Bad Nymph by Jackie Sexton

Author:Jackie Sexton [Sexton, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00HB5MY06
Goodreads: 19474335
Publisher: Jackie Sexton
Published: 2013-12-13T05:00:00+00:00

The show was incredible. The venue was small, but every single person there was there for Fun Aim, and they were the most ardent fans I had ever seen. So many of them had t-shirts and signs, more than one addressed to Aamir directly. I couldn’t even pretend to be jealous of “KISS ME AAMIR!” though, because throughout their incredible set, he looked back to me more than once, his voice taut with raw emotion.

I won’t deny I was in heaven.

I pulled out my phone to text Sierra, noticing a missed call from Jason that I ignored without a second thought.

“Everything is PERFECT,” I typed, with a big fat smile on my face. Whatever she could tell me about the boys reactions could only bring me down by so much. I slipped the phone in my pocket and watched the sea of excited faces as they called out and sang along, their ecstatic expressions illuminated by the venue’s blue and purple lighting.

After the show Aamir came and swept me in a huge hug, his sweaty body pungent with the smell of life and aftershave.

‘God,’ I thought, giddy as he pressed his face into my neck. ‘How come he doesn’t even get smelly like a normal person?’

“What did you think?” he asked, as if it were a matter of opinion. But I could tell by his puppy dog eyes that he really cared what I thought.

“You guys were fantastic,” I said, and he gave me a big kiss square on the lips. It felt natural, like we had been kissing each other for years.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered in my ear, just loud enough for me to hear over the roar of people chanting, “encore, encore, encore…”

I laughed and pushed my hand into his chest. “Go out there and play! We can talk later!”

He put me down and gave me a final kiss on the cheek, picking up his guitar and running out onto the stage with an arm raised to the crowd. They burst into a roaring applause, and the rest of the band followed him out, big grins plastered on their faces.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, interrupting all the thoughts about my surprise later. It was a text from Sierra. “Great! We can talk later.”

My heart sank. Part of me wondered if it had anything to do with that thing she wanted to talk about in Atlanta, but I knew it was probably about the guys reactions—more specifically Trent’s. I put my phone away again, trying to will my attention to Fun Aim’s fantastic encore. Their music was filled with a coursing energy, roaring loud, creating a new heat. It was amazing. I wanted to be happy for them, to feel like I was a part of their story.

But I couldn’t stop imagining Bad Moon in their place.

And I couldn’t help but wonder how Trent would look up on that stage, his hands running up the length of his guitar, his black hair hanging low over his brow…

‘Stop it,’ I chided myself, trying to wipe the image from my mind.

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