by E. M. Moore
As soon as I’m out into the hallway of the downstairs area, I can hear even more. There’s a scuffle going on upstairs. “Just get fucking laid, Sean.”
A growl rips through the room. I hear hard foot stomps and then something crashing to the ground. I peek up and notice Sean is on top of Ian. Ian’s chuckling, but Sean looks absolutely furious. He has his fist pulled back, his fingers twisted in Ian’s collar, but Ian still laughs.
I run forward. “Hey. Hey,” I say again, louder this time, trying to break Sean from his trance.
Archer’s watching casually from his seat on one of the black leather couches. Finnick is at least standing, looking down at the two of them like he doesn’t know what he should be doing. Finally, I grab Sean’s shirt and yank. He stumbles off of Ian and that’s when I smell the amount of alcohol in the air. Fucking wonderful. So, this is what The Rowdy Rogues do for fun? I know what their name implies, but I didn’t think they were dumb enough to get drunk and start fighting one another.
Ian gets up, still laughing. He’s not even laughing at me this time, but it’s just the emotionless void behind his sound that grates on me. “Shut up,” I say. Then I turn toward Sean. “What the hell are you doing?”
Sean gets to his feet. I try to help him, but he struggles free from my grasp, tripping over his own feet in the process.
Ian smirks. I’m beginning to think that’s one of the only facial expressions he has. Holier than thou. Oh, and pissed. I shouldn’t forget that one. “Just grow a pair and find someone else,” he says flatly.
I look to Sean. I know Ian’s not talking to me, so he’s the next logical person to go to.
“Fuck you,” Sean says, pointing at him.
I can tell Ian’s been drinking for a while. His smirk might be fixed on his face, but his words are slurred and he’s swaying on his feet. He laughs. “I’m not going to fuck you, O’Clary. I mean find a girl to fuck. Just not that other—” He cuts himself off from shaking his head, then focuses on me. “How about the spy here? She’d probably spread her legs for you. That’s what you said she wanted, right? You said she was just like the others. A good fuck will get your mind off that bitch.”
Whatever he’s saying is working Sean up into another frenzy. Over his head, I see the intercom and dents in the wall near it. Holy shit. No wonder why the intercom had turned on and I’d heard some of this fight downstairs. It looks like someone punched it.
“He’s right,” Archer says finally. Sean turns his glare on him, but Archer holds his hands up. “I’m saying he’s right in a way. Fuck that girl. She played you. Get over it. The best way to get over it is to find someone else to plow.”
Plow? Wow. These guys are true heartbreakers, aren’t they? I could probably make a fortune from the gossip mags if I recorded some of this shit and sold it to them. People love a story.
Sean sways on his feet and then sits down right where he is, like the power of their words was just too much for him to handle. He backs up, his ass sliding over the tile, until he can rest his head against the wall. “You guys don’t understand.”
“It’s called betrayal, and yes, we all fucking understand,” Ian says. “You think you’re the only guy in history to go through this? We should expect it.”
Finnick puts a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Okay, come on. Leave him alone.”
Ian shrugs away from his arm. “We were all thinking it. I can’t stand him fucking sulking all the goddamn time. Get over it, already.”
“Wow,” I say, staring at Ian with disbelief. “You guys are just so nice to one another.”
Ian turns his fiery gaze on me. “What would you know about it, Spy?”
I roll my eyes. His alcohol induced insults are tragically boring. “I know you’re supposed to be writing your next album together, which is probably hard to do when you’re all dicks.” I look at Ian. “And I think babysitter is more appropriate.”
Archer moves to Sean to try to help him to his feet, but Sean shrugs him off. “That’s what we have an assistant for, right?” he questions. His gaze moves over to me, but I can tell he’s shitfaced because his eyes don’t actually focus on me.
“There you go,” Ian says, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Pop that cherry.”
“I’m not a fucking virgin, asshole,” I grind out. Not sure why I dispelled that untruth first. “And I’m not fucking your drummer, so back off.” I head toward Sean and hold my hand out. He reaches his hand up, missing my grasp on his first try, but eventually we connect, and I haul him to his feet. He’s surprisingly heavy as he leans on me. “Which way is your room, Sean?”
He points toward the area off the living room. Well, that’s luck. We’re closer to that area. We trudge off down the hall with me practically carrying all of Sean’s weight. I have no idea what they’re doing behind me other than just watching the free show. I don’t look back. I just concentrate on what’s in front of me.
“Second door,” Sean says, slurring his words.
We get there eventually, and I push it open. I almost wish I didn’t see this room because now I’m insanely jealous. It has two walls full of windows, one facing the beach and the other facing the garage. Moonlight spills into his vast room, making my room look even smaller by comparison. He’s even got an en suite. A trail of clothes leads away from the open door like he dresses as he walks.
I head toward the huge bed butted up against the left wall. He collapses onto it, and I can’t help myself from looking out the windows toward the beach. He has the perfect view from this room. He struggles getting his t-shirt off. I sigh and help him work it past his shoulders. After that, he flops onto his back.
For the first time, I see his tattoo clearly. It’s a Celtic cross. It makes sense, considering his name is Sean O’Clary. He must have Irish ancestry. I drag my gaze away from it, only because Sean is unzipping his fly and tearing his pants off. “Whoa,” I say.
“What?” he grumbles. “I can’t sleep with clothes on.” He’s gotten his pants most of the way off, but they’re stuck around his ankles.
I let out a low growl. Seriously? I reach out and tear his jeans the rest of the way off. He pulls his feet up, lying as stiff as a board on the bed with his eyes closed. He may be skinnier than the others, but he’s still got quite the body. With his face relaxed like this and not making disapproving or even downright nasty faces at me, he’s actually even more handsome than I realized. I meander into the bathroom and grab the trash, placing it next to his bed. That way, if he gets up in the middle of the night and needs to vomit, it’s right here. He can’t miss.
I don’t know if I’m expected to clean the house, or if they have a housekeeping service, but I don’t think anyone likes to clean up vomit, so if I can keep that from happening, I will.
“I just wanted a break,” Sean mumbles. I look back, taking him in again. I can’t tell if he’s dreaming or awake. His eyes are certainly closed.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“A break,” Sean says. “Just a fucking break from all of this.”
I frown down at him, but his chest moves up and down evenly now. He either talks in his sleep, or he just fell asleep. Either way, I’m not going to wake him up to ask him to elaborate on what he’s just said. It’s just drunk talk.
After checking him over one more time, I walk out. Finnick, Ian, and Archer are still sitting in the living room. They have a movie on now. To be fair, they might’ve had it on before, and I wouldn’t have noticed with the ruckus going on.
“Already?” Ian says. “That couldn’t have been satisfying for either of you.”
I ignore him. Enough already, he made the slut joke before. Is that really the only crack men can come up with about women? First off, who cares if women like sex? Don’t guys? The whole inequality thing is just utterly ridiculous.
“What happened?” I ask.
Ian’s gaze narrows at me, but it’s Archer who tells me to mind my own business.
“F
ine,” I shrug.
Finnick’s staring at me when I walk away, but that’s it. He just looks. He barely speaks up at all unless it’s to try to keep the peace between the four of them. It sounds like he needs to speak up even more because in my estimation, these guys are falling apart.
I head back to my room and bring out my cell phone. I compose a text to Mr. Nolan:
We never discussed how to send you updates. I hope text is fine. I was just woken up in the middle of the night, breaking up a fight. They’d been drinking. I just had to put Sean to bed. Surely, that will earn me back my half a day’s pay.
I bite my lip, wondering if I should actually write that, but fuck it. I might get fired anyway, so I should let him know I am doing something here. I’m not going to let these guys win without a fight.
I didn’t help them earlier because they explicitly told me the only thing they wanted from me was to leave them alone. In the future, I will make sure they have my cell phone number, so in case they need me again when I’m not around, they’ll be able to get ahold of me.
Thanks,
Aisley.
The letter-like format looks weird in a text, but it will have to do. I’m hoping it shows that I’m taking this seriously, but also that I have some fight in me. I’m not trying to get The Rowdy Rogues in trouble with their record company, but I’m not going to lie down and take their attempts to get me fired either. Plus, it sounds like they have no problem getting themselves in trouble with their label all on their own.
I plug my phone back in to charge for the night and settle back into bed. I’m both nervous and looking forward to seeing what kind of response I get from Nolan, but I’m also hoping the guys don’t fight anymore.
I really didn’t like that. Sean, though drunk, was obviously upset. And then there was Ian not giving a fuck about anything. It seemed so callous. So wrong.
In the morning, I’m woken up by a voice from the intercom in my room. My eyes feel heavy, and my feet feel like lead weights when I drop them over the side of the bed, careful not to hit my head on the top bunk. “Water,” someone says.
I get up, forcing my feet to hold me up before I walk toward the com. “Sean?”
“Yes, can you get me some water and some Aspirin please?”
I guess this means the intercoms still work. I run a hand through my hair with my finger off the button. “Fuck you, asshole,” I say, but then I press the button down and say, “Sure. Be right there.”
I walk out of my bedroom and head toward the bathroom. I’d found some pain reliever in there when I was putting my toiletry stuff away. The previous inhabitants must have left it, which is definitely coming in handy because I didn’t think to buy any during my grocery run.
I spill out two pills into my palm and then trudge up the stairs to the next floor. I move like a zombie toward the refrigerator. The sun is out, but no one else in the house is up. It’s super quiet. Almost eerily so.
After I grab a water bottle, I kick the door to the refrigerator closed and make my way to Sean’s room. I knock quietly, careful not to wake up Ian. He’s the other one who has the room on this side of the house.
“Come in,” a raspy voice says, followed by a groan that sounds like it’s coming from the walking dead.
I open the door and close it carefully behind me. I expected to walk headfirst into a rancid smell, but it turns out Sean never puked in the garbage can I put out for him. I toe it away and hold the bottle and pills out to him. He takes them both and then pops the pills in his mouth before swallowing several gulps of water. When he’s done, he falls back onto the bed like he can barely keep himself upright anymore. I turn to look out the windows. How could he be sleeping with a view like this? “Anything else?” I ask.
He removes the pillow he just put over his face. “Yeah,” he says, his voice coming out deep and dry. He swallows. “Did I say anything to you last night?”
I turn back to look at him over my shoulder. His eyes are slits. I can tell the little sunlight coming into the room is bothering him. I turn back around, find the curtains and pull them closed. I hate to do it because the view is so beautiful, but Sean doesn’t need that right now. “Yeah, you did, actually,” I tell him. “You told me that you just wanted to take a break, but I didn’t know what you were talking about.”
I answer him in a business-like voice, reminding myself that none of this is my business, even though I’m dying to know what he was talking about. Is he talking about the band? The girl? It was unclear.
He cringes. “Oh.” I go to walk away, but he says something more, making me stop in my tracks. “You’re not going to ask what it’s about?”
I snort. I can’t help myself. “You’ve all been telling me to mind my own business since I got here, and now you want to know if I’m going to ask what your cryptic revelation was last night? No,” I say simply, then I walk out.
9
Since I’m already up, I go to the cupboards and find the ingredients I bought to make pancakes. Once the mix, oil, and measuring cup are on the counter, I go to work. No one is going to be tattling to my boss that I’m not doing my job again. That much I know.
Five minutes later, I hear scuffling behind me. I’ve just finished the first pancake. Placing it on a plate, I turn and see that Finnick has walked in. He’s staring at me cautiously. He has bedhead, his brown hair a mess of swirls and tangles that are going in the opposite way they should be. It makes me want to run my hand through it to fix it for him, but of course I don’t do that. That would be crazy. “Pancake?” I ask, offering up the plate.
“What are you doing?” he asks, squinting at me.
“Making breakfast. I thought it was obvious.”
He narrows his gaze a bit at my attitude, but am I really expected to hold it back when they’ve been nothing but nasty to me? I’m not a saint.
I sigh. “Do you want it or not? Because if you don’t, I’m eating it.”
He holds his hand out, and I pass him the plate. He grabs a fork from the bunch I already piled on the bar top. “Uh, thanks,” he says, like he has to remember how to be civil. Jesus. To be a rockstar…
Finnick hovers around me as I go about making the next one. I’m not going to lie. I’m a badass pancake maker. I don’t like being stared at as I do it though. When I glance over at him, he looks away, shoving another forkful of pancake into his mouth.
I turn back around, wishing I had a large griddle, then I’d be able to make several pancakes at once.
“How do you know when to flip them?” Finnick asks, his voice low.
I turn just slightly, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He has a pair of sweats on and a beat-up t-shirt. It takes me a second to realize that it’s actually a Rowdy Rogues shirt. I eye it, loving the artwork. I also roll around in my head how to answer him. It should be easy. He asked a question, I should answer it, but nothing has been easy with these guys since I’ve been here. I stifle all the mixed feelings I have and turn fully toward The Rowdy Rogues’ guitarist. “See these bubbles?” I ask, pointing to the pancake that’s cooking in the pan right now. “That means it’s time to flip it.”
I scoot my spatula under the pancake and flip, revealing a golden-brown top.
“On this side, you just leave it on, and then you can peak under it until you see that it’s done,” I tell him. “You get a knack for it eventually.”
I wait a few more minutes and then flip this pancake onto a different plate. I don’t give him the option of getting this one. I’m hungry, and the pancakes smell really good. I smear some butter on the top and then take my first bite. So good. Mmm. Much better than the Hotcakes I ate yesterday.
Finnick waits his turn for the next pancake, offering me his plate as soon as it’s done. While he eats, he checks out the side of the pancake box where the recipe is. “Is this what you did?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I know some people get fancy with theirs, but this works well enough.”
He sits down at
the bar as I work on the next pancake, pouring it in the frying pan and waiting for the bubbles. Finnick clears his throat behind me. “Thank you for helping Sean out yesterday.”
Freezing in place, I try to work out whether he’s being a dick or not. I turn, checking out his face to make sure he’s actually being sincere. His voice sounds nice enough, but I’m not used to hearing that out of any of their mouths. “It’s my job, right?”
“I’m sure it’s not your job to break up drunken fights between four privileged assholes. At least that’s what you think we are.”
I smile at his last comment. If he thinks I’m going to tell him I don’t think that, he’s wrong. I do want to ask him about something that’s been plaguing me since last night though. I nibble on my lip, then turn, the spatula still in my hand. “How come you and Archer didn’t stop it?”
Finnick looks away, jaw ticking. His profile is stunningly handsome. He has a hard jaw and eyelashes for days. I don’t even care that his hair is a mess right now. It works for him, actually, as weird as that might sound. He tilts his head toward me before answering. “Complicated, I guess. I can’t answer for Archer, but I don’t think I expected it to go that far.”
“You mean, they’ve never fought like that?”
Finnick shakes his head. “We fight, sure, but we’re all under a lot of stress right now. It went farther than I thought.”
“The album’s stressing you out?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice strangling the word like he can barely get it out. “Among other things.”
I turn back around to flip the pancake and silence descends on us. I peek behind my shoulder to find Finnick looking at me, but it’s more like he’s looking right through me. His eyes are a million miles away. When I finish the next pancake, I offer it to him, and he accepts it. I’m about to ask him when he thinks the others will wake up when Archer comes strolling into the room. He has a pair of low-slung board shorts on and an old Metallica concert t-shirt. He sniffs the air, then notices what Finnick is eating and his eyebrows raise. “Pancakes?” Then, he sees me at the stove and his face falls. He actually groans.