Page 8 of Washed Up
Wynt sighs. “Yeah. It’s just… guys, we have days left and fuck all to show anyone. I think our focus ought to be on the music, not some lass that washed up at our door.”
“Maybe she’s the inspiration we need,” I propose.
Reid nods in agreement. “I find her very inspiring.”
Wynter throws him an over-the-shoulder glare. “She might not be interested in banging you.”
Reid laughs at the very notion. It is true that he attracts women of all ages in ways that defy logic. He’s crass, ill groomed, more often than not dresses like he’s an extra in a post-apocalyptic drama show, but that never seems to put them off.
“What can I say, I’m just it, man.” Reid pushes his tongue firmly into his cheek. “You’re just jealous.”
“Of you? Fuck off.”
“You’re both awesome, obviously,” I interject, mostly to stop the bickering, although they are both genuinely sound guys.
“I’m awesome-er.”
I clip Reid around the back of the head for his refusal to let this die. It isn’t new tension. Wynt believes he should get most of the attention owing to him being our frontman, and he does get a lot of it. The thing is, Wynt is standoffish, whereas Reid’s a loveable rogue, and hence fans and interviewers gravitate to him.
“You’re just worried she might be more into getting some of this,” Reid says, as he runs his hands down his sides, “than what you’re offering.” He pouts and bats his eyelashes. “What’s up, mate, worried the old Wynter charm’s as defunct as your imagination, and that she’d rather ride me instead?”
“Fuck off.”
“Reckon Max is in with more of a shot than you are.”
Dunno why I’m always the consolation prize. “I like her, and I just saw her arse,” I say, “but I don’t think we should be talking about her in this way.”
“Thank you,” Wynt declares as if I’ve just backed up his point.
“I just meant, it’s not for us to decide who she likes best.”
“Why did you see her arse?” Reid asks, ignoring what I’ve just said.
“She was standing in front of the mirror; I got a glimpse.”
“Fucker,” Reid gripes, good-naturedly. “Were you there making your bid?” He punches my shoulder.
“Providing towels. She has some awful bruises. You should loan her your cream.”
Reid isn’t listening. “So, that’s a yes, then.” He gives an elaborate sigh. “Looks as if you won round one. Cooked her breakfast and provided fresh towels. She’s totally gonna fall for you.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m going for a walk,” Wynt snaps. He slopes off, hands in his pockets, so his hipster jeans are at risk of sliding south.
“Great. What are we supposed to fucking do in the meantime?” Reid calls after him. “All you do is harp on about us working, but you’re forever taking a breather. Why can’t we just get in the studio and jam?”
“Don’t,” I say. “Yelling at him isn’t going to help.”
“Nothing fucking helps.” He sighs and shakes his shaggy head of hair. “I don’t care what he thinks, Iris is staying. You and me agree, and that’s a majority vote, so Captain Misery can go swivel.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Iris
After a long, glorious shower, during which I’ll admit I tried out each of the guy’s products, I lie on the bed in the guest room. My clothes are still drying, so I start pulling the borrowed ones back on. I kid myself that I can tell what belongs to whom now that I’m familiar with their scents. I’m pretty sure the T-shirt belongs to Max, the skinny jeans are surely Wynter’s, which means I’m wearing Reid Rushmore next to my skin. I run a hand over my hip where the soft cotton rests. It feels deliciously naughty, wearing someone else’s things. I’ve heard of women borrowing their boyfriend’s boxer briefs before, but it’s not something I’ve ever done. I’ve certainly never entertained the idea I’d be this intimately acquainted with my favourite guitarist’s underwear. Unsurprisingly, thinking about his smalls turns my mind to what they usually contain. It’s not like I haven’t had fantasies about these guys before. You know the kind, rockstar meets small town girl and falls madly in lust with her. Whisks her away from her fuck awful life to a new and exciting one. Their relationship is tested by hordes of non-believers, but they fall in mad passionate love anyway and proceed to have hot sex anywhere and everywhere, and orgasms are a daily guarantee.
Uh huh, yes please, I’d like some of that.
