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Sitting across from each other in the wacky diner, I order every flavor pancake on the menu. Blueberry danish. Sweet Potato. Strawberry shortcake. You fucking name it. Add in a side of bacon, and two cappuccinos, and perfect, golden sunlight pouring through the windows, and we’re both happy campers. It’s doing wonders to help me forget how messed up last night became.
“How long have you known?” Z asks, stabbing at the last bite of his blueberry pancake.
“Known what?”
His ice-blue eyes bore into mine. “That I was the vocalist in Visage.”
I shrug. “Confidential information.”
No way I’m giving up Selma’s name. I don’t want to give Z any reason to cut her out of his life when he needs every positive relationship he can get.
His mouth turns down. “Did you… know from the start?”
Dropping my grin to make sure he understands how sincere I am, I reply, “No, Z. Not from the start. Trust me, I’m not some crazy person trying to out you or take advantage of the very talented, very private, lead vocalist of Visage. I just thought you were some beautiful stranger pouring out raw emotion for everyone in that bar to ignore.”
He chews this over and nods, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. There goes my pulse again, convincing me he’s seconds away from shutting me out. Maybe even bolting out the front door. One step forward, two steps back.
Although, if Z ran, I don’t think I’d be able to stop from chasing him to the ends of the world.
After a few silent moments draining our coffee mugs, he gives a shy little grin. “No request for an autograph or a picture. Should I be offended?”
My laugh is light enough to float up to the ceiling. “Tell me that’s what you wanted. To be mauled by another fan.”
He tilts his head to the side. “I might have been happy to oblige any of your requests.” His eyes flick down to my mouth and back up to meet my stare. “Still am.”
My heart lurches, pumping scorching blood through my body.
“Yeah? How about I stand front and center in the crowd at your next performance? I won’t cheer. I won’t even move my body. I’ll just stare up at you withfuck meeyes.”
He leans back. “I did not have fuck me eyes!”
The family at the table beside ours glances over in horror, and Z flushes bright red.
“So sorry,” he mumbles.
I snicker. Oh, this was a gloriously wonderful idea.
“You totally did,” I counter. “Why do you think I leapt off that stage so fast? Admit it, you were there for me.”
Pouting, Z’s shoulders drop. “Alright. Maybe I was, but you stared at me first.”
“I sure fucking did, sunshine. I sure fucking did.”
Z cracks a tiny, mischievous smile, and my heart thuds faster. These little glimpses of happiness from him are a shot of adrenaline to my system.
“Can I tell you another secret since you seem to be so good at keeping them?” he asks.
“Oh, I don’t know. Your secrets are such a burden,” I tease with a roll of my eyes.
He glances down at his cleaned plate. “Pancakes are my favourite.”
My smile breaks wide open. “Fucking nailed it. This must be the best date you’ve ever been on.”
His tiny smile waivers. “It’s the only date I’ve been on.”
Honest blue eyes dart up to meet mine, and it takes me a few seconds to process what he just admitted. How can I be both sad and pleased at the same time? I want to be his only, but I also can’t believe that no one else chased this beautiful man down.
Reaching a hand over to give his a squeeze, I finally say, “I promise it won’t be our last.”
