Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Of All The Gin Joints...
(A/N: All the previous chapters with Em's P.O.V. were written by my friend...now we'll take a detour and go to Dee's P.O.V. which I write. Enjoy.)
Denise's P.O.V.
I poke my head out from under the plain eggplant-colored covers and shift to glimpse at the alarm clock. 4:32 a.m. The neon red numerals gaze back at me brightly, almost as if they were scolding me for last night. A yawn escapes my mouth and I instantly cover it with my hand. I turn over to the bed to the left of mine. No, she's still asleep, probably dreaming about our new Decaydance friend, Pete. I shake my head and smirk slightly just imagining what "scenarios" are going through her head.
I lift myself off of the twin-size bed and launch myself into the shower. I attempt to wash my hair but the miniscule bottles of shampoo and conditioner the hotel maids left aren't close to enough for my long locks. Emily's going to be so pissed when she finds out I used all of it. Oh well, serves her right for making me look like a dumb ass in front of Patrick.
I dash over to my bag, wrapping the long white towel around my chest, and grab my clothes: deconstructed jeans, a tight Atticus shirt, and small zip-up ebony hoodie. After I get dressed I throw on my Pac Man ankle socks and slip into my brown, white, and black Vans. I comb my fingers through my slightly damp hair, letting the ringlets fall across my shoulders and back. I guess this is as good as it's gonna get.
I spread some strawberry flavored lip gloss on my lips and flip the hood over my head. I start my way towards the door picking up my mp3 player from the table. I press play and shove it into my back pocket with one hand and stick my headphones in my ears with the other. With my hand on the knob I look back one final time at Em and shut the door behind me.
I skip down the steps to the pool area and lean back on the surrounding wire fence. Fall Out Boy's Music Or The Misery starts and a smile spreads across my face. I sing along softly, strumming my air guitar as I do so.
"...I got your love letters, corrected the grammar, and sent them back, 'cause true romance is dead. I shot it in the chest and in the head. And if you wanna go down in history-"
"-then I'm your prince..."
I hold my breath as I realize that the echo is not from my headphones. I look over my shoulder and topple over the pool chair beside me from surprise.
"That's definitely going to leave a bruise." I say massaging my left hip.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so..."
"Let me help you up." Patrick offers stretching out his hand.
"Thanks." I mumble standing back up.
"I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that. I didn't scare you did I?" He said quietly as he pushed his glasses back up with his index finger.
"No. No, you didn't. I just wasn't expecting anyone else to be here." I stammered.
"Me neither, but it's always nice to have company."
He smiles at me from beneath the rim of his tilted Clandestine trucker cap. I smile back. Clothes Off! by Gym Class Heroes invades my ears. Could this mp3 have picked a more appropriate song? Now, my mind has officially gone to the gutter. And I doubt I'll be able to get it unstuck from between the grates....
"Denise?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about...uh, never mind." I reply sheepishly.
"I know I probably screwed up your whole morning, but...uh...do you want to take a walk?"
"I'd like that."
Patrick breathes a sigh of relief.
"Okay, that was easier than I thought." He says shuffling his feet across the sidewalk.
"What do you mean?" I question looking up at Patrick.
"Well, after the whole scene, I thought you didn't want to speak to me."
"No, believe me Pete's antics are so closely related to Emily's that I am practically used to it by now." I say referring to the situation at Decaydance.
"Practically?"
"Well, it does get to me sometimes...but at least it's all over. I am so glad that the band is finally official!" I announce stretching my arms out above my head.
Patrick chuckles at my off-the-wall rant. He's so adorable. We continue walking back towards the hotel rooms. We've been walking for a few minutes now and he hasn't said a word. The uncomfortable silence is, well, making me uncomfortable.
"So, does this mean you're going to be our producer?" I blurt out.
"Only if you want me too."
"Hmmm...the quote unquote musical genius of Fall Out Boy as our producer...how about...hell yes!"
"Alright then, it's settled."
"As long as I'll have unrestricted access to your musical input, of course."
"Is that code for you only -"
I stop and cut him off.
"What are you inferring exactly? What do I look like? Some kind of obsessed FOB fan that knows every song by heart and would do almost anything to get in your pants?"
Awkward silence.
"You know what? No. Don't even answer that."
"Really? Almost anything?"
"Okaaay...next subject."
I clear my throat.
"But you do know I was only joking...Right? Patrick?"
A smile forms on his lips as his only reply. Patrick continues up the stairs to the hotel entrance and I follow right behind him mentally kicking myself for being so stupid.
Denise's P.O.V.
I poke my head out from under the plain eggplant-colored covers and shift to glimpse at the alarm clock. 4:32 a.m. The neon red numerals gaze back at me brightly, almost as if they were scolding me for last night. A yawn escapes my mouth and I instantly cover it with my hand. I turn over to the bed to the left of mine. No, she's still asleep, probably dreaming about our new Decaydance friend, Pete. I shake my head and smirk slightly just imagining what "scenarios" are going through her head.
I lift myself off of the twin-size bed and launch myself into the shower. I attempt to wash my hair but the miniscule bottles of shampoo and conditioner the hotel maids left aren't close to enough for my long locks. Emily's going to be so pissed when she finds out I used all of it. Oh well, serves her right for making me look like a dumb ass in front of Patrick.
I dash over to my bag, wrapping the long white towel around my chest, and grab my clothes: deconstructed jeans, a tight Atticus shirt, and small zip-up ebony hoodie. After I get dressed I throw on my Pac Man ankle socks and slip into my brown, white, and black Vans. I comb my fingers through my slightly damp hair, letting the ringlets fall across my shoulders and back. I guess this is as good as it's gonna get.
I spread some strawberry flavored lip gloss on my lips and flip the hood over my head. I start my way towards the door picking up my mp3 player from the table. I press play and shove it into my back pocket with one hand and stick my headphones in my ears with the other. With my hand on the knob I look back one final time at Em and shut the door behind me.
I skip down the steps to the pool area and lean back on the surrounding wire fence. Fall Out Boy's Music Or The Misery starts and a smile spreads across my face. I sing along softly, strumming my air guitar as I do so.
"...I got your love letters, corrected the grammar, and sent them back, 'cause true romance is dead. I shot it in the chest and in the head. And if you wanna go down in history-"
"-then I'm your prince..."
I hold my breath as I realize that the echo is not from my headphones. I look over my shoulder and topple over the pool chair beside me from surprise.
"That's definitely going to leave a bruise." I say massaging my left hip.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so..."
"Let me help you up." Patrick offers stretching out his hand.
"Thanks." I mumble standing back up.
"I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that. I didn't scare you did I?" He said quietly as he pushed his glasses back up with his index finger.
"No. No, you didn't. I just wasn't expecting anyone else to be here." I stammered.
"Me neither, but it's always nice to have company."
He smiles at me from beneath the rim of his tilted Clandestine trucker cap. I smile back. Clothes Off! by Gym Class Heroes invades my ears. Could this mp3 have picked a more appropriate song? Now, my mind has officially gone to the gutter. And I doubt I'll be able to get it unstuck from between the grates....
"Denise?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about...uh, never mind." I reply sheepishly.
"I know I probably screwed up your whole morning, but...uh...do you want to take a walk?"
"I'd like that."
Patrick breathes a sigh of relief.
"Okay, that was easier than I thought." He says shuffling his feet across the sidewalk.
"What do you mean?" I question looking up at Patrick.
"Well, after the whole scene, I thought you didn't want to speak to me."
"No, believe me Pete's antics are so closely related to Emily's that I am practically used to it by now." I say referring to the situation at Decaydance.
"Practically?"
"Well, it does get to me sometimes...but at least it's all over. I am so glad that the band is finally official!" I announce stretching my arms out above my head.
Patrick chuckles at my off-the-wall rant. He's so adorable. We continue walking back towards the hotel rooms. We've been walking for a few minutes now and he hasn't said a word. The uncomfortable silence is, well, making me uncomfortable.
"So, does this mean you're going to be our producer?" I blurt out.
"Only if you want me too."
"Hmmm...the quote unquote musical genius of Fall Out Boy as our producer...how about...hell yes!"
"Alright then, it's settled."
"As long as I'll have unrestricted access to your musical input, of course."
"Is that code for you only -"
I stop and cut him off.
"What are you inferring exactly? What do I look like? Some kind of obsessed FOB fan that knows every song by heart and would do almost anything to get in your pants?"
Awkward silence.
"You know what? No. Don't even answer that."
"Really? Almost anything?"
"Okaaay...next subject."
I clear my throat.
"But you do know I was only joking...Right? Patrick?"
A smile forms on his lips as his only reply. Patrick continues up the stairs to the hotel entrance and I follow right behind him mentally kicking myself for being so stupid.
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