Page 6 of Wish You Knew
I nodded in agreement. If I needed a distraction from Scott, he had to be it.
Two hours later, I wished I’d taken the option to stay in and order room service. Having been such a laugh during the course of the shoot, Mark turned out to be much less interesting in real life. We went to a vegan restaurant for dinner - he couldn’t eat gluten either - and while I didn’t disagree with people’s choices, a plant-based burger didn’t exactly meet my hungover, post-shoot cravings. When he suggested going to a bar for a nightcap, I didn’t say no. At least I could get some crisps or pork scratchings.
The Bell was a bar around the corner from my hotel, which meant I wouldn’t have too far to go when I finally called an end to the evening. Politeness said I’d need to spend at least another hour in his company before making a run for it.
Mark got the drinks, beer for him, a vodka and tonic for me. I sipped the drink slowly, still feeling somewhat delicate. There was a strange taste to it, but I put that down to the fact he’d probably ordered some fancy tonic with an odd flavouring. I fished out the piece of cucumber contaminating it too.
“What’s been your best ever shoot?” I slurred. Seriously, the vodka had gone straight to my head after only a couple of sips. I’d only had one glass of wine with dinner too. It must have been the late night, plus the long day affecting me. I was never usually a lightweight.
“Hmmm.” He screwed up his face as if giving it serious thought. “Today? Because it meant I got to work with you.”
“Smooth, very smooth.” I tittered a laugh.
“Seriously. I haven’t been offered many gigs lately. It’s good to get some cash in. Things were getting tight.”
His plight wasn’t unusual, and I vaguely remembered him mentioning it when we’d first arrived that morning. Our business thrived on its fickleness. Luckily, I had a classic look, which led to a range of possible offers. Many times, I counted my genetic blessings.
“Do you want another drink?”
I squinted at my glass, already empty. How had that happened? It was still a little early to make my escape, so I agreed. While I waited for Mark to return, I pulled out my phone. The screen was blank, much to my disappointment. There was a part of me which had hoped Scott would message again. Although if I drank much more, I’d be the one giving him the booty call, not the other way around.
“Here you go.” Mark placed another vodka and tonic in front of me. “I got a double this time, hope that was okay?” He smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Mmm, great, thank you.” I dropped my phone back into my bag, all thoughts of Scott forgotten. I reached for the glass, this time furnished with a straw and began to drink.
3
Scott
I’d done fuck all, all day. Unless you counted jerking off in the shower over Rosie Tatton. Again.
By the time late afternoon rolled around, I was bored as fuck.
Unless you counted the thirty minutes distraction after Rosie had sent me those lingerie shots and I then went on to search the internet for images of Victoria’s Secret models.
When my phone pinged with a message, I leaped on it, wondering if Rosie had changed her mind.
Declan: fancy a beer?
The message was to the Trash Gun What’s App group. Disappointment didn’t even begin to cover it.
Mat and Bobby replied almost instantly in the affirmative.
The corner of my mouth curled up. We might have been out drinking into the early hours, but it didn’t stop another session less than twenty-four hours later.
Scott: rude not to. The Bell in twenty?
A barrage of thumbs up emojis followed. We’d been going into the Bell since before we were recognised, and they could be relied upon to honour our need for privacy if required.
I dragged my sorry arse into my bedroom. Getting dressed hadn’t been much of a priority until now, so I swapped my track pants and hoodie for black skinny jeans and a tight-fitting blue denim shirt. I added my usual rings and a pendant, then ran a hand through my hair. It wasn’t like I was going out to impress someone.
As usual, I was the last to arrive. The lads had already commandeered our regular table in the corner.
“I’ll get the first round,” I announced.
“Second,” said Mat, pointedly gesturing to the half empty pint glasses in front of the three of them.
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes and headed to the bar.
