Page 2 of Composed
“You go home and love up on your wife,” I tell Saint. He nestles into the pillow with a breathy purr. I chuckle. “Cart is gonna hang out with the girls and be on daddy duty. And Ax will probably shag his way through London.”
“Not what I was asking.”
I know.
“But I’ll play.” A lazy smirk tilts his lips. “What do you do next, Cole?”
I go find my muse.
And to do that, I have to go right back to where it all started.
Chapter one
Hendrix • Now
Weightless – All Time Low
Somesaylifeistoo short for regrets.
I say those people have never woken up after abusing an open bar to the sound of their ex-boyfriend singing on the TV.
A sharp pulse throbs behind my temples. I groan, stomach lurching as last night’s tequila turns bitter on my tongue. I snatch the remote, kill the sound, and sag as only blissful silence remains.
I need coffee—probably a coffin where I can die in peace, too.
I force myself off the couch.
Soft country music hums from the Alexa on the counter when I stumble into the kitchen.
My friend, and housemate, Riley sits at the island, laptop open in front of her. Wearing daisy-dotted jeans, a white tank top, and mint green ear defenders snug to her head, she alternates between tapping her pen on the granite and scribbling in her notebook.
She twists in her seat as I pass her. Repositioning the ear defenders, she flicks her gaze over me. “You look like shit.”
I huff a laugh at her blunt greeting before looking down at the holey black crop top and Mary Wyatt joggers I threw on when I got home last night.
She’s not wrong.
Not even the colourful ink covering my pasty white skin can save this look.
“Charming, love.” I tug the ends of her wavy auburn bob.
The corner of her lip flickers a beat before she turns her focus back to her screen.
I flick the kettle on and scoop some coffee granules into my waiting thermos. The kitchen sparkles under the glinting sunlight, the harsh scent of cleaning chemicals tickling my nose. Pretty sure it didn’t look like this when I left for the bar last night.
“Did you clean in here?” I ask Riley.
“Yeah. I couldn’t not. The sides were sticky.” She shudders, freckled nose wrinkling.
“Sorry. I meant to clean up when I got home but I crashed hard.”
“It’s fine.” She lifts a shoulder. “You’d have used the wrong cleaners, so I’d have just gone around after you, anyway.”
“Fair.”
Riley is particular. She knows what she likes, and there’s no changing her meticulous ways. Not that I want to. Evenwhenshe trails after me with a rag in one hand and disinfectant in the other whenever I clean.
I hug the warm, steel thermos close to my chest and cross to the island. “How was your date last night?”
