The Assistant - Roger Taylor

Three

Rosalie's POV

  I start to wake up a little, cuddling up to Stone.

When I become fully awake, immediate pain hits me.

My head feels like it's about to burst open, and my whole body just feels awful.

I hear the phone ringing from somewhere in the apartment, and once I get out of Stones death grip without waking him up I stumble out of his room, seeing stars. Gotta love hangovers.

As I get closer to the phone I cringe at the extremely loud noise and hold it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Rosalie, did you just wake up?" Oh no, I forgot about work.

"Oh shit, I overslept, I'm so sorry, I'll leave now," I mumble.

Tim laughs. "Okay Rose, just get here as soon as you can."

"Right, yeah, okay bye," I mutter, still quite startled.

I hang up and go to the kitchen to swallow as many pain meds as possible without overdosing and then go straight to my room to get dressed.

I pull on the first shirt I find then realize it was a Queen shirt and decide to save myself the embarrassment and change into a Led Zeppelin shirt.

I brush through my tangled hair and put it in braids when Mike comes in.

"Stop being so fucking loud," he groans.

"I'm sorry, I'm thirty minutes late for work," I mutter, tying the laces of my high tops.

"Was that Roger Taylor you were grinding on all night or did I imagine that?"

I furrow my brows. Did that happen? I briefly remember him being there and dancing.

"I didn't...grind on him."

"Yes you did. He seemed to enjoy it too," he smirks. Somehow Mike is always the one who recovers way too fast from a long night of drinking. It's not fair.

"Do you really think so?" I ask.

Stone has now come in.

"Didn't Rosalie grind on Roger Taylor and wasn't he totally into it?"

"Oh uh, I don't really remember," Stone shrugs.

"What are you talking about? You came over to me and was all 'Roger needs to get away from–"

"Mike! Let's not talk about that," Stone interrupts.

I want to ask about what he said, but I get an overwhelming wave of nausea.

"I'm gonna fucking throw up," I groan, rushing past them and straight to the bathroom.

After puking my guts out for ten minutes, I force myself up and brush my teeth.

"Do I look completely awful?" I ask them when I come out of the bathroom.