Page 7

Then she does this half-smile thing, and fuck me, I’m prayin’ she only smiles at me like that from now on.

Can’t fuckin’ stand the thought of her flashin’ that at everyone.

Girls like her, but? Sometimes they’re like that, ain’t they?

Don’t even mean to be—just have this way of makin’ everyone feel like they’re the most important person in the world because they’re paying attention to ’em.

And like, let’s be honest, I’m fuckin’ important, fuck—maybe more than ever now that I got her attention all on me, you know?

Very fuckin’ aware I am that I needa fucking keep it too.

“Oi.” Nod my chin at her. “We have a show this week at the Electric Ballroom.”

She looks surprised. “Is that not a rather small venue for you now?”

I nod, try not to look too happy that she knows enough about what I do to get venue size.

“Yeah, it’s part of this hometown-tour thing me manager’s workin’—I don’t know, like, we’re grounded in our roots or some shite—” I roll my eyes, even though Mick’s nowhere near me.

Mick Sloane—good manager, proper good, but he’s still a bit of a knob at times.

“We’ve got Electric Ballroom this week, and then, end of March, we’re doing two back-to-back at The Hacienda.

Bit small for us now, really, but it’s the fucking Hacienda, innit? Proper legendary. Come to that too.”

She looks a bit taken aback, pleasantly surprised or something. “To Manchester?”

“Well.” I shoot her a look, smirkin’. “Let’s see how Camden goes first, yeah? You need to come to that one.”

She rolls her eyes right back at me. “Need to, do I?”

“Yeah.” I nod, dead serious. “Might die if you don’t.”

She pulls her knees up to her chest, all tucked in like a little ball, and rests her chin on one of ’em. And I’ve never been jealous of a fucking knee before, but here we are.

Got me sittin’ here wonderin’ what the fuck a bloke’s gotta do to get a supermodel to rest her chin on him instead of herself.

“You’re not how I thought you’d be,” she says, watchin’ me.

Me eyes pinch. “How’d you think I’d be, then?”

“Well, I suppose in some ways you’re exactly what I imagined—”

I wait for her to go on.

“I mean—” She shrugs. “For one, you have the biggest head of any person I’ve ever met.”

I roll my eyes. “No, I don’t.”

“You literally think you’re the biggest rock star in the world.”

“I am the biggest rock star in the world.”

She waves her hand at me, like—fucking case in point.

“Oi, am I not, but?” I quip.

She straightens up demurely. “Other people wouldn’t say it.”

I lean in towards her with a little smirk, drop my voice to a whisper. “Well, that’s because other people aren’t the biggest rock star in the world, innit?”

She sniffs a laugh, tries to act like she thinks I’m an idiot and not proper sexy.

“But tell me—” I tilt my head, proper studying her now. “How I’m not what you imagined.”

I watch this little battle play out on her face, like she’s trying not to smile. Dead entertainin’, honestly.

“ Tell me about me, Ysolde, ” she says, puttin’ on this fucking daft voice that’s s’posed to be me. “ Talk to me about me more! ”

“Okay—” I chuckle, shakin’ me head, even though it’s windin’ me up a bit. Hate it when people clock me for that kind of shit. Hate it a bit less comin’ from her but. Which is fuckin’ weird. “Ysolde can fuck off now.”

“Mmm…” She pulls a face, proper smug, playing along. “Ysolde is in her own hotel room…”

And fuck me—I want to kiss her so fucking bad, it’s driving me mental. But she’s being a twat, so I can’t.

I decide to pivot. “Ysolde’s a fuckin’ weird name, innit?”

Admittedly, bit of a weird pivot but here we are.

“I suppose—” She shrugs, not precious about it at all. “My father studied English at Cambridge—” She bats away another smile, and I catch it just before it’s gone. “I think he thought he’d like me more at the time he named me.”

My face pulls, proper surprised. “He don’t like you?”

She shakes her head, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to get. “Nope.”

I toss her a half a smile and look down at her, a bit pleased. Ain’t pleased for her but there’s summat about knowing we’ve got this little crack of common ground.

“Mine don’t like me either,” I tell her.

She sits up straight, chuffed now, like we just found out we’re members of this same fucked-up, secret club. S’pose we are.

Then her eyes pinch suspiciously.

“I don’t believe you. You are every father’s dream—” Shakes her head. “A son who grew up to be the biggest rock star in the world—”

Point at her, dead smug. “I fucking knew you knew I’m the biggest star in the world!” I say, proper chuffed with myself.

Without missing a beat, she just reaches out, wraps her whole hand ’round my finger that’s pointing at her, like it’s nowt, keeps talkin’, she does—one eyebrow arched.

“—you’re in the biggest band in the world—? That’d make every father proud.”

My heart sinks in me chest like a fuckin’ stone, flash her a smile but feel it on me own face, how it don’t reach the edges.

“Not every father.” And then I feel fucking weird and exposed, and fuck that, I hate that shit, so I gesture at her. “No way with you, but. You’re perfect.”

Last part of what I said makes her happy.

“Actually—” Pushes her hair over her shoulders, she does. “If you think about it, I’m kind of a father’s nightmare…”

I do think on it for a second. Girl like her, with a face like that, doin’ a job like hers, in a world like this one? I mean, fuck—girls like her end up in hotel rooms with boys like me.

“Shit”—I try to hold it in, but a laugh slips out anyway—“you kinda are.”

“I know!” Her head falls back, all exasperated and dramatic.

“Sorry—” I laugh, shaking my head. “So your old man’s a bit of a cunt, then?”

Her whole face proper screws up. “I don’t like that word.”

Makes me laugh till I realise she’s bein’ dead serious.

“Won’t ever say it again.” Say that like I’m jokin’, but I ain’t. Want this girl’s approval in me arm like a fuckin’ IV drip.

“But yes.” Small nod from her. “He is, but it’s fine—I think it’s just bad because my mum’s dead, that’s all.”

My face drops, proper gutted. I love me mum. Best girl in the world, maybe except for this one in front of me. “Your mum’s dead?”

She nods, like it’s just fact. “I think if she were here, it wouldn’t matter that he doesn’t like me…”

I stare at her for a few seconds, tryna wrap my head ’round it. Tryna imagine how miserable and downright fuckin’ sad her old man must be to not like her. Sittin’ here in front of me like this, she’s fuckin’ perfect and she’s ain’t doin’ owt. He’s got no time for her? Fuckin’ piece of shit.

I give her a small smile, soft as I can manage.

“Oi, it’d matter still,” I tell her. Sound sadder than I mean to too, don’t I? Maybe I am sadder than I wanna be about it meself.

“Would it?” she asks.

I nod once, like I’m an absolute authority on the matter. Am though. Unfortunately.

“Yep.”

Her eyes immediately get a bit rounder and heavier, but I don’t think it’s for her. I think it’s for me?

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry too,” I say back, voice low. Then I lean in, brushing my mouth over hers. Bit of a weird kiss for me, if I’m honest—no fireworks or fanfare, none of that shite. Just a kiss to kiss her because she’s her and I want to.

We lie there, noses pressed up against each other’s, and this is all sorts of fucked-up for me. Me heart’s goin’ like a jackhammer, proper poundin’ in me chest like—gonna beat itself to fuckin’ death at this rate, but I can’t help it. It’s just—her, man.

Then she rolls on top of me, and we go at it again, straight from the top, except this time it’s different.

Before her hands were everywhere, fuckin’ everywhere, all over me, all this fucking grabbin’, like this sexy sorta desperation about us that I fuckin’ loved—but now her hands on me, they’re slow.

Measured. Sounds borin’—maybe it is borin’ like, fuck if I can tell anymore.

Can tell you this, though—whatever this is, she and me, I’m done for, man. I’m well fucked.