The fangirl and the grum.., p.1
The Fangirl and the Grump: Fangirls of Evening Shade Book 1, page 1
The Fangirl and the Grump
FANGIRLS OF EVENING SHADE
BOOK ONE
PIPER JAMES
Copyright © 2023 by Piper James
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For Heather Renee, whose love of all things Forks inspired this one. Thanks for always being there when I need your insight.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Piper James
Chapter
One
Keegan
“Keegan, stop hanging your head out the window like a dog.”
“Ahh-wooo!” I howl, a laugh bursting out of me when the innocent pedestrian we’re passing jumps, both feet losing contact with the pavement as her hand flies to her chest.
“Jesus,” Madison huffs under her breath.
I turn toward her and blow a kiss, noting the tightness of her jaw and her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. I let out an exaggerated groan and flop back into my seat.
“Come on, Mads,” I plead. “We’re in Evening Shade. Can you at least try to have a little fun?”
She doesn’t respond, and I twist around to face the two in the back. Sloan is taking selfies with a stern, badass expression, and Pressley has her nose buried in the pamphlet she grabbed at the gas station where we stopped to fill up on the edge of town.
“The bus leaves at nine a.m. That should give us time to grab some coffees and pastries at Moonstone Mystic before we board,” she says, the only one of my friends attempting to enjoy this trip.
They only came here for me. I know that. I’m the one who’s a certified member of the Cursed fan club…a bona fide, wolf-obsessed CursedCub. A Lucas and Aria-loving, moon howling, fan letter-writing, these-movies-defined-my-teen-years super fan. #TeamLAria for life!
And I’m also the only one of us who’s life just took a shit into a raging dumpster fire.
So, yeah, the girls planned this trip to cheer me up. Losing myself in the world of Lucas and Aria’s love story, seeing the landmarks that made Evening Shade famous was a surefire way to peel me off the couch and make me shower the dried, dribbled ice cream splotches caked in potato chip crumbs off my chest and arms.
I appreciate the effort, I just wish Madison and Sloan would get into the spirit. Be more like Pressley. At least she’s trying.
During the four-and-a-half hour drive from Seattle, Madison has worn a perpetual frown while Sloan has barely spoken two words. In her usual fashion, Pressley has kept up a steady stream of chatter in an attempt to ease the uncomfortable silence and keep my spirits high.
“Oh, look. It’s Wolfsbane Tavern,” I say as we slowly make our way through town. “That’s where Aria and Lucas met for the first time. She spilled soda all over his lap.”
“We know,” Madison sighs. “You’ve only made us watch the movies a million times.”
I grind my molars together and don’t respond. Her tone sucks, but it’s not surprising. Madison was never into Cursed, even as a teenager, and she’s always been openly disdainful of the fandom. But she is one of my best friends. She offered to let me move in when I needed a place to stay after, well, after, saving me from having to leave Seattle. She’s always had my back, and she planned this trip despite her abhorrence for the franchise and all things having to do with the great outdoors.
She introduced me to Sloan and Pressley, both of whom she’s known since high school. We all just kind of fell into our roles, and I like to think we compliment each other. Pressley is the exuberant one, Sloan is the kickass one, Madison brings culture and sophistication to the group, and me?
Well, I’m the funny one. At least, I like to think I am, anyway.
“God, could this place be any more of a cliché?” Sloan grumbles from her seat in the back.
“Shut up, Sloan. This is for Keegs,” Madison says, her tone turning sympathetic with those last few words as she shoots me a small smile.
Did I mention Madison’s mood swings are legendary?
I return her smile with a small nod of thanks, then straighten when I look back at the road.
“There,” I say, pointing to the dirt drive on the left. “That’s it!”
Madison slows the car and signals before turning onto the drive. A large cabin looms before us as the car rolls to a stop, and I have my seatbelt off and my door open before Madison can even shift the transmission into park.
“Lycan Lodge,” I say as the others climb from the car. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“It looks nice,” Pressley says as she steps up next to me.
The other two don’t respond as they heft our bags out of the trunk. I can’t wait another second to see the inside, so I tell them I’ll grab my stuff later and rush up the porch steps. Pulling out my phone, I find the code for the digital lock in my confirmation email and press the numbered buttons to disengage it. Swinging open the door, I step inside.
Rustic, with lots of raw wood trim and plaid furniture, it’s quaint perfection. There’s a decent-sized living room that connects to an eat-in kitchen. Wandering through, I run my fingers over the back of the overstuffed couch and breathe in the pungent pine scent of the place.
A hallway to the left leads to four bedrooms and a communal bathroom. After peeking through each door and finding each room to be charmingly decorated, I head back out into the main space. Sloan and Madison are in the living room, eyeing the place with critical expressions. Before I can ask them what they think, Pressley huffs through the door, rolling both our suitcases behind her.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, rushing over to relieve her of my bag. “Thank you.”
“This place is…” Madison says, her words trailing off like she can’t find a suitable descriptor.
“It’s great, right?” I cut in before she can say something negative. “Cozy and comfortable.”
“It’s just for two nights,” Sloan says, nudging Madison with her elbow. “I’m sure the common won’t rub off on you in one short weekend.”
“I like it,” Pressley says in her chipper voice, making the other two roll their eyes.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Madison and Sloan thrive on being bitchy, but it’s part of their charm. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Pressley is the polar opposite of them, and I do love her eternal optimism, but sometimes her incessant people-pleasing gets on my nerves. I just wish she’d stand up to Mads and Sloan every once in a while. They treat her like an annoying little puppy who won’t leave despite being kicked in the head repeatedly.
Okay, that was dark. Another cleansing breath.
No one is perfect, and these three are the only real friends I have. Madison opened her home to me. Sloan introduced me to––
Nope. Not going there. It still fucking hurts.
And Pressley can’t help that she thrives on the approval of others. It’s who she is. It’s in her DNA. Taking that out of the equation, you’re left with a sweet, thoughtful friend who’s funnier than she thinks she is, smarter than anyone gives her credit for, and kinder than most adults would ever strive to be.
And they’re here. For me. That’s what matters.
“Let’s get cleaned up and head to the tavern for drinks. I want to get fucked up tonight,” I say, dancing around a little with that last part.
That seems to light a fire under them all, and they follow me down the hall with their bags so we can choose our rooms. We all agree to give Madison the main bedroom––she has the most luggage and needs the biggest closet, after all––and we split up into the leftover rooms as Sloan calls dibs on being the first to shower.
Four women sharing one bathroom is going to be tricky, but like Sloan said, it’s only for two nights. I’m sure we’ll manage.
It takes a full two-and-a-half hours, but by the time the antique grandfather clock in the living room strikes eight, we’re all dolled up and ready for a night on the town. At least, the others are dolled up in tube dresses and high heels with smoky eyes and red lips.
I, on the other hand, read the room…so to speak. This is a small, rustic town hidden in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. Sure, it’s a to
I packed accordingly, so tonight I’m wearing a pair of tight jeans that hug my curves, black ankle boots, and a black tank top beneath a red and black plaid button-down. The others eye me when I meet them in the living room, but somehow manage to refrain from making any caustic remarks on my attire.
Yes, I look like Lumberjack Barbie…if Barbie was five-four with wide hips, thick thighs, a bubble butt, and lots of jiggly cleavage.
Sometimes, I feel out of place next to the rest of these willowy goddesses, but I don’t like to dwell on it. I’m short and curvy, and most of the time, I own it. I fell down the rabbit hole after the whole messy debacle with he-who-shall-not-be-named, but now I’m finally feeling like myself again.
And I have a feeling that tonight, the girls will end up wishing they’d dressed like lumberjacks, themselves. I’ve looked at photos of Wolfsbane Tavern on its website, and it’s no Seattle nightclub. Does it make me petty that I don’t mention this to my friends?
Maybe.
But the entertainment of seeing them walk into this small town bar dressed to the nines and realizing their mistake is too promising to give up. Besides, they deserve it after all the bitching and moaning they’ve done since we got here.
Before I can speak, Pressley rushes past me down the hall to her room. When she emerges, she’s wearing a jean jacket over her dress, and she’s changed out of her heels into some patent leather combat-style boots. She looks hot, and I give her a nod and a smile for her choice. Madison whispers something to Sloan, who chuckles in response, and I feel my blood heat.
“Let’s go,” I say before I lose what little control I’m still holding onto.
We decide to walk so no one has to be a designated driver and the bar is only a half mile down the road. I get a little sick satisfaction watching Sloan and Madison try to navigate the rocky shoulder in their heels and quickly reprimand myself for being bitchy. Pleasure in the pain of others is their thing, not mine.
By the time we get to the bar, I’m more than ready for something sweet, fruity, and filled with alcohol. Pushing ahead of the others, I lead the way to the bar where a fine hunk of man meat gives me a smile as he sets a cocktail napkin in front of me.
“What’s your poison?” he asks as my friends crowd around me.
“I’ll have a tequila sunrise,” I say, “and two shots of Patron.”
The hunky bartender raises his brows and laughs. “Go big or go home, huh?”
“I need it,” I say with a shrug.
“I’ll have a cosmo,” Madison says, pushing up to the bar beside me.
She hunches her shoulders a bit to make her cleavage pop and licks her lips seductively, and the bartender earns my everlasting respect by simply nodding and moving his gaze from her face to Pressley’s.
“What about you, beautiful?”
Pressley lets out a nervous giggle before ordering her usual––a strawberry daiquiri––and Sloan asks for a whiskey-soda. We turn to survey the rest of the place while we wait for our drinks. Much like the online photos, it’s rustic and quaint with wooden dining tables on one side and smaller cocktail tables closer to the bar. It’s not overly crowded, but there are enough people filling the tables to make the place lively and energetic. A guy in ripped jeans and a t-shirt is setting up a guitar on the small stage in the corner, promising a night of live music for our entertainment.
“One tequila sunrise and two shots.”
I spin around and eye the drinks with a grin before meeting the bartender’s eyes. “Thanks, uh, what’s your name?”
“Bram,” he says with a smile.
“Thanks, Bram,” I say, digging through the pocket wallet attached to my phone case for my credit card.
“It’s on me,” Madison says, handing over her own card with a sultry smile. “Why don’t you start a tab for us, handsome?”
Bram nods and turns to put her card by the register before placing a martini glass in front of her. She makes a show of enjoying her first sip, but his attention has already reverted to Pressley as a second mixologist hands him a tall daiquiri topped with a paper umbrella.
“One strawberry daiquiri for the lady,” he says, shooting Pressley a wink.
She blushes prettily, and I bump my hip against hers. “Want one of these?”
She looks at the two shot glasses I motion toward with a scrunched nose and narrowed eyes. “No way. That’s all you.”
Shrugging, I pick up a shot and toss it back. Ignoring the gag reflex the alcohol triggers, I chug the second one before biting the lime Bram offers me on a napkin. The citrus cuts the burn, and I pick up my cocktail, lift it toward him in thanks, and hook my arm through Pressley’s before dragging her toward an empty table.
Sloan and Madison follow, and the latter wipes the chair down with her cocktail napkin before sitting. Sloan leans back and watches the condensation drip down her glass with a frown. Pressley drinks her daiquiri while shooting covert looks at Bram the bartender. And Madison makes snide comments about every local and obvious tourist in the place while I drain my drink in one long pull on the straw.
Fun, right? Yeah. Sure.
If I’m going to survive this night without exploding, I’m going to need another drink. Maybe two. Or three.
Maybe then, I’ll forget what a shit show my life has become.
Chapter
Two
Trace
I find an empty stool at the bar and slide onto it, a tired sigh blowing through my lips. The tourists are always out in full-force on Friday nights, and tonight is no exception. I hate it, what this town has become, even though I know the tourism keeps Evening Shade’s economy afloat as well as lining my own pockets.
It’s not real. None of it. And I really miss the life I had before this town went werewolf crazy.
“Trace. Good to see you, man. What are you having?”
“Hey, Bram,” I say, reaching across the bar to pound fists with the one real friend I have left in this town. “I’ll take a bottle of the pale ale.”
Bram nods and turns to pull a bottle from the small ice chest built into the shelf behind him. Twisting off the top, he sets it in front of me before holding up a finger to signal he’ll be right back. He moves down to help a pretty blonde who blushes as she orders a strawberry daiquiri, and I notice he’s turning on the charm with her.
He was the same in high school, his classic, jock-like good looks and charisma doing him all kinds of favors when it came to hooking up with girls. I was always more reserved––almost introverted––and we were drawn to each other like opposite ends of a magnet in tenth grade. We’ve been tight ever since, especially once our other friends slowly trickled out of town to make new homes in other parts of the country.
Small town life isn’t for everyone, I guess.
“She’s cute,” I say with a smirk after Bram hands her the drink and moves back toward me, “for a CursedCub, anyway.”
My smirk falls into a frown with the moniker. Ever since those damn movies hit the big screen, Evening Shade has been inundated with fans clamoring to see the place, imagining hot guys shifting into wolves and finding soulmates.
Blech. So cheesy. And ridiculous.
“Nah,” Bram says. “She’s not a Cub. Her friend is, though, and this is a post-break-up trip to cheer the woman up.”
“You got all of that out of her that quickly?” I ask, and Bram shoots me a wink.
“I’m a bartender. Trade secrets and all.” Then he sobers. “What’s wrong with you, tonight? You seem crankier than usual, which is saying a lot.”
