SEVEN

Lexi 

‘HOW CAN YOU eat that?’ 

‘Cereal?’ 

The clatter of plates and cutlery from the kitchen punctuates Sam and Mylo’s conversation.

‘You don’t like cereal?’ Sam’s voice says. 

I let the door click shut as silently as possible.

The shower is running in the bathroom. Probably Cerys. Possibly with Jake.

‘Yeah, but with milk, not dry,’ Mylo answers. 

I pad quietly towards my bedroom door. As long as no one spots me, I won’t have to speak to anyone.

‘Milk is gross! I don’t want my food swimming in it.’ 

The handle creaks as I press down on it.

Slowly.

Please don’t hear.

‘Oh. Hey Lexi.’ Sam stands at the hallway entrance, a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow. ‘Trying to sneak in?’ 

How…?

‘I, uh…’ I look down at myself, then through the crack in my bedroom door. ‘I just wanted to put my bag in my room,’ I finish, unhooking the bag from my shoulder and tossing it through the door, onto the bed. 

Damn it.

‘Right,’ says Sam, skepticism in her voice. ‘And where did you end up last night?’ 

As I follow her to the sofa, visions of the night before flash through my mind. Or what I can remember of it, at least.

‘You were so drunk,’ Mylo says, grinning as we sit down. 

‘Don’t remind me,’ I say, frowning. Of course, the most memorable part was this morning. Waking up in that huge bed all on my own. Was pretty sure he wanted to hook up before that point, but he didn’t even want to be near me. I must have made a complete fool of myself. 

And then I remember:

Oh no, the vomiting.

I put my head in my hands, wanting to hide the shame that must be visible on my face, even if they weren’t there to witness the horror. 

What a freaking disaster. No wonder he didn’t want to be near me.

‘You OK?’ Sam says, putting her hand gently on my back as I lean forward a little and gently rub my eyes. 

‘Maybe some tea?’ Mylo offers, standing up and walking over to the counter. 

‘No, no it’s OK. I just need to rest,’ I say, standing back up. 

‘Hey, this is a one-time offer, Johnson,’ he teases back. 

I wave my hand dismissively as I leave the room. ‘Yeah, yeah.’

Once in my bedroom, I let myself collapse on the bed.

I vomited in front of Luc Hall.

Even in here, on my own, my insides churn as shreds of last night continue to crop up in my memory.

So humiliating. Hot rock star drummer tries to hook up with me and I throw the opportunity in the gutter.

Literally.

So much for making the most of my last year of freedom.

Still staring at the ceiling, tracing a crack in the paint that runs from wall to wall, I reach out my hand to find my bag. Once found, I feel inside for my phone.

I really should apologise.

The screen lights up in front of me as I hold it above my face. After finding the text conversation—and refraining from reading back through it—I wonder what I should write, exactly.

Sorry for last night? 

Sorry I threw up? 

Sorry I’m not groupie material?

None of those are right.

After a few minutes of agonising, I settle for merely one word.

Sorry.

I close my messages and open Twitter, really hoping I won’t see myself hunched over with half-eaten food shooting out of my mouth.

Nothing.

Not even on No Reckless’ own feed. Thankfully.

I scroll down anyway, just to make sure. Then I see me.

‘Oh crap,’ I mutter, sitting up. Me and Luc, backstage on Thursday night. Who even took that picture? 

Somehow I’d forgotten how good he looked after the gig. His t-shirt visibly damp. His dirty blond hair a perfect mess.

There are comments. Several thousand.

Without thinking, I click on the speech bubble and instantly regret it.

It’s mostly gushing about how hot Luc is, but there are some pretty shitty comments about me too.

Lanky slut.

She’s no model.

Still not back with Hayley?

Goggle eyed whore.

Fat bitch.

Fat?! I instinctively touch my midsection, looking down, my mouth drying up.

No, don’t even go there, I tell myself. I’m not fat, and who cares what a bunch of strangers think? 

Still, I could do with some water.

Shoving my phone into my pocket, I walk back to the kitchen.

‘You’re back!’ says Mylo as I head straight for the cupboard with the glasses in it. ‘Sure you don’t want any tea? Kettle is nearly boiled.’ 

I select a glass and fill it with tap water. ‘Thought you said it was a one-time offer?’ I turn around and sip some of the water, looking at Mylo.

‘So that’s a no?’ he says, setting down two mugs. One each for him and Sam, presumably. 

‘No.’ I reach into the cupboard and grab another mug for him. ‘Wait, what about Cerys?’ I add. The shower is still running. 

‘Don’t think we’ll be seeing her any time soon,’ says Sam, still on the sofa, sitting cross-legged with an anatomy book open on her lap. 

‘Oh?’ I drain my glass of water, then join her while Mylo sorts out the drinks. 

Sam closes the book and puts it on the arm of the sofa, turning her body to face me and shaking her head.

‘So…Cerys came home this morning?’ I probe. 

‘No, she was already here,’ says Mylo from the kitchen. 

‘With Jake,’ adds Sam, the frown on her face a reminder of her opinion of rock star types. 

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out to check.

Message from Luc.

I put it away quickly before Sam can see.

‘So they’re both in there?’ I nod in the direction of the bathroom, gushing water still audible. Mylo approaches with cups of steaming hot tea. 

‘English breakfast. Extra strong.’ He puts the huge pink mug down next to me and hands Sam’s directly to her. 

‘Sugar?’ I demand. 

‘A metric fuckton,’ he says with a half-smile, pale blue eyes twinkling. 

‘Thank you.’ I smile with genuine appreciation. 

‘And no,’ he adds before heading back to the kitchen counter to collect his own hot drink, ‘they’re not both in there.’ 

I turn to Sam and raise an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, he only got up and left before Cerys woke up,’ she says, an edge to her voice. ‘What did I say about guys in bands?’ She makes eye contact with me, and for a moment I wonder if she knows about last night. Something about it doesn’t sound right, but I can’t put my finger on why, so I just nod numbly, not wanting to disappoint Sam with my own reckless behaviour last night. 

She shakes her head before taking a sip of her tea. ‘She deserves better than that,’ she adds.

At least I knew last night was just a booty call. Only my booty was too drunk.

Poor Cerys. 

HALF AN HOUR later I’m sat on the edge of my bed. Cerys never did join us when she finally got out of the shower. She just went straight to her room. I haven’t even seen her since I got back. 

But I have a message from Luc.

Wanna meet up soon? Maybe no alcohol this time ;)

And I have no idea how to respond. I’d been kind of hoping he’d forgotten last night. A stupid, impossible hope, but a girl can dream, right?

Would it be a betrayal to Cerys if I met up with Jake’s friend? I don’t think Cerys would see it like that.

But then there’s Sam…

I still think she’s wrong. Especially after what Luc said when dropping me home after the gig. Although maybe that was just a ruse to get my number.

At least Mylo’s neutral.

I look down at the screen again, my thumbs hovering over the touch screen.

Oh, whatever.

Meet up for what?

May as well act dumb. Pretend I can’t remember last night.

I press send and toss my phone aside, onto the peachy bedsheets. After kicking off my boots, I walk over to the dresser and pick up the small bottle of baby oil. I squeeze a drop onto my palm before rubbing it between my hands and gently using my fingers to remove smudged make up from my eyes and cheeks.

The sound of a text comes from my bedsheets. Still wiping my face, I look over and read the message that’s visible on the screen.

We can get milkshakes.

Milkshakes! Another flash of last night comes through, this time causing me to scrunch my face in disgust. Banana. Yuck.

After washing my hands and face, I reply.

What flavour?

His response comes faster than last time.

Any you like…

This is too bizarre. The drummer of one of my favourite bands is texting me. Wanting to meet up for milkshakes, even after I vomited in front of him in the damn street.

And I still don’t even remember the whole night. Who knows what stupid crap I came out with while I was drunk?

Oh no. What if I declared my love for him?

I squirm internally as my pulse quickens.

No, don’t be silly. He wouldn’t still be messaging me if it was that bad. Would he?

I still haven’t replied.

Oh, screw it.

OK x

I mean, it can’t get any worse, can it?