Page 58 of Layla

Why didI drink so much? Seriously, what is wrong with me? My head is pounding, the light is hurting my eyes, and the room is spinning—never a good sign.

And I’m supposed to be on stage in an hour.

The only consolation is that Conner is even worse off. It’s kind of embarrassing, really, how little the guy is able to hold his alcohol. I drank way more than he did and he can barely stand up. Some rock star. I have no idea how in the hell he’s going to play—and he’s on in just a few minutes.

“Fuck,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “You’re a bad influence, Layla Perry.”

I snort. “Believe it or not, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

He grins at me, brushing a strand of hair off my shoulder. He’s been getting progressively touchier the more drinks we’ve had in this private little corner of the opener’s dressing room. It only took me a few shots to start to feel better, more like myself. This is what a tour is supposed to be about—having a good fucking time with a hot guy. I don’t know why I let myself get all worked up in my fear and Louis’s stress and forgot that.

“You gonna be okay out there?” I ask him.

He grins. “I’ve preformed in much worse shape.”

I want to tell him that it’s not really something to brag about, but I suppose I don’t have a lot of room to talk considering my current state.

“This is nice,” I murmur instead, looking up at the cracked ceiling. “I feel…nice.”

It’s the truth. For the first time in ages I’m not worried. I’m not thinking about the scary letters and pictures or what might happen if Haylee finds out. And I sure as hell am not thinking about John.

John. Just his name has my nose wrinkling in irritation. Stupid John, making me feel so shitty.

It’s your own fault,a voice in my head whispers—it sounds an awful lot like my mother’s. My real mom, not Dee. Funny, I hear that voice in my head a lot, even though I haven’t seen the woman in more than a decade.He made it clear from the beginning that this is just a job for him.

Conner’s fingers trace over my lips. “Then why do you look sad?”

I stifle a grimace. I don’t want to look sad. I don’t want tofeelsad. I want to keep riding the high of warm alcohol in my blood and a hot guy flirting with me. I try to arrange my face into a smile. “Aren’t you on soon?”

He looks down at his phone, grimaces, and pulls it up closer to his face. “Is it just me or do these numbers look blurry?”

For some reason that has me giggling, and that sets Conner off. By the time Charlie, the lead singer, comes stomping over, we’re both doubled over in laughter. “Are you fucking high, dude?” he snaps.

Conner rolls his eyes at me. “Big boss man is here to tell me what’s what.”

That makes me giggle some more. Big boss man. I have a few of those. Too many of those.

“We’re supposed to be on in five minutes and you’re fucking trashed,” Charlie hisses, before stomping off in search of some coffee for his wayward bandmate, who winks at me.

“I think you got me in trouble.”

I push his arm. “This whole thing was your idea, buddy.”

He grabs my hand before I can pull it away, bringing it to his mouth. He presses a kiss against my palm, his lips sending shivers down my arms. “Hang out with me after,” he mutters against my skin. “After your set. We can go out.”

That has the warm buzz slipping again. I can pretty much guarantee that I won’t be allowed to go out. And even if I was, it would require bringing John along. Sounds like a real good party.

“At the hotel,” I say. “Let’s hang out at the hotel.”

His eyebrows go up, a slow grin spreading over his face, and I realize, too late, the mistake. He thinks I mean in one of our rooms. He thinks I mean the naked kind of hanging out.

And why shouldn’t you?I ask myself. None of the new security protocols forbid me from hooking up with a hot guy if I feel like it. I’m a grown-ass, red-blooded woman and I’ve always done whatever I wanted to in the bedroom.

So why does the thought of bringing Conner to my bed make me feel so…wrong?

“It’s just the tequila,” I mutter to myself, pushing up off the couch. I need to get back into our dressing room so I can sober up a little before we hit the stage. I’m actually pretty proficient at drums when I’m tipsy—maybe it’s the way the warm buzz of booze makes my limbs so limp and relaxed. But from the way everything tilts when I stand up I have a feeling I’m way past tipsy.

“You not gonna watch my set?” Conner asks, pouting.