The Worst of Me

by Lisa J. Hobman

  Copyright © Lisa J Hobman 2016

  The right of Lisa J Hobman to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Copying of this manuscript, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the author and her publisher, is strictly prohibited.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: JC Clarke

  Published by Lisa J Hobman, 2016

  All rights reserved

  Chapter One

  Nick

  “What the fu-?!” Nick Dacre carefully blinked open his eyes, squinting as bright rays of daylight stung like daggers and his pupils fought to adjust. The 747 that was coming in to land very close by was doing nothing to help his thumping head. He slowly turned to one side and noticed a ridiculous number of bottles strewn around the room—varying types of alcoholic beverages had obviously once filled them but all were now evidently empty. Clenching his eyes shut for a moment he felt disgusted and disgusting simultaneously. His stomach roiled as another turn of his head revealed a naked blonde woman.

  He had no idea a) who she was and b) how she ended up, in her current state of undress, in his bed…in his hotel room. He made to sit up and it was only then that the room began to do a three-sixty turn around his head.

  “Gah!” He raised his hands to his temples as if it would help to stop the spinning but his attempts were futile and the room’s rotation continued in earnest. The rancid taste of stale alcohol in his mouth made him wonder if he had perhaps been licking dustbin lids in his drunken stupor—or frenching with Jabba The Hutt maybe?

  The blonde began to stir.

  He froze and held his breath.

  The silly thing was he had woken up in this exact state on so many occasions he’d lost count. But for some reason this felt…different. The 747 got closer. Scrunching his pained eyes he turned towards the god-awful noise and realised it was the chambermaid with a vacuum cleaner.

  “Morning, sleepyhead!” a familiar sing-song voice called from the adjoining sitting room of the large suite, and its owner rounded the corner. “I let the maid in to sort your mess out. Good God, it stinks in here!” Den, the band’s rather camp, post middle-aged manager walked towards Nick. Unlike the singer Den was far too perky as usual, sunglasses atop his head and looking like he had stepped off the set of the advert for a well-known fizzy drink…a delightful shade of orange with his newly applied spray tan.

  “What the hell happened last night, Den? I feel like shit,” Nick whispered, scared to speak any louder in case the comatose blonde gained full consciousness beside him.

  “Ooh, shame on you for needing to ask.” Den waved an excited hand. “It was a fantastic night. We rocked the O2 arena—but I’m sure you remember that particular little snippet—and then you all got completely rat-arsed at the after show party.” The fifty-year-old regaled him in his broad Yorkshire accent whilst he eyed up the blonde with derision. “Some of us clearly got lucky too.”

  Nick rubbed his eyes. “I…I remember the gig of course…and…I remember the start of the party…but…not much else. Not good.” He shook his head as he scrambled around his brain and fought to regain the memories from the previous night.

  The vacuum cleaner fell silent and the mystery blonde sat bolt upright with a sharp cry, making Nick almost jump out of his skin and jerk his head in her direction. Her eyes widened as her horrified stare flitted between the two men. Without speaking she glanced down at her body and squealed before grappling the sheets and covering her bare, obviously enhanced breasts.

  Den tilted his head to one side and pouted at the bewildered woman. In his most famous condescending tone he said, “Aww, bit late for that, love, really.” Her cheeks coloured cerise and he responded with a dirty, coarse cackled laugh. Turning his attention back to Nick he began to back away toward the door. “Well, I’ll leave you two love-birds to say your goodbyes. Better get your shit together, Dacre. We set off for Germany in just over an hour. Toodles!” He winked, waggled his fingers and left the suite.

  The chambermaid poked her head around the door. “Ahem…Mr…erm…Mr Dacre? Is it okay for me to collect up your empties now? I didn’t want to wake you and your…erm…girlfriend before…but I really need to get on and do the rest of the suites or my boss will be on my case.” The young, make-up free girl stood fiddling with the vacuum cleaner cable. Nick figured she couldn’t have been any older than eighteen and he was a little amused at the fact she was wearing an oversized grey chambermaid’s uniform which hung from her skinny frame like it belonged to someone else. Her straight blonde hair was scraped back in a ponytail. So young and innocent. Nick frowned at the errant thought invading his mind and tried to push away the additional thought that she was much too young to witness the remnants of such debauchery.

  In spite of his best efforts to ignore the unfamiliar niggling guilt knotting his stomach, the heat of shame rose in Nick’s cheeks.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. My…girlfriend is just leaving.” He cringed as he turned his attention from the chambermaid to the blonde stranger in his bed.

  The chambermaid quickly scuttled away to presumably gather her cleaning products from the lounge area.

  Apparently acquiring some gall from God knows where, the blonde ran her blood red-nailed fingers down Nick’s muscular tattooed arm and said, “So, when can I see you again? I’m guessing you’ll be stopping off in London when you’re back from Germany. I can wait for you at your hotel if you can get me in there. I could be ready for some fun ... or ... something more serious. I mean, we were so good together, weren’t we? It’s a shame to let that go, don’t you think? I’m not just a groupie, Rick. I’m so much more.”

  He frowned at the incorrect name the 'non-groupie’ had called him. Clearly she wasn’t even that. But then he cringed as the realisation that he remembered nothing of his time with her dawned on him. “Look, I’m sorry…what’s your name again?” He winced.

  She rolled her eyes. “Sindy.” Her scrunched brow transformed and a distinct air of hurt radiated from her. Her cheeks coloured pink again and it was clear that Nick’s lack of memory of their shared night of passion was dawning on her too.

  He nodded and bit back the sarcastic comment relating to the fact that it was okay for her to get his name wrong.

  He took her hand. “Sindy, of course, sorry…yes, Sindy. Look, Sindy, I’m not really in the market for a… a…relationship right now. My head’s clearly a mess and…look…I’m sorry but I presumed you knew that this was just a one-off thing. These after party situations usually are. You know ... you’re a fan and you get to sleep with your idol ... ” He allowed his words to fade as he heard them in his own head. Shit, I really am an abhorrent excuse for a human being.

  The blonde girl’s lip began to tremble and she quickly snatched her hand away before she jumped from the bed. She scurried around the room, grabbing her scattered items of skimpy underwear and clothing. Once they w
ere all collected she pulled them onto her slim, artificially busty figure and cursed at him under her breath.

  “Fucking bastard musicians. You’re all the same. Every single one of you. Think you’re something special you do, Rick Baker!” she squealed as the last item of clothing was dragged, inside out, onto her body.

  It’s Nick Dacre. Nick ... fucking ... Dacre. Jeez!

  He ran his hands through his long, messed up bed-hair. “I’m sorry, Sindy, I really am. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Why the hell was he being needled by guilt when she was clearly just as bad? He had played this scenario out so many times but for some reason this time was knotting his stomach and making him assess himself very critically.

  “You’ll regret this ... you ... you shitty shit.” The girl gave him one last sneering glance and slammed the door as she left.

  Nick winced as the vibration painfully reached his head.

  The chambermaid cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. She was sheepishly peering at him around the doorway and once again the sinking feeling hit his guts.

  “Excuse me, Sir, should I give you a minute to get dressed?” she asked.

  He nodded and she left him with his own company once again. He rested his head in his hands and sighed heavily as the morning’s events repeatedly replayed in his mind, adding to the already mounting shame he felt.

  Wrapping the bed sheet around his middle in case of further interruptions, he dragged himself from the bed and walked carefully to the bathroom. Each step vibrated through his body and rattled his tender skull, which in turn caused his stomach to almost reject its meagre contents.

  As he walked past the overly large pretentious gilt mirror he did a double take at what he saw. “Shit, mate, you really do look like crap,” he informed his haggard reflection. His long, dark hair was matted giving him the appearance of a terribly poor, early Russell Brand impersonator and his unshaven face was pale and drawn. The dark circles under his usually vivid blue eyes aged him beyond his twenty-eight years. Today he could forgive folks for thinking him fifty.

  Once he had turned on the shower and allowed the room to fill with steam he stepped under the cascading water to cleanse his weary, aching body from the goings-on of the night before.

  He almost lost track of time but eventually climbed out from his hot cocoon, dried off and grabbed jeans and a T-shirt from the luggage on the bathroom floor. After towelling off his dripping hair and tying a band around it he heard the suite phone ringing and dashed out to answer it.

  The chambermaid had beaten him to it.

  “Oh, sorry, he’s just here. I’ll pass the phone over.” She mouthed the word ’sorry’ and cringed as she handed the receiver to Nick who smiled sweetly at her.

  “Yep? ‘S’up?” He rubbed at his forehead, willing the dull ache to disappear.

  “Dacre, you drunken bum. Are you coming for a fry up before we leave?” The disembodied Aussie twang of his best friend and the band’s lead guitarist, Chris Malham, shouted all too brightly down the line, making Nick wince again.

  “Nah, I think I’m going to just grab some coffee here and eat on the road, mate. I’m not feeling too good.”

  “No fucking wonder, mate! I bet that blonde gave you a good going over last night.” Chris chuckled.

  Nick closed his eyes, replaying in his mind the expression on the girl’s face as she left. “Yeah, probably…but I can’t exactly remember, which makes me feel like a total shit.”

  “Ha ha! You dog. Anyway, Get down to the tour bus for eleven, yeah? Den’s spitting feathers saying we’re all ruining his schedule. Anyone’d think he was the star.” Chris laughed.

  “Yeah, he’s already been in here to get me up.” Nick managed a laugh but it made his head hurt more so it was short lived.

  Chris wasn’t about to give up his teasing. “So, when you say coffee…do you actually mean another shag with blondie? She answered your phone. Can’t believe she’s still there. You’re losing your touch. Bang ‘em and bye-bye, dude!” He really was incorrigible.

  Nick rolled his eyes. “No, mate, she left under a bit of a cloud about ten minutes ago. The girl who answered the phone was the chambermaid.”

  “Oh, right.” He gave a knowing chuckle. “Is she fit? She sounded nice. Bet you’ll slip her one instead, eh?” Chris laughed but didn’t wait for the answer. “Anyways, I’m off for my bacon and eggs, mate. Catch you later!” The line went dead.

  ♫♫♫

  Nick walked through to the lounge area and slumped onto the sofa. Leaning forward he rested his sore head in his hands and groaned.

  “Are you okay, Sir?” the chambermaid enquired as she walked past him with a large black sack full of bottles and cans.

  Nick shook his head at the sight and his shoulders tensed as he wondered exactly how many units of alcohol had pickled his liver the previous night.

  Remembering she had asked a question he smiled up at the girl. “Yeah…thanks. I’ll be fine. Just a bit of overindulgence…self-inflicted headache.”

  She giggled. “Occupational hazard, eh?”

  “Yeah, something like that.” He grinned.

  “Well, I’ve just about finished here now, Mr Dacre, so I’ll be off,” the girl informed him but continued to hover.

  He nodded. “Yeah, great, thanks. I’ll be leaving in a bit anyway. Daren’t keep the boss waiting. I don’t want to be held responsible for his hair falling out through stress.”

  The girl remained standing by the entrance to the lounge area and Nick wondered if he was supposed to tip her. “Is everything okay?” he asked, still feeling her presence behind him.

  She cleared her throat. “Erm…look I know I’m not supposed to ask this and I know I could potentially get fired…but…well…I may never get to meet you again and I’d regret it if I didn’t ask you. I think you’re really hot…all my friends do too and well…” Nick began to feel an overwhelming sense of dread at what this pretty young girl, who could easily be his kid sister, was going to ask. “I just think I’ll come out and say it…” He nervously stood to face her and slipped his hands into his pockets. Oh God, please don’t let her ask me to sleep with her or sign her tit. Nonononononono!

  She took a deep breath before blurting, “Please…can I take a selfie with you on my phone?” The words fell from her lips in a rush, so much so that he almost expected her to deflate into a crumpled heap on the floor.

  She began waving her hands in front of her face, fanning her bright red cheeks. “Oh God…there I said it…God I feel stupid now…I’m sorry…I’m just a really big fan…all my friends thought I was kidding around when I texted to say I was cleaning your room,” she rambled and continued to wave her hands up and down like they were on fire.

  Nick couldn’t help but laugh with relief. Thank heavens for that. “Sure, of course you can…what’s your name?”

  “Milly,” she replied with a girlie giggle as she grabbed her mobile phone from her smock pocket.

  Bless her, sweet kid. “Come on then, Milly. Let’s give your friends something to be jealous of, eh?” He reached for the phone and put his arm around her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. Holding the device at arms-length he took one serious posed snap. “Right, how about we do some daft pics?” She nodded enthusiastically as if all her Christmases and birthdays had arrived at once.

  Once their mini photo shoot was over Milly fanned herself again with both hands. “Oh, thank you so much, Mr Dacre. I can’t wait to see my friends’ faces.” She giggled.

  Nick handed her phone back and smiled. “No worries, Milly. Bye now.”

  She backed away, still grinning, and waved as she opened the door. After one last smile and a disbelieving shake of her head she closed the door behind her, leaving Nick once more to the silence of his plush hotel suite.

  Why couldn’t all encounters be like that one? Why did they mostly have to involve women thrusting their breasts in his face? He liked breasts as much as the next man but when things were off
ered so readily on a plate like that, the challenge was gone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had real feelings for someone. Or even asked someone out himself. Even the rumours of his supposed long term relationship with American rock star Starla Logan were rubbish. She had been his best friend for years—nothing more. What Joe Public didn’t realise was that he and Starla had almost come to blows once ... over the same woman.

  They’d been in a bar in New York—suffice it to say far too much alcohol had been consumed on that night too. Nick had been flirting with a tall, curvy rock chick with blue hair and lots of ink. He was planning on taking her back to his hotel room until it turned out that Starla had the same plans for the same blue-haired temptress. And thanks but no thanks, that whole ménage-a-trois thing was really not his scene.

  The whole thing blew up into a huge crazy mess which resulted in Starla slapping Nick hard across his face in full view of the rest of the club-goers. She screamed obscenities at him and stormed off leaving him standing there red-faced—both from embarrassment and the glowing hand print she had left on his cheek. Of course it had all been caught on camera and subsequently reported as a lovers’ tiff, making headline news in all the tabloids.

  Starla had called the next day to apologise for getting all pissy on him for stealing her woman. They had laughed it off and put it down to an alcohol fuelled spat. He hadn’t seen her for months now and the tabloids had reported that he was—quote: ‘devastated that the stunning American rocker had broken his heart.’

  Nick was one of the only people to know her true sexual preference. She was reported as being bi-sexual but she had confessed to Nick that all she really wanted was to meet a sweet girl and settle down. Unfortunately that wasn’t quite so cool and didn’t fit with her rebellious rock star image so she stayed quiet about the truth and stuck with her fake public persona.

  He’d briefly dated Angel Stone of Angel and the Fallen but even that hadn’t lasted. She was a sweet girl but very young and she had her own issues. Stalkers and rumours followed her everywhere. So that relationship was doomed even before it took off.