Page 82 of Love Thief

Iwake with my wife in my arms, my legs wound around hers, trapping her against me, both of us fully clothed. Err, why? I take in our room on the tour bus through bleary eyes, then survey the rest of the bed. It’s like the fucking tardis. I can hear snoring, and was that a fart? Who the hell is in here?

Xander is on the other side of Evie, again fully dressed, practically spooning her as she’s facing me. Kitten’s scent is up my nose, but then the smell of stale beer wafts up from the bottom of the bed.

Grimacing at the hangover headache starting to make itself known, I slightly lift my head in the direction of the vile smell. James and Bucky are hanging onto the bottom of the bed like it’s a moving vehicle and they’re clinging on for grim death. They’re also fully clothed—thank god for that—and James still has his boots on. Bucky's legs are sprawled all over James, limbs strewn out, fingertips touching the floor. How the hell have they slept in that position?

What the fuck happened?

I want to wake my wife up properly, but I can’t with this lot here. And it sucks. My hard-on is pushing at my navel, uncomfortably hard and ready to go.

Evie moves and brushes my cock, and the fucking thing twitches and tries to move closer to her. It has a mind of its own and it knows exactly what it wants.

I groan and kiss her on her forehead, edging my way down her face, seeking out her lips. She responds by moving her hips closer into mine, and, as we’re laid on our sides, facing each other, she gently grinds onto me. Witch. She knows exactly what she wants, too.

I feel her giggle and know she’s awake, and that she knows certain parts of me are as well. Looking down at her, I mouth, “bathroom.” When she shakes her head, I squint at her, mouth, “ten,” and make a whip crack motion with my wrists. Her giggle gets louder, her shoulders shaking as she tries to hold it in.

“Stop moving, Evie,” Xan moans from her other side. The boys are still out cold at the foot of the bed.

She moves closer to me, and I try to drag her out of the bed, but Bucky moans out, “Stop this bed. It’s spinning around, I need to get off it.”

She lifts her head and looks at them both. “You’re green. I’ll get you drinks. Get in here and we’ll get up.” Her voice is full of concern for them both, her eyes assessing their morning-after states.

I groan as she pushes at me to move and reluctantly roll over, allowing her to push me out of the covers. She’s in mummy mode, the boys come first. I know relegation when I see it.

But I still complain about it. “They’re fucking eighteen years old. They can get their own drinks. It’s self-inflicted, they’re not sick.”

“Dad,” James groans, “get me a drink please.”

“Yeah, Dad, we’re ill. You’re supposed to look after us,” Bucky joins in. They’re laughing at me, but pouting at Evie.

“Pair of shits,” I chunter as I get up and go out to a scene of total chaos.

There are bodies everywhere, in different states of undress and inebriation.

I pick my way through the human debris and get two bottles of water from the fridge, putting the kettle on while I’m there. Tea will be the order of the day. Might as well start early, and Evie is addicted to the stuff.

Someone has started to fry bacon. Who the hell has done that? Okay, it’s almost 10:30. Not that late, to be honest, when I’m sure we didn’t crash until around 5 a.m. Jude comes out of the bathroom, all cheery and content, and I practically growl at him, “Have you started food?”

“Yes, it’s on.” As if it’s the most normal thing in the world that he’s here cooking breakfast, on my bus, for them all.

But then I remember the boys' tales of Jude’s breakfasts after nights out. It probably is for him.

“Tell the boys bacon sandwiches in fifteen minutes, that’ll get ‘em moving. Their bandmates are here, pissed off they missed the party with Mistress Whiplash.”

I stagger back to the room, giving a variety of people a gentle kick as I go past to get them up and moving. I slam the bedroom door, and grin. The boys are leaning against the pillows, groaning. Evie has dampened flannels on their heads to help soothe the hangover headaches, patting at them. What is she doing? Nursing them, including Xan, like they’re all five-year-olds, of course.

“Bacon’s on. Jude’s here cooking.” They literally jump up, kiss Evie, and fly past me, grabbing the water bottles and kissing my cheek as they go.

“Thanks, Pops. Still a bit shit, but getting better,” James calls over his shoulder as he rushes out the door.

Bucky takes a drink, calling, “You still need work, but we’ll sort you.”

They’re both laughing as they leave, and when I look over at Evie and Xan, I find them rolling with laughter at the expression on my face.

“Fucking kids,” I snarl and grab her. “Cockblockers,” I grumble and kiss her again.

She pushes me off, and through her laughter, chuckles out, “I need food.”

“I’m being dumped for a bacon sandwich,” I say incredulously.

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