Frustration -SERIES- [Part 1] [boyxboy]

Chapter Seven

'Okay,' Conor said distractedly, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything. 'Let's go.'

I glared at him witheringly from under the covers. 'Excuse me?'

'We have to go, I'm supposed to be meeting that interview person in twenty minutes.'

'The operative word in that sentence being "I'm".'

Conor blinked at me, clearly not paying attention. 'What? Hurry up!'

I propped myself up on my elbows and glared at him some more. 'You do know that I actually have a job, right? That when I'm not trailing about after you I'm working and, as a result of these two massively demanding activities, completely exhausted?'

Conor affected a wounded look. 'I thought you liked spending time with me.'

I raised one eyebrow cynically. 'You know I can see right through you.'

Conor dropped the act and threw himself on the bed, groaning. 'Oh, come on. Please? I don't have any fun doing these things unless you're with me.'

Goddammit that boy knows exactly how to play me.

I groaned and hid my face under the duvet for a few seconds so he wouldn't know he'd won, but of course he did know and was already throwing clothes at me from my suitcase. 'I won't talk about you at all, I promise.'

'I thought you had to talk about me for this one, that KISS Magazine always ask about relationships?'

'I've been practicing my "No Comment" face for weeks.'

'Liar,' I accused him, but I was joking, and he grinned at me from behind my suitcase, which was still not unpacked, due largely to the fact that we would only be staying a maximum of two nights at each hotel we went to, and that was only if we were lucky. 'Okay, okay, I'm ready,' I told him, slipping my feet into my Vans and running a cursory hand through my hair. No tangles: good to go.

'You look ridiculous.'

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Minutes later we were sitting in the bar of the hotel, Conor trying in vain to make my hair sit flat on my head.

'I can't be seen with you in public anymore,' he muttered venomously as tufts refused to patted down.

'You're supposed to love me, tufts and all,' I informed him, doing absolutely nothing to help. Usually I like to look at least vaguely human before venturing out in public, but being here had been thrust upon me unwittingly and against my will so I was sort of savouring his embarrassment.

'Can't keep your hands off each other, huh?' a smiling voice enquired before Conor could spit out what was sure to be a scathing reply.

As it was, my boyfriend snatched his hands out of my hair and we both gazed guiltily up at the bespectacled girl who was clearly here to interview him. She had wide brown eyes and a friendly smile but also that quality that I've started recognising in tabloid journalists - a shrewdness and tenacity that reminded me of a terrier.

'Uh...' Conor muttered, at a rare loss for words.

'Carrie Chilcott,' she said, proffering a hand, obviously mistaking his silence for confusion rather than embarrassment. 'We spoke on the phone?'

Conor took her hand and quickly regained his composure, shooting her the patented Archibald smile. 'Nice to meet you,' he said, standing up and gesturing to the seat across from us. 'Please.'

'And you must be Tyler,' Carrie smiled at me. I considered playing ignorant of who this "Tyler" was and claiming Conor had picked me up last night at a club, but I knew he'd punish me later if I did so I just smiled and nodded.