7. +1 202 XXX XXXX

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I trudged wearily through the scorching Californian sun, feeling the weight of last night's party still lingering in my head. The walk from Lars' to Kirk's house seemed to stretch on forever. When I finally reached the front door, I noticed the filled letterbox, a curious sight given that Kirk had taken care of his taxes the day before. Intrigued, I opened it and found a vinyl record with a note attached.

"Since you like Stelvio Cipriani, I figured you would like Piero Piccioni. Give it a listen when you feel better. Give me a call: +1 202 XXX XXXX PS: I'm sorry for abandoning you while you passed out; Lars didn't give me a choice. Consider this as a sorry gift." 

A smile spread across my face as I recognized the familiar handwriting - it was Dave. The postscript in smaller calligraphy tugged at my heart, hinting at a side of him that he might not readily show. Sitting on the doorstep, I examined the record, touched by the thoughtfulness behind the gift. Dave had chosen something he knew I would love, and it made me appreciate our connection even more.

The soothing melodies of the jazzy music enveloped me as I let my body sink into the mattress, finding solace in the momentary escape from my swirling thoughts and emotions. Yet, despite the calming music, my mind kept drifting back to Dave. He was like a constant presence in my thoughts, and I knew I couldn't ignore the unspoken tension between us any longer.

With a deep breath, I reached for the phone on my bedside table and dialed the number Dave had left me. It rang twice before he answered, his voice devoid of its usual playfulness.

"Hello?" Dave's serious tone on the other end made me feel a little nervous.

"Hey, Dave. It's Donna. I just wanted to let you know I'm fine, just a little bit hungover. I'm at home," I said, trying my best to sound composed.

"Good. I was worried about you. I didn't know if you had taken something dangerous, and I got scared for you. Mixing can be risky," Dave's concern was evident in his words.

"I promise I'm okay. I never mix anything," I reassured him, my fingers unconsciously reaching up to scratch my forehead as memories of the previous night resurfaced.

"You have no idea what could have happened if there weren't people there to watch out for you," Dave's voice held a hint of anger, and I knew he was recalling the moment I had passed out.

"Don't worry about it. I don't need a bodyguard. I'll be more careful next time. Thanks for the vinyl, though. I appreciate it," I said, a smile forming on my lips as I pulled my knees up to my chest.

Dave let out a playful scoff, "It was Pat's idea. Consider it an apology."

"It's all good. I've moved past it," I replied, feeling a sense of relief in my heart.

Dave changed the subject, "By the way, Slash from Guns and Roses wants to invite you to his birthday party on Sunday. He didn't have your number, so I offered to give you a ride. Do you need one?"

𝕿𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | Dave MustaineWhere stories live. Discover now