Bad Boy Rock Star(5)

By: Candy J. Starr

"Oi, mister. Get away from her."

A voice. A girl’s voice but still a voice. Maybe he’d attack her instead and I could run for safety.

A reign of kicks and punches came out of nowhere. This chick didn't muck around. All I saw was a blur. Man Mountain’s laugh turned into yelps as a boot kicked into him again and again. He dropped his hand from me and turned to defend himself.

I quickly ducked around the side of the shelter, not wanting him to grab me again and not wanting a stray punch to connect either. When he bent over in pain, I decided to risk running back to the bar. Then a boot-clad foot swung up between his legs and he shrieked like a little girl. When he spun around and limped off, I saw who my rescuer was.

"Sheesh, if I'd known it was you, I'd have let him get you," she said. It was the green-haired girl from the bar, only a beanie now covered the hair. She put her arm around my shoulder. "Only kidding, couldn't let a monster like that get away with shit."

"Thanks," I said, a nervous giggle rising up in me. I moved away and dusted myself down. I wasn't fond of being embraced by strangers even if they had just rescued me.

She looked me up and down then reached over and picked a twig out of my hair.

"You don't exactly look like the type that catches the bus," she said. "Here, I’ll help you pick up your stuff."

I shrugged. I wasn't exactly going to go into the circumstances that lead to me being a passenger on the 552 bus on a Saturday night to a complete stranger.

"Do you wanna call the cops?" she asked, retrieving a lipstick that had rolled into the gutter.

I shook my head, remembering Frank's advice to stay out of trouble.

"Prolly a good thing. It'd mean hours of filling out paperwork and they wouldn’t do anything anyway. He was a nasty bugger, wasn't he?"

She fumbled in her bag.

"Want a cig?" she asked. "It'll calm you down."

I shook my head and leaned against the pole of the bus stop to steady myself.

"Well, I hope you aren't one of those sanctimonious bitches who gets all uptight if I smoke. Because I'm going to light up and you should be damn grateful cos everyone knows the bus never turns up until you light up a cigarette anyway." She sparked her lighter and dragged on her cigarette.

"It's fine. The bus is late anyway." I looked at my watch then gazed over at the timetable.

"Hells, love. You really are naive if you believe the bus timetable. There's no "time" in timetable or some shit like that. The bus turns up when it turns up. It's like Zen or Buddhism or whatever that religion is that believes in shit like that. One time, I waited over half hour then the bloody bus just went whizzing past me and I had to wait for the next one. Bloody shits. Hey, is it true? Are you really the manager of Storm? I love those guys."

I wondered when she actually found time to breathe but her chatter helped me feel safer even thought I kept scanning the street for freaks.

"Yeah, it seems that way."

"No offence, love, but you don't really look like a manager. You don't look like you'd know the first thing about rock. In that get up you look like you should be going to the opera or the races or something. Next time, let me pick your outfit."

I hoped my smile looked sincere. Actually she didn't look too bad once you got over the bright green hair. She'd actually be pretty with the right grooming.

"See, told you the bus would turn up when I lit up a smoke." She took a last desperate drag of her cigarette.

I looked up to see the bus pulling up. I got on and swiped my card then took a seat and prepared to put in my headphones but she sat beside me and kept talking.

This was only the second time in my life I’d caught the bus and already I’d realized that no matter what, crazies will sit next to you and talk your ears off. I figured it was better to let her sit beside me. At least she didn’t smell or drool – and she had rescued me from that oaf.

"Name's Angie by the way. And you are Hannah. I heard you say that at the bar."

I nodded.

"Where you going?"

I told her.

"You live near me. Cool. If you are going to manage the guys, I have a few suggestions if you don't mind me telling you. To be honest, you don't look like you know much about managing a band and I reckon I'd be really tops at that kind of thing."

I listened to her because she sounded like she knew what she was talking about. And she was right, I knew nothing about managing a band but my motives were more like unmanaging them.

Chapter 3

The stupid garbage truck pulled me out of a very hot dream the next morning. It was all sexy and sweaty and – I refused to dream about Jack Colt. I refused to imagine his hands running down my body, sending divine shivers through me. I refused to think about his long fingers caressing my skin. I wouldn't even think about his mouth or tongue or the things they did to me in my dream. I would not think about Jack Colt in that way at all. Instead I’d think about nice things, like my boyfriend, Tom.

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