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“You mean it’s beer-thirty,” he remarks, popping open a bottle of brew.
I shake my head and laugh. “Knock yourself out. I think I’ll hold off for now.”
I spend the next several hours talking with the guys, minus Ryan, who still hasn’t emerged from his place on the bunk bed. He’s been sleeping since we pulled off the lot.
“Does he always sleep the entire trip?” I ask, not directing my question at anyone in particular.
Gareth is the one who answers. “Ole Knox had one hell of a night last night. He’ll be sleeping that one off for a while.”
The group laughs, and I am obviously missing an inside joke.
“Oh, you guys went to the club or something?”
Neil lets out a dramatic breath. “Nah, a party at some execs house. Throw a bunch of drunk assholes under one roof, and chaos and calamity ensue.”
“I was totally fucked up last night,” Ant says.
“No shit. I peeled you off the living room floor at 2:00 a.m.” Neil says under his breath.
The drummer shrugs, “Hey, when Alicia hands me a drink, I’m not turning it down. I was hell-bent that last night was going to be the night for her and me.”
“And it probably would have been if you didn’t get so sloshed you passed out at her feet,” Gareth says with a chuckle. “I think the only one who got lucky was Knox. Katarina has had her laser beams set on him since the video shoot. I’m just glad he finally let her get it out of her system.”
He was with her?
My chest tightens as I imagine Ryan with Katarina. I try to force the image from my mind, but it’s no use. I see their naked bodies writhing together and it is like a lead ball in my stomach.
“Let her get it out of her system?” I ask, confused by his choice of words.
“Yeah. Ryan never fucks around with the same girl twice. He probably just wanted her clingy ass to move on,” Gareth responds, casually.
The way Gareth talks about this as if it’s the most normal thing in the world makes my stomach turn. “Don’t get me wrong; she knew it would be a one-and-done kind of deal. No expectations, no one gets hurt.”
I nod, trying to pretend that this isn’t the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard, and dutifully ignore that tiny piece of my heart that is breaking. I had this man pegged all wrong. The gentleman who came to my rescue and took me home was obviously a figment of my imagination. Or worse, he had planned on making me the next of his hit-it-and-quit-it victims.
I guess he really was just another rock star playboy.
Not a chance you’ll make me just another notch in your bed frame, rocker boy.
Chapter Nineteen
Juliet
It’s around 4:00 p.m. when Ryan emerges from his slumber. His hair is a mess, and the bags under his sleepy eyes give away just how wild his night must have been.
“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he mutters, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
Ant pats him on the back. “Poor baby.”
The guys laugh, and Ryan lets out a groan, bringing the bottle to his lips.
“Is more alcohol really the solution?” I ask, and his emerald eyes meet my own.
“Hair of the dog, baby,” he responds, toasting the bottle with the air. “The best way to kill a hangover.”
When the word baby leaves his lips, I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate that it excites me. And if I’m being honest, I hate him for making me feel this way.
The more the guys drink, the more they open up with me. They’re regaling me with crazy fan stories. I haven’t laughed this hard in a really long time.
