* * *
About an hour later, the night was in full swing. The band was playing a lot of old blues and jazz, which gave the place a speakeasy vibe. To my delight, the band had thrown in “When You’re Good to Mama” fromChicago, which had us all bouncing on our pouffes. Everything was great, except neither Stav nor I had spoken to any boys except Dav and Nick all night.
“What about that guy?” Nick said, pointing over my shoulder. The three of us turned to see a lanky blond guy standing at the bar, shirtsleeves rolled up, face buried in his phone.
“Too tall,” Stav said.
I was just about to offer my own critique when an equally tall brunette woman in a red here’s-my-yoni power dress slipped her arm into his and they greeted each other like lovers.
“Too straight,” I offered.
Someone somewhere in the club laughed like a jackal. It seemed to pierce through every other noise and machete its way into your eardrum. When the laughter came again a minute later, it was right behind us. A conventionally handsome posh knobber with Hollywood teeth and black curly hair stood surrounded by a gaggle of women in cocktail dresses. It looked like he’d bussed in a job lot of models direct from a Kensington tanning salon. They were taking selfies.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” one of them said.
“My mind is well blown that you’re here!” said another.
“I’ve never met anyone famous before,” said a third.
He was all charm and grease.
“Who the bloody hell is that?” Stav asked.
“No idea,” Dav said. “But I wish he’d piss off.”
“You want me to roll over his foot?” Nick took the brake off his wheel, playfully.
“I can’t take this,” I said. “I’m going to the loo.” I stood, grabbed my phone off the coffee table, and started weaving my way through the crowd towards the toilets. As I circled around the bar, I opened my phone to check GayHoller. There had to be some other homosexuals in this venue somewhere. I wasn’t properly looking where I was going when I walked smack bang into someone. Champagne exploded between us upon impact, drenching my white shirt. It looked like a piss party and an incontinence convention.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, shaking alcohol off my arms and brushing it off my chest before it soaked into my white shirt. “That’s my fault. Let me get you another.”
“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was?—”
I glanced up to see who it was that I owed a drink. At the same time, the stranger looked up from his own champagne-soaked jumper and the two almost empty glasses in his hands. My eyes met his, and I recognised their inky sapphire hues instantly.
“—going,” Ludo Boche finished.
Well, this was awkward. He pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. They were flecked with champagne, which must have made it hard to see me clearly.
“You should come with a government warning, mate,” I said.
Chapter10
Ludo
If there is anything more distracting than the unexpected exposure of a nipple, it’s the unexpected exposure ofa pairof nipples. I was trying desperately not to leer at the two perfectly formed pink circles staring back at me from behind Sunny Miller’s champagne-soaked shirt. I had refused to let him replace my spilt champagne, declaring the accident my fault. But he said he felt guilty, and I had a question I wanted to ask him, so I pressed my advantage—insisting he join me for a drink by way of apology.
We were sitting in the booth in the Maxime’s VIP lounge that had been reserved for my brother, but Jonty was off cavorting with his legion of followers, doing whatever it was that “influencing” entailed. That left Sunny and me alone with a tremendous amount of champagne that, having been uncorked, was simply screaming for someone to drink it. Sunny sat opposite me, looking wet, unimpressed, and like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Booze would fix it.
“I shouldn’t really have another drink,” I said, as I poured Sunny a glass of the bubbly. “I’ve got class in the morning.”
“You still at uni or summink?” he said. Was that an accent of some sort?
“I teach,” I said. “I volunteer at a ballet school. Come eight o’clock tomorrow morning I’ll be knee-deep in screaming five-year-olds in tutus and very much regretting every single drop of alcohol I’ve consumed tonight. Think of me while you’re enjoying your sleep-in.”
I raised my glass and said cheers. Sunny clinked his against mine, and we sipped at the nectar.
“I knew you did ballet,” he said. “I didn’t realise you taught it.”
