I couldn't see their faces from where I stood, I could only assume that their nerves had evolved into pure drive. They were completely awesome, and their third song, "Metamorphosis" had a great, driving bassline that got some people in the crowd riled up, jumping and dancing.

  A smile crossed my face as I could finally relax a little, completely sure that all of their long hours of practice had paid off. I pulled out my phone and decided to record some video to send to Sierra, so that she could catch a glimpse of our first show.

  "Hey guys, whose here for Fun Aim?" Trent called out. The crowed cheered, raising fists and throwing their heads back as they belted out their excitement. "Yeah, we're pretty stoked for them too. Well thanks for being so awesome Orlando, we got a few more songs for you tonight and if you like us, be sure to check us out on Facebook and chat with us at our merch table after the show. This next song isn't on our demo, but hopefully you'll like it," he said, giving the crowd an adorable grin. I couldn't hear much over all the chatter and clinking glasses at the bar, but I swear I could feel the collective sighs of the girls in the crowd.

  “What a heartbreaker,” I mumbled, shaking my head.

  Unfamiliar chords broke out, and I raked my brain for what the song could be. It was slower paced than most of their songs, and I was shocked by the gentle waver of Trent's voice. It was beautiful, but not charged with sex and lust like it usually was. It was tender and filled with sorrow, yearning even. The chorus broke my heart, and the words were completely new to me:

  "I have been trapped in your chains

  wrapped in a love I no longer can feign and

  I just want to smile again."

  I immediately thought it must have been written by Brandon—he was after all still recovering after a nasty break-up. But still, something told me that it wasn't his. Something about the style and the way Trent was singing made me believe that he was crying out from his own heart, intimately displaying his pain to a crowd of strangers.

  But there was just no way. Trent and Lola were perfect. They were completely obsessed with each other.

  I shook the thought from my mind, reminding myself that I was still kind of drunk and probably over-analyzing the situation when I was hardly in a position to do so. I was sure I would find out soon enough who wrote the song.

  The boys ended their set on another terrific upbeat tune that gave Nick a chance to blow them out of the water with his awesome drumming skills. I shrieked with delight at the crowds approving roar, throwing myself at Brandon as soon as they took their bows and came back stage.

  "If you were allowed to give an encore, they'd totally love it!" I squealed, pulling back from our hug to beam at the rest of them. They were all sweaty but they looked energized and happy, like they had all just completed a marathon.

  "You think we did alright?" Trent asked me with a cocky smirk.

  "Oh don't get too full of it, we still have to suffer through the merch table," I laughed, the buzz of alcohol weakening at the thought of all that physical labor. It had been years since I had set up a merch table, and I told them as soon as Trent asked me to do this tour with them that I wouldn't be selling merch on my own. I wasn't about to deal with hoards of disappointed girls who wanted nothing more than to talk to the hotties they saw on stage.

  Brandon agreed to help me out this time as he was eager to talk to the fans. I got him to do most of the lifting (I could manage to carry a few boxes of shirts without tumbling over like a drunk loser, but that was about it) and we set up in the back by the bar, where people trickled over as they waited for the next set.

  People complimented Brandon, saying things like, "you're the rad bassist huh?" and he would milk it, acting all modest and crap. He especially got a kick out of the girls; one asked for an autograph on her stomach because she was, "so sure they were going to be mega-famous one day!" I fought pretty hard to keep from rolling my eyes.

  Once the next band started playing people stopped approaching us, and we had time to check them out and appreciate their sound. They were good, upbeat and had a killer girl on the lead guitar. But for the life of me I couldn't figure out where Bailey was. The drummer was kind of hard to see, so for a while I assumed that was him, but once they stood up to exit I realized that there was no way; this guy was shorter and his hair was nearly auburn.

  "Looking for someone?" Brandon teased.

  "No," I said, blushing.

  "You know, I think that guy totally has the hots for you."

  "There is just no way." I gave him my stern, 'I-don't want to talk about this right now' look.

  "Why wouldn't there be?" he cocked an eyebrow at me.

  "Because...I'm just not the type of girls rockers like. I'm fat and frumpy and have absolutely zero tattoos," I said, casting my eyes down to the shirts that Sierra designed.

  "Um, hold up." Brandon gripped my shoulders and turned me around to face him, staring me dead in the eye.

  "You are responsible, sweet, charming and absolutely HOT and CURVY. You're just wearing a stupid t-shirt and sweatpants that basically hide how amazing you look. Now don't think
I didn't see that cute dress in your suitcase because I totally snooped while we were eating pizza—"

  "You what?!"

  "And that is what you are going to wear tonight. You're going to get attention from like, the hottest boy ever and then realize that you need to dump that awful idiot you call your boyfriend."

  "Well," I murmured. "You don't have to worry about that last part. I just dumped him like two hours ago."

  "WHAT? OH. MY. GOD. TELL ME EVERYTHING!" He yelled, his brown eyes wide with anticipation. I cringed, and saw that several people at the bar had turned around to give us quizzical and dirty looks.

  "Fine, as long as you stop screaming." I recounted to him everything, even showing him the text I had sent him.

  "He hasn't even texted you back, what a prick!"

  "I know," I sighed. We were unable to say much more, because the lights dimmed and a handful of people in black littered the stage.

  'Actual roadies,' I thought as the crowd went wild. I realized then how badly I needed to get in with this band. Their sound was similar to Bad Moon; I had listened to them a lot before we left. They were on the verge of getting a professional record deal, the only hold up seemed to be which deal they were going to take. I could feel my confidence plummet as I imagined myself trying to talk to them, a big girl in PJs and a leather jacket that turned out to be way less cool than I anticipated.

  "Okay, I'll wear it!" I shouted to Brandon over the noisy crowd.

  "You'll what?"

  "I'll wear the dress!" Brandon smirked, crossing his arms over his chest in satisfaction. The crowd roared again, and I turned my attention back to the stage, where a familiar looking guy with dark brown hair was sauntering towards the mic, waving a hand up in the air.

  "Oh my God," I whispered to myself.

  "Told you!" Brandon hollered in my ear. How could I have not realized that Aamir was the lead singer in Fun Aim?! I was just about ready to melt in my seat.

  And if the shock wasn't bad enough, he was even more incredible live. His voice was smooth and soul-shaking, and he had incredible range. His voice was very different from Trent’s, but no less captivating, and just as sexy. The way he swayed his hips in slow, grinding thrusts and cupped the microphone in his hands like he was making love to it...