He grimaces, but I see the edges of his lips twitch as he tucks his dark hair behind one ear.
‘Door 54,’ he reluctantly reveals. ‘Another of my bandmates lived at number 54 in some random apartment block and he dug that it sounded like a combination of the Doors and Studio 54.’
‘Are those references bad?’
He releases a small huff and looks me dead in the eye. ‘Studio 54 was based in New York; we’re out of LA. It was peak disco period; couldn’t be further from what we are. And anyone who thinks they have a right to compare themselves to one of the greatest rock bands that ever lived is a complete and utter twat.’
I burst out laughing and he grins at me.
He’s so different to the boy I went to school with, so confident and at ease. How did he recover from what happened, let alone appear to be thriving?
‘Why did you agree to it if you hate it so much?’ I ask, still smiling.
‘We’d been arguing about it for ages and couldn’t settle on a name and then he lined up a gig for us at a great venue and told the organisers that’s what we were called. By the time the rest of us realised, it was already printed on the flyers.’
‘That’s a bit shit of him.’
‘He’s a bit of a shit,’ he replies with a laugh.
‘You sound as though you don’t like your bandmate very much,’ I say with amusement.
‘I don’t, but he’s a fucking good guitar player.’
He turns around and pushes the window open a little wider, letting more air into the hot room.
He’s wearing a faded yellow T-shirt that is so well worn it’s frayed around the collar and sleeves and is riddled with tiny holes.
‘What is it with you and holey clothes?’ I ask, daring to prod his shoulder through a small tear in the sleeve.
‘Don’t judge, it’s my look now.’ He bats me away and takes a sip of his drink, then glances down at his T-shirt. ‘Maybe the moths reallyhavebeen at this one. Speaking of insects …’ He nods at my arms. ‘Fuck me, you have alotof mosquito bites.’
‘Yeah, I got them in Florence when I was eking out my time in the studio—’
My voice flies up at the end in a dramatic wobble because he’s swiped my hand, bringing my arm closer for his inspection.
My heart is slamming against my ribcage when he meets my eyes and says in a low, deep voice, ‘You must taste really good.’
Goosebumps race up my arms, and then shock followsand I don’t know who lets go of whom, but his palms spring up in defence.
‘I did not mean that to sound so suggestive.’
We stare at each other for a few silent seconds and then I keel over and lose it, laughing. A moment later, he joins in.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘Knock, knock, knock!’ Mum shouts in a jolly voice from the other side of my bedroom door the next morning, accentuating each word with literal knocking.
‘Come in,’ I call in a croak.
The door whooshes open and my mother breezes in and shoves the curtains back.
‘Michael will be here any second and your dad and I have got something to show you. Can you get readypronto?’
Her Italian accent is adorably terrible. ‘What’s the time?’ I ask, flinching at the light.
‘Eleven. At least you caught up on some sleep,’ she adds wryly, leaving me to it.
Finn offered to walk me back last night, but Amy wanted us to go together. It was only as we were leaving that it occurred to me that Finn could have walked usbothhome. Amy lives up in the village, so I was on my own for the second half of the journey and I couldn’t help imagining what it might have been like if he’d been there beside me, our arms brushing together in the darkness.
