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I’d stay and give him a filthy look but I don’t have time. Rushing into the bathroom, I slam the door and reach the basin in time to get rid of the multi-coloured poison from last night.
* * *
The shower haszero effect on my zombie-like state, although I feel like a cleaner version of the walking dead once I’m done—and thank God for hotel toothbrushes.
No way am I wandering round in front of Bryn in a towel; I pull last night’s clothes on and head out of the door.
Bryn is still in the room in his rock star glory and the lurching this causes in my stomach doesn’t help my fragile state.
“How are you feeling now?” he asks.
“Sick. I need to go, Bryn.”
“Yeah, I need to get home too. I’ll order you a taxi or do you want me to drive you?” Bryn stands and grabs his leather jacket.
“I wouldn’t expect you to drive me home.”
“But it’s partly my fault you’re here.”
“True. But what if people see?” I’ve seen the tabloid images of famous people pursued through the street. What if I’m photographed leaving Bryn’s hotel? “Aren’t you followed by the media?”
Bryn snorts as he shrugs the jacket on. “They don’t care. I’m not as exciting as the Ego Twins or Liam and his fairy tale romance. How many famous drummers can you name? You don’t need to worry. Sure, if you were underage or famous maybe, but don’t stress.”
“Such a relief I’m nothing special.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Wow.”
“Shit, that’s not what I meant, Avery. I meant you’re not part of the A list; all that bullshit. Currently the press are creating stories about me and Mia Jordan.”
“Who?”
“Heiress with too much time and money who wants a singing career and for the world to think we’re an item.” He pulls a face. “Anyway, don’t want to talk about her. She’s the pain in the arse I told you about.”
“Right.”
A smile plays around the corner of his mouth. “Hmm. Mind you, if she saw a picture of us, she might get the message that I’m not interested. Maybe I should find a photographer.” He winks.
I splutter. “What the hell? No. Although Taylor wants to see a photo, remember?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Bryn sighs.
“And now I need a story to explain why you aren’t with me on New Year’s Eve!”
“You’re not seeing themagain, are you? Isn’t one torture session enough?” he asks in surprise.
“I’m home. It’s New Year’s Eve. It’s expected.”
“Hmm. Can’t help you out there; I’m in London that night.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I’ll think of something.”
Bryn pulls his mouth into an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t think things through.”
“No, I guess it’s all a game to you.”
“Not really, I hope you don’t think I was playing around with your feelings. You’re funny. I liked spending time with you.”
