* * *
Shay stoodin the shadows across the road from the library, watching as Ollie approached from the opposite end of the street. He had his hood up, hiding from the drizzly Scottish rain, but Shay saw enough of his face to make his heart stutter.I’ve missed him. How is that even possible?
But it was true. Ollie’s presence on tour had been unobtrusive and quiet, but since that very first day, Shay had instinctively sought him out. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, in his peripheral vision he’d always seen Ollie. The last twenty-four hours had been strange, though. To see him properly, he’d had to close his eyes, but he’d stopped doing that once he’d heard what Corina had to say.
“I already knew his name. Five years ago, he was the hottest young filmmaker out there. He won every independent award going, and word was he was about to make this real hard-hitting documentary about the migrant camps in Calais. He had a rep for pulling no punches, and the world was waiting, but….”
“But what?” Shay said.
Corina shrugged. “It never came to light. Something happened to drop him off the map for a couple of years, and the next thing I knew, he was popping up in my inbox as a researcher for Sky. I’m guessing something happened in his personal life, but I didn’t dig too hard. Given that I’ve never heard a bad word about him, it didn’t seem right.”
Shay couldn’t decide how he felt about what Corina had told him. Part of him was relieved that he knewsomethingabout Ollie, but the rest of him was consumed with guilt. Ollie didn’t owe him anything. They hardly knew each other.
Ollie disappeared into the library. Shay debated letting him go, sacking the whole project off and returning to a life he understood—music and friendship. But his feet had other ideas, and he was halfway across the road before a conscious decision to follow Ollie caught up with him.
Inside, the library was huge and smelled exactly the same as the library in Belfast had—of dust and paper. Of knowledge and wisdom. It was a scent Shay had come to associate with Ollie, though all he’d smelled on Ollie when he’d been close enough to breathe him in had been beer, fags, and desire.
Shay shivered.Stop.It was one fucking kiss.
“Shay?”
He spun around. As usual, Ollie was right behind him, eyeing him as though he couldn’t decide if Shay was an irritation or an unexploded bomb.
“I got you a pass,” Ollie said. “We’ll only be here a few hours, but it’s valid until tomorrow.”
“Uh, thanks?”
Ollie grinned a little. “What? No plans to ditch the postgig piss-up and chill out with the books?”
It was as though nothing had changed. As though the mad, frantic kisses they’d shared in Belfast had never happened. As though Ollie hadn’t been MIA for twenty-four hours and Shay hadn’t spent the entire time driving himself fucking insane wondering why.
Shay searched for words. Found none.
Ollie shook his head slightly and pointed up. “Come on. We need to go upstairs.”
They rode the lift to the eighth floor. Shay trailed Ollie while he selected some books; then they climbed the stairs to the highest level. Ollie had the key to a private room. It was smaller than the one in Belfast, with no windows and two chairs packed tightly around a compact table. There was no room for the stack of books Ollie had carried up four flights of stairs.
He didn’t seem to mind. He set the books on the floor and his laptop on the table, instantly engrossed as it flashed to life.
Shay hovered in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. Ollie was sexy as hell when he let his inner nerd out to play, but Shay was trying not to notice. Stepping closer—claiming a seat at the table—seemed like taking the pin out of the grenade.
“Are you going to stand there all day?” Ollie glanced up. “Because if you’re in a hurry, it won’t help to get started late.”
“I’m not in a hurry.”
“Come and sit down, then. I’ve got something for you to look at while I set the camera up.”
Shay admitted defeat and crossed the room in one long stride. He sat at the table, holding his breath so Ollie would seem farther away. On the laptop screen was a black-and-white pencil sketch of a woman with long curly hair. It was dated 1694.
“Who’s that?”
Ollie adjusted the height of his tripod and pressed a few buttons on the camera. Then he came back to the table and slid into the other chair. “You want to know now or after I count us in?”
Shay rolled his eyes. “Just get on with it.”
“Wow. You’re in a mood.”
“And you’re a dick. Can we just get this done?”
