“Money where your mouth is, mate.”
No way he was going to let Jamie win. Sam was already rolling a drumbeat, he knew it was on. Damon looked back at the audience and did Tom Cruise from Top Gun, “I feel the need,” Jamie chimed in, Goose to his Maverick, “the need for speed.”
There was a whoop that was Angus, and Taylor rattled the tambourine. Jamie took the chorus, and they shared the verse, swapping the song’s gender, standing at the centre of the stage, playing more to each other than the audience. He had one of those strange moments where he was so in the groove, so aware, he could see himself outside the song.
He was happy. He had great friends, money, an amazing life.
He rapped about test drives and red flags, attitude to burn and bad moves, his voice and Jamie’s a perfect tangle of fast clipped words and power ballad that could’ve been a song about Taylor.
He could manage this change to his sight, it wasn’t going to be as devastating as Lina thought; she was just being super cautious, because that was her job. He sang about kissing teeth and being baptised, and there was nothing he was sorry about, and so much to look forward to, starting with skin so smooth it might as well be silk wrapped around the complication of a woman reticent enough to like the shadows, but brazen enough to give him an insight into her fantasies.
When the song ended, Jamie hugged the stuffing out of him and Angus called for one last request. He got Michael Jackson’s Thriller. This hyped up on their own invincibility, they were going to blow the roof off the bar, starting with his best Vincent Price, ending with Jamie’s moonwalk.
He was a hot mess and the crowd was still cheering when he stepped off the stage, his shirt sticking. A couple of regulars stopped him to have a chat. Angus put a glass in his hand, mineral water and lime. What he wanted was Georgia. He got Taylor.
“You’re not lonely. I’ll move in when my lease runs out. But I’m paying rent.”
He threw an arm around her shoulders. She was a sweaty streak as well. He kissed her forehead, got a lip lock on strands of hair plastered there.
“We have to talk about how it’ll work,” she said.
It would work because he wasn’t accepting rent and Taylor would have fewer financial commitments and could focus on her music. “Whatever you reckon, Trill.”
“She’s not Candace.”
Tay should’ve sound relieved, happy about that. But he heard caution. She wasn’t sold and that was okay, smashing two people together and hoping they’d stick was a mad piece of business. Like being the voice of a cartoon, it was whimsy and weird science and sometimes it tested badly with audiences and got cancelled. Taylor might be right. He had no idea if he and Georgia would rate well enough to survive, but he was keen to find out.
“You got in her face, didn’t you?” She wouldn’t be the best wingman a guy could have if she hadn’t. She’d probably sent people his way to stall him arriving at their table. He’d have warned Georgia, but then he’d have pretty much ensured she didn’t show up.
“I don’t get what you see in her, but if you’re looking for someone who won’t challenge you, you’re found her.”
He released Taylor’s arm, confused. He hadn’t actively thought about Candace for a long time before tonight. Is that what he was doing with Georgia, looking for someone who wasn’t going to dazzle him, or try to make him something he couldn’t be? Taylor was right, his type was confident, and for the most part that’s not how Georgia projected.
She was an awkward mix of competent and restrained, passionate but inhibited. She had him guessing, and maybe that was all it was, an adult’s only game of hide and seek that had him intrigued for now. When he’d found her out, would he still be as turned on by the thought of being in her life, in her bed?
And yet, the way she let go of all her shyness in the dark, how she responded to his hands and his lips in the change room, those shining moments grabbed his attention around the scruff of its neck and shook hard.
Taylor led him to the table. The only way he was going to work it out was over time, and time was another luxury he had. He didn’t sit, family hour was over. He was ready to split.
Georgia touched the back of his hand and said his name softly. He turned towards her and her hand came up to his cheek, thumb brushing over the dip of his dimple. That wasn’t so shy.
“You rapped.”
He laughed. “Jamie is all talk.” He said that loud enough so if Jamie was close he’d get a rise out of it.
“You’ve got some moves.” Georgia’s voice was hushed, reverent almost, and he regretted playing for laughs. He brought a hand to her back to help shut the rest of the room out. “You did Elvis like Elvis,” she said.
He dropped his voice to match hers. “Not much I can’t do with the voice box. Got well and truly blessed there.”
She butted her head to his shoulder, and eased out a frayed, shaky, “Oh my God, yes,” that lined his ears with lust. It’d felt different performing tonight, knowing she was listening. Knowing he’d affected her made it feel like he could see the frost haze in a rainbow.
“Let’s get out of here.” He wanted somewhere quiet; somewhere he could test their odd theory of attraction, and find out why she’d thought about not coming tonight. But it wasn’t safe to take her home. If he did that, if they fooled around again before she was entirely comfortable with him in her new dress or her old pjs, then he was pushing too hard still. She would definitely cut and run if he did that. “I’ll buy you an ice-cream.”
A hand ruffling his hair. “Know how to show a girl a good time.” Angus. He spun to face his voice. Yeah, that was lame. They weren’t teenagers. Angus spoke softly, gripping his shoulder. “Stay, place is emptying. The guys have gone. I’ll bring you coffee and dessert.”
Rescued. “That’d be great.”
Georgia was already leading him to wherever Angus suggested, one of the corner booths. He slid in first and she came behind him, not close, not touching. It was dark tucked in here, she was a voice, a presence. He reached his hand across the table but she didn’t take it.