Shit. I’ve so totally and monumentally fucked everything up.
And even though the shit has totally hit the fan, I still get a shiver at the memory of his hands on me ... of him inside me.
“I’m sorry, it’s just all a lot to take in with a hangover and a few hours’ sleep.” I blow out a breath. “I’m going to have to call Will aren’t I?”
“He probably won’t have seen the news yet. He’s more likely to read the Times than The Sun, right? And it’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, my darling, so don’t let that boy give you a hard time about this.”
I feel sick. I wish I was in the bathroom right now because I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up any minute.
“I won’t,” I say. “And thanks for calling to give me the heads up. You’re too good to me.”
“Of course I’d call. I would always call. I love you, darling girl. You’ll call me later?”
“Of course I will.”
I hang the phone up with Vicky, and stare down at my phone in my trembling hand.
I quickly go online on my phone and straight to Google and search Jake’s name under recent news.
And there they are, the pictures.
Crap.
They do not look good at all. They look incriminating.
Which they are, were … kind of.
Fuck.
With shaky fingers, I close the internet down, and speed dial Will’s number.
“Hey, beautiful,” he coos down the phone. “I was just thinking about you.”
At the sound of his lovely voice, I almost break down.
And by his tone, I’m guessing he hasn’t seen the news yet. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.
“All good I hope?”
“That’s all my thoughts of you ever are. I miss you,” he breathes down the line.
I’m wicked and evil, and I’m going to Hell.
“I miss you too … um, Will … I just wanted to give you a heads up … because well, there’s a story in the tabloids about Jake … and me. And it suggests that we are … um … sleeping together. Which obviously we’re not.”
Why did I say that?
Because you’re a coward.
No, I just can’t tell him this over the phone.
Will hasn’t said anything, and the silence is stretching.
“Are you still there?” I ask.
“Yes.” His tone is as stale as last week’s bread. “Why do the tabloids think you’re sleeping with him, exactly?”
“You know journo’s.” I cringe as I say the words. “Jake sang this song at his show for me and they stupidly interpret it as he’s serenading me. And they’ve said that Jake said some stuff which he most definitely did not. Then I danced with him in the club, as I did some of the other guys in the band.” A total lie. “And then my feet were cut and hurting from my new shoes, so Jake carried me into the hotel … and that’s all,” I add lamely at the end.
Silence again. I can hear him breathing down the line.
I hold my breath, nervously fingering the hem of my T-shirt.
Jake’s T-shirt.
I’m the worst kind of person.
“And there’s definitely nothing for me to be worried about?” he finally asks, his voice tentative, wary.
“No, of course there isn’t, baby.”
I’m evil, pure evil.
I hear him exhale. “Then it doesn’t matter. Don’t worry yourself with it, darling.”
“Well, I’m just worried about you … that it will cause you some problems. You know, stick from the guys at work.”
“It’s not your fault, Tru.” His voice is soft. “You haven’t done anything wrong, so who cares what the papers say, or the dickheads I work with. They’ll soon get bored and move onto to something else when they realise there’s nothing in it.”
The bedroom opens and I glance up to see Jake standing here in all his glory, before me.
Crap.
“Will,” I mouth to him, pointing my finger to the phone, which is now pressed firmly up against my ear.
His happy face drops, and he turns and goes back into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
And I feel sicker from that one look on his face, than I have from anything I have heard and said since I woke.
“So we’re okay?” I murmur to Will.
“We’re more than okay. I’m sorry, darling, but I have to go, I’ve got a meeting and they’re calling me in now.”
“Of course. Go. I’ll call you later.”
“Love you,” he says.
“Love you too.”
I hang up the phone and drop my head into my hands.
Then taking a deep breath, I get up and go to see Jake, with absolutely no clue what I’m going to say to him.
He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing his boxer shorts, and the TV is on. One quick glance tells me it’s the Entertainment Channel.
“So we made the news,” he says, gesturing to the TV with the remote. His eyebrow is raised, but I can see the wary in his glance. “Was that what the phone call was about?”
He says this like it’s a normal thing. But then I guess to him it is.