“That’s a crap excuse for ignorance.”
“But still… more musicians, Shay. How cool is that?”
Ollie tipped his head back and closed his eyes, warmth filling his chest as he recalled how Shay had smiled at him then, hazel eyes filled with wonder and… something else Ollie had yet to decipher. It had been nice to show Shay that his past contained people who had simply lived, the way Shay did, for nothing but music and love. Ollie had clung to Shay’s smile for the rest of that day.
He wished it were still that day. They had one segment left to film up north, in Leeds, and he wasn’t sure how Shay would react to what he’d discover there, so he held on to the joy they’d found in Bristol, kept it close, and made the most of Shay curled up in his lap.
Too soon, though, it was time for Shay to wake up and get to work. Smuggler’s Beat were playing three back-to-back shows in Southampton and then swinging into Portsmouth for one more before they made the journey to London.
London. Ollie’s heart skipped a beat. He still hadn’t asked Shay to come home with him. After the initial giddiness Corina’s suggestion had left him with, reality had set in, soaking through his mood like heavy rain on sand. That morning, he’d left the bus before Shay had woken up, only to return that night and crawl into his bed. And skulk back to his own the next night. Rinse and repeat.Man, I’m so fucked up.And he still wanted Shay to come home with him.
More than anything in the world.
“Ollie?”
“Hmm?”
Shay frowned and then smiled and then frowned again. “I’m so fucking tired.”
“I know.” Ollie tucked a stray lock of hair behind Shay’s ear. “You want me to bring you breakfast in bed?”
“Breakfast?”
“Yes, mate. It’s still morning.”
Shay nodded slowly. “I keep waking up with you and wondering if you’re real.”
Guilt flared in Ollie’s gut. “Because I’m creeping in and out of your bed like a—”
Shay covered Ollie’s mouth with his hand. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
Ollie waited a beat, then pushed Shay’s hand aside. “Bad jokes aside, I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to sleep in your bed all the time, and I keep making you think that I don’t.”
“I know you want to sleep with me, Ollie, in the literal sense, at least.”
“You do?”
Shay rolled out of Ollie’s lap. “Yes. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t happen.”
Ollie had no clue what that meant, and, as was typical in conversations like this with Shay, his loose tongue was handicapped by the lump in his throat. He wanted to apologise again, but something in Shay’s gaze stopped him. Instead, he made himself useful and sloped off to get breakfast.
* * *
Jumbo helpedhimself to Ollie’s cigarettes. “Why don’t you come to rehearsals, seeing as you’ve got nothing to do?”
“What makes you think I’ve got nothing to do?”
“Dude, you’ve been sitting in front of that laptop for an hour, and you haven’t typed your password in yet.”
Fuck. Ollie’s fingers twitched to tap in his login details and give Jumbo a reason to sod off already, but his heart wasn’t in it. He shut the laptop with a bang. “Whatever. Give me my fags back.”
Jumbo returned the pack, minus a couple of smokes—one for him, one for Ben. Somehow, Ollie had become the band’s tobacco supplier, roadie,andthe worst groupie in the world. “So…,” Jumbo said. “Are you coming to rehearsals, or what?”
“What do you care?”
