Just A Little Bit ✔️

6. Riley

Riley Jameson, In Real Life

My hangover the morning after the label party is insane, but I don't mind it. After that one-night stand with the girl from the bar, a hell of a lot of tension was lifted off of me. The therapists at rehab are big on "healthy" coping mechanisms, and I would say good sex falls into the aforementioned category. Then again, what do I know?

    We have a flight to catch, back to London to keep writing our songs. It's a later flight this time, thankfully, and I'm much more awake by the time we're boarding the plane. I check my phone to pass the time until takeoff, scrolling through endless tweets and Instagram posts declaring our recent single, What The Hell Are You?, to be the greatest thing since Ruin Me. We're still riding the high well after the release.

    Ted thinks it's a good thing that people are so receptive to new music from us, especially since I play such a huge role in producing it. I know he doesn't mean for it to sound insulting, so I try not to take offense to it. Frankly, fans should hate me. Surprisingly, they don't.

    Freddie is parked next to me, flicking through a gossip magazine we were recently featured in.

    I roll my eyes, plucking an earbud out. "What are those wankers saying now?"

    "They think you and Perry are together," he replies, deadpan.

    I stifle a snort.

    "They also think you and Holly are caught in a love triangle with Stephie," he continues.

    "Why are you reading it?"

    "It was a couple of bucks."

    We all indulge in the headlines every now and again, but I've been avoiding them like the plague since I OD'd. It's not something I want to see. It's also something everyone I know had advised again. Sometimes I slip up, but it doesn't last long before it overwhelms me.

    "Have you listened to Kinley's album yet?" Gage asks, leaning across the aisle.

    I frown. "Who?"

    Freddie nearly gawks at me.

    "The girl we're supposed to work with on a new track," Gage replies. "Seriously, Riley? Didn't you get Ted's email? He sent it this morning."

    "I woke up late," I mumble.

    Sure enough, the email is waiting in my inbox. I only skim the message, taking in the greater details. It's nothing big. On our last album, we worked with another band. I'm used to collabs, but I don't love them.

    It seems my friends are more excited.

    "Her EP is amazing," Stephie says. "I've had it on repeat."

    "That good, huh?" I ask.

    "Dude, where have you been?" Freddie asks. "I barely use my Twitter and even I know who she is."

    "Is she that important?" I wonder aloud. "Who is this chick?"

    "She's one of the biggest reasons they had that party in the first place," Gage tells me. "I think you even talked to her at one point. She was at the bar?"

    Suddenly, my throat feels tight. Unwelcome images of her race through my mind— her neck curved, her teeth clenched around a pillow as she cries out, her naked body. Christ, I really hope it's just a coincidence. I talked to a few girls over the course of the night before I took her to bed, but none of them were at the bar.

    Stephie shoves her phone in my face, a recent post from the infamous Kinley Price's Instagram page.

    Sure enough, it's her.