Page 105 of Composed
“Deadly.” She finally looks at me, her expression a blank fucking mask. “Now, get the hell out of my house.”
A sharp pain lances my chest.
Hendrix and I don’t fight.
We’ve never even had a single disagreement—unless we’re talking about our favourite songs, but they’re playful debates, not whatever the hell this is.
“Rixie.” I reach for her hand but she pulls away.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says, her face never shifting as she nudges me out of her bedroom and she slams the door in my face.
Chapter thirty-two
Hendrix • Now
MakeDamnSure – Taking Back Sunday
ROCK STAR
What’s your most played song?
MystomachlurcheswhenI roll out of bed.
My phone slips from my fingers and hits the floor as bile crawls up my throat. I clap a hand over my mouth. The unfamiliar room spins. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help.
Knees trembling, I drag myself out of the bedroom. I pause in the doorway, taking in the large open plan living room and kitchen.
I scrub my eyelids, but the scene doesn’t change.
Racking my brain, I try to piece together what the hell happened last night and how I got here. I remember drinking champagne—lotsof champagne—but everything after that is a blur.
I retrace my steps back into the bedroom and poke my head out of the window.
Looks like Theo got her way after all. This is definitely their building.
I glance over the room. My suitcase rests against one wall, three black guitar cases lined up next to it, with a brown cardboard box sitting in front of them.
I snatch up my phone.
Cole’s text taunts me on the screen. It’s the first time he’s reached out to me. The two times we’ve spoken on the phone, I made the calls. Even then, we only spoke about Reckless Abandon and the music.
Why the sudden change at three am?
Before I can convince myself not to, I tap out a reply.
Right now?Bad RomanceHalestorm’s version
Yours?
I toss my phone onto the bed and amble into the bathroom, gaping as I take in the black tiles, marble sink tops, and rainfall shower. Maybe the telling off can wait a while.
My phone buzzes, once, then twice, in the other room while I pee.
I force myself to grab clothes and a towel from my suitcase, before I look at the glowing device on the bed.
It’s probably just Riley checking in, anyway. It’s barely past eight. If Cole was up texting at three, I can’t imagine he’s awake. The only reason I am is because my body hates me and I can never sleep in after a night of drinking.
With that in mind, I bypass my phone completely, avoiding the mirror as I strip off last night’s outfit and step into the shower.
