Page 4 of Fake Rocks
This could get interesting.
3
Saff
Ugh. I resented the fact that Jonas had made me get up this early on a Monday morning, although the early start did have some benefits.
The guy at the front door had been somewhere between startled rabbit and demigod. While I hadn’t had enough time to ogle him properly; the dark hair, hazel eyes and honed, toned bod held promise. Maybe I could fulfil Jonas’ wish of finding a nice boy after all.
Talking of promises, I had assured Jonas I would meet up with Darren and Barney as soon as possible to get TheSB back on track. Following several rounds of frantic messaging late into the night, we were on to catch up at Monet’s at ten thirty. Which gave me approximately an hour and a half to get breakfast, have a shower and get over to Hammersmith.
But first, breakfast.
I headed into the kitchen and Jonas brought the builders a few minutes later. Without saying anything, I busied myself putting the kettle on for coffee and shoving some bread in the toaster. I could feel the younger guy’s eyes boring into me. When I went to the refrigerator for butter, I deliberately bent over to look at the lower shelves, knowing my t-shirt would ride up and give him an eyeful of my arse.
Unfortunately, it seemed Jonas also got the same view. “Saff! For Christ’s sake, cover yourself up. I’m getting a better view than your gynaecologist.”
Mission accomplished.
I straightened up and turned, a saccharine sweet smile on my lips. “Sorry, guys. Can I get either of you a coffee? Milk and sugar?”
Jonas grabbed my arm and marched me out into the hallway. “I’m not joking. Remember the conversation we had yesterday about you not getting into anymore sticky situations?”
“Of course. I was only having a bit of fun.” I restrained myself from rolling my eyes.
“Why don’t you go and get dressed? Then you can come and make coffee for everyone,” he suggested.
“Fuck off, what did your last maid die of? You can make the coffee yourself.” With that I flounced up the stairs to my room.
Against my better judgement, I did as he asked. After my shower, I stood in front of my wardrobe — or was it floordrobe — and assessed the options. For some reason, I knew I wanted to make an impression on the hottie downstairs. If he was going to be around for a while, I guess he may as well enjoy it. Picking a short, tight, yellow and black houndstooth pinafore dress that stopped mid-thigh, I paired it with ripped fishnets, my biker boots and a cut-off denim jacket. I pushed the arms of the jacket up to reveal my tattoos and stacked my usual array of silver rings and bracelets on my fingers and wrists. My hair was loose and wavy, tumbling over my shoulders. Too sexy. Too obvious. I grabbed a hairband and a couple of pins and wound the hair up into a ponytail, then pinned it atop my head, pulling out a few strands to frame my face. The usual make-up was next, dark eyes and a nude lip. Intense, yet innocent. I almost laughed out loud.
My phone pinged with a message. Darren with a ‘Where are you?’ missive, despite the fact it was only twenty-five past ten.
Shit.
Where had the last hour gone?
There was no way I was going to make it on time. I stuffed my phone into my bag and barrelled down the stairs.
“Saff!” Jonas called from the kitchen as I reached for the front door. “Can you come in here before you go?”
It wasn’t like I had an option. Reluctantly, I went into the kitchen.
“I wanted to introduce you before you left. After all, these guys are going to be around for a while.”
My gaze drew like a magnet to the younger guy. Again. Despite hiding behind tatty jeans, work boots and a nondescript t-shirt, he was eye-achingly gorgeous. And if I had more time, I’d spend it trying to get to know him. Perhaps this was the sort of person Jonas had in mind when he said I needed a steady boyfriend. Someone with a good, solid, traditional job, rather than someone in the spotlight. But if it was someone Jonas had in mind - whoever it was - would likely be someone I’d run screaming from in the opposite direction.
“Sure.” I ground imaginary dirt into the floor with my boot, barely looking up.
“This is Colin Judd and his nephew, Tristan,” said Jonas, gesturing in turn to each of them even though it was obvious who was who.
“Tris,” the younger guy added.
“Right, cool.” I nodded. “I’m Saff. Jonas’ cousin.”
I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in Tris’ eyes as I said my name. Did he know who I was? I hadn’t pegged him as a punk loving rocker. He looked way too clean cut.
Intriguing.
