Page 23 of Fake Rocks
Saff stretched in her chair. “God, that feels better. I could do with a nap though.” As if to prove her point, she yawned.
“Me too. I didn’t exactly sleep well last night. You know, strange bed, strange house, worrying whether you were okay…” I let the sentence trail off, to show Saff I had been thinking about her.
Her cheeks flushed. “I was a bit of a state, wasn’t I? Thanks for sorting me out.”
“Well, isn’t that what any good boyfriend would do?” I joked.
“About that.” Her tone was serious.
Oh God, had she changed her mind already? One night out with me and even a fake relationship is too much.
“Do you have plans for the weekend?”
I debated whether to make something up and decided the truth was a better option. “Given I currently live with my aunt and uncle and haven’t spoken to anyone else in the past week except you, Jonas and the guys at the pub, then I think you might know the answer to that!”
Saff stifled a giggle, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Do you fancy a trip to Manchester?”
“What’s in Manchester?”
“A charity dinner.” Saff pulled at a piece of skin next to her thumbnail. “It’s something one of the magazines does every year. There’ll be food, drinks, dancing. We’ll stay in a fancy hotel for a couple of nights.”
Ah, another opportunity to show off her new, reliable, straight boyfriend. I couldn’t deny it sounded like fun though. Plus, Saff had said fancy so I doubted we’d be staying in a Travelodge and going to Wetherspoons for dinner.
“Sounds like fun. When would we go?”
“Friday night, the dinner’s on Saturday so we could check out the shops.” One side of her mouth quirked up. “Like we did yesterday.”
“You are not buying me more stuff!” I protested. “I have a perfectly good wardrobe at home, thank you.”
“I hope so, because the dinner’s black tie.”
“Shit, really? Then maybe we do need to shop because I don’t have that.” I racked my brains, trying to remember the last time I’d been so dressed up. It had probably been at Uncle Col and Aunt Annie’s wedding. I’d been thirteen—that suit definitely wouldn’t fit me now.
“We’ll sort something out. Jonas knows a really good hire place. But you think you’ll come with me?” Her eyes were full of hope.
“Do I have a choice?” The words came out wrong, harder than I’d expected and Saff’s face fell.
“It’s fine, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, of course you have a choice,” she rambled.
“I’m sorry, Saff, I was joking. I’d love to come along.” I met her gaze and nodded.
Even though I knew the contract was the main reason she was asking, her reaction when I’d indicated I might decline led me to believe it wasn’t the only one.
13
Saff
Iwoke early on Thursday morning, refreshed from a night off the alcohol and a positive afternoon with Darren. After Tris and I had brunch together, I went straight over to Darren’s. By the time I got home, Jonas told me Tris had gone home with his uncle to get the stuff he needed for our weekend away. I’d wanted to tell him about the song we’d worked on, how the melody and lyrics were panning out; what other ideas I had. As if we were a proper couple. The more time I spent with him, even a couple of hours, the more I liked him. He was nice, normal, caring. All the things missing from the other guys I usually fell for.
Rosie messaged me to make sure I was on my way to our shoot, and she was shocked when I told her I was. Usually she had to call and message at least three times before I even got my arse out of bed. It was amazing what one dry night did to me. Maybe I should have them more often.
Before I went into the studio, I had one last crafty cigarette, knowing it would be a while until I could have another.
“There she is!” Rosie proclaimed as I walked in. “On time and looking fresh for once.”
She came towards me with open arms and we hugged. I only took that kind of shit from her, no-one else.
The journalist for the glossy weekly we were being interviewed for came over, nervously looking between us. I could tell from the way she looked at me, I wasn’t her cup of tea. The interview was about how people who didn’t look like they ought to be friends on the basis of appearance. And the differences between Rosie and me were more than apparent. She was almost six feet tall and willowy with a mane of thick, blonde hair and perfect clear blue eyes. The exact stereotypical image of a fashion model. With her paid partnerships and sponsor deals, she was a total dream to work with. I couldn’t have been further away from her if I tried.
