PRETTY LOVER BOY - ROGER TAYLOR

VIII.

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It's stupid. Batshit crazy even. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be staying, and yet, here I am, on the phone explaining to my supposed to be roommates and friends from high school why I'm no longer coming back to the states.

I'd like to say it isn't spur of the moment, "I can't leave", but it is. Freddie coming to see me just sealed the deal. I've got a reason to stay now. I may not like it, I may not understand it, I may not agree with it, but it's a reason nonetheless.

I end up working things out with my landlord which is fairly easy, considering she's one of the nicest people alive, and I'm back to living in my flat. I'm out of a job, however, but I'm not worried just yet. I've got stacks of cash in a drawer from my busy nights at the club, and I'm not at all worried about it running out yet. I'll manage until I find a job that suites me.

I'm cleaning up my room a bit, picking up some of my clothes I had left on the floor when I find a slip of paper in the pocket of one of my jackets. The one I had worn to Roger's house. I unfold gently to find a number scratched out on it and a small note.

Call me when you're bored, or for no reason at all. Just as long as I get to hear your voice.

My heart flutters and I curse it, putting the note on my desk and going back to cleaning my room. For the next ten minutes my eyes keep drifting to the slip of paper, until I finally take it again, walking out to the sage green phone hanging on the wall. Hesitantly, I punch in the numbers on the note and put the phone to my ear, twirling the cord nervously around my fingers. After a moment, the line picks up.

"Hello?" Roger's voice is like music to my ears.

"Hey lover boy," I say, leaning against the wall. The line is silent for a moment.

"Clementine?" I grin at the name.

"Last time I checked, yeah," I respond, met by a soft chuckle on the other side.

"So you found the note?" He asks, and I untangle the telephone cord from my fingers.

"I did," I move so my back is against the wall, "and at the perfect time really, I am quite bored over here."  There's a bit of stumble on the other side of the line before Roger's voice comes over again.

"Is that so?" I can hear the smirk playing in his voice.

"Yes it seems it is," I begin to pick at my fingernails, "a shame really, the front door is unlocked and everything, yet, no visitors." The line drops on the other side and I look at the phone, laughing a bit before putting it back up.

About twenty five or so minutes later, I hear the front door open from my bedroom and I quickly scramble off my bed. I peak my head out of the door and then around the corner to find Roger looking around with his hands shoved in his back pockets.

"Hey there blondie," I grin, coming fully into view. When he sees me his eyes light up, but he shakes his head at the nickname.

"Anything but that, Clems," he says and I laugh, quickly trotting over to him, getting up on my tippy toes giddily and wrapping my arms around his neck.

"You really act like a school girl, don't you?" He asks, hugging me back. I push away from him, hands on his chest with mock offense on my face.

"Excuse me, I turn twenty soon thank you very much," I inform him, putting a finger against his abdomen, "what are you old man, thirty?"

"Twenty-five there killer," he runs his hands down my arms.

"Hmm, you're a bit old for me then, I think," I pull away before taking him up and down, "you can't possibly preform at your age." Roger scoffs, stepping forward and grabbing me roughly by the arm, pulling me close to him and making my heart race.

"Oh, you're gonna regret that one princess."

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The rain patters softly against the living room window pane, my flat basking in a gloomy glow from the stormy weather. One of the living room windows is slightly ajar, pulling tendrils of smoke from the cigarette Roger and I pass between one another on the couch.

Roger lays lazily against a pillow with his boxers on, propped up against the the corner of the couch, and I lie between his legs, wearing a sheer flowing coverup. It's serene in the small apartment, the sounds of the Beatles quietly drifting from the record player, an occasional soft roll of thunder filtering through my chest.

Roger shifts gently underneath me and I dip my head back against his chest, watching as he blows rings of smoke from his lips. With a content sigh, I roll my body over, crawling up farther on his chest so I'm fully laying on him, legs tangling with his. Roger takes one of his hands around my back, holding me to him while he leans over and drops the cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table before putting that arm around me as well. He inhales deeply, me rising with his chest, and for a moment I think he's going to speak, but he seems hesitant.

"What is it?" I ask, lips ghosting over his neck. Roger presses a kiss to my hair.

"Would you let me visit you, in America?" He asks after a moment, and I pick my head up so I can look into his eyes, a smile playing on my lips.

"I think I would've let you, yeah," I say, not able to stop my stupid grin.

"Why're you looking at me like that? And what do you mean, would've?" He laughs nervously, dropping his hands to the small of my back.

"Cause I'm staying, silly," I pick myself up, sitting on his lower stomach. He looks at me for a moment, eyebrows furrowed.

"What?" He asks, and I drum a quick beat on his abdomen.

"I'm not going back, I'm staying here." Roger sits up, looking at me funny as I slide down into his lap, legs out past his sides now.

"You're serious?" He asks, and I nod. He then grabs me around my waist, pulling me back down on his chest as I laugh. "You little fucking minx."

"That's what they say," I roll out of his grip and he watches me as I go over to the record player. I pull the now finished record from its spot, sliding it back into its album. With a glance and a wink back at Roger, I bend over to put it back in its place, a groan erupting from the blond-haired man that makes me giggle.

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