Curves & Alphas: A Paranormal Box Set: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (3 page)

After I typed in my password, I huffed as I gently tossed the laptop onto the mattress. Getting back out of bed, I walked through the still lit-up living room and yanked hard on the door. When it didn’t budge, I stomped back into the bedroom, realizing probably too late that people were trying to sleep under me. I gave my mental apologies to the floor.

Climbing into bed with a bounce from the force of my body, I curled my legs under me as I grabbed up the laptop. Clicking the correct file, I saw my current work in progress filled the screen. I’d left my main character, a big beautiful woman like myself, investigating the latest theft in her area. I wrote a lot of what I knew. Although, I often toned down, by quite a bit, my city’s news stories to fit into the genre of cozy.  New York wasn’t known for mild crimes. Oh, it had them, but they didn’t get as much media time, if they got any at all, lest the paper become too heavy to handle.  Sometimes the newspaper read more like a horror story, but it gave me ideas, places to start with each story.

Sometimes I just got a character from a criminal or a victim and went from there. Other times, a situation spoke to me. I’d dull the bloody and horrific into sweeter words of description. I’d set the crime in what I imagined a small north-eastern town to be like, somewhere in Pennsylvania or Ohio. Then, I’d go to town creating my own tale. My characters, my heroes especially, made me smile. Having never had a real relationship myself, I often stayed clear of romance plots. I alluded to them, the possibilities of one occurring, but never saw them through. Once I’d tried it, created a romance in a story that was what I imagined to be a love like that my parents shared. In the end, it had only depressed me. So, I’d not tried it again. It was hard enough to keep positive in this world, without adding to the sad plight.

The sound of my fingers tapping on the keys soothed me as it always had, but soon enough I found my fingers paused over the keys. I wiggled them just inches from the keyboard. Still my imagination refused to keep creating the scene. After staring at the white page for what was probably only a few seconds rather than a few minutes, I closed the file and opened a blank one.  While I had never written a paranormal tale before, I started one now. I called it fiction even as I wrote from memory every second of what had happened to me tonight.

My fingers flew over the keys now. Somehow, turning the events into what I insisted was fiction allowed my brain to explore them in a safe fashion. The sheer size of the wolf I’d deemed in my story a werewolf didn’t frighten me as it should have, even as I let my frazzled mind bring back the attack. The spot where the gun had been pressed into my back started to ache where I leaned back against my pillow. Each scratch seemed to start to sting again as I wrote every one into being in my story.

I gave myself creative license to let the werewolf speak to the heroine. He reassured her that he would take care of her attacker. He begged of her to get in her car and go home to safety. She’d agreed, but once in her car, she’d watched the attack I saw in her rearview mirror. Locked safely in her car, I let my mind rehash the worst of the night. I let the blood flow, though she couldn’t hear the bones crack. I wrote it into what I could tolerate. Still, this would be no cozy mystery.

If the bottle of whiskey had been in my bedroom, I’d have added it to my coffee. Instead, I wrote about each gulp I’d taken of the alcohol once I’d gotten home. By the time the character in my story had reached the safety of her house, slamming the front door closed, the sun had started to shine through the sheer curtains.

Before I closed my computer, I tried to think out where I wanted the story to go next. I had the liberty here of writing myself my own happy ending. In fiction, especially werewolf fiction, the fierce predator turned into a gentle giant, once a man again. I grinned as I thought of trying my hand at a paranormal romance.

Why not?
I mused.
You don’t let anyone read them anyway.

Still, I held onto the possibility that one day someone would. I stared out into nothing as my mind searched for options. Maybe it didn’t need to be finished. Maybe I’d chalk it up as a journal entry. No, I needed it to be fiction. Yet, even in fiction, the whole damn romance thing scared me. Without making a single note on the page, I shut my laptop and curled up under the covers. Holding my eyes tightly closed, I attempted to clear my mind. I prayed for the gift of sleep to take me, and get me away from myself.

Chapter Three

Chloe had called around the middle of the week to ask if I wanted to go to another club this coming Saturday. Just a mere week after the attack that still had me losing some sleep this week, I agreed with no reasonable excuse not to.  I wouldn’t be walking to my car alone, though, I could swear to that. I might not even stay if I couldn’t find a place in the parking lot behind the place this time. I wanted one real close to the door. Thinking it through, I wouldn’t even leave my car until I spied someone else walking in at the same time. I wanted someone nearby who could hear me scream.

By this time, having had days to fight through my thoughts on a daily basis, I relegated the incident down to a hallucination brought on by the stress of being mugged. As far as my co-workers were concerned, I’d come up with an excuse for my cut up hands and legs along with the bruised body and slight limp. Apparently, it’s taken a nasty fall in the parking lot of my building.

Determined to keep the whole horrible experience to myself lest I get confused in the lies I even told myself, I kept it a complete but simple fib. Luckily, no visible marks ended up on my face. I didn’t know how. My jaw ached with every bite I took. It shot a pain that radiated into my head when I yawned.  Behind my desk, with me busy at work, many never even noticed I had anything wrong with me at all, save for some scraped up knuckles. I was often a klutz, so many didn’t even inquire about those.

By Saturday night, I was near healed. I planned to keep my parking lot fall my story. This club, Underground Asylum, was known for its local bands that played original music. It felt a bit more comfortable than the dance club we’d been to last week. There wasn’t nearly as much motion going on. With no dance floor, the customers basically sat and listened as they had their drinks. Although, the place seemed packed. The three of us, Chloe and I along with one of her work friends, Sarah, had walked to the back and then the front of the place searching for a table. We’d gotten lucky, then. A crew who’d just come in for a few drinks, deciding to go elsewhere, offered us their table up front.

Once seated, Sarah offered to go for the first round.  I’d ordered a cosmo, like them, tonight. While sweet, this place made weak drinks I soon found out. More cranberry than vodka, they didn’t have the punch of a Jameson and Ginger. Yet, I knew from experience that they went down easy and could just as easily sneak up on you. I sipped even though I was parched from latent stress rather than true thirst. I wanted hold of my full faculties.

I scanned the crowd. Many tables were stuffed with men drinking beers with buddies. I hadn’t seen my attacker last week, so I wouldn’t know him if I fell over him. Regardless, I looked for shifty faces in the crowd, a sudden need to make up an excuse to go home. I really hoped to be back to myself here, soon. How many days could one spend angry at their own thoughts, their own memories? For that matter, how long could I go on playing with those memories, trying to convince myself I’d witnessed something different from what I had?

I may not be a go get them, seize the day kind of girl, but I had confidence in myself. I’d never been scared of my own shadow. I’d never doubted my mind. Trauma wasn’t new to my life, but this kind was.

You need to give yourself time,
I soothed myself as I continued to search all the male faces in the crowd.
Not even a psychologist would expect you to just bounce back from such an event.

I was starting to think maybe I should give mine a call. I hadn’t seen her in over a year, had been tired of hashing out the same crap in dealing with the loss of my father, becoming an orphan, if you will, at the age of only twenty-two. The thought of getting into that I’ll-need-to–see-you-back–in-a-week crap made my stomach roll more. I’d do this myself.

“You noticed how many guys are in this place tonight?” I mused out loud. Catching myself, I recovered with, “Good odds for us. SO, what kind of band is playing here tonight? And, when do they start?”

“Of course I noticed!” Chloe answered with a giggle muffled only by her disgust at my asking such a question. You’d think that I’d insulted her womanhood or something. “It’s an alternative band some guy at work was telling us about. They should be starting here shortly, I believe. No watch, so I don’t know what time it is, but we planned to get here early, but not so early we’d be drunk before they started.”

I shook my head at her. She’d driven with Sarah. Sarah having lost the designated driver coin toss of the night, Chloe could get as comfortably wasted as she wanted. We girls watched out for each other, though. We knew each other’s limits, and even when not designated drivers, we didn’t let each other get sloppy or stupid drunk. Wouldn’t want to make a scene.

“Matt, from work, couldn’t stop talking about them. I think they play here at least once a month if not more,” Sarah added.

“Oh. Cool. I like alternative,” I added, still more focused on the crowd, given the stage remained empty save instruments and such.

I didn’t know music or instruments well, but I liked the sleek lines of the grayish guitar on the stage. Again, not that I had much experience other than watching musicians play in clubs, but I’d never seen one like it before. By force, obsession with this topic lost my interest fast, and I went back to scanning the crowd for a stranger I hadn’t even gotten a good look at him. I’d know his cries of pain, though, anywhere.  Before you know it, I’d end up one of those chicks who distrusted the whole of the male species. I needed to get an ultra-fast grip.

I’d put out of my mind the real possibility of him having died that night. I had scoured the papers more than usual, reading of every death last week that had made the cut. Nowhere had there been mention of a death at the club I’d been at. Even if the beast who had saved me had taken the body elsewhere, I hadn’t read a story that mentioned a mauled or mutilated body either.

Searching the crowd again, this time I looked for any shifty looking man with gouges on his face, maybe a missing eye or something. I forced my shoulders down from around my ears and regulated my breathing. I knew I was being ridiculous, absurd even. First time out in this kind of public place since last Friday, though, so I’d cut myself some slack. At least until the band played. Then, I’d call it quits.

“Find any cute ones out there, yet?” Chloe asked. “I mean, you seem pretty intent on checking out every guy here tonight. Someone in the mood to get laid?”

I turned to her, taking in a quick breath. The word
laid
took my mind to being laid out on the pavement. Heart pumping in my ears, I shook my head.

“You okay?” She asked. “You don’t seem like yourself tonight. You’re all jumpy, even a little pale. You getting sick or did you forget to apply some make-up? No, seriously, are you worried about something?”

“No, I’m fine. Just a long week I guess. I haven’t been sleeping well, but I’m not sure why,” I answered, mixing the lies with some truth to ease my conscious.

I didn’t keep anything from Chloe. So, doing so now bothered me, just didn’t sit right. I felt as if I was betraying her, being a bad friend by making the conscious choice to deal with the event and my now questionable sanity alone.

“Okay,” she shrugged. “But, you know I’m here for you, at any hour, if you need to talk. Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve called at three in the morning.”

The guilt weighed me down, sat like a lead balloon in my stomach. I didn’t believe in mere coincidences. The universe had surely just sent me a few not so subtle signs there. I’d have gone with the urge to gulp down my drink if I’d not worried about throwing it up right after. That had been Chloe’s way of telling me I could call her later if I wasn’t sharing due to Sarah being here. Yet, it still felt like she’d accused me of not calling her at three last Saturday morning when I’d needed to. She couldn’t know anything. I’d only talked to her once this week to answer her numerous messages about coming out tonight.

“Maybe I am coming down with something,” I decided to create a confession, one a play on words would make the truth.

I couldn’t be responsible for how she interpreted the words. Truth of the matter stood, I’d been coming down with a bad case of insanity all week, but she’d think I’d meant the flu.

“So that’s why you weren’t picking up your phone or returning calls this week? I mean, you said you were busy and then had your nose stuck in a book, which I believe by the way, since it wouldn’t be the first time, but you know I worry.”

“Yes, I know you do,” I agreed, swallowing my sudden exasperation with this conversation. “Honestly, a new book has me hooked. While horror has never bothered me before, maybe there is a first time for everything. Honestly, I had so many nightmares this week, and then had trouble falling back to sleep after each of them.”

“Were the dreams about what was happening in the book?” Sarah asked.

“Um, mostly, I guess,” I stumbled, caught off kilter by her interruption into the conversation I’d been filling with lies as easily as I created stories.

Stories had been my one secret from Chloe over the years. I didn’t tell anyone, not even my best friend, that I wrote. She’d have insisted on reading them for one, and then good or bad, would say something nice about them. It had been my justification for the deception all these years, along with the fact that I’d forced myself to believe that no one needed to know everything about you. There, I’d just justified my current deception, as well. I could finally take a sip of my drink and try to swallow down the lump in my throat.

“Then stop reading the stupid book,” Chloe exclaimed. “While I’m not a reader like you, I can’t imagine any book being that good that you need to finish it despite what it is doing to your health and well-being. Of course, unlike you, I’m a scared-y cat, so I’d never attempt to read a horror anything!”

I scoffed inside my head,
Yeah, I’m so brave!

“We drink without concern for our health,” I countered, channeling some of that angst into a change of topic. “We also eat too much fried food, and…”

“Okay, I get it,” Chloe laughed with both of her hands up, as if she could physically stop me.

“Do you? Or do you need more analogies? Because the only time you’ve ever read a book was to appease me after I’d gone on and on about it,” I accused.

“All right, you got me there,” Chloe surrendered.

“So, back to this any cute guys thing,” Sarah interrupted. “See any around?”

“Honestly, not yet,” I laughed, my first true one in a week.

Muscles I didn’t know I had ached in thanks for the rush of relaxation. I should’ve probably apologized for leaving Sarah out of the original conversation. I hated when I felt the odd man out with a group of girls. Only with Chloe did I not encounter that situation. Still, I hadn’t been the one who had started in on the topic of me.

“I hear the lead singer is drop dead gorgeous,” Sarah went on. “They should be coming out soon, and we can check him out at least.”

As if on cue, on the stage the rumble of footsteps over wood and instruments being picked up sounded over the crowd. We turned our heads in unison. I followed the guy who’d walked, head down, to the microphone center stage, and picked up the gray guitar on a stand there. With bated breath, I watched him adjust the microphone to his mouth.

Unaware of anything he said, I could only focus on his face. Cute didn’t cut it. Chiseled features in perfect symmetry, his amber eyes had gold flecks that shone in the spotlight. We had this prime table, just one over from front and center, and from here I could see his dark eyes sparkle in the spotlight. I thought of the wolf from last week immediately, but berated myself for allowing the trauma to cloud everything I saw. Same colors, but different mix. Same with his hair. His black locks did have gray streaks in the light, even though he had to be far too young to have such.

His baritone voice washed over me. Each word settled in my soul even if it hadn’t fully registered in my mind. He soothed my frazzled nerves with just the warm, smooth timbre of his tone. I watched his mouth move, forming the words, even as I observed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed over the collar of his black shirt. At times I even ventured to glance over all of him.

The way his shirt clung to his rippling muscles, full six pack abs and all, made my heart skip a beat. By the time I’d gotten to his jeans, the mound just under his guitar packaged by snug denim, I had nearly hyperventilated. I became grateful for the interruption of Chloe’s voice lest I practically orgasm right there at the table without even being touched. Thank the stars that wasn’t a thing, or I may just have done it.