Curves For Her Spaceman (Billionaire Science Fiction Romance): BBW Love Stories by Leslie Hunter

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About the author:

You can find out more about Leslie at @IAmLeslieHunter or writerlesliehunter.com

What inspired you to write your book?

I love science fiction, BBW protags, and romance. Why not combine them?

Here is a short sample from the book:

CURVES FOR HER SPACEMAN
CHAPTER ONE
It was late afternoon, and three sold autographed pictures later – one under false pretenses. The ambient noise of comic book convention attendees faded into the background hour prior.
I stared from my white plastic table at superheroes in spandex, metal robots, zombies, and other pop culture costumes.
The official name was The Los Angeles Comic Con, but it wasn’t accurate. Geek culture’s good business these days. Hollywood finally realized movie fans, science fiction addicts, and such had plenty of money to spend.
I shifted in my grey metal seat and it creaked back in protest.
Twenty years ago, these fans might have saved my television career.
There were always fans of the genre, but never anything like this. Ever since those superhero movies released in the early two thousands, it’s chic to be geek. Hollywood’s pushing out every property they own for the almighty geek dollar.
Although, there are exceptions. I stared at my black and white photos. Most were from before my infamous show. There’s some after that time but few. My phone stopped ringing after that fiasco.
When the convention day started, I wondered if fifty photos was enough. After six hours, five people came to my table. Two purchased photos and one got me confused with someone else. I’m Megan Hunter… that other girl is Maggie Punter. I suppose after twenty years, I should be happy to bask in celebrity fandom even if it’s not my own.
All it takes is a video to ruin a career.
It wasn’t a sex tape. I’m too old for such things anyway. Nobody wants to see a washed up superhero.
A long shadow took me out of my self-pity daydream. I glanced up toward a tall, skinny young man covered in green body paint. From the prosthetic teeth and papier mâché battle axe, I’d guess ‘Orc’ for his costume. He sat a heavy white plastic bag down on my table and stared at the smiling brunette one booth over.
I thought about raising a fuss but he’d leave soon. They were all here to see my convention partner – Cindy Douglas. My agent Ryan got me a table next to her. She was the star of that old space show with the tiny robot. He figured I might get some foot traffic and maybe some more voice over leads. All I got was stepped on. I guess he was right if only in the literal sense.
I never had the pleasure of working with Cindy. Her star already started its irreversible fade. It’s the rare female that can work Hollywood at our age. We’re not old by most people’s standards but too old for Hollywood.
I wasn’t jealous – but I saw the differences between us. She was thin and I’m… voluptuous. Casting agents use another word, but I like my description better. She had a good run in television and movies – more than enough to do conventions for years. I threw my career down the toilet with one show.
Another heavy plastic bag landed on my table. I coughed toward the green skinned Orc. He frowned, and his prosthetic teeth shifted back and forth as he mumbled, “What?”
My gaze went down to his large, white, plastic bags.
He sighed hard. “Gunthor is displeased.”
Yeah well ‘Gunthor’ can carry his own damn stuff.
If I wasn’t next to Cindy, her line of fans wouldn’t bother me – as much. If she was a bitch, I could hate her – but I didn’t. It’s easy to hate a diva. She wasn’t so I couldn’t hate her, which paradoxically made me dislike her just a smidge.
Hey, I’m only human.
Maybe it’s the anniversary that’s doing it?
I couldn’t tell you what was worse. To never get your shot and be yet another Hollywood ‘Never Was’ or have A-List stardom within your grasp and lose it. I breathed in deep and mumbled. “Techno-Girl.” Even the name was enough to make my jaw tighten.
It seems like a good idea for the time. Superhero shows were rare. My agent gave me the script and it read well. Female scientist fights crime. It wasn’t anything cerebral, but that’s television for you. I could turn on my set and find shows about genies, talking horses, or people trapped on an island. That’s TV Land for you.
It’s not like the bar was high. Still, we thought we could make ourselves stand out by promoting social issues. Most women back then were eye candy for the male action star. They screamed as they waited for a rescue. There weren’t many female scientist characters either. They especially weren’t any big action stars.
I wasn’t huge but I was ‘Hollywood fat’. The studio execs wanted somebody thinner. We argued and won – although I lost in the end.
If it was just me, I could deal with it. Everyone put their heart and soul into the series. Greg left England and Shakespearian theater then lost everything.
Costuming… damn they really went all out. Memories of the black and silver spandex costume went through my head. Spandex shows everything, but they made me look good with a capital ‘G’. It helps that most of my weight is in my hips and breasts.
The show gave me a ‘Gas-gun’ straight out of 1930’s pulp science-fiction, a car loaded with gadgets, and a secret lair under New York.
Technically it was a back lot in Pasadena but that’s Hollywood for you.
We intended to film twelve episodes. Episodic television was rare back then with little continuity. We set up a long running story line with my super villain nemesis we’d answer in episode twelve. We got our cancellation notice in episode eight.
My gaze went over to Cindy’s table. ‘Gunthor’ handed her several bills as he picked up a stack of photos. His voice was rougher than his thin frame suggested. I forced a smile as he mentioned he was ‘Her Biggest Fan.’
Yeah buddy. You and the fifty guys before you.
I stared off to the side and remembered Hollywood Reporter and Variety’s reviews.
“Are we supposed to believe that’s a superhero?”
“… stretches the limits of belief like her costume.”
“Big dreams – fat chance.”
After that, everybody in the project suffered career setbacks. Hollywood’s a superstitious town and didn’t want our ‘bad mojo’ to affect them.
Directors worked under assumed names and my agent nearly dropped me. Most of the crew bounced back, but it took years. I put on a few pounds since then, but like other actresses, I committed the greatest sin of all in Hollywood. I got old.
You wouldn’t think it from looking at me, but I’m Hollywood ancient. You know, past my forties. Hollywood’s isn’t just superstitious. It’s superficial.
I turned back toward the long line of people that waited for Cindy. Most of them were men just at that right age where she helped them through puberty – if you know what I mean. Even years later, I guess they wanted to see the star of certain ahem private showings.
Again, I couldn’t blame her, and I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself. I had fans and most of them were women like me. I suppose that was good. We tried to enable everyone but especially the young girls we hoped would watch. Over the years, I got the occasional fan mail from somebody who became a scientist because of my show.
Let’s see the talking horse top that.
My eyes went back to the line, and I resumed my game of figuring out who’s who. I haven’t been to many conventions, but I’m getting better at guessing the costume. Some of them were easy. Anybody can pick out Spider-Man, or get the sparkly vampire reference. A few of the people with brightly colored hair might be from Asian cartoons I don’t watch. A few were really subtle. Most people wouldn’t recognize a blue pinstripe suit unless you were a fan of that time traveling British show.
Case in point. Who’s this guy next to the ‘Japanese Monster’ trying to be?
I swallowed hard as I stared at the tall, blue-eyed, muscled guy in a tight fitted white T-Shirt. My eyebrow went up when I saw the silver and black lightning bolt logo.
That’s my old logo… well the show’s anyway. Why would anyone wear that?
I pursed my lips in wonder and ran my gaze over his wide jaw and slightly disheveled short black hair. He had that intense serious look casting agents would love. With his heavily muscled, lean frame and rugged good lucks, they’d cast him as a cowboy or in a western.
We were in a crowd, yet Mister “Tight white shirt” stared at me like I was the only one here. Now, maybe I looked for an excuse to return the ‘favor’. This thick barreled man was one of the more pleasant pieces of eye-candy here.
He had that uneasy swaying stance, I’ve seen with other geeks. There’s always social awkwardness with them. That’s not meanness, just fact. Although, if I wasn’t used to celebrities, I’d do the same.
I leaned into his deep, icy blue-eyed gaze and he quickly turned away.
Yeah, definitely a geek. He was young, but not so young it would make certain ahem… thoughts obscene. Eyebrow raising? Well, of course.
Maybe Ryan sent him? Could explain why he’s wearing that shirt. He couldn’t be a fan… could he?
Geek culture is mainstream now. It’s not unusual to see a heavily muscled fans unlike the old days. Maybe he’s one of those professional cosplayers? I saw a few bodybuilder types dressed as Thor, and even a red skinned muscular demon with one cut off horn on the convention floor.
You just want to stare at him.
Well, maybe.
I’m not sure if it’s because of my Hollywood background, or just female appreciation. I couldn’t help but categorize him. He had impossibly wide shoulders that segued nicely into thick biceps. I’ve seen plenty of other men with grotesque muscles. His were big but suited him nicely.
I don’t know if he had the sense to buy a shirt that fitted him or if that was the only shirt he could find. It’s not like there’s a ton of Techno-Girl merchandise out there. The shirt was too small or maybe his body was too big. Although, you could argue his shirt was just right. It hugged every single bump and valley of his hard and developed chest muscles.
He took another step forward, and stopped as a man in a gold and red armor stepped into his path.
I put on my glasses for a better look as they both apologized to each other. Well, if he doesn’t know I’m gawking, I’ll take that as an invitation.
One great thing about white fabric is you can see the outline better. If the light catches it just right you could almost see through to the man underneath. I leaned forward and bit the side of my lip.
Nice six-pack abs. What else you got?
My gaze lowered to the noticeable bulge in his jeans. Mentally lusting after a guy like that might not be obscene, but that bulge was. I didn’t know if he positioned it that way or if he was just naturally gifted. There’s plenty of men in Hollywood that can’t hide their package. That sidekick from that 1960’s superhero show had the same problem.
He stepped into the line and stood in front of my table.
Damn… I might need better specs. I adjusted my glasses and stared up into one the richest shade of blue I ever saw. It reminded me of the deep ocean out in Hawaii. There’s blue, and then there’s a color that’s so deep you almost forget another color exists.
He inhaled deep, raised his palm and then slowly arced his hand from side to side. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Yep, definitely a geek. Although, he’s a damn adorable one.
He held out a weathered photo of me as “Techno-Girl” then looked back again. He repeated the gesture as I pursed my lips.
It was one of those damn promotional items they gave out at the premiere. My character left a photo at Doctor Blight’s various lairs or when she caught a bad guy with her gas gun or some other gadget.
I would’ve signed it but the way he kept looking at it and then me reminded me how many years passed by. I wasn’t that young thing anymore. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure what was worse. When the fans tried to be snarky or when it was unintentional.
My lips pressed together into a fine line. “Yes?”
His accented voice drew out when he spoke although it had a nice almost deep musical quality to it. “Megan Hunter?”
I nodded. Strange accent. After Techno-Girl, ‘front of the camera’ work stopped, but I found plenty of work via voiceovers. I can do any major accent or recognize it… but not his. He sounded vaguely American with a splash of Californian.
“You’re Techno-Girl?”
I breathed in deep and my chest went out. “Some people say.”
He leaned forward and his forehead scrunched in confusion. “Some people say what?”
I bit my lip to stifle a laugh. Again, most certainly a geek.
Despite the unpleasant reminder about my Techno-Girl days, I couldn’t help but admire the huge slab of man before me.
Where were you twenty years ago? On second thought, scratch that. Maybe it’s best not to know.
He looked young – late mid-twenties or older with good living. There was something about his deep sea-blue eyes I couldn’t pin down. I heard the phrase “Old Soul” but I’m not sure if that was it. He stared deep as if taking in every single detail – almost like he was afraid to miss anything.
I’m an actress, so I can pick up on visual cues. He was one of those rare people I couldn’t figure out right away. Most people, when they stare, just see the curves – even if they call it something else.
There’s a few guys that stare but for other reasons. They’re as rare as unicorns but they like something extra to hold on to.
Yeah… Time to rein in the hormones.
His voice shook when he spoke. “Amazing. I’ve finally found you. I went to Dallas, New York, and San Diego but you weren’t there.”
“I think you got some bad information. I wasn’t scheduled at any of those.”
His gaze went down. “I know… but Ryan Douglas was in Dallas. Peter Mitchell in New York. At San Diego I saw Greg Parker.”
Greg’s out of the hospital?
I frowned for a split second. Ryan was my agent and Peter the writer for the show. Greg was my nemesis, Doctor Blight.
He frowned. “They were angry when I mentioned Techno-Girl.”
I stifled a laugh. “No kidding. Their careers depended on everyone forgetting about that show.”
“Why? That show was magnificent.”
I half wondered if he was being sarcastic. “Yeah… a magnificent failure.” I jerked my head toward the photograph. “So, do you want me to sign it or something?”
His lips pressed together and nodded fast.
There wasn’t anything overt, but so far, he was one of the more unusual people I’ve seen at this gathering. I don’t think it was because of his looks – as gorgeous as they were. Most men aren’t fans of my show. It might be a stereotype, but most guys aren’t watching female empowering television. I can count the number of men I know who’ve ever seen a Lifetime movie on my hand and have fingers left over.
Maybe his mom was a fan of the show? My shoulders slumped. Oh geez, there’s a nice thought.
I took the photo and stared at the smiling girl in silver and black spandex with a cape. All things considered, it wasn’t bad. I’d thought I was big back then, but I wouldn’t mind being that weight again. What’s that saying… ‘Geez, I wish I weighed what I did, when I thought I was fat?’
For being a gadget superhero, the skin-tight outfit wasn’t practical. If I had the show to redo again, I would’ve redesigned the outfit. Any science-based superhero needed pockets to hold gadgets. There’s only so many places to hide things with Spandex.
The cape was definitely impractical. If I ever went through a revolving door, it would snag. Then Doctor Blight or one of his goons would a finish the show off even earlier.
“So, who should I make this out to?”
He mumbled my words back.
I sighed. “Name?”
He jerked his head. “C-Carl.”
“With a ‘K’ or ‘C’?”
“Yes.”
Dammit. Yeah, I got a live one here.
He blinked several times before he answered. “C.”
I winced as muscle memory took over and I wrote out the catchphrase under my name. There in gold ink was, “Always Keep Learning.”
I handed it back while the line moved forward. He stayed still while a cybernetic superhero with a gun larger than his body moved around ‘Carl with a C’.
I looked toward the spot in the line he lost. I figured he would’ve moved on to the next ‘celebrity’. My thumb jerked toward Cindy’s table. “Going to see her too?”
He turned. “I see her.”
I closed my eyes tight then opened them before I spoke. “No, are you going to get one of her photos or talk to her?”
“Do you want me to?”
Jesus, what is it with this guy? “Is there something else I can help you with?”
He smiled, and I tried to ignore the dimple in his cheek. “Yes, I wish to take videos of you.”
And that’s when he went from adorable to me calling security.
I got on my phone and scooted the metal chair back. Even over the dull roar of the crowd, I heard it scrape against the floor. “Look, I don’t know what your game is. The last thing I need is a stalker.” I pointed to the photo. “I signed your card, now go away.”
One unfortunate thing about The Biz is you don’t have to be popular to get a stalker. Most of us got our ‘certificate’ already – a restraining order from the Los Angeles Court System against overly friendly fans.
He might give me another shot at fame, but I didn’t need the future headline: “Washed up actress, found hacked to death by cute looking guy. Witnesses say his t-shirt hugged his cut chest muscles nicely.”
I held the phone up. “I’m calling Security.”
His eyes widened. “No, anything but that.”
I whispered low while other people in line pretended not to notice. “Then leave.”
“I can’t. I’ve come so far to find you. We… I need you to…”, he snapped his fingers, “finish the show.”
My forehead scrunched. “Are you asking what happened in the series?”
He shook his head fast.
I shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. We never finished the season.”
“Yes, I know! I wish to pay you to finish Techno-Girl.”