Chapter 2: A baggy top, and contracts

I woke up tangled in bed sheets. It was the first undisturbed night I'd had in years. And I'd woken up on a very soft, warm bed.

Then I realised there was someone lying next to me, in my bed. Except it wasn't my bed.

Judging by the abs pressed up against me, it wasn't a man. And the arm snaked around my waist, he wasn't a stranger.

I had to do this slowly- and subtly. I arched my back, and heard a grunt.

Wait.

I recognised his voice.

Oh God.

I sat up suddenly, and my head whipped to the man next to me.

It was Darren.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I probably wasn't making a good first impression on Ryan. First I show up in a catsuit, then I get drunk at a party of his, and end up in bed with one of his employees.

Darren stirred slightly, his mouth twitching into a smile. I thought I heard him say "Anya," but I prayed it was just in his dream absorbed state.

All the alcohol I had from last night started to kick in, and my heart began throbbing. Hard. Sharp, stabbing pains in my head, over and over-

"Anya?"

Great. He'd woken up.

He was rubbing his eyes sleepily, and sat up, right next to me. Our hips were touching, but I chose to ignore it.

"W-What did we do last night?" He groaned. I guess his hangover started to kick in, too.

He noticed my stiff, rigid position, purposely ignoring him.

"Anya?"

"I-I'm fine. I'll be fine. It's just, you know, I barely know you, and now I'm in the same bed as you-"

He understood, and slid out of bed. "Sorry," he apologised, raising his hands. "I had a lot to drink, and I'm pretty sure you did, too."

"Do you remember anything, Darren?"

"Parts. I remember Mark bringing out this huge keg of beer, and I think you drunk from it. With your mouth."

"Perfect," I moaned, hiding my face in my hands. "You barely know me, and already you think I'm a fool."

"Hey." His voice softened, became gentler. "I don't think you're an idiot."

I peeked up, and saw him, one hand on my shoulder, amber eyes boring into mine.
"If it helps, Naya licked whipped cream off Heather," he joked. "We all had a lot to drink. Don't blame yourself. I-I'm going to have a shower, now. You can use it after, if you want?" He offered. I gave him a smile, and watched as he struggled to stay upright. He made it all the way to the bathroom, before I heard a loud crash.

"Darren, you OK?"

"I'm fine! Everything's fine!"

I hid a smirk. Of all the people I know, and barely know, it had to be Darren.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I took Darren's absence as an opportunity to study his hotel room. Ryan told me they'd been staying for a few weeks, now, so it would have given them some time to settle into their rooms. He didn't have many possessions. By possessions, I mean personal stuff. Family photos, and certificates. I have a whole soppy cork board of shots of me and my friends I took, from college. Well. They were my friends. But since college, people changed. We moved further away from each other, and all of a sudden, even though we promised to keep in touch, we stop talking. And one night, they show up at your doorway expecting you to do them a favour.

All they ever wanted from me, I thought bitterly. Favours.

But Darren had a ton of stuff. I guess being famous on a TV show paid off. He probably had more clothes than I did, judging by the different coloured shirts he had slung over a chair, and the massive wardrobe. Plus the dresser in the corner of the cream walls, carrying the weight of all his things. His florescent pink glasses that made my eyes ache if I stared too long at, and a few beaded bracelets.

In a corner, lay a guitar, leant against the wall. I could tell it was probably valuable to him, still shining of polished wood. I heard the splash of water turn on, and slipped out of his bed over to the guitar. I loved music. It was all I ever thought of, all I ever did. Music was my life.

I couldn't resist strumming lightly against the guitar strings with my fingers, running a hand down the smooth surface.

"You like guitars, huh?"

I jumped, to face Darren. I hated him, for looking so comfortably gorgeous in just a green top, slung on with jeans. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't angry. He had an...inquisitive look on his face, like he was genuinely interested to hear what I had to say.

"Like is one word. C-Can I use the shower?"

He nodded, and I rushed past him, into the bathroom. I locked the door.

I didn't feel like facing Darren. His guitar brought too many painful memories back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shower was like a relief, a massage to my sore muscles. I switched the shower on, and just stood there, letting the water run down my back. I had been so tense the past few weeks, and the hot shower was relaxing my knotted muscles.

I shower quickly.

I was in and out of the shower in two minutes, but I spent the next five wondering how awkward it would be to face Darren right now.

There was a knock on the door.

"Anya? You going to be long in there?"

"No!" I called. "I'm coming out now."

I tightened the knot on the towel wrapped securely around my body, and grabbed the hair towel.

The look on Darren's face was priceless.

"O-Oh. I didn't think, I didn't realise you'd be in a towel, sorry," he stammered. A blush rose on his cheeks. He turned away, his back to me. "Sorry, I'll look away."

I was unimpressed. "Uh, Darren? We've spent a night together, you don't need to be like that."

"O-Okay." He turned back, but still looked crimson. I really must be rocking the towel outfit, huh? I thought, with a hidden smile.

"Do you have any clothes?" I walked towards his wardrobe, and started rummaging through his clothes.

"Wait, what?"

I rolled my eyes, and put a hand on my hip as I explained to him as slowly as I could. "I...don't...have...any...clothes. They're all in my hotel room."

"Oh, right." He was majorly embarrassed, and kept glancing at the floor.

"This'll have to do." I picked out a simple striped short-sleeved top, that I had to admit, was my favourite. "I'll keep my jeans on," I told him, before he opened his mouth. My jeans were crumpled, and didn't look their best, but I wasn't about to go asking Darren for his trousers. The top was enough.

"OK, now you can look away."

I slipped on my pants and jeans under the towel, and was still wearing my towel with my jeans on, when I realised- how was I going to get my bra on?

"I've got to go to the bathroom for this, sorry." It took me a nanosecond to clip my bra on, but I wanted to spend some time making myself look eligible. His top was amazingly soft, and actually didn't look that bad on me, I decided, admiring myself in the mirror. It was baggy on me, but accentuated my curves in the right places.

I searched through his glass cupboard above the sink, found some deodorant, which I bathed in, gave my hair a run through with my fingers, and rinsed my mouth with mouthwash. I was pretty confident alcohol was on my breath.

The girl in the mirror looked nothing like me.

My eyeliner was smudged, I wiped off my lipstick, and I looked...shy. Wide-eyed and innocent. Fortunately, my auburn hair was growing in curls down my shoulders, the way I liked. With a tissue and expertise, I managed to re-use the eyeliner I wore last night, smudging it in the corners of my brown eyes.

I took five minutes, but I wasn't about to go apologising to Darren.

"So where are we headed to now?" I asked him, tugging on my boots.

"Just downstairs, to the hotel dining room. It's where we have breakfast."

"Better not keep Ryan waiting." I winked at him, and couldn't shake the feeling his eyes were on me the whole time we were walking downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The little 'dining room' Darren made it seem very modest, turned out to be a colossal room, stretching for miles. It certainly seemed that way, anyway. The Fiachra hotel didn't do things small, I'd learnt. The dining room, the walls covered in rich, deep red wallpaper, was mainly filled with tables cloaked in white tablecloths, laid with silver cutlery. In the centre of the room, were tables piled with plates of food, from where guests could serve themselves. I even spotted a salad bar.

We were met by a very, very hung-over cast. Apparently Ryan

refused to exit his room. So the rich sod gets to laze in his bed all day, while he forces the rest of us to work, I thought angrily, casting a glance over the miserable bunch. Few people were eating.

But somehow Amber managed to eat four slices of toast, two fried eggs and bacon.

"When a girl's gotta eat, a girl's gotta eat!" She protested, when she saw the rest of us gaping at her plate. I laughed. Amber was nothing like I expected- instead of a drama queen, she was hilarious, and had been so warm and welcoming to me, I couldn't refuse her company.

She definitely showed me last night, though, she was 100% diva, through and through.

Jenna, had been quiet. Her hangover proved the worst. She didn't necessarily drink the most, but being the least used to alcohol, she certainly took the hardest hit.

"Jen, you OK?" I asked, sliding into the seat next to me. Darren sat opposite of me. I couldn't look at him yet, without thinking what we could have done last night.

"Do hangovers normally hurt this much?"

I was at a loss for words what to say, when thankfully, Mark saved me.

"Please. What we did last night? Nothing compared to the good ol' days of Salling in his college years. In one night, me and my roommates downed two kegs, far few number of beers and shots of vodka. You'll survive, believe me."

Jenna managed a weak smile.

"That can't be good for your bladder," Darren said. He looked flabbergasted.

"Hey." Mark pointed a fork at Darren, still covered in eggy mush. "I've seen what you can do, Criss. Don't lecture me." He narrowed his eyes, but we knew it was in banter. I'd seen the two in TV interviews, they were like brothers. Or drinking buddies.

I was about to say something, before I spotted Ian Brennan, one of the writers of Glee.

The poor man looked tired. I was told he hadn't been invited to Ryan's party, on account of the work he had to catch up with. Looking at the dark circles under his eyes, I felt sorry for him. I had the feeling Ryan wasn't a pleasant man to work with. Hell, I went with him to college. I knew what a nightmare he could be.

Ian spotted us, and ambled over. He immediately zoned in on me.

"You must be the lovely Anya," he bowed, and kissed my hand. It was a cheesy gesture, considering we were in the 21st century, but I gave him a faint smile.

"I've heard about you. Ryan told me you were going to join the cast. We've all been awaiting your arrival eagerly."

"Thank you." It was all I could say.

"Ryan instructed me to explain to you what's going to happen. If you'll follow me?" He gave me a toothy grin, and I felt a little sick. But I couldn't deny one of the writers of Glee, an important man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We came to a room on the outreaches of the hotel, the furthest guests could go. It was an old, forgotten relaxing room. The cobwebs that hung in the corner told me it hadn't been visited, in years.

Ian had been carrying a folder, which he spread out along a coffee table. There were more sheets than I could imagine, neatly labelled and printed.

"This is your contract." He handed me thick sheets, stapled together. "All you have to do is sign," he croaked, a glimmer in his eyes I didn't like.

I shuffled through the papers. Nothing looked serious, just an average contract. Ian handed me a pen between shaking fingers. I scribbled down my signature.

Ian gave me a crooked smile. "We start filming in two weeks. You play a small part, nothing big. Just another Cheerio, called Hayley. Your lines I've highlighted in this script. Two weeks to learn it. The filming set is just down the road. You know where that is, right?"

I nodded. I had no idea, but I hoped I could get the help of one of my cast-mates.

Ian's gaze shifted to the door, and his eyes glazed over.

"I-I'd better leave." I nervously scraped my chair back, and walked out of the door, leaving probably a half-conscious Ian behind me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I returned, most people had their appetites back and Mark was piling his plate with fried food, making me shudder. I stayed away from any fried food.

It was one of the woman who noticed my top first. The typical TV gorgeous, with cinnamon skin, long hair, and dark lashes. "What's with the top?" She asked me, signalling to Blaine's top.

"Er..." I stuttered.

"Excuse Naya." Jenna said, giving a pointed look towards the woman, who I now knew was called Naya.

"She's a little forward."

I gave her a thankful look.

"But... I have to ask. Where did you get the top? It doesn't look like yours. In fact... it looks like a man's top."

There was a silent pause in the room.

"Anya...which guy?" Amber asked, with a waggling of eyebrows.

"Guys...Shut up! I just...Didn't have any clothes, OK? Forget about it." I dropped into the seat next to Jenna.

"Someone's touchy," Lea commented, spreading butter on her toast.

I resisted the urge to glare at her.

Darren cleared his throat.

"What's the schedule for today?" I asked for Jenna.

"Dance rehearsals," she groaned. "For all of us, Amber."

Amber ignored her.

Chatting to the cast was so easy. They knew each other so well, they were comfortable and relaxed around each other.

I got to know a few more people, Naya, a jokey but slightly nosey girl. She was sweet, but I learnt she loved gossip. When I heard the word gossip, I instantly looked at Darren, who avoided my gaze. He must have been thinking the same thing, too.

Dianna, the sweetest, kindest person I'd ever met.

And Kevin, who, ironically, turned out to be the best dancer, but was stuck in a wheelchair, playing a handicapped person.

Breakfast went by fast, and we were forced by our schedule to get to the dance studios down the road, as quickly as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I found out dancing was hard. I found out because I'd just been introduced, I didn't have to vigorously work to perfect the routine, like the rest of the cast.

So I just sat back and watched as the cast were put through their moves. Training was tough, and Jenna stopped for a sneaky break, to talk to me, before the dancing instructor caught her and snapped at Jenna to get back.

The whole cast looked like a wreck, especially Darren who was covered in sweat and dancing, basically looking like a hot mess... What am I doing? My attention snapped back from Darren. I don't like him. I don't like anyone... At least, not in that way.

That's what I thought.