Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

19. Roger

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."