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He retaliated with a dismissive smirk and returned his attention to Mirabel, ignoring me entirely.
“There’s a great jazz venue up the road,” he said. “A friend of mine’s running it. They’re thinking of having a blues night. Maybe we can drop in later?”
“Maybe not tonight.” She forced a strained, friendly smile then returned her attention back to me.
“She’s with me.” I decided to take a stance. Either that or punch him in the nose.
Her eyes widened.
But after he kept at her, I stood between them. “Are you low on hearing?”
His mouth curled into a sheepish smirk, and he looked at Mirabel, who nodded ever so slightly.
After he walked away, I asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”
Her brow furrowed as she mulled over my proposition. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m shitty with you, remember?”
“How can I forget?” I opened out my hands. “I’m here to make amends of sorts. Just have a drink with me. It can’t harm. Can it?”
“I suppose it can’t.” Her brows pinched.
“That Orson strikes me as thick-skinned.” I inclined my head towards him. “He seems to have started to chat up another girl, anyway.”
She smiled and shook her head. “That’s about right. He’s a serious womaniser.”
I bought her a drink. As I passed it to her, our fingers touched, sending a spark through me. Electricity seemed to bounce between us.
Her eyes rose slowly and met mine, falling into my unblinking gaze before looking away.
She took a sip. “Orson’s pretty pushy. I think that’s why he gave me the gig.”
I frowned. “Really?”
“Hey, don’t look so surprised. That ‘I’ll scratch your back if you fondle my penis has been happening since the cavemen.”
I laughed at her blunt but honest view of men’s deplorable treatment of women. “I know that, but you don’t need him. Your talent speaks for itself. You’re sensational. Maybe get yourself a manager who doesn’t want to sleep with you.”
She nodded. “It’s on my to-do list.”
Speaking of men who want to sleep with you…“You haven’t answered my calls.”
“I’ve been busy. And look, Ethan…” She sipped her drink.
The music went up, and I had to lean in. “Is there somewhere quieter we can talk?”
She took a moment to respond. Her face wore a question again. I could see my being there had really thrown her.
I got it—she hated me. Or thought she did.
“There’s the backroom, I suppose, and I’ve got to pack up my gear.”
As soon as Mirabel opened the door to the band room a thick haze of smoke hit me in the face.
One of the pair sharing a spliff looked up. “Hey, man.”
I raised my hand to greet them.
He passed the joint to Mirabel, and I watched those pretty lips sucking on it and wishing it was my cock.
