Page 12 of Wish You Knew
“I was thinking more along the lines of a double whisky?”
His expression didn’t change as he responded. “No problem. If you’d like to follow me.”
My boots echoed on the tiled floor as I followed him across reception. He hadn’t seemed phased by my early morning request for alcohol. This was obviously a hotel used to rock stars staying.
“What would you like?” he asked when we reached the bar.
“JD.”
He gave me an imperceptible nod and turned away, sloshing a healthy double into a tumbler.
“Cash or card?”
Momentarily, I thought about charging it to Rosie’s room. I wasn’t that much of a prick though. Instead, I fished my phone from my pocket and tapped the card reader.
“Thank you. Let me know if you need anything else.” Then he was gone, silently returning to his night-shift friends at reception.
I slumped onto one of the sofas and stretched my legs out in front of me. The unmistakable aroma of whisky invaded my nostrils. My thoughts turned to Rosie’s earlier words. Was it possible she could be interested in something more than a hook-up with me? If so, what the fuck was she thinking? In the time we’d known each other, we’d never spent the night together, let alone woken up in the same bed. I always got out of there before that happened. Being that close to someone like Rosie Tatton wasn’t me. It wasn’t the Scott Lincoln I was. I preferred the uncomplicated nature of our unspoken relationship. The one which happened when and where we wanted it to, without any expectations or emotions. Or so I’d thought.
The protective feelings I’d had for her earlier came as a surprise. Sure, my cock loved her. I hadn’t realised my heart might feel the same.
The alcohol burned as I slugged the whole glass in one go.
I deserved it for what I was about to do.
6
Rosie
When I woke and stretched, the bedsheets next to me were cold.
My head pounded, and I honestly thought something had curled up and died in my mouth. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to process everything which had happened the previous evening. The shoot, Mark, the pub, Scott…
I sat bolt upright, gaze skimming the room from side to side. Where was he?
The bathroom door was open, the bedroom empty.
I was alone.
For a fleeting second, I thought Scott might have gone to get breakfast for us.
Then I caught sight of a piece of the hotel’s notepaper poking out from underneath my phone. In spidery script, Scott had writtenHad to go.
Not even, ‘I hope you’re feeling better’, or, ‘sorry I had to go’ or, ‘see you soon’. Not even a kiss.
He’d done a runner.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was a Scott Lincoln thing to do.
It would have been nice if he’d stayed until I’d woken up. Even checked to make sure I was okay. But why change the habit of a lifetime? Why not leave like he always did?
Cloaked in disenchantment, I hauled myself up and went into the bathroom, berating myself for booking such an early train. Although right now, I wanted nothing more than to be in my own home.
Relief settled over me as I entered my Notting Hill mews house less than three hours later. My sanctuary away from all the hustle and bustle of real life.
I got changed into a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie and then unpacked, chucking a load of washing on - yes, even supermodels wash their own knickers sometimes. Eventually, I settled on the sofa with no intention of moving.
I fired up my laptop, ready to check in on emails, when my phone rang. Hoping it would be Scott, I pounced on it, disappointed to see Saff’s name flashing on the screen. My finger hovered over the accept button, debating whether to answer.
