What a bloody, tossing, shitting, cocking, arsehole.

When Rachel, my best friend and floor manager at Aurora, the club where I work, asked me to do her a favour after my shift, I didn’t think I’d end up spending two hours of my valuable sleeping time shopping for an ungrateful prick.

His little boy was cute, though.

And he has this whole ‘tortured soul’ vibe going on.

But he’s an arsehole.

“He’s lost his wife,” my conscience whispers as I trudge up the three flights of stairs to the apartment I share with Rachel and Zoey, and I remember the tragedy that rocked Nate’s family last year.

“I don’t care what he’s been through,” I mumble to myself as my weary feet tackle the last few steps. “You shouldn’t treat someone that way, especially when they busted their arse to help you out.”

“Whose arse is busted?” Zoey’s voice calls from the open door to our apartment, and I look up the last flight of stairs to see her standing there waiting for me. Her curvy, bikini clad body glistens with oil, and her long dark locks, tied back in a messy bun, show off her striking and exotic features. Zoey’s mother was a Romany Gypsy who left her travelling community when she fell in love with a Somali refugee. Her mother’s community shunned them, so they rebuilt their lives in northern England and Zoey arrived soon after. Physically she is the perfect mix of both parents, with smooth mocha skin and a flawless bone structure. She gets more than her fair share of admirers and effortlessly refuses all advances because, for Zoey, there’s only one person that sets her heart racing.

“Day off?” I guess when I take in the towel under her arm, and straw beach bag slung over her shoulder.

“Hell, yes, it is,” she replies with a blinding grin of perfect teeth and plump lips. “I’ve tried to convince Rach to snooze with me in the sun, but she’s gone straight to bed.”

And there is the person that sets Zoey’s heart aflutter – our roommate, my best friend and our direct boss, Rachel Miles.

“Well, she has just come off a twelve or knowing Rach, a fourteen-hour shift at the club. You can’t blame her for wanting to collapse in her cool, air conditioned bedroom.”

Zoey bites her lip, a look of insecurity flashing across her face. This girl seriously does not know how special she is, both inside and out. The problem is, she’s pining over someone she can never have. Rachel likes guys. It’s just the way it is, but Zoey’s love for her overrides this knowledge. For Zoey, love is when you can’t stop looking at the person who holds your affections, even if they never look back.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Zoey murmurs with a shrug of her shoulder. “Are you hitting the sack too? You look beat.”

“I am beat,” I reply while dragging myself up the last few steps and placing a quick peck on Zoey’s cheek as I pass. “It’s my night off tonight, and I think I’m gonna sleep for twenty-four hours straight.”

We swap places, and I prop myself in the doorway while Zoey stands on the first few steps.

“I may crawl out of my hole to grab some food, though, so if you want to bake some more of those cashew cookies you made the other week, I won’t turn them down.”

I give Zoey my best ‘pretty please’ smile to which she replies, “You need to work on your begging face. That thing you’re doing right now-” she motions to my face with one of her aqua-tipped fingers, “-makes you look constipated.”

My smile drops from my face, and I squint at her and all but growl, “Screw you later.”

She laughs, and even when she’s mocking me, she looks ridiculously attractive, and then proceeds to skip down the stairway throwing me a little finger wave over her shoulder and a “You wish,” that sing-songs from her lips.

When I hear the last of her footsteps echo off the bottom of the stairwell, I turn and drag myself into our apartment. Luckily, my room is the first on the left, and by the time I have the door open, I’ve all but stripped naked ready to crawl under my cool cotton sheets.

“Halle, my sweet little berry. Wake up. I know you can hear me.”

“Mmm-bugger off,” my brain mumbles, my lips hopefully voicing the same thing, as I drag my bed sheet over my head.

“I’ll make it worth your while. Pur-lease… you don’t want to let your favourite roomie down now, do you?”

“It’s my night off, Rach. Get Zoey to help you,” I manage to mutter while I burrow deeper into my pillows.

“Zoey can’t sing or play guitar, and the band I booked has cancelled. I can’t have an empty stage in Aurora, and your set rocked when you filled in last time. C’mon, my fruity little friend, I’ll pay you for a double shift.”

“It was a one-time gig. I’m not a muso. Call the agency and have them send someone over.”

Cold air hits my naked skin when the sheet gets torn from my body, and I immediately curl up into a ball to block out what I know is coming next.

“You can have the whole weekend off if you do one, two-hour set.”

When I don’t move or reply she continues, her voice all soft and cajoling, “I know you want to catch that art show in the Old Town, and I also know it’s the last few days of the exhibition. So, crawl out of your pit, jump in the shower and come wow the crowds with your sweet voice tonight.”

This girl doesn’t play fair. I really do want to see that exhibition.

“Okay, Okay,” I growl at my pillow and hear Rachel shout a triumphant ‘Yes!’ while likely punching the air. “Give me back my sheet, and I can squeeze in another hour before I have to get ready.”

“Nuh-uh-ahh,” she refuses teasingly, before smacking my bare arse with her palm. “I know you, my little berry. You’ll curl up and sleep the night away. So up-up and get your lily-white butt in the shower.”

“I swear if you smack my arse once more,” I warn her and turn my head, cracking open one eye to see her just about to do that very thing.

“You’ll what?” she taunts and steps away from the bed.

“I’ll… I’ll… I’ll think of something once my brain has woken up. You know I don’t function well when I’ve just woken up.”

“Why’d you think I always ask you for a favour when you’re half asleep,” she throws over her shoulder as she all but skips out of my room.

“Witch,” I mumble as I feel around for the sheet to cover myself, my hands finding nothing.

“Hey,” I call out to my open bedroom door. “Give me back my bloody bedding or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” she teases from somewhere in the apartment. “Just get up, Halle. You’ve lost… again.”

I flop down onto my back, my naked limbs star-fishing the mattress.

“Story of my life.”