Free Hot Southern Mess (Hide Your Crazy) by T.A. Hardenbrook Page B

had no clue who said it, and really didn’t care. I was once again lost in the sheer hotness of Brantley.
    “I guess we better head out for sound check.” Brantley ran a hand through his short black hair, letting me catch a peek at his toned stomach when his shirt rode up.
    Suddenly the top of my toes got stuck at the bottom of the bar stool, sending me crashing to the floor swiftly. “Oomph,” I let out when my body smashed into the concrete.
    The impact from the fall almost took my breath away, but the coolness from the concrete snapped me back from the immediate pain. There was going to be bruises after this accident, and most of it would appear on the right side of my face, because apparently my hands refused to help brace the fall. Once again, I proved what an absolute klutz I am. I couldn’t even sit on a stool without somehow turning it into a disaster.
    Smooth Molly, real smooth.
     
    I’ve never been one to be really coordinated. Even all the etiquette classes, dance classes, and even pageants my mother forced me into when I was younger did nothing for me. It was like patting your head and rubbing your belly, something that took thought and skill, and I lacked in it big time. If I could trip over it, get stuck in it, walk into it, or tear it, I totally would. Nothing like trying to be a lady growing up and falling face first off a stage on a consistent basis.
    “Are you okay , Molly?” Brantley gushed, offering his hand to my flattened position on the floor.
    I laugh, trying to shake off the embarrassment. “Yep, just one of my many charms.” One would think I would be used to it, considering I made an ass out of myself daily. However, the redness returned to my face as I took Brantley’s hand. I am ridiculous.
    “Way to change the subject , Molly,” Chance laughed while picking up the stool.
    “Yep, call me Miss Graceful.” Now was the time I needed to make a quick exit. The boys were no longer fighting, and I had already made a complete ass of myself falling off the stool. My body screamed ‘run out the door Molly’, but my mind reminded me that I would probably end up on my face again.
    “I , uh……..well, I’m sure Stephanie has something for me to do,” I muttered, pulling my hand out of Brantley’s. Keeping my eyes locked on the door, I refused to look back at the man. I might have done something stupid, like offer myself up for his enjoyment tonight. For some reason being in Seattle has made me extremely horny. Either that or it’s all these male rock stars. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl parts and their own stupid desires.
    “See you later , Molly,” one of the guys called out and I dashed through the door. I offered a wave without even glancing back. I couldn’t do that to my body; at least my mind had the right idea for a change.
     
     
    I’m pretty sure I’m going to need therapy. There wasn’t a day that I didn’t do something absolutely embarrassing, and doing it with a bunch of hot men in the room was just the icing on the cake. The therapist I saw when I was younger classified me as clinically depressed and prescribed these wicked pills that made me lay there like a bump on a log. Now, I’m no expert in medicine, but shouldn’t anti-depressants do the exact opposite. Anyhow, after about a week of doing nothing but listen to horrible music and sulking in my room, I flushed the prescription and refused to see a shrink again. One is ‘mental’ if they prefer black clothing and would rather spend time alone in my room with Simon, than socialize with crazy girls my age. Some might call me a loner; I called myself creative.
    “So you got to meet the next up and coming band , eh?” Tiny commented as I made my exit out of the room.
    “You could say that. Hey, have you seen Stephanie?”
    “Yeah, she is in the guys’ room. You might just want to wait, though; she was on a rampage when she stormed through there a little while ago. Pretty sure I heard glass breaking.” Tiny