Bad Moon (BBW Paranormal Romance)

by Jackie Sexton

  I couldn't help myself. I was completely and totally turned on.

  And I had to admit, there was something completely surreal about it all. I didn't even notice the time pass us by until the music was interrupted by his speaking voice, sultry and delicious just like before.

  "Thanks for being such a kickass audience," he said into the mic, letting out an endearing chuckle as the crowd went wild. "This next song I'd like to dedicate to a beautiful woman I met tonight. This is for you."

  Then I swear to God, his eyes met mine before he turned to his lead guitarist.

  "Did he just look at you?" Brandon asked, his mouth nearly pressed against my ear so that I could hear him.

  "I don't know," I said, almost overcome with shock. But it seemed in possible in such a crowded, dark place.

  The song was filled with power and passion, and seized my core, rocking me with urges I knew were completely inappropriate in a crowd of people that big. But I couldn't help it; the electric music was swimming through my veins, quickening my desire with every down stroke of the rhythm guitar. It was like trying to navigate a love charm and losing desperately.

  "I want you to know

  I want you, in every way

  and I wanna touch your

  sweet body tonight"

  And then he raised his eyes to meet my gaze again. There was no mistaking it this time. He was totally one-hundred percent looking at me. My knees went weak at the thought.

  I was going to look damn hot at that party, that was for sure.

  Fun Aim rocked the show, had an incredible encore, and were completely flooded with requests for autographs and pictures at their merch table. Not that anyone in the band needed to be there, they totally had sellers to do that for them.

  "Wow," I said to Brandon after selling a CD to a particularly thrilled fifteen-year-old. "They are like, light years ahead of us."

  "Yep, that's why you better hook up with their singer and get us a record deal," he said, winking at me. "No excuse now that you're single!"

  I took a sharp inhale, still trying to believe that he would want to have anything to do with me—size sixteen, pasta-guzzling me.

  "Okay," I said. "I'll do my best."

  Brandon squealed and threw his arms around me, reassuring me that I wouldn't regret it. I was pretty sure I would, but I just smiled and pulled my flask out of my bag, taking a quick swig.

  "Careful," Brandon warned me. "You don't want to get carried away with that stuff."

  "We'll just consider it a celebratory drink," I said after I swallowed the stinging liquid courage. "Now let's get this stuff cleaned up, this place is emptying out." Brandon helped me put everything away while the other guys came out to talk to a few stragglers, people who had purchased some merch but really, truly wanted to talk to the band and congratulate them. It was really encouraging to see all the support, and I realized for the first time how much it meant for them to hear praise. I made a mental note to be more encouraging whenever they showed me a demo.

  I made Brandon drive us back to the hotel, which was even creepier at this point because it was past midnight. Everyone except Brandon grumbled, wondering why in the world I couldn't go dressed as is.

  "Who do you have to impress?" Martin groaned as we pulled into the barely lit parking lot.

  "I'm not going to network in sweatpants! Just sit tight and stop complaining," I said as I slid open the van door and stepped out onto the concrete.

  "Well, you're not going up there by yourself," Trent said, pushing open the passenger’s door and meeting me behind the van.

  "Do you really think we did a good job?" he asked me, still smiling as we climbed up the steps to our room.

  "You know I do. Besides, who cares what I think? People waited around to tell you how awesome you were!"

  Trent's smile widened. "Yeah, well, I know you won't lie to me."

  "Aw." Trent could be so sweet sometimes. I smiled back at him quickly before opening the door. "I'm going to use the bathroom to change, just give me a few minutes."

  "Alright," he said, closing the door behind him and tossing his lean body on the bed, his arms outstretched. I rummaged through my suitcase and found my brand new, never been worn white dress; it was a vintage, fifties style halter neck dotted with pink spots. I had never worn it because I felt silly calling so much attention to myself.

  'But tonight's different,' I reminded myself as I marched into the bathroom, dress in one hand and makeup bag in the other. I pulled it on, slightly fearful that maybe I had put on weight, but it fit perfectly, cupping up my breasts to produce insane cleavage, and running down the length of my body to reveal my (relatively) narrow waist.

  "You look great," I told myself, and for once actually believed it. I didn't have too much time to spruce myself up, so I let my hair down and ran some mascara through my eyelashes. I put on some red lipstick to complete the vintage look and to contrast my pale skin, and I ran out the door without giving myself a second glance.

  "Okay, ready!" I called out.

  "Alright," Trent said, pushing himself up off the bed. "Let's—" as soon as he saw me he paused, staring with his mouth agape. I could feel the familiar burn in cheeks. I suddenly knew that this was an awful idea.

  "I look like I'm trying too hard don't I? I knew it, this was stupid...I'll go change," I muttered, completely mortified. I probably looked even bigger, like a tent trying to look sexy. I turned to go back into the bathroom, but Trent caught my wrist.

  "No," he said. I turned to face him, and his eyes bore into mine, gorgeous with an earnest glint. "You look great."

  The heat of his hand on my wrist suddenly burned, and I could feel the fever travel through my coursing blood. A few moments there felt like eternity, and in it I could see a taste along the line of his lip, something I wanted, something I—

  "We should go," I said, smiling and pulling my hand back. More than anything, I needed to get my head out of the gutter.

  "Yeah," he muttered, a blush creeping over his face. My heart skipped a beat; I had never seen Trent blush before, not in all the years of knowing him. It suddenly struck me as very strange.

  We walked back to the van in an awkward silence, the air between us tense enough to cut with a knife. When we got into the car it was like Martin could sense it.

  "Who died?" he joked. But he caught a good glimpse of me and dropped it, letting out a low whistle. "Someone's trying to make the boyfriend jealous."

  I just gave him a terse smile, not wanting to say anything about the break-up. Of course, Brandon took care of that for me.

  "They're done, finito! Bailey told Jason off before the show."

  "Thanks Brandon," I mumbled sarcastically.

  Trent turned around from the passenger seat to asses the situation. "Really?" he said.

  "Totally," Brandon answered for me. "She showed me the text."

  "Yeah, it's true," I said, rolling my eyes at Brandon. I was pretty embarrassed by the fact that I had text message dumped someone though, and felt the need to qualify it. "I was pretty drunk when I texted him...I'm sure we'll talk it over later."

  "Um, no you won't," Brandon said, a dead serious look on his eye as we got back on the highway, the annoying GPS badgering Nick to keep left. "Because you have to hook us up with Fun Aim and bang their lead singer."

  "What?" Trent choked on the water he was sipping and sprayed it out onto Martin and I who were seated directly behind him. We yelled out in anger, and Nick and Brandon burst out into laughter.

  "Don't listen to him, he's just talking shit," I said, giving Brandon a dirty look.

  "Fine, then I'll hook up with him..." he said, taking a sassy tone and turning his head to look out the window at the passing headlights in the darkness. I rolled my eyes and looked out my own window, watching the streaks of light zoom by. It was hypnotic, giving myself over to the flashing brightness, and cathartic as well. I could feel the swell of nerves dissipate, and I suddenly wasn't so afraid of looking like a fo
ol anymore.

  'You look great. If he doesn't want you, someone will, one day,' I told myself, even though I knew the sting of rejection all to well. That's why I stopped pursuing guys long ago. The first and only guy I had admitted to having feelings for was Alec Anderson, my lab partner for ninth grade biology. He was nice and funny, and while he wasn't the best looking kid around, I thought he was a catch. My crush on him was so ridiculous that I would write out his name in bubble letters all over my notebook, showing them to nobody but Sierra, who thought they were creepy but endearing. But I held steadfast to the belief that she couldn't understand me; she was thin and beautiful, and had had several boyfriends by the time we were in eighth grade. When we were in ninth grade, I could tell it would be only a matter of months before I would be the lone virgin, wondering alone in my room what it was like to even kiss a guy.

  So, against protests of the insecure little voice in my head, I slipped Alec a note in class one day, asking him to meet me behind the bleachers after school ended. He looked at me quizzically, but nodded, writing back a note that said, "sure."

  Well, I waited behind that bleacher for three hours, finally giving in when my mother sent me a concerned text and it started raining. That was also the day I realized I should always carry an umbrella.

  Alec avoided talking to me unless he had to the next week, and then eventually he started dating a girl named Stephanie. She was a nice, smart girl, and I couldn't even hate her. I couldn't even console myself with a, 'his loss.' Because ultimately, she had something I didn't.

  She was thin.

  But as I watched the zooming cars go by, bright and filled with hope like shooting stars, I knew that even that memory couldn't hurt me tonight. Sure, all the pain would come back to me eventually—my self-hatred, my abandonment problems, my daddy issues...

  But tonight I was untouchable. Tonight, I would be a star.

  Chapter 4

  The house we arrived at was small and had a decent plot of land, with people milling about and calling to one another loudly. We had some difficulty parking, so I texted Aamir about where was okay. Trent seemed pretty annoyed that I had his number, which was uncomfortable to say the least. But I brushed him off, reminding myself that nothing would bother me tonight, not even Trent’s moodiness.

  "He said you can park on the lawn," I told Nick as I picked up my purse and strapped it around my chest. We walked up to the door and I lead the way, avoiding eye contact with any of my bandmates since they were pretty eager to kill my buzz. Inside a motley of people milled about; mostly young and wearing edgy clothing, but I refused to let that make me feel out of place.

  ‘I look hot,' I reminded myself.

  "Let's get something to drink!" I called back over the racket to the guys before making my way to the open kitchen where a giant keg was waiting for us in a tub of ice. I wasn't sure how that rhyme went about liquor and beer, so I decided to stick to the counter with handles of rum and vodka. I fixed myself a drink in a classic red solo cup, realizing with a smirk how little things had changed since college finished. Martin exclaimed excitedly behind me and he and Brandon were eagerly pumping themselves some drinks.

  I laughed, and was going to exchange a glance with Trent, when I realized with a sinking feeling in my stomach that he and Nick were being chatted up by a couple of "hot" chicks in matching miniskirts.

  "Whatever," I mumbled to myself, taking a sip of my cranberry vodka and walking out into the living room. I had my own hottie to hit up.

  Nerves bubbled to the surface as I faced a slew of unknown faces, and I took another, deep swig of my tart drink, reminding myself that I belonged. It wasn't more than a few seconds, however, before I was approached by a guy with sandy blonde hair and an undeniably adorable grin.

  "Hey," he said. "What's your name?"

  I almost wanted to laugh at the cliché line, but part of me was thrilled to hear it be spoken to me for once instead of any other one of my hot friends lined up next to me at the bar. "I'm Bailey." I took another deep swig, allowing the alcohol to smother up my wired nerves.

  The guys face screwed up in concentration for a moment, the groves on his face deepening as he searched for some information in his undoubtedly altered brain. "Are you the only Aamir sang that song for? God, he won't shut up about you."

  "Uh," I paused, completely shocked to my core by the confirmation of my suspicion. It was something I had really not wanted to accept because it set me up for so much disappointment if it wasn't true. But there it was, the confirmation before me, and my heart swelled with giddy excitement and hope.

  "I'm not sure," I lied.

  "You're Bad Moon's manager, right?"

  "Yeah," I said, wetting my parched mouth with another drink. There was no way I was going to be able to make my move sober—plus I need to quiet the nagging voice inside of me that kept asking about Jason.

  'Fuck Jason,' I thought bitterly.

  "Right. Yeah, I'm Zac, his drummer. Let me go get that annoying son of a—" he turned away into the crowd before I could catch the rest of his sentence, but it didn't take much of an imagination to finish his it. Still, it was thrilling to think he had actually annoyed his bandmates with how much he talked about me in such a short period of time. For the first time in a long time I felt wanted. It was a feeling I could get used to.

  My phone buzzed in my purse. I pulled it out, thinking it was probably a text from Brandon.

  "What? Let's talk this out."

  It was Jason. Shit. A cold shiver of guilt seized my body as I realized I really should give him a chance. To him, this all probably came out of the blue.

  I was debating whether or not I should call him when another message popped up, the buzz of the vibration tickling my open palm.

  "Did you find out about Veronica? I can explain."

  My heart went cold and dropped like a stone to the pit of my stomach. Of all the terrible things I thought Jason was in my worst moments, a cheater wasn't one of them.

  "Screw you." I typed, an angry heat boiling in my veins. I hit send without hesitation and shoved my phone into my purse, half tempted to throw it across the room. He didn't need to explain. I didn't need to hear about what he was doing with his study buddy from France. I have a pretty active imagination.

  "Everything okay?"

  I looked up to meet Aamir’s dark eyes, full of soul and empathy. His gorgeous dark hair was disheveled, hanging over his penetrating gaze, and he smelled like aftershave and sweat.

  I wanted him.

  "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I said, forcing a smile.

  "Well," he picked up my hand, his calloused skin tantalizing against my soft ones. "You're shaking." I looked down to see that he was right: I was indeed shaking, like a small dog after a cold bath. I looked up to his face, filled with genuine concern, and a small hint of something else, round yet piercing...

  'Lust,' I told myself, a desire growing between my legs.

  I bit my lip and took in a deep breath, steadying myself as I made a bold decision in a sea of strangers, before one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. Fueled by anger, and sick to my stomach with all of the years of self-doubt and hatred, of being treated like a second-class woman, of repression, not getting what I wanted, and telling myself I wasn't worth it, I committed an unthinkable sin for those of my kind, the alleged undesirables.

  I threw my arms around Aamir's thick neck and pulled him aggressively towards me, clashing my mouth against his with the passion of a caged animal, finally set free.

  After a moment of tense-lipped surprise, he melted into me, pulling his hands up the swell of my hips to rest on my waist, his fingers like liquid fire through the cotton bodice.

  I moaned against his mouth before sucking his top lip into my mouth like a delicacy, taking his firm jut of skin into my own soft folds. I greeted his thick tendrils with my fingers, threading them through the maze of his wonderful locks.

  I wanted him so badly it hurt. So that was why I whined wh
en he pulled away, nearly oblivious to the cat calls and stares around us.

  He grinned sheepishly at me, his hands still cradling my waist. "Why don't we talk in another room?"

  "Okay," I said without hesitation, and I pulled away from his grasp, ready to take his lead. He nodded and took my hand, snaking his fingers down my wrist to lace between my own. A few guys, who I assumed were his friends, cheered as we walked away, and Aamir shook his head in embarrassment.

  "Sorry about them."

  "Don't worry about it." Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Trent, and I could sense his gaze was on us. For a moment I felt self-conscious about what he might think. Maybe this was getting out of hand.

  Then I thought about Jacob, and my blood boiled. No boy was going to control me tonight.

  I kept my gaze forward as we snaked through the sea of bodies, my heart thundering against my chest. We reached a bedroom door and I suddenly wondered whose bedroom we were going in. He lead me inside and flicked on the lights, revealing a quaint set-up with off-white walls and instruments strewn about everywhere.

  "What do you think?" He said, cocking an eyebrow up at me as he locked the door behind us. I got the impression that it was his room, but a final swig of alcohol reminded me that I didn't care who it belonged to.

  "I think it's time for you to take that shirt off," I growled with a voice that burst out of me, raw and laced with danger. I could tell from his face he was as shocked as I was, but pleased by my aggression at the same time. I closed the gap between us and pressed my fingers just above his belt, teasing up the cotton shirt to feel a taut bulge of muscle beneath my fingers.

  "You are so hot," he murmured, and I clamped my mouth over his, buzzing with the weight of the compliment. I realized then that Jason had never called me that. He called me “responsible” and “put together.”

  I pressed my palms flat against his stomach and inched them upwards, delighting in the roll of his body, its peeks and valleys gracing my curious hands. I met the skin just below his pecs, and he gave in, pulling the shirt up over his head. I stepped back to see him, strong and cut with a dangerous promise of a V slicing into his brown skin, disappearing into his jeans.