Money For Something

5 - Waking Up in Vegas

**Ace**

My brain beat a slow, throbbing tattoo on the inside of my skull. The rhythm reminded me of a funeral march. Appropriate really because I felt like I might die. It had been a long time since I'd felt this shit.

I cracked an eyelid and turned to where I assumed the bedside table was and hoped that drunk me had left a bottle of energy drink there for hungover me. The table was there, but the only beverage on it was a bottle of champagne. I wasn't even to tempted to see if there was anything left in it.

Drunk me was officially a bastard.

A soft sigh and a rustle of fabric from behind me clued me in on something important. I was not alone.

Shit.

SHIT.

Bollocking SHIT.

What or who had I done?

I frantically tried to pluck memories from my uncooperative brain, but I kept coming up blank. Either I was still too tired to remember, or I'd managed to wipe myself out more thoroughly than I'd ever thought was possible. The bottle of champagne on the bedside coupled with the disgusting footwell of a taxi taste in my mouth indicated that black out drunk was the option currently in the lead.

Black out drunk didn't bode well for the potential problem of dealing with the other occupant of my bed. I had no band mates or Lucy and Kim to aid me in the awkward task of persuading my companion to leave. On tour it was easy. I had no trouble funding and hooking up with girls who were interested in nothing more than a night of fun and the bragging rights that they'd banged a member of the band. Some would refer to these accommodating lasses as groupies. Half the time they were gone before morning, and if they weren't? The tour needed to move on and so did they.

No hard feelings.

No, one or two-night stands of the road weren't my problem, they were easy to deal with. My problem was with my dating life when I was off the road. The last time I'd been left to gracefully say goodbye to a woman, after what I'd thought was a mutually agreed one off, I managed to catch a stalker. And my house had been left in smouldering ruins.

I'm not an arse, I like women and I don't like to see them upset, so I'm careful to let them down gently. Sometimes too gently. Usually, Josh is around to make things clear that when I say maybe we'll catch up another time, what I really mean is that we most definitely won't be catching up again. I'm always upfront with where I stand before anything happens but sometimes a reminder is needed after the event.

Yes, it does make us both bastards, but Josh is better at setting things straight without looking like a bastard than I am. Don't get me wrong, I won't look like a bastard either, but I'd be more of one if not for Josh. Without him I'd leave birds with a sliver hope for something more, when in reality there is none. Our system worked fine until Crazy Jodi and the previously mentioned smoking ruins came along.

Now I was on my own without any memory of who I was with or what I had or hadn't said. I began to sweat.

I rolled over slowly. The movement must have disturbed my companion because her arm flopped heavily across my torso followed by a leg that slid over the top of mine. I froze in place my heart pounding. This was bad.

Very bad.

With a sleepy snuffle she nuzzled into my shoulder. After a moment or two I relaxed. This was not the grip of someone trying to stop me from escaping or someone initiating round whatever number we were up to. No, this was the grip of someone using me as a body pillow.

It was different. I'd slept with women before, and by sleep, I mean closed my eyes and went off to the land of nod, but even in sleep they'd always seemed aware of who I was. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I was the one to wake up first and just watch a girl in my bed as she slept on. Most of the time the feel of a girl's eyes boring into the side of my head was what woke me in the first place. This lass seemed to think I was just a prop to help her get comfy.