Page 19 of Fake Rocks
Saff
Ugh.
I felt horrific.
There were jackhammers in my head, my stomach hurt, and my throat felt like sandpaper.
Carefully, I turned over and reached for the glass of water by my bed, drinking thirstily from the pint glass.
Wait. How did that get there? I was never so organised when I came home after a night out. Particularly a night out which contained tequila slammers.
And I wasn’t dressed either. My clothes were in a pile on the floor, next to my bag. I lifted the covers to check I was still wearing underwear. I was.
Who the hell did I come home with last night?
I rubbed my temples and reached into my bag to find my phone, anything which could give me a clue as the identity of the person who took such good care of me.
As always, my phone had run out of charge, so I plugged it in and waited until it burst into life with a bunch of messages.
One from Rosie, reminding me of the photo shoot and interview tomorrow. Thank God it hadn’t been today. They’d have had one hell of a job trying to make me look anywhere near human.
One from Barney, telling me Tommo was happy to join us and asking when we wanted to set up the first rehearsal.
Ignoring the one from Jonas telling me he was staying out last night as it was clearly too late to respond, it was the final one which piqued my interest the most. It was from Darren.
Tris is a good guy, Saff. Don’t fuck this one up.
Tris!
That was who brought me home. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God.
Then I winced. He must have been the one who undressed me, put me to bed and made sure I had water.
Not exactly the best way to start out the fake relationship.
Tequila Tuesdays were never a good idea. When I was with the guys though, it was hard to resist. Or when I was with Rosie. Or even if I was at home on my own sometimes. It was another habit Jonas would be more than happy for me to break.
I dragged my sorry arse out of bed and pulled on a pair of jogging pants and a hoodie, before shoving my feet into my cosy slippers. As I was about to leave the room, I caught sight of my reflection and almost recoiled in horror. Pale, pasty skin; kohl streaked my cheeks; and hair which hung limply around my face. Before I went downstairs, I popped into the en suite and found some make-up remover, painstakingly removing all traces of the previous night. There wasn’t anything I could do about my hair right now; my need for food and strong, strong coffee being far more pressing. So I grabbed a ponytail band from the side and wound it up into a messy bun, securing it atop my head.
Tris and his uncle would probably still be working in the kitchen, so my choices for breakfast would be limited to whatever I could scavenge from the refrigerator. I could go out for breakfast, though it would mean getting dressed.
I heard them talking as I approached the door, something about football which didn’t mean anything to my ears. At least I wasn’t walking into some discussion about how horrific last night had been.
Jonas’ office door was open, and I could hear him tapping away on his laptop.
“Good night, last night, Saff?” he called.
Honestly, he was wasted in music management. He could work for MI5 or the CIA with his bat-like hearing.
I stuck my head in. “Yeah, we had fun. You’ll be pleased to know we’ve got a new drummer and he’s keen to work with us.”
“Good to hear. That’s step one of the rehab process.” He shot me a sarcastic smile. “Did anyone see you out with Tris?”
I chewed on a hangnail as I shrugged. I hadn’t bothered to check out any social media or notifications yet. “No idea. Rosie hasn’t said anything.” She was usually one of the first to let me know if a shit storm was about to hit. All she’d done was remind me about the shoot tomorrow.
“Okay, well, keep me posted.” He turned back to his screen. “I’ll have a coffee too.”
I had been dismissed.
