So I Married a Rockstar

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ch.29: You Know What You Did

There was a tiny asshole in my head, kicking my skull. I opened my eyes, moaned as sunlight skewered my aching brain, and promptly shut my eyes again. After a couple of minutes had passed, I cracked open one eye, letting it adjust to the light, before opening it a little further, then a little further. I did the same with my other eye.

The sun was freshly risen, judging by the angle of the light, and the birds were obnoxiously loud. Normally I loved all animals, but with the constant trilling piercing my battered brain, I wanted to punt-kick the birds out of the trees.

Apparently I'd fallen asleep on the terrace last night – or rather very early this morning. I was pretty sure the bastard birds had been singing even as I crashed.

Groggily, I lifted my head.

I lay on a rattan sofa, my cheek pillowed on my arm. My skirt had ridden up almost to my ass, and my feet were bare. I had no memory of taking off my shoes and no idea where they were now.

Behind me, Mark of Cain's bassist was slumped in a padded seat, his head hanging on his chest. I winced on his behalf. He'd have a hell of a stiff neck when he woke up.

Bracing my palms on the sofa, I pushed myself into a sitting position.

Jude lay on the ground nearby, curled on his side, his head resting on a cushion, an empty bottle of whisky still clutched in one hand. Sunglasses covered his eyes, saving his eyes from being stabbed by the morning sun. Obviously a man of experience.

At least fifteen other people were asleep on the roof, scattered around like broken dolls. Elle was curled up in a chair not far away, her blond hair hiding her face. One of the Skyclad women, now fully naked, was nestled against a man wearing what looked like lacy panties. The sound engineer I'd met last night was slumped sideways in another chair, his head hanging off the arm, his mouth open. Darius Keller was in the seat next to him, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his hands behind his head, his face tilted to the sun. Even fast asleep, he looked like he was prepping for a photo shoot.

Empty bottles and glasses were everywhere, along with countless sticky patches where drinks had been spilled, glass bowls of cigarette butts, and various articles of clothing and abandoned shoes. I still didn't see mine anywhere.

I stretched my arms over my head, working out the knots in my back and shoulders. I'd initially refused weed last night because I'd wanted to keep a clear head, but once Elle and Jude had started smoking, it was only a matter of time before I joined them – not because I was easily influenced by the people around me, but because I didn't feel the need to hold back if no one else was. At some point during the joints and the shots that Elle had talked me into, everything had got a bit fuzzy.

But I regretted nothing.

I'd had fun, and Jude's friends seemed to have welcomed me into their circle with no problems.

I gazed at him as he slept on the ground of his rooftop terrace, sunglasses hiding his eyes, his ringed fingers still wrapped around that whisky bottle. He'd lost his leather blazer last night, and his tattoos looked like paintings under the sun.

He was still the hottest thing I'd ever seen, and the connection that had formed between us was like nothing I'd expected, but I couldn't forget what had happened last night.

What did Darrell have over him?

Jude was famous for his drugged and drunken exploits, so what could he possibly have done that he wanted to hide?

When was a good time to bring it up again, and what would I do if he still refused to talk about it?

Before I could dwell on that though, I really needed to pee.