I've never been a believer in the concept of delayed gratification. I'm more of an I-want-it-all-right-fucking-now sort of bloke.

Until now, that is. As of today, you can consider me a convert.

I'm practically skipping as I near the hospital to pick up Skylar. Tonight's date is a bit of a group effort: Freddie finagled us a reservation at Le Caprice, Brian lent me money so I can actually pay for the flashy dinner, and John loaned me his navy suit. Also included in the group effort were the 5,376 jokes made at my expense throughout the past few weeks.

Skylar, of course, knows none of this. She's been told only to meet me outside the hospital after her shift, preferably dressed to kill. She begged me to tell her what we were doing, but I'm nothing if not a man of mystery.

As I near the staff entrance, I see a lone figure illuminated under the fluorescent lightbulb. Skylar is slouched against the brick wall, still dressed in her light blue scrubs. She's smoking a cigarette, which isn't a good sign because that only happens when she's stressed. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and it's clear that she's been awake for far too long.

"Hey, you," I call out as I approach the building.

"Hey," she replies softly as her hazel eyes rise to meet my gaze.

"You look lovely as always," I say, leaning in to peck her lips. "But, I'm not sure that this get-up fits with the restaurant's dress code. I know that I look ultra sharp in this suit, but I'm afraid..."

I trail off as she sighs deeply, tossing her cigarette to the ground.

"I-- I can't go to dinner tonight."

I exhale slowly, commanding both my temper and my hormones to calm the fuck down. Skylar looks wrecked, so clearly, this isn't her choice. The poor thing looks absolutely knackered and supremely annoyed.

"Doug has the flu, so they need more coverage," she continues. "I tried to get out of it, but..." she trails off with a defeated sigh.

"But you just worked a shift." I feel outraged on her--and my--behalf. I can practically imagine word-for-word the bollocking Freddie is going to get from the hostess at Le Caprice, whom he charmed into giving us a prime dinner spot. He's going to kill me.

"Well, I just have to stay until Lucy starts her shift, but it'll be midnight by then. I'm so sorry, Roger. I know you had planned something special."

I step closer and look furtively around the deserted staff entrance. Seeing no one, I wrap my arms around Skylar, and she leans against me to rest her head on my shoulder.

"I'm so tired, Rog." She speaks into my shoulder before lifting her head to look up at me with her hazel eyes. "And I was really looking forward to the fifth date... if you know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean, yeah," I murmur with a grin, leaning down to kiss her shoulder.

"This fucking hospital," she complains softly.

Seriously, though. This goddamn hospital. This fucking tour. Sky and I have barely been able to see each other the past few weeks, much less figure out what this even is. The last thing I want to do before going on a three-month tour is to leave everything undefined and vague. Fuck that.

Skylar shifts slightly, and my body is suddenly very much aware of its proximity to hers. Why did we decide that we had to wait five bloody dates for something that clearly both of us wanted on the first?! At the time, it seemed like a lark, a challenge. Now the concept of delayed gratification just seems foolish.

Bloody hell.

Skylar is once again resting her forehead against my chest, and I wonder if she's actually dozed off whilst standing up. After a few silent moments, she speaks.

"You really do look great, Rog. You should wear suits all the time." Skylar's muffled voice vibrates against my skin. I smile into her hair, tightening my grip around her waist.

"Skylar--" the door next to us swings open, banging loudly on the wall. A man in identical blue scrubs steps out as we quickly move away from each other.

"Oh, uh, sorry, uh-- Skylar, they're ready. I'll, uh, see you in there." Looking exceptionally flustered, the bloke scurries back inside, and the door thumps shut behind him.

With a sigh, Skylar looks up at me. "What're you doing later on?"

"How much later?" I tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear.

"Around 1."

"Packing my things."

"Could I help?" A small smile plays on her lips, and I can see in her eyes how sorry she is.

"Don't you think you should sleep?"

"And miss seeing you the night before you leave? Don't be silly. Anyway, I'm an excellent suitcase packer. That was my profession in my former life."

"Well, then I'll say yes, but only because I'm absolute shit at it. I always end up with a crumpled mess of clothes that don't even go together."

Skylar's eyes dart towards the door, no doubt worrying that she's been missed. Her eyes return to mine, full of mischief. Tugging my arm lightly, she leads us around the corner to the side of the building. Considering that it's half seven at a busy hospital, the little hidey-hole that she's found is surprisingly deserted.

As I'm about to make a joke, she takes a step forward and effectively crushes me against the brick wall. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Her arms wrap around my neck as she stands on her tiptoes to bring our lips together. We both get a little carried away, no doubt a terrible idea considering that one of the senior doctors could very well find us here, snogging in the dark. But, like I said, I'm not complaining.

"I'll come by as soon I'm done." She pulls away, a little breathless, before straightening her scrubs and tucking a few wayward strands of hair behind her ear. She hurries back to the staff entrance to resume being a doctor, and I walk to the bus stop. Ever since we sold my van to help fund the recording of our first album, public transportation has been my frenemy.

Six hours later, Skylar stands at my doorstep, still wearing her blue scrubs and looking as if she's about to fall over.

"Hi," I say, motioning her inside. "You look half-dead."

"I am," she replies with a yawn. She takes a few steps forward and wraps her arms around my waist, her cold hands touching bare skin at the spot under the hem of my t-shirt. I yelp at the cool touch, resulting in a little laugh from her. She rests her head on my chest, leaning into me.

"Hi," she says, her eyes closed. We stand there for a few moments before I lead her through the flat, carefully avoiding the piles of mis-matched clothes and hair products that should already be in my suitcase. Before I know it, we're curled up together on my bed. We're both still fully-clothed, obviously, because apparently, that's what we do.

"How was it?" I ask. "Did you survive?"

She mumbles something unintelligible just before tucking her head into the area between my collarbone and jaw. She's still for a moment, and I assume that she's passed out. But, finally, she speaks.

"Are you excited about tomorrow?"

I hesitate, pondering the same question I've been asking myself all week. Hell yeah, we were excited to be headlining a tour. But, secretly, I was also scared shitless.

"I am, yeah. A bit nervous too. We've always been the opening act, which means that the bar is a bit lower, you know? Like, even if we're pretty good, that's more that people expect. Not that we've ever tried to be just 'pretty good' in our lives, but... yeah, I guess there's more pressure now. There's no room for fuck-ups. The bar is high."

Skylar gazes at me with her almond-shaped eyes and gives me a small smile. "I bought your single on Saturday."

"You did?" EMI had rushed a pressing of Seven Seas following our performance on TV. Apparently, it had done quite well so far.

"Of course I did, silly. It's fantastic. You guys are fantastic. The tour is going to be fantastic."

"That's a lot of fantastics in one sentence," I note. She lightly pushes on my arm and sighs wearily.

"I'm too tired to be creative."

"How many hours was it today?"

"Twenty-two." She opens her mouth as if to say something else but then closes her eyes as if she can't control their movement. I lay there listening to her breathe for a few moments, then turn away to turn off the light.

"Where will you guys be on the 16th?" Her voice is raspy, and I can tell she's using all of her willpower to stay awake.

"The 16th? Uh, somewhere in Scotland, I think. I can't keep all the gigs straight; I just go where I'm told."

"I have the 16th and 17th off. Could I come see you? Maybe we could, um, have that fifth date then?"

A smile spreads across my face, and I'm glad that it's too dark for her to witness my boyish glee.

"Yeah, sure, that'd be cool," I reply, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Okay, it's a date," she replies, and it's evident that she too is smiling. After a moment, we both start giggling and I reach out to carefully find her lips in the dark. Soon we're wrapped around each other, and I'm debating what to do next. She must be thinking the same thing.

"Do you want to..."

I pause for a beat. Of course, I want to say yes. It's all I've wanted to do for bloody months, and she's right here next to me. But she can barely keep her eyes open. There's no way she would enjoy it. And, whenever it finally happens, I want to blow her fucking mind.

"Nah," I say, trying to sound casual as if I haven't thought about having sex with her every day for the past few months. As if my penis isn't about to fall off from sexual frustration. As if I'm not about to lose my goddamn mind.

"Are you sure--"

"You're always trying to get in my knickers," I joke. "It's like you only want me for one thing, and one thing only."

"You've nailed it on the head," she says drily. Even though I can't see her eyes, I know that they're looking at me questioningly. By now, it's occurred to me that Skylar doesn't fully realize how bloody gorgeous she is. She's probably wondering if I've already lost interest or whatever stupid things that girls think about.

So, to remove any doubt in her mind, I pull her close so that she can feel every inch of me. She stills for a moment but, soon enough, our lips and hands are roving each others' bodies. But, like I said, she's knackered, and I'm a gentleman, so it doesn't go further than second base.

**

"It says that you two are 'pretty neat and good enough to eat,' Freddie says to John and me as he reads the latest article from Sounds.

"What's it say about me?" Brian asks, leaning over the well-worn bus seat as we rumble between Glasgow and Stirling. We're 10 days into our tour, and it's going brilliantly. Freddie's eyes move back and forth as he skims the article, finally spotting what he's looking for.

"It says you can turn a lick or two."

"A lick or two?!" Brian asks, looking affronted.

"At least you're not referred to as a meal," I offer up with a shrug.

"I feel objectified," John interjects.

"I don't," I reply. "I'll take it any way I can get it."

"I bet you will," Freddie mumbles under his breath. As if he feels the searing burn of my eye roll, he glances up, and his upper lip twitches as he hides a laugh.

"Anyway, the critics can fuck off," he says, throwing the magazine down on the table situated in the very back of the bus.

"Tell that to my bank account," Brian replies. "How is it possible that we're making no fucking money? Is it possible that we don't actually receive a single shilling when an album sells? Because that's what it feels like."

"It's those fuckers at Trident," Freddie says. "I'm telling you, we need to--"

"Don't start again, Fred," Brian says. "We have enough shit to deal with right now. Anyway, we need to focus on what's important: Roger's getting laid tonight."

"Will you lot never get tired of getting in my business?" I reach for the magazine and lob it at their heads. It bounces off Brian's mountain of curls and hits Freddie's shoulder.

"Nope," Freddie and Brian respond simultaneously.

"To be fair," John interjects, "You gave me quite a lot of shit when Veronica and I started dating."

"Well, yeah," I reply. "You two went bloody months without doing anything. It was painful to watch. Honestly, mate, I was surprised your tallywacker didn't fall off."

"Months, you say?" Brian says, cupping his ear theatrically. "And how long has it been with Skylar?"

"Wait, can we instead focus on the fact that Rog just said tallywacker?" Freddie cackles, which I ignore as I ponder the question. Shit, it has been months. How has time possibly passed so quickly? I can't even remember the last time I went so long without a shag. Probably when I was 12.

"Oh, piss off, the lot of you." I turn away to lean my face against the cold window watching the fields of Scotland go past. I don't actually mind if they take the piss out of me for my lack of sexual activity, because who fucking cares. But what I do mind is what happened the morning that we left London.

Skylar and I were halfway out the door when she made a joke about me not shagging all the groupies at once while on tour. I knew she was kidding, but felt the need to clearly spell out for her that I hadn't had sex in ages. She looked absolutely gobsmacked as if it hadn't occurred to her that I might be able to focus on just one woman. Then, since fate has it in for us, the tour bus rolled up in front of my flat, and I hurried off after giving her a kiss goodbye.

So, ever since then, I've felt like an asshole, wondering why she has the impression that I'm both wooing her and chasing every skirt in London. But that all ends tonight. She phoned this morning to say that her flight was delayed, but she'd be at the gig. So, as soon as we do our encore, my mission is to take her somewhere to make it abundantly clear that I'm serious about this.

Soon enough, we're camped out in the cramped dressing room at the University of Stirling. Freddie comes near me with his straightening iron, and I threaten to chop his balls off. Finally, satisfied that my hair is perfectly mussed, I pick up my drum sticks and begin to beat them on various surfaces in the room.

After a while, and after checking the clock about a billion times, I start to do vocal warm-ups with Freddie. We do this every night, so you'd think that we'd have come up with a clever song to sing. But no, we just howl at each other like cats, prompting Brian and Deaks to throw shit at us.

Finally, it's time to go on. We can hear the applause after the opening band's encore as the promoter comes to fetch us. Stepping into the corridor, I peer up and down the whitewashed halls hoping that Skylar will magically appear. Next to me, Freddie starts to hop on the balls of his feet as we walk, while Brian gives his back a final stretch.

"You boys ready?" The promoter's accent is thick, making me think he's said something altogether different. The audience has begun to clap in a slow, rhythmic pattern with cheers and hollers in between. I feel the familiar rush of adrenaline fill my body as I grasp my drumsticks more tightly and take a deep breath.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The moment you've all been waiting for. All the way from London, here's Queen!"

The roar of the crowd rushes over me as I walk quickly to my kit and sit on the stool just before the stage lights are extinguished. As I sit in the dark waiting for the opening chords of 'Procession," there's one thought that's going through my mind.

Where the bloody hell is Skylar?

***

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