“I do. It’s got a good vibe to it. Chilled.” She leaned back in her chair.
I couldn’t stop my eyes from trailing down where the material disappeared to her belly button.
“How is that dress staying like that?”
Sophie laughed. “Tit tape. Seriously, it’s double sided tape that stops my boobs from falling out.”
“Is it painful to get off?”
“You can find out later.” She gave me a wink.
I tried not to think about later.
“I saw the mock ups Ava sent over earlier,” I said. Ava was Seph’s younger sister, and also an interior decorator. We’d asked her to look at the property in Iceland and come up with some suggestions for the shared areas and the interiors to the pods, whose designs had now been completed by the architect. If anything, a quick wedding would help as almost everything was in place to start work on the renovations.
“What did you think?”
I nodded, accepting my beer from the waiter. “They were really good. I liked what she was doing with the space.”
“I thought so too. The décor was really clean and minimal – I think that works well for both of us. What about the accommodation?” She sipped at her cocktail.
“I liked how each pod was slightly different and she’d come up with names for them. Guests will like that. Makes it seem less anonymous. I’ve already had two clients ask if they can make pre-reservations.” She picked up her drink. “Cheers – to a successful venture.”
“Cheers.” I clinked my glass to hers. “What did you think of the performance this afternoon?”
I’d been past needing anyone’s approval for fuck knows how long, but all the time Sophie had been listening, I’d been wondering what she thought, whether she recognised herself in any of the lyrics.
“It was amazing.” Her words were quiet and sincere. “I did go to a couple of your gigs…”
“Really? Which ones?”
“One about three years ago and another not long after you’d had your first number one in America. They were big nights out. I knew you were good – not that I’m a music specialist or anything – but seeing you sing today without anyone else was something different. Were those new songs you wrote?” She was half way through her cocktail.
I knew Sophie well enough by now to know that she paced herself when she was drinking because she was a lightweight. Either that cocktail was really good, or she was nervous. I also realised that she didn’t have a clue that I was starting to likelikeher.
I felt like a fucking teenage boy with a crush.
“This week. Some I’ve done for Roisin. Some for another singer I’m working with – he’s not a song writer though which makes it easier.”
“Where do you get your inspiration from?”
For the first time since being a teenager I was breaking out into a cold sweat. I’d performed in front of a hundred thousand people at Glastonbury, played at the Superbowl, filled stadiums across the world. But it was Sophie Slater who was reducing me to a bag of nerves.
You. I get the inspiration from you.
“Hey! Can’t believe I’ve found you here!”
I looked up and knew my face was asking the question I was trying not to say aloud.What the fuck are you doing here?
Amber Morrison stood two feet away holding a glass of what I knew would be sauvignon blanc. We’d taken a bath in it once, about five years ago, when we were both off our tits and stupid.
The bath hadn’t been very deep.
“You were looking for us?”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Can I join you?” She gestured to a nearby chair.
“No, you can’t.” I didn’t give a shit that my words were blunt.
