You joined my bands tour as photographer a few weeks ago. I can’t deny how much I absolutely hated you—your soft smiles, sweet words and ugly ass green vans. Anybody who comes across sickeningly sweet boils my blood, it ignites a deep sense of rage inside of me, so I was horrible to you.

I belittled you. Insulted you. Patronised you.

I even almost let you drown in the hotel pool after your drink got spiked at a bar, I only saved you last minute, you were so close to being gone.

I still don’t know why I saved you.

You eventually found out that the lads and I aren’t just your average rockstars—we work for the mafia. The contact you signed at the beginning of tour meant that you had to stay and continue being photographer for whole eight months of our tour.

Somewhere between the revelations and venomous words we spat at each other, you and I ended up hooking up. It happened again, and again, and it didn’t stop.

I have hundreds of girls I’ve slept with names messily tattooed on my arm, it’s no secret that I get around. I still can’t believe you’d even sleep with me, you’re the definition of a good girl, bur you’re also spontaneous. You like trying new things—or that’s started since you’ve been on tour, I’m unsure.

I’m the second person you’ve ever slept with.

You and I have no label. No strings attached. No expectations. I don’t believe in love and you don’t believe in love either. I sleep with other people, hell, I have a new girl in my hotel room almost every night.

Our dynamic is strange—despite us not exactly being friends but also being hook ups—most of the time, we just walk in and out of each others hotel rooms as if they were our own.

It’s midnight, we finished a show not too long ago and you’re already back at your hotel room. I don’t feel like going back to mine, I’d rather come and lose myself in you, as we often do. I take long, deliberate strides down the corridor, cherry sucker tucked in the corner of my cheek and then I reach your door.

You only lock it when you’re sleeping. It’s not late enough enough right now; I know you’re awake.

I open the door with a soft click and my jaw drops at the scene before me.

You’re tangled in your sheets with Niall, led under the duvet while he’s hovering above you with his face buried in your neck. Your eyes widen when you notice me in the doorway, lips parting in shock.

Niall knows you and I are hooking up. We’re nothing. No label. But, it’s not about that. Why is my best mate in bed with one of the girls I hook up with? And why the fuck are you in bed with my best friend?

To say I wasn’t expecting that is an understatement, an unfamiliar wave of discomfort washes over me at the sight, my hands balling into fists at my side.

“What the fuck?” I exclaim, causing Niall to follow your gaze to where I’m stood.