Page 35 of Playing By Ear

“A bit, aye. But I like weird.”

Perry turned back to his pint, his insides radiant with anticipation at embarking on…whatever their relationship turned out to be.

He would need to keep a guard up, of course, lest all the family drama spill over into their relationship. The fact Jamie seemed to be holding back important information was a red flag.

But Perry’s side job was his own colossal secret, so how could he judge Jamie for not spilling every last corner of his guts? Maybe they were worth taking a chance on.

There was only one way to find out.

Chapter 7

“I come bearing penitential pizza,” Jamie said into the speaker outside Perry’s building the following night. With his guitar in his left hand, he clutched the edge of the pizza box in his right so the gusting wind wouldn’t steal their dinner.

“Brilliant,” Perry said. “I’ve got apology ale to go with your humble pie.” The speaker clicked off, then the buzzer sounded.

When Jamie reached the top floor, Perry was waiting outside his flat, leaning against the wall in a blue henley that hinted at a fit chest beneath. He took the pizza box and squinted down at Jamie’s other hand. “Is that your guitar? Have you been reading my mind?”

“I did have a cheeky wee peek,” Jamie said. “It’s filthy in there.”

Perry gave a low laugh. “You’re not wrong.” He sidled next to Jamie in the confines of the entryway.

“May I kiss you hello?” Jamie asked.

“Again, reading my mind.” Perry cupped Jamie’s cheek and kissed him, his mouth already tasting of ale. Had he started drinking early, out of nerves? Jamie wished he’d done the same.

They kissed until their sighs were perfect echoes. How had Jamie ever walked away from this? Panic must have given him superhuman strength.

Perry pulled away slightly. “I’m glad we came to our senses.”

Jamie offered a grin wide enough to be seen at arm’s length.

In the living room, plates and beers were arranged on the couch’s side tables. There was no coffee table or any other low furniture, no doubt to save Perry’s shins.

As he inhaled his first slice of pizza, Jamie scanned the wide, high-ceilinged living room. The walls were a rich brick red, while the doorposts and molding were painted stark white in contrast, including around the living-flame fireplace. The big light took the form of a glass-and-wrought-iron chandelier, shedding warm, clear rays over the elegant but comfy furniture.

“Your flat is gorgeous,” Jamie said. Journalism obviously paid better than he’d thought.

“A designer friend helped me, in exchange for editing her grad-school application essay.”

Jamie noted the long, low bookshelf beneath one of the windows. “That’s quite the library.”

“Those are just my top one hundred.” A wistful smile played on Perry’s lips. “Reading is one of my great loves. Fortunately I can still make out text with good specs and a lighted magnifier, or by increasing the font on an ebook. And of course audiobooks are a godsend.”

“Oh, aye.” Jamie’s only books were music ones, so he hoped Perry didn’t expect literary chat from him. “Is that a PlayStation over there by the TV?”

“An old one. I enjoy a bit of blindfolded Mortal Kombat to blow off steam.”

“Wow. Is there anything you cannae do?”

“Drive,” Perry deadpanned.

Jamie swallowed the last bite of his pizza crust. “Okay, music time.”

“Yesssss.” Perry shifted to sit at the other end of the long, plush couch, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

As Jamie brushed the crumbs from his hands, he noticed his palms were clammy. Why was he nervous about playing for Perry? He performed every day in front of hundreds of strangers—many of them absolute bellends—yet alone in this flat, with this man, Jamie’s mouth had gone dry and his hands trembly.

He withdrew his guitar from the case.