Rolling his eyes, he nods. “All right, I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“On that note,” Rodney turns to smile at Leif with undisguised lust, “we need to go home. We have some matters of our own which need taking care of.”
Leif sculls the last of his drink before nodding. “Let’s go.”
They wriggle their way out of the booth before Rodney looks down at Toni. “Do you still want a lift home?”
“Yes, please,” Toni responds before turning back to me. “They brought me so…”
“I’ll walk you out.” I take a large swig of the drink Toni bought me before standing to fall into step behind him. Any doubts I had about whether Toni is the right person to take to the festival were vanquished by our kiss, and I’m not about to let him leave without confirming his intention to uphold his end of our bargain.
The night air is cool when we step outside, even with the bite of winter still a couple of months off. Rodney and Leif say goodnight and begin to wander slowly up the road, allowing us some much-needed privacy—but not for the amorous reasons they would assume.
Toni and I face each other in the middle of the footpath, the space between us awkward with uncertainty.
“I’ll see you next weekend,” I remind him.
“I suppose so,” he replies with a sigh. “It’s not like I have a choice.”
“Not if you want to maintain your precious reputation.” My gaze finds his friends, who are now furiously making out about twenty metres up the road. “I doubt your buddies there would be difficult to track down. Social media is so helpful in keeping people connected.”
“I get the point,” Toni snaps. “I’ll go to this festival with you, but if my clothes get muddy, I’ll be sending you the bill for my dry cleaning.”
With a quiet laugh, I back away from him. “Goodnight, Toni.”
“Night, night,” he sings with a snarky lilt, before bringing his hand up beside his head, thumb and pinkie extended. “Call me.”
“I will, and you’d better pick up,” I add, pointing a finger at him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Turning, he walks away.
A smirk lingers on my face as I head in the opposite direction.
SIX
______
TONI
It’s a few minutes after nine on Wednesday night when I walk into the pub where Ned works. After ignoring two of his phone calls, I figured I should make a move before he follows through on his threat to track down Rodney for a heart-to-heart about what a big faker I am.
I have every intention of upholding my end of our bargain. Joining him for a music festival won’t exactly be a hardship. It’s a free ticket, and I had no other plans. However, after spending some time pondering the events of our last meeting, I’ve decided the scales are tipped too far in Ned’s favour. A renegotiation is in order. Given the semi-salacious nature of the situation, it’s a conversation better had in person.
The pub is more crowded than I expected mid-week, even in the city. Most of the tables are occupied by office workers who’ve come out for after-work drinks and stayed two pints too long. The stage in the corner of the room is empty, but the music being pumped through the audio system has tempted a few brave souls onto the dancefloor. This is the place where Fifth Circle got their start, according to Logan. Apparently, they still perform here occasionally—usually without warning. Perhaps that accounts for some of the venue’s popularity.
Making my way through the sea of loosened ties and high heels, I search the long, well-stocked bar for any sign of Ned, to no avail. A wide doorway at the back of the main room catches my attention, and I pass through it into a second room.
This area is smaller, the lighting dimmer. Small couches and armchairs are grouped around low tables, but at least half of them are vacant. Behind the modest bar, Ned pours glasses of wine for two fashionably dressed women. I don’t need to see their faces to know they’re making eyes at him across the bar. He responds with a flirtatious smile, though his body language screams polite professional.
A sigh of pleasure escapes me as I take in the hotness that is my date for the weekend, from his barely tamed golden-brown hair to the muscular form beneath his classic white dress shirt. There are definitely worse people I could have indebted myself to, but my appreciation doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on him.
Crossing the room, I slide onto a stool at the end of the bar, where I’ll be out of the way but still close enough for easy conversation. It’s a shame he’s not busier, tucked away back here. If he were run off his feet, like his co-workers in the next room, he’d have less time to consider the implications of my offer. He might even have said yes just to get rid of me. Such a tactic would have been underhanded, but worth it to get what I want. I glance around at the small groups of chatting customers, their tables laden with half-finished drinks. They won’t all be rushing the bar any time soon.
“Of all the gin joints in all the world,” Ned drawls, snagging my attention, “you had to walk into mine.”
I snort in amusement. “Good evening, Ned.”
“Toni.” He nods his head in greeting. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”
