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
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
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