The Object of My Affection: My Band Mate's Sister

Chains

Paul had a bright beam on his face when he woke up naturally this morning. He rolled over, his eyes looking at the small little clock to see it was nearly nine o'clock. It was the first time in ages he had a proper night's sleep. The strong wind and rain from last night had kept the screaming girls away allowing The Fab Four to actually have a goodnight's rest.

Paul kicked the thick duvet off him and threw his legs out of the bed. He took hold of the alarm clock that was on his nightstand to turn the set alarm off so it wouldn't wake George, who he was rooming with. He decided George needed more sleep than him, his stomach woke him up most nights and he'd find it hard to fall back to sleep.

Paul got out of the room, making sure to be quiet in order to let his mate rest and closed the door gently behind him. The sound of perfect guitar chords in tune to Elvis' Love Me Tender greeted his ears, provoking his face to scrunch up in confusion. But it was more intrigued than confused and followed the music into the living area of their hotel room to see Brona sitting Indian style on the couch with a guitar in hand, her soft and slender fingers gently gilding over the guitar strings.

"Still loving Elvis, are we?" Paul teased, walking over to the couch and took a seat beside her.

Brona chuckled at his reference to their teen years when she was head over heels for Elvis Presley, "Very much."

The bass player sat back into the comfortable couch, resting his arm on the back of it as he smiled, "What is it you used to make us call you?" he asked teasingly, watching as her cheeks flushed pink. "Mrs Presley?"

The brunette buried her face into her hands in embarrassment, "Noooo! Shut up!"

"You weren't too bad though," Paul said, gently patting her shoulder and she took a way her hands from her face revealing her cheeks were back too their subtle rosy pink. "Anyways, what are you doing up at this ungodly hour playing your guitar?"

"Hunger over sleep," Brona explained to him, gesturing to the empty bowl of what was cornflakes that was left on the circular, kitchen table. "I'm surprise to see Geo isn't up."

Paul chuckled, "Yeah, I know. But we hardly ever get rest with fans screaming."

Brona swivelled around to look out the window, "So when this all dries up, I won't be able to sleep?" she asked, looking back at Paul.

"Nope," the bassist replied, popping his 'p'. He gently tapped the guitar that was still resting in her lap, "You're alright on the guitar, you know."

She smiled down fondly at the guitar her friends gave her a few birthdays ago, "Should be, my twin brother's a lead guitarist for a major band."

Paul gave a theatrical gasp, bugging his eyes as far as they would go out of his head and leaned in closer as if they were two old women gossiping, "Get out."

"It's true," Brona said, nodding her head vigorously, trying to hold her laugh. "They're called The Beatles, of ya 'eard of 'em?" she asked, sounding like her mother never taught her to speak properly.

Paul started to fan himself with his hands, "No way! You're brother's George Harrison? The George Harrison?" he asked, his hazel eyes wide as saucers. "So you've met Paul McCartney? He is so good-looking."

Brona nodded in agreement, trying to hold her giggles which was really hard with Paul acting like the girls she met fairly often, "Yeah, he is. But I'm pretty sure he's queer," she said before bursting into a roar of laughter.

Paul would usual come up with a comment or something but he had to stop and let the sound of her laughter soak in. It was so genuine, that's what Paul really like about it. It wasn't one of those put on laughs some girls would use when they were flirting, it was real.