Skylar gently kisses the top of my head, exhaling softly into my tangled hair. My eyelids flutter as the mattress shifts after she crawls out of bed. A moment later, the familiar noise of the shower fills my ears.

Reaching my arm out towards the bedside table, I fumble blindly for my wire-frame glasses. I've almost got them in my grasp when, suddenly, they fall to the floor.

Cursing softly, I half-climb/half-fall onto the floor to look for them. It's bloody difficult to find glasses when you can't see particularly well in the first place. To make the situation worse, the hotel carpet has a godawful paisley pattern that was evidently designed to camouflage lost items.

From the other side of the room, I hear a low whistle and a chuckle. I freeze with my naked arse in the air and my head under the bed.

"I'm glad I got out of the shower when I did," Skylar says with a laugh.

My hand finally touches the frames of my glasses, which I hurriedly put on my face. Suddenly, the world goes from fuzzy to razor-sharp, for which I'm quite grateful when I raise my head to look across the room.

Skylar stands in front of the bathroom door, looking incredibly embarrassed to be clad in a towel that's roughly the size of a postage stamp. Her face is bright red, and she keeps tugging on the top, then the bottom, then the top of the tiny square of terrycloth.

"That's a hand towel, love." I chuckle, reaching for a pair of crumpled boxers sitting in a heap at the end of the bed. "Not that I'm complaining. Because I'm not. If anything, it's covering too much--"

"It was the only option!" she cries out defensively. I smile and saunter over to her slowly, cupping her cheek and brushing a damp piece of hair off her forehead. Christ, she's gorgeous.

"Hi," I say as I lean in for a kiss.

"Hi," she replies, smiling against my lips. Her hand brushes against the sides of my glasses. "I like these."

"Ugh, I look like such a dweeb in them." I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

Given the amount of shit that the fellows give me any time they see me wearing my glasses, I usually prefer to go without. In fact, I can't remember the last time I wore them in front of someone, much less a member of the opposite sex who wasn't my sister. But seeing Skylar barely covered in the towel is well worth the potential mockery. Though, from the look on her face, that's not what's in her head at the moment.

"That's one word for how you look," she replies as she reaches for my waist to pull me closer.

My eyes drop to Skylar's chest, still damp from the shower. When I look back up at her face, I can see that it's just occurred to her that the only thing between us is this tiny scrap of terry cloth. Stepping forward, I'm about to make a move when there's a loud thump on the door.

"Fuck," I mutter as we look at each other before Skylar hurriedly escapes back into the bathroom. Throwing on a pair of crumpled trousers, I march to the door and fling it open unceremoniously to find three faces staring at me with bemused looks.

"Really, guys?" Shaking my head, I roll my eyes at my bandmates who, from the looks of it, haven't gotten much sleep either. John has dark circles under his eyes, Brian has an uncharacteristic five o'clock shadow, and Freddie... well, Fred looks like he's still trollied from the night before.

"Fun night, Rog?" Freddie asks with a shit-eating grin.

"Oh, it was fun, alright," Brian answers for me. "So much fun, in fact, that I couldn't bloody sleep. Just for your information, mate, these walls are thin. Very thin. It's like they were designed to carry sound."

I'm crafting a tart retort in my mind when Skylar's head pops up around the corner. From the looks of it, she's still not fully clothed, and I grin smugly as I watch the boys struggle to keep their eyes on her face.

"Really, Brian? After all the things that I've heard through my walls?" She gives him a knowing smirk before disappearing further inside the room.

"Oh, yeah," I reply. "I've heard you're quite the screamer, Bri." John starts to giggle, and Freddie throws his head back in laughter. Brian blushes furiously, running a hand through his mess of curls.

"Right," Freddie says, his face becoming serious. "You and Brian's sexual proclivities aside, we're here on official band business. Terry called. We have to report to the police station in a half-hour."

"Are you fucking kidding? What do they want now?"

"More questions," John replies. "You know, why we intentionally incited a riot that destroyed your drums and all our monitors. That sort of thing."

Fucking hell. I'd forgotten that our gear had been trashed. I look over my shoulder and see Skylar standing behind me, unfortunately fully clothed.

"Hi, Skylar!" Freddie calls over with a little wave. "Thanks for the extravaganza last ni--"

"Give me 15 minutes," I mumble hurriedly, closing the door in their faces. Whirling around, I watch Skylar's face as she decides if she wants to laugh or die of embarrassment. Before she can decide, I march over to her and pull her in for a deep kiss.

"It's always best to ignore them," I mumble mid-kiss, earning a giggle from her.

"You have to go?" Her expression is neutral, but I can tell she's disappointed. I am too; if there was a silver lining in the fact that we had to cancel tonight's gig, I had hoped it meant that we could spend a few hours together before she flew back to London.

Nodding, I pull her towards me again. "But I have fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes, Sky."

And, let's be honest, that's quite a long time if you can be creative.

**

We're on top of the world as we crisscross the UK over the next two weeks. The growing enthusiasm at each subsequent gig proves that this is really happening. For the first time ever, our single enters the UK Top 10, and our new album quickly gains traction.

It's a heady, intoxicating period, none more so than when our manager asks if we'd like to headline a gig at The Rainbow to close out the tour.

The Rainbow. The fucking Rainbow.

We scoff good-naturedly when he puts the question to us, unsure if he's serious. Sure, sure, let's play The Rainbow. Yeah, mate, we'll do a gig at the best-known rock venue in London. No big deal, easy peasy, etc.

I'd been there the year before to see Chuck Berry. He had strutted onto the stage ten minutes late, all smiles. "Hey, Rainbow! I love you!" After the show, my mate who works the lighting rigs told me that, just before going on, Chuck had demanded £2,000 in cash. The performance was thus delayed until everyone backstage had emptied their pockets to come up with the sum. Ever since that night, I haven't been able to work out if Chuck is an absolute legend or a complete tosser.

And, if a year ago, you had told me that Queen would be playing a sold-out show at The Rainbow, I'd have said that you were off your head.

But here we are.

After a late-night arrival in London, I'd hightailed it to Skylar's flat, where I basically pounced on her. We spent the morning in bed until it was time to soundcheck, during which we all pretended like our minds weren't blown that we were on this stage. And now, two hours later, looking out at the audience, I know what Elton felt when he played the Troubadour. I feel euphoric, the adrenaline pumping through my veins, creating the highest of highs.

"Can you guess which song is next?" Freddie coyly asks the screaming crowd. The intro to Seven Seas booms from the speakers, and the audience goes wild. Even way back here with the monitors blasting in my ears, I can hear them singing. Sisteeeeeer I live and lie for you Misteeeeeeer do and I'll die.

Brian starts in on his solo, allowing me to catch my breath. After wiping damp hair off my face and quickly re-tuning the snare, I glance over to the wings where Skylar is standing with Veronica and Mary. She looks sexy as hell in an all-black ensemble with a daringly short hemline. Our eyes meet, and I'm reminded of her standing in that ridiculous hand towel in the hotel room in Scotland. Smirking, I waggle my eyebrows at her. She winks and, fuck, I'm so smitten with her, with this specific moment in time.

Too quickly, the show is over. The afterparty, where we all get shitfaced beyond belief, is over. The whole fucking week is over, and I'm in a taxi with Freddie, Mary, and Skylar as we head to the airport. Freddie insisted that we all cram into the back seat, so Skylar is seated half on my lap, the crown of my head resting in the crook of her neck.

The next hour goes by in double time. We meet the rest of the gang at the airport and are hustled through security. We're recognized by a few fans, which is becoming more of a thing and spend a few minutes chatting with them. Too soon, it's time to board the flight.

"I'll miss you," Skylar murmurs into my ear, my arms tightly around her.

"I'll ring when I can," I reply softly. There's no way I can afford to phone her often from America; even though our albums are doing quite well, that hasn't translated to a surge in my bank account. "I'll miss you, Sky."

"I'll just be here studying for my boards," she replies. "Nothing fun at all."

"Rog, let's go!" Deaky calls. I look up and realize that everyone else is already heading towards the plane. Skylar loops her arms around my neck and pulls me in for a long kiss. I groan, half-hard from just that. Jesus, it's going to be a long few months.

I'm halfway down the jetway when it occurs to me that I'm not going to cross the fucking ocean before we figure out what's going on between us. I glance back over my shoulder to see her standing there, looking sad but trying to put on a cheerful appearance. Quickly, I dart back to the terminal, side-stepping the flight attendant who tries to stop me.

"Skylar?" My voice is lower than usual, causing her to look up quickly in surprise.

I don't even know what to ask; all I know is that I feel like the lead character in an old-timey American film where the sports hero gives the cheerleader his varsity jacket to announce to the world that they're together. But we're not in a film, and we're not teenagers. I can't very well ask her to be my girlfriend or go steady or whatever. Instead, I fumble.

"Are we..." I trail off, literally unable to finish the sentence.

Silence. Fuck, this is awkward. I'm usually on the other side of the conversation, actively trying to avoid this very thing. Skylar's brow furrows as her eyes dart between mine as she takes a few steps forward.

Oh, sod it, be my fucking girlfriend, let's go steady, wear my varsity jacket--whatever you want to call it, I want to be with you. I pray that a much more sophisticated version of this soliloquy is reflected in my eyes and that she currently feels sufficiently wooed.

"Roger, get on the bloody--" Our tour manager is standing at the gate, looking exasperated.

Skylar looks over to him, then back at me. Slowly, the question in her eyes becomes an understanding of what I'm so ineloquently trying to ask. A smile plays on her lips as she takes a step forward and wraps her arms around my waist, looking up at me.

"I'd like it if we were," she says softly so that no one can overhear.

"Yeah?" I can feel a stupidly big smile stretch across my face to the point that it's almost painful.

"Yeah," she replies huskily, reaching up to pull my face towards hers. Our lips crash together in a not-so-polite kiss, earning teasing catcalls from Veronica and Mary, who are still standing nearby. My forehead meets Skylar's, and we grin at each other.

"Try not to get into trouble," she says softly, smiling up at me. "It seems to find you guys."

"Roger!" Freddie stands by the entrance to the walkway, his hands dramatically in the air as if I've lost my damn mind.

"Bye, Sky," I say, my heart bursting with something unidentifiable. She looks so lovely at this very moment, and I want to remember her like this for the next few months.

"Bye, Rog," she replies, blowing me a kiss. "Go! Before they find a new drummer!"