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17
Holly laughed tentatively. This wasn’t really her bag, but they were landing a few good jokes. Now and again, at least.
Besides, their performance was well and truly upstaged by Jen’s hand in her lap.
It was good to see Jen leaning into the whole fake-girlfriend charade with gusto. She’d felt almost guilty when she’d greeted her with a kiss earlier. Jen was reciprocating now, though; the deception wasn’t one-sided. Somehow, that made it feel okay.
And what was the whole French thing about? Holly’s muscles tensed at the memory. She had no clue what Jen was saying but she didn’t need to. The accent alone was enough. Jen’s voice curled around her like the arms of a lover, each word caressing her skin, making every hair stand to attention. She could listen to her all day. Heck, she could read her grocery list for twenty-four hours if she did it in French.
Holly’s breath caught in her throat, her heart missing a beat. She’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d absentmindedly been stroking Jen’s thumb with her own. She side-eyed her. No reaction. Well, she couldn’t stop now – that would be more obvious.
She traced a circle over Jen’s knuckle. Holly’s eyes were fixed on the stage but it might as well have just been the two of them in the room. Sound faded out; their surroundings dimmed. All that mattered in the world was Jen’s hand in hers and the way it felt to run her thumb the length of Jen’s finger. Every pass on Jen’s soft skin sent a pang to Holly’s core, as if desire was on a zip line to her very centre.
Jen had to feel this too. There was no way she could be the only one experiencing these feelings.
A conversation wasn’t worth the risk, though.
The lights went up and applause sucked her back to reality and a room full of people.
‘It’s over already?’ Holly shout-whispered in Jen’s ear, joining the ovation regardless of its cause.
‘Yeah, it was only on for an hour.’
An hour? How the heck had an hour passed already?
A few reserved cheers and the clapping was soon replaced by the scraping of seats and fervent chatter.
‘Do you want to go somewhere for a quick drink?’ Holly asked, letting the crowd disperse before she stood. ‘Just somewhere local. I can’t be out too long.’
‘A drink would be nice.’
‘How do you think it went?’ Gabriel asked, leaning on the table, his energy still dialled to eleven. ‘You enjoy it?’
‘Yeah. It was really good,’ Jen replied and looked like she meant it.
‘I’m impressed,’ Holly added, wanting them both to know she had totally listened to the whole show and didn’t spend it fantasising about the woman beside her.
‘Good, good. I thought it went well, but you can never really tell. So listen, a few of us are going to Bazza’s for drinks,’ he said, throwing a thumb towards the guy who he’d shared a stage with. It looked like Bazza was doing his own recon for attendees as he joked with two pretty blonde girls on their way out. ‘Do you want to join us?’
Jen looked to Holly. Was she looking for an excuse, or for Holly’s approval?
‘Is it far?’ Holly asked, genuinely wanting to know.
‘Nah, he just lives upstairs.’
Jen shrugged. ‘I guess we could go for one – do you fancy it?’
‘Sure, why not?’
There were morepeople at Bazza’s than she’d expected. The flat was absolutely buzzing. It had been a long time since she’d been to a party in a random’s flat. The whole vibe reminded her of art school – more trendy glasses than an optician’s window, hair colours that would put the rainbow to shame, and not to mention the sheer eclectic mix of party patrons. Some looked like they’d come straight from their jobs as accountants: others, well, not so much. One woman was wearing a sequined waistcoat and little else.
He’d nailed the student aesthetic, too. Even down to the 80s-esque chipped counter tops in the kitchen and dubious burn on the living room carpet. Holly guessed the wasn’t Bazza’s first time hosting an after-party.
Gabriel had stolen Jen away, wanting to introduce her to a local jazz musician, and that had somehow become her talking to a gorgeous, dark-haired woman, who was covered in tattoos. Jen was wrapped up in the conversation, sitting on the sofa across the room, but it might as well have been in the next postcode.
This was not how Holly foresaw the evening going.
‘And what about you?’ the guy next to her asked. He’d been chatting away to her for ages, clearly on a mission. He was nice – slim, bit of stubble, decent teeth, shirt had seen an iron at least once in its life.
