Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
IGGY
I dreamt of pale skin inked with dark tattoos.
Large hands guiding my body to a rhythm I pretended not to memorise.
Soft lips erasing the lip gloss from my own, like it had never been there to begin with.
Silky, dark hair I could thread my fingers through, and ocean eyes I could drown in if I stopped reminding myself to surface.
Waking up without a hangover after spending the night in a club felt almost .
. . wrong. Like I’d skipped a step. I’d done this routine more times than I could count.
Dancing until my hip screamed and my feet ached.
Laughing in the streets while the rest of the city slept.
Crawling into bed just as the sun clawed its way up over the horizon.
That routine was usually followed by punishment.
A splitting headache. Comedown sweats. Nausea so bad I swore I’d never do it again, knowing full well I would.
Add a sore ass and a constellation of hickeys from someone whose name I never bothered to learn, and that was my standard morning-after inventory. All problems I’d created myself.
Opening my eyes without hissing at the light, without my body demanding payment, felt like cheating.
A clear head also meant I remembered everything.
After the small almost-mishap with that guy on the dance floor, the rest of the night had been surprisingly tame.
Clara and I watched a public scene between a Dom and his sub.
Riff, Ghost, and Mick turned a spreader bar into a limbo contest. Thump disappeared into the toilets for a threesome.
And at the end of the night, as promised, I dived into the pool fully clothed—well, as clothed as possible—and dragged Bodhi in with me.
Bodhi.
My friend. The one I kissed. The one who pinned me to a wall and kissed me until my lungs burned. Who pressed himself against me on the dance floor and explored every unobstructed inch of my skin. Who stayed glued to my side afterward like a loyal puppy.
My lips tingled when I thought about his mouth. Minty breath layered with something warm and sweet that I couldn’t put a name to, only a face. Christ. Even remembering it made my dick twitch in my shorts.
It had been a long time since I’d kissed someone sober.
Too long. And if I was being honest with myself, I was glad it had been Bodhi.
The KitKatClub was overwhelming enough without trying to dodge temptation in a building designed to weaponise it.
But tucked against Bodhi’s chest, breathing in the spice of his cologne until my head spun, I felt .
. . steady. I didn’t think about the bar.
Didn’t scan the crowd for a familiar dealer’s smile.
Didn’t wonder if that stranger from earlier would still offer me a free pill.
I didn’t want anything else.
And when Bodhi left me at my door with a kiss that turned my knees to jelly, it hit me hard and fast. I was happy. Genuinely, undeniably happy. Without chemicals. Maybe for the first time ever.
Then morning came, as it always did.
The sun was up, bright and unforgiving, ready to expose every decision we’d made the night before. We both knew it hadn’t been a good idea. There were too many reasons it shouldn’t have happened. And yet we’d done it anyway.
So, what did that make us now?
I chewed on the question as I headed down to the hotel restaurant for a late breakfast.
Would things be awkward? They hadn’t been last night. But we’d slept. Time had passed. Would Bodhi wake up and wish he’d never touched me?
The thought left a sour taste in my mouth, because gun to my head, I didn’t regret a single second. But we were both recovering addicts, fresh out of rehab. The Willow’s counsellors had been crystal clear about not jumping into relationships while everything still felt raw and fragile.
And that was its own kind of complication.
Bodhi and I had been at rehab together. Sure, nothing had happened there.
We were just friends, and I hadn’t even considered anything else.
But we’d seen each other stripped down to the worst versions of ourselves.
We knew each other’s drug of choice. Our triggers.
The ugly truths most people never get close enough to learn.
It was easy to frame that as a reason not to try. But maybe it was also a reason why it could work. We knew what to avoid. What to watch for. We were already trying to be better—maybe we didn’t have to do that alone.
Yet none of it mattered if Bodhi decided to regret us and pretend it never happened.
He’d avoided me once already, on my first day, and that had sucked enough.
I liked Bodhi. His company. His friendship.
And now, yeah, his kisses. The idea of navigating recovery on my own scared the shit out of me.
I wanted him beside me, leaning on me the same way I leaned on him.
That was the whole point of our pact, wasn’t it? To look out for each other . . . right?
I was just starting to spiral when I walked straight into someone’s back at the entrance to the restaurant.
“I’m so sor—”
Bodhi spun around, wide-eyed, the surprise on his face melting into a friendly smile when he realised it was me.
“Morning,” he said, falling into step beside me.
“Morning,” I replied, aiming for casual and landing somewhere just short of it. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah. Waking up without a hangover felt weird, though.”
“Right?” I said quickly. “Almost like cheating.”
He chuckled and guided me towards a small table by the window where Riff and Clara were already sitting.
Okay, so he wasn’t avoiding me. That was something. Though, considering I’d physically crashed into him, it would’ve taken real commitment to dodge me without sprinting in the opposite direction.
“About last night—”
“Hungry?” Bodhi cut in.
I looked at him properly then. The faint panic in his eyes. The soft flush in his cheeks.
Ah.
So, he wasn’t avoiding me. He just wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Was that better or worse?
We were about to sit down with his best friend and his manager, so maybe this wasn’t the place to unpack mutual sobriety, unresolved feelings, and the fact we’d kissed like it meant something.
So I gave him an out.
“Starving,” I said, pasting on a smile.
I didn’t notice the tension in his shoulders until it eased, like he’d been bracing himself for an impact that never came.
“Hey!” Riff waved as we approached.
According to Bodhi, Riff had skipped drinking last night just in case he was needed.
It was the kind of thing Bodhi complained about when we hung out, insisting his best friend should loosen up and stop worrying, though I never agreed with him out loud.
I couldn’t. Because I saw it. The care. The quiet vigilance.
The way Riff stayed close without smothering.
The way Clara kept one eye on Bodhi while pretending she wasn’t. Not hovering, just . . . there.
They weren’t his label, concerned with profits and optics and keeping their most lucrative product in working order.
These people actually gave a shit. His bandmates did too.
Enough to make adjustments without complaint.
Well, except Thump, but he was an idiot in the most affectionate sense of the word.
They were family. Brothers, forged through time and chaos and shared history. I couldn’t imagine any of them wanting to see Bodhi fall.
So, when he vented about their protectiveness, I let him. I listened. I nodded. But I never outright agreed. Because one day, if he stumbled, he’d need to remember that he wasn’t alone.
Unlike me.
Well, unlike the old me.
I was lucky now. Lucky to be here. Lucky to be included. Lucky to have Bodhi, who was kind and attentive and apparently willing to kiss me senseless in a shadowy alcove.
And I was determined not to let him disappear on me again.
Bodhi took the seat beside Riff, and I slid in next to Clara. Riff looked well rested, while Clara looked like death warmed over, clutching her black coffee like it was a life raft.
When a waiter set a plate of German sausage in front of Riff, I swear I heard her gag.
“Feeling rough?” I asked.
She nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Should’ve followed your lead and stuck to water.”
I bit back a smile. Bodhi didn’t bother hiding his. It was strange, being the sober one in the group. Stranger still knowing Bodhi felt it too.
“At least you had fun,” I offered.
“I think I did,” she muttered into her mug. “Things got fuzzy after my third tequila.”
The waiter returned with a fruit salad for me, sausage for Bodhi, and coffee for the two of us. When Bodhi and Riff offered Clara a bite, she looked torn between committing murder and throwing up.
“What time’s the photoshoot?” Bodhi asked, shovelling eggs into his mouth.
Grateful for the subject change, Clara pulled out her phone. “Midday. You need to leave in about forty minutes.”
“Is everyone going?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Just Bodhi. Mick and Ghost have a radio interview, Thump will sleep all day, and Riff’s off.”
“Fuck yeah,” Riff said, stretching. “Snacks, Netflix, and later I’ll call my mom.”
“Mama’s boy,” Bodhi muttered fondly, laughing when Riff elbowed him.
I was finishing my last piece of melon when Bodhi nudged my foot under the table.
“What are you doing today?”
“Not sure,” I said. “Probably the same as Riff, minus the call to Mum, because . . .” I shrugged. “You know.”
His mouth curved into a soft smile. “Wanna come?”
My eyes widened. “To your photoshoot?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
I glanced at Clara, who was face down on the table. “Am I allowed?”
She lifted her head just enough to answer. “Should be fine. Sit at the back. Stay quiet.”
“You might struggle with that,” Bodhi teased.
I flipped him off.
“So?” he asked. “Is that a yes?”
I searched Bodhi’s face, unsure what I might find. Regret, maybe. Or that stiff politeness people use when they’re trying to smooth things over.