Chapter 4
A cacophony of buzzsaws blared to life inside my head. They had no compassion for the fact that I was seconds away from my head, splitting in two.
My eyelids peeled open and I winced at the sliver of sunlight assaulting me through the crack in the curtains, casting a strip of light directly over my face.
I burrowed my face into the pillow, needing the darkness to stop the noise in my head.
For a moment, blissful silence reigned, only started up again moments later. But this time, it wasn’t in my head.
My hand shuffled under the mound of blankets, I flapped it around until my fingers hit my bedside table. I seized my phone just as the vibrating stopped, before immediately starting again.
I didn’t need to look at the screen to know who was calling so incessantly.
Fallon.
My best friend, love of my life, soulmate, and right now, pain in my fucking arse. Pulling my head out from under the pillow, I pressed the phone to my ear.
‘Hey,’ I rasped, voice like sandpaper.
A long pause on the other end, then the familiar, high-pitched tone of my friend cried out, ‘Hey? Seriously? That’s what you’re giving me.’
I winced. ‘Head. Pain. Noise.’
She scoffed, unsympathetic to my plight. ‘Good. You deserve that headache. It would serve you right if I talk about greasy bacon and runny eggs.’
‘Oh God, I never thought you were a cruel woman. I stand corrected.’ I rolled onto my back; the phone still pressed to my ear.
My perfectly curled hair from last night was now a knotted mess around my head.
I pulled the duvet to my chest, feeling the material slide silkily over my body.
Wait. I froze. I wasn’t wearing pyjamas.
Lifting the blanket confirmed I was naked apart from my black underwear.
Easing my head off the pillow slightly, I scanned the room.
Draped over my armchair in the corner was my silver mini dress, my shoes standing neatly next to it.
Odd. Not that I was half naked—although since I usually slept fully naked, that was a little unusual—but more the fact that the dress was hung up and not in a ball on the floor.
Maybe Drunk Rosie suddenly decided to be tidy for once.
‘Do you want to go over the events of last night yourself, or should I just jump straight in and start yelling at you?’
I sighed, sinking back down. ‘Since I’m struggling to recall everything that happened last night, I’m choosing option B, but could you yell at a lower volume?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Thank y—’
‘What the fuck were you thinking!?’ she screeched.
The phone slipped from my grasp in my haste to yank it away from my ear to avoid getting my eardrum blown out. I picked it up again, stifling an irritated noise. ‘I see my wishes were ignored.’
‘Oh, don’t give me that.’ Fallon said, at thankfully a lower volume.
‘I was halfway across the country when I got your call. There was fuck all I could do about it. The only reason I didn’t get in a car and drive through the night was because Oliver told me George was on his way to pick you up.
Since you’re still alive, I assume he did. ’
The gasp that left my mouth echoed around my bedroom. I sat bolt upright, regretting it immediately when a slice of white-hot pain slashed down my temple. Pressing the back of my hand against my head, I tried to wrack my brain for the memory of last night.
I’d called him.
Slowly, in pieces so fragmented I struggled to piece it all together, I recalled last night.
‘Lemme down.’ I kicked my legs—a useless attempt to get down when his grip was iron clad.
‘Just let me put you in bed,’ he said, tightening his hold.
When my only response was to continue to struggle, he sighed and gently set me on my feet. ‘You’re gonna fall over.’ The` subtle northern lilt sounded in his words.
When my sober brain returned, I’d have to remember to inform her we didn’t find his accent sexy. Nope. Not at all.
I might be drunk and dealing with a heavy dose of shame right now, but that didn’t impede my ability to walk. At least, it usually wouldn’t have. Taking one tentative step out of George’s hold, my high heels betrayed me.
Before I pitched head first onto the wooden floor, George surged forward, scooping me up into his arms again.
‘Told you,’ he grunted. ‘Now stop wriggling and let me help you.’ His words brooked no nonsense.
Ugh. Accepting my fate, I sagged in his hold, letting him take me into the bathroom and plop me on top of the counter by the sink.
‘Light,’ George warned, a second before the overhead light nearly blinded me. I winced against the assault.
‘You don’t need to stay.’ I rubbed my eyes, smudging my mascara all over the place.
Why didn’t those words sound convincing?
George ignored my comment as he crouched down and began rummaging around in my bathroom cabinet.
‘What are you doing?’ I peered down at the broad expanse of his back. His hair was mussed, strands sticking up at odd angles.
Don’t run your fingers through it.
My grip on the porcelain countertop tightened.
He stood up, a bottle of makeup remover in one hand and a cotton pad in the other.
He didn’t answer my question, simply doused the pad in the liquid.
One hand went to my thigh to separate my legs so he could stand between them.
He threaded a hand to the back of my neck, keeping me steady, and with a gentleness that nearly made tears crest in my eyes, he started cleaning all the makeup from my face.
His forehead creased in concentration. Brow furrowed in determination, he swiped the pad all over my skin, being extra careful around my eyes.
‘I can do that,’ I whispered, making no move to stop him.
George’s eyes locked with mine. An emotion I couldn’t read flashed across his face.
‘On any other day, you probably could, but right now, you can’t even take a single step without falling over.
And I just found you at the worst club in the city, sucking face with a stranger and smelling like puke.
So, Rosie, do me a favour; be quiet and let me look after you. ’
My back stiffened.
‘You’re angry.’ It was a surprise because George didn’t get angry…
ever. He was the stoic wall you rested on when you needed a break.
The hand you held when you were nervous; the voice of reason when you needed it.
Rarely did I see the vein throbbing in his temple, jaw clenched so tight he looked ready to grind his teeth to dust.
He tore his gaze from mine and focused on finishing the task at hand.
He said nothing.
‘At me?’ My soft utterance seemed to let some of the air out of George’s frustration. He sighed, collected the used pads, and tossed them into the bin in the corner of the room.
‘You want me to answer that honestly?’
He folded his arms over his chest. My eyes dipped down to his jumper. The logo I hadn’t been able to identify in the dark was clear as day. The emblem of his brother's football club stood out bright red against the dark grey hoodie. Always a supporter. Always the dependable one.
A sad smile played on my lips. ‘You just did.’
He exhaled a weighty breath. ‘Yeah, I’m angry at you, Rosie. Do you realise how fucking dangerous of a situation you were in tonight? You could have been seriously hurt.’
‘But I wasn’t.’
‘This time.’
I couldn’t take the disappointment on his face.
The anger that morphed his handsome features and made me shrink to two feet tall.
I didn’t buckle under, and when my head wasn’t swimming in liquor, I would have no problem going toe to toe with George.
But Drunk Rosie was fragile and feeling more than a little sorry for herself.
I heaved a sigh and slid off the counter. George instinctively reacted, reaching out to steady me. One hand slid to my waist. Not in the mood to be coddled, I shifted out of his reach and fumbled with the zip of my dress.
Exhaustion pulled my eyelids closed. It took a few tugs, but finally, the silky material pooled at my feet.
‘Jesus Christ, Rosie.’ George averted his eyes and placed a hand over his mouth.
It was the kind of dress that meant wearing a bra had been a no-go, so I stood in nothing but a black lace thong.
I padded out of the bathroom and into my adjoining bedroom, glad that my feet had finally figured out how to work—albeit slowly—and flopped onto my bed.
My head hit the pillow, and all the dizziness from earlier settled as I nestled into the duvet.
If life had any decency, I would wake up tomorrow, and this entire night would be nothing but a bad dream.
I heard the click of a light being turned off. Sleep quickly swept me into its arms, and I didn’t have the energy to fight it.
A rough, calloused hand brushed the hair out of my face. Then, soft lips brushed a gentle kiss over my forehead. ‘Goodnight, sweetheart.’
‘Oh, god,' I choked out as the memory of George wiping off my makeup, cradling my head between his palms, had my skin flushing bright red with embarrassment.
In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to sink into his hold and let him take care of me.
I cinched my eyes shut, hoping to erase the memory of being so helpless.
Drunk Rosie was really fucking pathetic.
‘Everything okay?’ Fallon asked cautiously.
Choosing not to focus on the fact that George had seen me naked and been thoughtful enough not to leave my dress rumpled on the floor, I flopped back down into bed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
‘I forgot you were away. It was a momentary lapse in judgement.’
‘You’ve had a lot of those recently,’ came Fallon’s disgruntled reply.
I bristled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
A sigh, heavy with the weight of unexpressed feelings, echoed out of her. ‘This is the eighth night in a row you’ve gone out. Your liver must be pure tequila at this point.’