Queen Of Hearts | Roger Taylor

XVI

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The next morning, I woke up with what they may call a killer headache. The light that was shining through my windows made me groan and I turned around. I needed more sleep, knowing that as soon as I would wake up, I would feel bad. But my body wasn't kind to me today, punishing me for how I treated her yesterday. I stretched my limbs, opening my eyes fully and sitting up to look around my room.

It wasn't as messy as I expected. Usually, after a good night out, there would be clothes and other things spilled all over the floor, but right now that wasn't the case. I saw a pair of unfamiliar trousers hanging over the edge of my bed, and a jacket that I vaguely recognized. When I laid down again on the pillow, a familiar scent filled my nose.

Roger's.

I immediately sat up again, holding the bedsheet close to my chest. I was wearing my pyjama shirt, so as far as I knew nothing happened. I rubbed my eyes and ran a hand through my hair. It was smelling like smoke and beer, needing a wash as soon as possible. I was really hoping Roger wasn't here anymore, but my thoughts were proven wrong when he came stumbling out of the bathroom with only a towel on his hips. His hair was wet and stuck to his face.

"Good morning," he said with a small smile. God, how I hated that smile, but also, not at all.

"Morning," I said back. I stayed put on my bed while he grabbed the trousers and shirt that were hanging over the edge of my bed. I could not stop looking at the small towel that was the only thing covering him up. I could just rip it off right now and-...

No. Bad thought.

"How are you feeling? Are you up for some breakfast?" he asked, pulling me out of my thoughts – for the better.

I shook my head. "Bad. I might puke if I eat something."

"That would be a sight to see," he joked. He could get under my skin so easily, it drove me crazy.

"So, what happened last night?" I asked hesitantly. I was afraid to hear the answer to that question, but if I made some mistakes they needed to be fixed. "The last thing I remember is taking tequila shots at Chef's."

"Well," he started. He was still standing at the edge of the bed. With nothing but that damn towel. "You got smashed. I took you home, you kissed me and then you asked me to stay the night."

My mouth fell open by everything he just said. He didn't think it would be better to have this conversation on a lighter note? Of course not, who am I kidding, this is Roger.

"No, I didn't," I said, referring to the kissing part.

"You did,"

"I did?"

"Yeah,"

He turned around, walking back to the bathroom to get dressed. I fell back on the pillow, scolding myself. The bad part wasn't even that I forgot, the bad part was that I did it and then had the balls to ask him to stay. But I would be lying if I said that it was a mistake. I felt bad for taking advantage of him in that moment.

As soon as he came out of the bathroom, I locked myself in there and took a long and hot shower. I was slower than I usually was, because I tried to stall the chat that I needed to have with him. When I got out of the shower, I dried my body before putting my dark blue robe on. I brushed out my hair with a tooth comb, letting it air dry.

When I walked into the kitchen, he was sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea. I saw that he had poured me one too. I grabbed a glass of water with a painkiller to ease the headache. I sat across from him at the table. He was fidgeting with his lighter, not looking at me.