People are all around me, but I’m alone in my own little world.

The rush of Friday shoppers flows by like a gushing river, so much movement, and yet I’m absolutely still. When I’m standing on my box, I like to focus on something tiny, something nobody else even notices.

On the building on the other side of the street, a piece of red ribbon has gotten caught on a shop sign. It flutters in the breeze as though dancing. I’ve been watching it for the last two hours, completely transfixed. I’ve been watching it for so long that it’s no longer a single object. Now it’s cheap thread and red dye; it’s the shine when it catches a certain slant of light. It’s the distant music I hear when it dances with the wind.

I prick my ears then, because outside my deep meditation something is breaking through. Something other than the din of the crowded street. It’s real music, music I recognise.

Curiosity wins out, and with the slowness you’d expect of a statue that has suddenly sprung to life, I change my pose so I’m looking in the direction the music is coming from. Just a few yards away Shane is standing outside a shoe shop playing “Carmen Fantasy” on his violin.

What’s he doing here?

When he sees that I’m watching him, he winks. Winks!

Well, now he has my attention, not to mention the attention of several people who have stopped to listen to him play. Soon a crowd has formed to watch the virtuoso on the street. Living statues never really attract crowds. We connect with one or two people at a time. Music is where the big money is at when it comes to street performance. That or circus acts. Anything that involves fire and stilts always attracts interest.

Unless of course you happen to set yourself on fire or fall off your stilts, and in my years doing this I’ve witnessed both. Though in all honesty, the accidents bring with them their own audience.

I like this piece he’s playing. It reminds me of a tango dance. Shane does this really cool vibrato, and the crowd cheers. All of a sudden people are pairing off into couples and tangoing down the street. And don’t even ask me where the women got all those frilly dresses from, or the men their fancy black tuxedos.

Soon I’m surrounded not by shoppers but a street full of ballroom dancers. The bright blue sky darkens, the outdoor air drifts away, and I’m indoors in a ballroom that extends forever. Chandeliers hang from ceilings, light glittering through the cut crystal. Antique candelabras all around are lit with long, thin candlesticks.

A couple struts around my box. The man dips the woman low and runs his hand down her thigh, which is exposed by a deep slit in her dress. He lifts her up and twirls her away from me. The piece approaches its finish, and the room begins to brighten. The enclosed ceiling turns back into the open sky, and the glittering chandeliers are replaced by dull white clouds.

Shane’s music ends, and there are no dancers anymore, just ordinary shoppers like before. Sometimes I hate it when the music stops, hate the finality. Lots of people put money in the open violin case at his feet, and he thanks them gracefully. I smile when he packs up his things and walks toward me.

I haven’t moved a muscle since I turned to see where the music was coming from. He looks up at me as though admiring a work of art, his eyes landing on my wings, my white face, the waistline of my dress. Standing before me, he gives a deep bow, then rises and walks away, a smile on his lips all the while.

Okay, that was possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Needless to say, I’ve never had a man come and play music while I stood on the street in my costume. All of a sudden a loud involuntary laugh bursts out of my mouth. It’s so full of simple happiness that I find it difficult to breathe.

What is he doing to me?

Why is he doing this to me?

He doesn’t even know it, but he’s making me love him.

***

When Sunday comes I have to work, so I can’t make it to Ladybirds like I promised Shane and Avery. They agree to put it off until another week, since they both have a concert to play anyway. A week and a half passes by, and somehow every time I’m busking on the street Shane manages to show up to play me a song.

Sometimes it’s hours before he makes an appearance. Other times it’s only minutes.

I’m beginning to think he must be psychic because I busk on different days each week, but he always knows when I’m going to be there. I guess he figures it out by checking to see if I’m working. When I’m not working I’m almost always busking, unless April or Pete need me. Mostly though, they need me less and less these days. There’s something quite heart-breaking about watching the kids you’ve cared for transform into adults.

I’m smiling from ear to ear as I stroll home on a Wednesday afternoon. Shane came and played “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” to me by finger-plucking the strings; the whole time my belly was fizzy with emotion. The grey street was transformed into a glowing forest awash with mischievous winged creatures. One night he came and played “Clair de Lune,” and I paid a visit to my friend the moon, sitting on his round white head while I listened. Another time he played “Estrellita” and I was sufficiently seduced. Of course, he didn’t know that.

I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t hear him play again.

Dropping into a nearby newsagents, I grab some milk, bread, and other necessities, paying for it all with a whole bunch of coins because it’s the last of my money until I get paid on Friday. One downside of relying on the money people give to you on the street to buy stuff is that you end up having to pay for everything with small change. The girl at the checkout lets out a sigh when she sees me coming. I shop in here quite a bit, so she knows I’m the chick with the coins.

Sometimes I go to the bank and get it changed to notes, but I don’t always have the time for that. It seems to me that banks open some of the shortest hours of all businesses. I mean, unless I want to spend my entire lunch hour queuing, I’m not going to make it there between ten and four.

When I reach my street, pulling my box along on its wheels with one hand and carrying my shopping bag in the other, I spot Barry in the tiny patch of grass that makes up his front garden. Local authority housing in the city centre doesn’t exactly allow for large garden spaces.

Anyway, back to Barry.

It’s an unseasonably warm day, and he’s brought an armchair out from his living room and placed it in a nice sunny spot. Beside him is a plastic foldaway table on which sits a radio streaming commentary for a football game, alongside a bottle of Budweiser.

He’s lounging back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed as he soaks up a few rays. The picture of contentment. I have to admire him for how much he doesn’t give a shit about being weird. I think that’s the main reason why he’s the only neighbour I actually get along with.

I suppose that once you reach fifty, have worked your arse off all your adult life to support a family and have lost half your hair, you’re entitled to do as you please. The commentators get riled up as one of the teams scores a goal, and I’m guessing it was Barry’s team because he jumps up from his armchair and pumps his fist into the air, letting out a bellow of triumph.

I laugh as I walk to my house.

“I see you’re making the most of the sun while it lasts,” I call out to him.

“Yes, yes I am,” he replies, grinning and reaching for his beer bottle. “And I’m not the only one, it seems.”

He nods in the direction of an apartment block that overshadows our street. It’s got those metal frames on the windows that aren’t quite a balcony and aren’t quite a window box. One of the windows has been thrown wide open, and there are two shirtless teenage guys sitting on the ledge with their legs dangling out, sunning themselves.

“You do it better,” I tell him. “And safer. I can see one of them falling from that window if they aren’t careful.”

“Feckin’ eegits,” Barry agrees, and returns his attention to the radio.

Just as I’m stepping out of the shower a half hour later, my phone starts to ring, the number of an agency I sometimes work for flashing on the screen.

“Hello,” I answer, multi-tasking talking on the phone and rubbing my hair dry with a towel.

“Hey, Jade,” Jonathan, the HR guy who used to get me regular temp gigs before I started working at the concert hall, greets me. “Please tell me you’re free tonight.”

“Free as a bird. Have you got some work for me?” I ask with interest. Last-minute agency jobs usually pay decent money, and I could do with a little cash injection. I’m expecting my electricity and gas bills any day now.

“I might. You’ve got silver service experience, haven’t you?”

“I do indeed. I’ve been a server in a couple of hotels over the years.”

“Yes, I thought I saw that on your resume. Right, well, we’re providing the manpower for a charity event tonight. It’s a dinner-auction affair, and one of our servers has had to pull out. Can you fill in for her? It pays one-fifty for the whole evening.”

“I’ll be there with bells on. Where’s it being held?”

Jonathan fills me in on the details, and I memorise them before hanging up and throwing a sandwich together for lunch. I’m not scheduled to be at the concert hall until tomorrow evening, so I can afford to work late tonight. There’s a knock at the door, and since I’m the only one home I go to answer it.

Pete’s scumbag “friend” Damo and two other boys in their late teens stand on the doorstep.

“Pete’s at school,” I tell them, and go to close the door. Damo sticks his foot out to stop me.

“You’ll tell him we’ve been looking for him, yeah?”

The aggression in his voice raises my hackles, so I kick his foot away from the door. “Aren’t you a little old to be hanging around with Pete?” I ask, because sometimes I can’t help myself but to invite trouble.

Damo narrows his eyes to slits, looking outraged that I just kicked his foot. “You ever do that again, and I’ll put a brick through your window,” he threatens me.

Okay, now it’s on. I step forward, and all three boys back up a bit. Yeah, I can be scary when I want to be, and there’s something about the mother hen in me that makes me get all protective when it comes to my younger siblings. People harming my family is a big trigger for me.

“You break my window, and I’ll break your face. Now fuck off, and don’t call here again.”

Damo’s threatening stance falters for a split second, but he quickly puts it back in place before his two friends notice. “Just tell Pete we were looking for him,” he spits, and then nods to the others to follow him before stomping away.

Yep, I definitely won that round. I’ll keep that drug-dealing piece of shit away from my brother if it’s the last thing I do.

A couple of hours later Pete arrives home just as I’m placing a lasagne and salad on the table for his dinner. He looks exhausted and, if I’m not mistaken, a little bit haunted. It concerns me. Dropping down into a seat, he lets out a long sigh and then starts silently eating. I lean against the side of the fridge, studying him.

“Damo and two of his friends came knocking for you earlier,” I say, and watch his reaction.

His eyes widen, and he seems flustered when he responds, “Did they say what they wanted?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

“Has something happened?”

He swallows a mouthful of food. “Uh, not really.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Nah.” He’s quiet for a long time before he says, “I might have seen something that freaked me out.”

“Like…?”

He scratches the spot below his ear. “This guy Damo was dealing to wouldn’t pay up, said he gave him shit coke, so Damo beat him.”

“And you were freaked? This is the world you said you wanted to live in, Pete.”

“I’m not talking about a few slaps, Jade. He beat him so badly he had to be hospitalised. Fucking hell, I can still see the lad’s face…all bloody, all wrong.” His voice starts to choke up, and then tears are running down his cheeks. Shit. I hurry to his side and throw my arms around his shoulders. Sometimes it feels like he’s growing up so fast, but really, he’s still just a kid.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I murmur as I hold him to me. “I’ll get Alec to have a word with Damo, tell him to stay away from you.”

Pete’s head comes up as he wipes at his tears. “You think he’ll listen?”

I grin. “Have you seen your brother these days? Of course that skinny little shit will listen.”

Pete nods and seems to calm down. Then he gets embarrassed when he realises he’d just been crying in front of his big sister. He pulls away, clearing his throat, and then finishes his food. I go upstairs to get ready for the agency gig, a feeling of relief washing over me. Pete is finally seeing sense that Damo is bad news.

The charity event is in the Convention Centre on the quays. I’ve always thought it was a strange-looking building, kind of like a gigantic glass cylinder tilted on an axis. Or a gigantic glass cock tilted on an axis. Whatever architect designed it must have been smoking some strong shit at the time.

When I arrive I’m immediately handed a uniform consisting of a white blouse, tight black trousers, and a black waistcoat. The guy who gives it to me quickly runs me through the proceedings for the night, which will consist of a three-course meal for a thousand people and a jewellery auction with pieces donated from a well-known Irish designer to raise money for breast cancer. There’ll also be some high-profile bands playing on stage.

Normally when I work on these sorts of events I’m put in charge of a couple of tables, but since this is all so high-end there’s a server for each one. Mine is close to the stage and seats eight people. Before any of the food is served, we have to bring out the drinks. There’s a choice of red or white wine, pink Prosecco, or champagne.

Back in my drinking days pink Prosecco was my celebratory tipple for birthdays and such. Now it holds absolutely no appeal.

My heart stutters when I’m carrying the first tray to my assigned table and I clock a handsome profile and a dark head of hair. Shane. He’s sitting with his mother and a few others. His dad’s not there, though.

Of all the awkward coincidences.

It suddenly makes sense. The charity Mirin runs must be the one holding this event.

Shane doesn’t seem happy to be here. In fact, he appears downright miserable. He looks up as I approach and is taken aback when he sees me, but then a big warm smile shapes his perfect lips. That smile is what gives me the courage to keep going.

He doesn’t say anything while I place the drinks on the table, and Mirin is caught up chatting with an older man beside her so she doesn’t notice me. Women like her rarely take note of the people who serve them.

Shane selects a glass of champagne and knocks back a long gulp. For whatever reason, he looks like he needs it. I stand close to him, and his voice is low when he asks in amusement, “Just how many jobs do you actually have?”

My mouth curves in a barely there smile when I reply just as low, “I work events like these occasionally.”

Subtly he reaches for my hand out of sight of everyone else and gives it a quick squeeze. “You don’t know how glad I am that you’re here. Someone must have taken pity on me, because I really needed to see a friendly face.”

I give him a curious look, not understanding what’s going on with him. It’s only as I’m stepping away to return to the kitchen that I recognise the couple sitting at a table one row down and everything clicks into place.

She’s even prettier in real life, Mona Campbell, perched beside Justin, her new husband-to-be.

I can’t believe Shane’s mother invited them, knowing how they went behind Shane’s back. I wonder if she even told him they were going to be here, or if she just sprang it on him when he arrived. What a thorough-going bitch.

I almost gasp when Mona rises from her seat in her floor-length evening gown, a gown that is doing nothing to disguise her small rounded baby bump. Ah, shit. That’s not something Shane needed to see. Not only is his ex-fiancée moving on with his ex-best friend, but she’s also very much pregnant with Justin’s baby.

I feel like putting aside all my professionalism, running to him, and giving him a massive hug in front of everyone. But I don’t do that. Perhaps I’ll be able to catch him in private at some point. Twenty minutes later the starter is served, consisting of seared scallops and a fancy pear sauce. When I put Shane’s plate in front of him I allow my body to brush off his, a small token of my moral support. Then I’m back in the kitchen, rushing around the massive, humid room helping to get everything ready for the next course.

The one thing I don’t like about these kinds of events is that there isn’t much camaraderie among the staff, since not everyone knows each other and we’re all in such a frazzle to get things done on time.

With the starter finished, I collect the empty plates and realise just how self-absorbed Mirin is because she still hasn’t recognised me. Shane’s on what must be his third or fourth glass of champagne already. I put my hand to his shoulder for a second, leaning down and murmuring, “I know why you’re miserable, but getting drunk isn’t going to help. Don’t let the bitch get to you.” I pause and amend, “Either of them.” Because his mother is just as much of a “see you next Tuesday” for inviting Mona as Mona is for cheating.

I’m just about to move on when Shane catches my hand to stop me. “I’m leaving once the meal is done. My dad’s out of town on business so I told Mum I’d be her escort, but I can’t take much more of this. Come home with me?”

Looking into his pained eyes, I’m not sure what he’s asking, but his expression is so agonised that I find myself nodding and whispering, “Okay.” I probably won’t get paid the full amount if I leave early, but Shane needs me, and I find myself unable to refuse him right now.

A few minutes after I serve the dessert, a chocolate fondant that makes my mouth water just looking at it, I make a quick run to the bathroom. After doing my business, I return to my post just in time to see Shane standing so abruptly from his chair it falls over behind him, making a loud clatter in the process. Then with an angry look on his face he marches right out of the room. Not knowing what else to do, I follow him.

When I reach him he’s pacing back and forth in a quiet corridor. He looks up at my approach and his expression is agonised. A moment later he lets out a long sigh.

“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. He stops pacing and raises his lowered head to me. His eyes are full of stark emotion.

Startled, I take his hand and lead him to the end of the corridor, where we won’t be disturbed. Then I pull him into a hug and whisper, “What’s wrong?”

“She’s fucking pregnant,” he grits out, his face nestled in the crook of my neck.

“I know,” I murmur, rubbing soothing circles into his back to comfort him.

What he says next almost knocks me off my feet. “She aborted our baby, and now she’s having one with him.” His words are so choked that I’m not sure I heard them at first. Jesus, no wonder he’s so fucked up.

I put both my hands on either side of his face so that his sad eyes meet mine. “Hey, do you want to get out of here?”

His quick, fervent nod is all the answer I need. Keeping a hold of his hand, I take him with me as I go to get my things from the temporary locker I was given when I arrived.

The locker room is empty, since all the staff are busy working the event, so I manage to slip out of my uniform and back into my own clothes quickly. I’ll probably get an angry phone call from the agency tomorrow for my disappearing act, but Shane needs me.

We leave through the back exit so as to avoid his mother and then catch a cab back to his place. His house is quiet when we get there, and I sit him on the couch in the living room before going to make some tea.

When life kicks you upside the head, a hot beverage is always a much-welcome comfort.

Returning to the living room, I place two steaming mugs on the coffee table and sit down beside Shane.

“That’s what messed my head up the most, you know,” he says quietly. He didn’t speak a word the whole journey here, almost like he was stuck in a trance since he told me about Mona having an abortion in the empty corridor. “For months I could feel her drifting away from me, so when I found her with Justin I was angry, but I wasn’t exactly surprised. A few days later I found a crumpled receipt in her coat pocket for a cheque made out to an abortion clinic. I confronted her, and she admitted to being pregnant with my kid several months previously. She said she wasn’t ready for a baby and knew I’d never agree to getting rid of it, so she kept it a secret.” He stops and lets out a joyless laugh. “She had the gall to tell me that what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.”

Bringing my hand up, I brush his hair away from his forehead in an affectionate gesture. “People are shit. The day you stop expecting decency from them is the day you’ll free yourself from getting hurt.”

He shakes his head and turns his body, shifting closer to me. His anger has long since dried up, but I can tell seeing Mona tonight is still affecting him. “Not all people are shit. You’re not. You’re the opposite of shit.”

I grin at him and make a joke. “Why, thanks, Shane. That’s one of the nicest things anybody’s ever said to me.”

A full, throaty laugh escapes him, and my heart lifts to see him smiling. “You’re so fucking cool, you know that?” he says, running his hand through my ponytail.

“Ah, so many compliments tonight. Stop, or I’ll get a big head.”

“You’re like a salve to all the crap I’ve been through. I sit and have a conversation with you, and poof, all the pain is gone.”

“Well, I’m happy to be able to help.”

We fall into a silence as I lean forward and pick up my mug, taking a long, hot gulp. My other hand has somehow found its way into Shane’s, and he’s tracing circles with his thumb on the inside of my wrist. I place the mug back down and turn to look at him. His hair is a little dishevelled from stressfully running his hands through it one too many times. His beautiful gaze is shining and intense, focused in on me like I’m the bull’s-eye on a dart board.

“I like how you’ve been coming to play for me on the street,” I say, breaking the quiet.

His smile grows wide. “Who says I was playing to you?”

I give him a look. “Weren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s kind of becoming the highlight of my day,” I blurt out honestly.

“Hearing me play is the highlight of your day?” he asks in genuine surprise, like he thought maybe I was just tolerating his eccentricities or something.

“I didn’t mean to admit that,” I reply bashfully, and focus on the movement of his thumb at my wrist. “But yeah. It’s nice. Kind of makes me feel special to have a virtuoso come and perform just for me.”

He sucks in a breath, his thigh moving and nudging against mine. “Explain to me why we’re just friends again?”

“Shane…”

“No, seriously. I know I’m not the only one who’s feeling this.”

I stare up into his eyes, some kind of recklessness forming inside me. I want to feel every inch of him, want to put my lips on all his gorgeous skin.

So the next thing that comes out of my mouth is probably going to be the biggest regret of my life, but I can’t seem to stop myself. My voice barely a whisper, I ask, “That arrangement you suggested, is it still on the table?”

 

The grin that spreads across Shane’s face makes my pores tingle. It’s almost…predatory. His thumb moves from my wrist up and along the veins on the inside of my arm.

One eyebrow raised, he murmurs deeply, “I thought you said you couldn’t handle it?”

With my free hand I gesture between the two of us. “I can’t, but I can’t handle this, either. So why deprive ourselves when it’s going to hurt either way?”

Shane sucks on his lower lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then we won’t hurt each other,” he says with a determined look in his eyes as his face hovers inches from mine.

“Okay, it’s a deal, then,” I say backing up a bit, thrusting my hand out to him and laughing out of nervousness. “Nobody gets hurt, and we both get to enjoy some incredible no-strings sex.”

Shane doesn’t breathe a word while he shakes my hand, his gaze growing dark with thoughts and need. In the back of my mind I know what I’ve just said is the most untrue statement of the century, but I need to fool myself into believing this is a solid plan. Kind of like when you convince yourself to eat that slice of chocolate cake, since you’re going to be starting a diet in the morning; in a tiny corner of your mind you know the diet’s about as likely to happen as Brad Pitt walking through the door and declaring his undying love.

With my hand in his, Shane pulls me into his body so that our chests slam together and we’re both breathing quickly. He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine, just a whisper of a touch, and yet I feel it right in my core.

“I didn’t say we have to start right away,” I rasp as he trails those lips from my mouth over my cheek to the line of my jaw.

“Just a taste,” Shane mumbles against my skin, and my entire body breaks out into goose bumps. “I want to taste you. I’ve been thinking about it almost every day since we first met.”

A small chuckle escapes me as I watch him kiss his way down my neck. “You little pervert.”

His hand glides along the outside of my thigh to the inside before skimming up to the apex of my legs. He rubs lightly through my jeans and says in a voice that’s deliciously lustful, “I want to suck on your clit until you scream.”

Wow. My sophisticated concert violinist has a dirty mouth, and it thrills me.

“Jesus, Shane…”

His hand comes up, and his thumb brushes over my bottom lip before dipping inside my mouth. I gasp and then touch my tongue to it, sucking hard. He groans.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes on me the entire time.

“I’m a sure thing, you know. You don’t have to butter me up with flattery,” I joke, my voice strained.

He stares at me for a long time, slowly shaking his head. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he says firmly, each word enunciated sharp and precise, like he’s sending a message. Reaching up, he unbuttons my shirt to expose my bra. He trails his hand over the lace before pinching my nipple through the fabric. I let out a little whimper, and he grins full-on, moving down to undo my jeans. I lie on his couch, transfixed, unable to bring my attention away from him as he casually undresses me. It’s like he’s been doing it all his life.

Soon my jeans are gone, thrown onto the floor. He licks a line across my abdomen, nipping and kissing my belly. I gasp softly when really I want to scream for him to take everything off me. I’m hardly taking part in this at all, too fascinated by how sexy he is, so focused and attentive. I think it’s true what they say about the shy ones being the complete opposite in the bedroom.

Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness.

Shane’s got this subtle confidence in his sexuality that can’t be taught. I’m totally at his mercy. His teeth graze the edge of my knickers, teasing, hinting at the fact that he could probably rip them off me if he wanted to. Instead he slowly pulls them down, exposing me inch by agonising inch. I’m breathing like I just ran five miles, heaving, obsessed with how his golden eyes drink me in.

He kisses my mound, and for a second I’m relieved I keep everything neat and tidy down there. Then I’m not thinking at all. I’m only feeling his tongue as it flicks over my folds, soft and feather light, almost like a question. His warm hands push my legs farther apart, and he looks up at me, gaze hooded, as he goes deeper. Every time he licks me, so carefully, so skilled, a spark of pleasure rips through my system.

Groaning, he parts my lips and finds my clit, rubbing circles into it with his thumb and making my body shake. Then he moves fast, his mouth going to the tiny bundle of nerves and sucking hard. Before I can think another thought, he thrusts two fingers deep inside me, and I let out a moan so loud I actually feel like blushing. Me. Blushing. Has the world turned upside down?

How have I survived this far without knowing the pleasure of having this man worship me with his mouth?

“You’re…really…fucking good at this,” I gasp, letting my fingers drift into his hair.

I can see him smiling, but his mouth is far too indisposed for a response. His fingers start to pump hard and fast as he begins to swirl his tongue around my clit. Jesus Christ, but he knows what he’s doing.

His other hand moves up my body to squeeze one of my breasts. I practically cry when he drags his mouth from me and pulls me up to sit.

He seems to see the question in my disappointed gaze because he replies, “We need this off, Bluebird.”

I understand then as he unclips my bra and throws it onto the floor with the rest of my things. I’m suddenly aware that he hasn’t removed a single item of his own clothing, so I make quick work of disposing of his shirt. Before I get the chance to take off his trousers, he’s moving back down my body, his mouth doing all sorts of amazing things to my most intimate parts. He reaches up and pinches my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Then he begins moulding my breast with his hand.

“How are you so good at this?” I breathe as a fire starts to build in me. I’m going to come in seconds if he just keeps circling my clit with his tongue. Unfortunately, I was dumb enough to ask a question.

He comes up for air and replies low, “Maybe I spent a little too much time imagining doing it to you.”

Okay, that was the best answer. The. Best. Answer.

I moan. “Don’t stop.”

His grin is intolerable, and then his tongue is on me, his fingers are inside me, and I feel like I’m going to explode. I hold onto his hard shoulder with one hand, my other hand gripping a cushion so tight I might rip a hole in it. It’s a good job cushions don’t need to breathe; otherwise, I’d be suffocating the thing.

“You feel amazing,” he says as he licks me, his words vibrating through my sex.

I whimper as I feel myself reach my climax, pleasure ripping me apart. I’ve never come so hard with a guy. Never. It’s almost like this has been building up for days. Being around each other and not touching at all is like the most torturous kind of foreplay.

He keeps on tonguing me, even after I’ve come, and it’s so intense that I have to beg him to stop. He kisses his way up my body until he reaches my mouth and starts nipping at my lips. I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him deeply, needing to taste him. It’s a heady sensation, the mix of the two of us.

He hooks one arm around my back and the other under my legs, and then unexpectedly lifts me from the couch. I slide my arms around his neck and hold on.

“Where are we going?” I whisper.

“My room. You’re tired.”

“I should go home…”

“You’re not going anywhere. We’re sleeping, Bluebird. Just sleeping.”

“That’s kind of crossing a boundary, isn’t it?”

He shushes me, and then we’ve climbed the stairs and he’s kicking open the door to his room. The walls are bare, and the bed is gigantic. He puts me down on the mattress and flicks on a low lamp. There’s a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a tonne of book shelves. In the far corner there’s a small couch with a bunch of sheet music spread messily across it.

I stay sitting on the bed, stark naked, not knowing what to do. He wants me to stay over, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, what are the rules here? Do I return the favour by going down on him? Do I leave early in the morning before he wakes up so there’s no awkwardness? I’ve always felt that ideas seem much better at night than they do in the harsh light of day.

Will I regret this tomorrow? Probably.

Do I want to stay here now and let him hold me as I sleep? Most definitely.

God, this is such a shady situation with way too many grey areas. He pulls back the covers and drags me under with him, curling his body around mine, his arm tight around my middle. He traces shapes over my skin, the soothing touch causing me to close my eyes and drift to sleep.

When I wake up it’s morning, bright light streaming through the window. Groaning, I stretch out my body, remembering where I am and the exact events that brought me here. Yep, hasty decisions definitely seem better at night. A feeling of dread is forming in my gut, not because I didn’t enjoy what happened between me and Shane, but because I enjoyed it too much.

We took to each other like we’d been together forever, not like it was only the second time we’d been intimate.

I’m alone in the bed, but I can hear someone pottering around down in the kitchen. I look about the room and remember that I left all my clothes downstairs, so I grab a clean T-shirt of Shane’s from one of his drawers and throw it on. It hits me mid-thigh, which is just enough coverage to be considered decent.

When I go in search of him, I find him sitting at the table, topless, a cup of coffee in front of him and a violin in his lap. His back is turned to me, so he doesn’t know I’m there yet. The muscles in his shoulders move as he puts new strings on his instrument. The movement sort of holds me transfixed. I never imagined this would be a strenuous activity, but by the looks of it, it is. His muscles tense up and release as he works.

I step fully into the room and walk around the table to sit across from him. His hands pause, setting the violin aside, and his eyes come up to meet mine.

“Morning,” I whisper, feeling strange about being here. Though by the way he’s eating me up with his gaze, I’m thinking he’s not feeling the same way.

“Is that my T-shirt?” he asks, smiling widely.

 “Yeah, we left my stuff in the living room, remember?” I reply, folding my arms over my chest and shifting uncomfortably as my stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble.

Shane chuckles. “Do you want some breakfast?”

I stand up and nod, needing something to do to keep my nerves at bay. His eyes follow me as I walk to the fridge and open it. “Sure. What have you got?”

I spot a carton of eggs, some bread, milk, butter, the usual mainstays. Then I feel his breath hit the back of my neck and the warmth of his body tingle along my spine. His hand slides across my belly and then dips down under the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing. My thighs drift apart slightly as I gasp and he cups me right between the legs. His lips brush over my neck, causing goose bumps to scurry down my spine. He caresses my sex, and I’m instantly wet for him, so full of need.

A surge of arousal rushes through me, and then all of a sudden I’m taking the lead.

I turn around swiftly and push him over to where the kitchen opens up into a sun room extension. I push him again, down onto a narrow sofa before straddling his hips. He watches me as he lies there, mouth open, chest heaving. His eyes glitter in the sunlight, and I’m so turned on I don’t even care that we’re in a room made of glass for all the world to see.

I reach down and try to get the fly of his jeans open. I have absolutely no underwear on, grinding my sex against him. Once I have them open I pull him free, practically shaking as I run my hand down his length. He’s perfectly long and thick, just what I need.

Raising myself up, I position his cock right at my entrance and then slowly lower my body down all the way. I can feel every inch of him as he fills me, and a loud moan erupts from the back of my throat. Shane lets out a guttural groan, his hands fisting at my hips. Then I start to ride him, pushing myself up and down on his cock slowly, seeking pleasure from his body and giving him a show in the process.

He grips the hem of my T-shirt and drags it up over my head, my long hair falling through it and my breasts bobbing free. His eyes are glued to my chest as I ride him, and I feel his cock hit every sweet spot inside me. If I thought standing up was good, it had nothing on being on top. This is the deepest he can possibly get, and it’s maddening. All my inhibitions fall by the wayside as my sounds fill the room.

“Incredible,” he rasps. “We fit so well together, Bluebird.” His hand moves up along my hip to my ribcage.

Those words momentarily break my lusty haze. They’re too romantic, have too much meaning, and they make this something it’s not supposed to be. Now I’m no longer lost in the sex. Unprotected sex, might I add. Completely my fault, too, since I practically jumped on him without thinking of the consequences. I’m on the pill, so pregnancy’s not an issue. Diseases aren’t really an issue, either. We’re both mature and responsible enough to keep track of those kinds of things.

It’s the intimacy that’s the problem.

Being skin on skin. No barriers. It creates an emotional, almost soul-deep connection that’s not supposed to happen between friends with an “arrangement.” But God, it feels so good to have him inside me, to be able to feel all his hot, silky skin, that I almost don’t care about the implications. Almost.

He reaches up and grips my neck, pulling my mouth down to his for a deep, earth-shattering kiss. Now I’m not the one riding him anymore; the pleasure is so much that my body has gone limp. My bones have turned to mush. Now he’s moving his hips from his position below and pumping up into me.

“Babe,” he murmurs as I drag my mouth from his so I can bury my face in his neck. It’s warm here, and nice. This way I don’t have to look into his beautiful, deep eyes and feel things I’m not supposed to be feeling. Hands clutching my hips again, he starts to pump faster, and I rise up, all of my insides tightening with impending release. Now we move together, fast and frenzied, coaxing each other to that perfect place where for seconds that feel like hours there isn’t a single thought in your head, there’s only the feeling of coming.

So in tune with one another’s bodies, we orgasm together, my walls pulsing around his cock, milking him dry. He swears profusely under his breath, because swearing is the only way to express how amazing this feels. I swear, too, because I know this is bad, really fucking bad.

Anything that feels this perfect needs to be vocalised with a couple shits and fucks.

We stare at each other for a long time, me above and him below. Absolutely connected, having a conversation without words.

Yeah, we’re both completely screwed.

Once my breathing has started to slow down, I lower my body to his and wrap my arms around his neck. His hands pet at my hair, as though trying to reassure me that everything is fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. I drift off for a while, half asleep, half not, and then finally I move off him.

“Can I use your shower?” I ask.

He nods. “Go ahead. I’ll cook us some eggs while you’re showering.”

I grin. “I thought you couldn’t cook.”

“It’s more of a ‘not having time to cook’ issue than not being able to. I get by,” he says, and then pats me playfully on the bottom.

I go into the living room to collect my discarded clothes from last night. Upstairs I turn on the shower and then step under the hot spray, almost feeling sad that I have to wash Shane’s smell off me.

And that right there is why this whole thing is one big old bad idea.

Can I back out of the arrangement now that it’s been… consummated? Perhaps since we’ve fucked each other’s brains out a second time, the need will have dissipated. Though even as I’m thinking this I can already feel the hunger for him re-fuelling. This is scary, and not something that’s going to go away after one or two sessions.

Sometimes I wish my brain didn’t always have to warn me about things. Stupid people seem to live such easy, carefree lives.

Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself off with a towel and wrap up my wet hair. Then, like any decently curious human being, I go snooping. God forbid I actually ask for a tour. No, I’d rather be nosy in private, thanks very much.

It’s a four-bedroom house, but only two of the rooms have actual beds in them. The other two are sort of office slash practice rooms, full of stuff I assume he’s accumulated over the years. There are lots of music books. You know, those old thick cream ones with pages upon pages of sheet music and music theory inside. There are also several violins, some shiny and perfect, hanging in cases on the walls, and others battered and bruised. Clearly these are the ones he practices with. He doesn’t have to care about breaking cheaper instruments.

For some reason, I see more life and spirit in the cheap violins than I do in the pristine ones in their sealed protective cases. On a stool there’s a bow with half the fibres broken off. I pick it up and run my hands along the snapped horse hair, imagining the demons Shane worked out as he sawed it into the violin so hard it broke.

Because I know he has demons. On the outside he’s like his polished, perfect violins, but on the inside lies a battered and broken one. I need to know what happened to him. He told me about Mona and the abortion, but I sense more. It’s probably hypocritical of me to want to know, since I’ve got demons I never plan on revealing to him.

In the corner of the room there’s a black leather trunk; the lid is open, and inside there are a bunch of paintings in fancy frames. He must not have had the chance to hang them yet, which makes me wonder just how long he’s been living here.

There’s a sort of half-finished feel to the place, so I’m thinking not that long.

Pulling up a seat, I flick through the paintings, admiring them. Most of them are modern art, a bunch of shapes and colours on the canvas that mean something different to every person who looks at them. I gasp out loud then, because the next painting I come across is eerily familiar. Before I’ve even pulled it out of the trunk, I recognise the brush strokes.

They belong to my mother.

Then, when I’ve pulled it out and laid it on my lap, something strange catches in my throat. How on earth does he have this?

The picture shows a city street, pedestrians walking hurriedly by, and in the background there’s me. The Blue Lady. Mum did lots of paintings of me when she was alive and this is just one of them, but the question is, when and how did Shane acquire it?

The feeling of betrayal is an ugly emotion.

Sometimes it’s so virulent that it makes you want to die.

He stood on the edge of the famous Reichsbrücke.

Sucking in what he envisaged would be his very last breath, he jumped.

 

***

 

Healing a broken body is easier than healing a broken heart.

His limbs had long since knit themselves back together, but the silly organ still ached.

His only solace was the painting on the wall, the one of the woman in blue.

She gave him hope.

 

 

Heading downstairs on shaky legs, I carry the painting with me under my arm. Shane is busy setting plates on the table, so he doesn’t immediately notice what I’ve got. I prop the painting on a chair and sit down, leaning my chin on my hand and looking at him speculatively.

Shane turns from the cooker with the hot pan full of scrambled eggs. He dishes them onto the plates and then pauses when he sees me. His eyes travel from me to the painting and then back again. He swallows, turns around, and puts the pan back on the cooker. Wiping his hands off on a dish towel, he comes and take his seat on the other side of the table.

He picks up his fork, scoops up some eggs, and shoves them in his mouth. A minute later he nods to the painting. “Where did you find that?”

If I’m not mistaken, his voice sounds hesitant.

“I was looking in your practice room, saw your art collection and started browsing. You’ll understand my surprise to find one of my mum’s pictures there.”

I start eating now, too, watching his reaction all the while. It suddenly makes sense why he took an interest in Mum’s art when he visited my house.

“I’ve had that piece for a while,” he says, voice low.

“You mean from before you knew me?” I ask in genuine surprise. For some reason I had it in my head that he got his hands on it after we’d met.

He nods. “Yeah, that’s why I was watching you that first night. I felt like I’d walked into a dream. There you were, the blue woman from my painting.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “I thought you were just drunk.”

“I was a little tipsy,” he admits. “Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have been so blatant about staring at you.”

I bob my head and eat some more of the breakfast he made for me, a strange fizzing sensation in my belly. This is just kind of weird. Weird, but also a little wonderful. “So where did you get it?”

He raises a brow. “The painting?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s from my parents’ house,” he explains. “It was hanging on the wall in the spare bedroom, and I’d been staying there for a while after, well, after my entire life fell apart, thanks to Mona. I don’t know why, but that painting was a huge comfort to me.”

“Wow,” I whisper, feeling odd to discover that a man I didn’t even know had been deriving comfort from a picture of me. It makes me wonder who else might have my mum’s paintings. She was pretty prolific, so there could be hundreds, if not thousands of them in circulation around the country, even around the world.

“I asked my dad where he got it from, because I loved the style and I wanted to buy another. There’s this peaceful quality about your mother’s work, kind of like she’s trying to tell the world not to fret on things,” Shane continues. “Like she’s telling you everything will be all right in the end.”

I get that. There’s always been a warmth in Mum’s art, almost like a maternal affection for the world. The way she depicted things showed her heart.

“And what did your dad say?”

“He didn’t know. So I asked Mum, and she couldn’t remember where they’d gotten it from, either. She thought maybe it had been given to her as present at some point. It was a little mystery, and I was kind of disappointed that I’d never be able to find another work like it. Then I was out that night and I saw you, my painting come to life. I don’t normally approach strangers like that, but I just had to know you.”

“That’s sweet,” I tell him, smiling. “And you took it from your parents’ place when you left?”

“Yeah, it was like a comfort blanket. I couldn’t let it go.”

I frown. “How long had you been staying with them?”

His eyes shift away from mine. “A while.”

“How much of a while, Shane?” I press.

There’s a long pause before he finally answers. “Six months.”

My jaw drops. “That’s a long while.” I stop talking then, considering what to say next. “At the photo shoot when you were off getting changed, your mum said something weird to me.”

His face grows serious. “What did she say?”

“She said you were vulnerable. What did she mean by that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shane.”

“What? I said I don’t know. Now just leave it.”

“Fine,” I reply, not liking his snappy response. I stand from the table and carry my plate over to the sink. “I’m going home now. I have a shift later on.”

I don’t look back at him as I turn to leave the room, but he quickly catches up to me. He grabs me by the waist, hauling me back against his chest. “Don’t run off. I didn’t mean to get pissed. It’s just that she had no right to say that to you.”

I turn in his arms so that I’m facing him. “She was warning me away from you.”

“That sounds like Mum all right.”

My hand trails from his chest up to his neck, resting just under the line of his jaw. “If you have issues, Shane, I need to know about them. This thing between us could go badly wrong if we’re not completely transparent with one another.”

I search his face, and what I see is turmoil. If he has mental health problems, which is what I got from Mirin telling me he was vulnerable, then I need to know about them. I need to know where to tread lightly.

“Right after I found out about Mona’s abortion, I did something stupid. I was at my lowest, and you have to understand that this wasn’t typical behaviour for me. It just felt like everything in my life was a lie.” His words are hushed, quiet, like he’s ashamed or something.

“I know all about stupid, Shane. Believe me, nothing you’ve done could hold a candle to the stupid I’ve committed over the years.”

“I jumped off a bridge in Vienna. On purpose,” he says, abruptly cutting me off.

Whatever words I was about to say next immediately die on my tongue. Suicide. Shit. There were times, particularly in my mid to late teens, when I would have happily ended my own life, but somehow things never got extreme enough for me to go there.

Perhaps I thought death would be too easy, not punishment enough.

I pull him into me and wrap my arms tight around him. “Don’t you ever feel like you can’t tell me stuff,” I whisper to him soothingly. His body melts into mine with what feels like relief. Fucking hell. This man. All I want to do is fix him. Is it even possible for a girl this scarred to fix a broken boy?

“There’s no judgement here. Okay?” I ask, pulling away slightly so I can see his face.

He stares back at me, all beautiful and sad. “Okay, Bluebird.”

I smile and rub his arms, coaxing a smile from him in return. “Are you playing tonight?”

“Yeah, Beethoven and Mendelsohn,” he answers, seeming happy for the change of subject.

“Cool. You want me to come see you in the dressing rooms before you go on?”

He gives me a firm nod. “I always want you to come see me, Jade.”

There’s some meaning in that sentence that I try not to read too much into. I press my lips softly to his and then go to grab the rest of my things. He offers to drive me home, but I say no, telling him I have to run a few errands on the way. I do have some things to do, but I also need some space from him. Some room to clear my head and figure out what exactly we’re doing.

After what I just found out, I can now confirm that although his mother is a bit of a bitch, she was right about one thing. Shane is vulnerable. Never mind about my feelings getting hurt and me turning back to alcohol — I need to consider his feelings, too.

I want to be respectful of him, let him know that I’ll never treat him the way Mona did. But how do I tell him that when we’re not supposed to be anything more than fuck buddies? Even though it’s a liminal situation, I like where we are right now. I like not having to completely define things and just go with what we feel. Touching each other when we want to be touched, and not touching when we don’t want to.

When I arrive home I’m greeted by Alec’s smug face as he sits in the kitchen, reading the newspaper.

“Well, look who it is. My sister, the dirty stop out. Where were you all night?”

He puts the paper down and folds his arms. I give him a long-suffering look, relieved that Pete and April aren’t around. The two of them aren’t exactly children anymore, but I always feel a little bit guilty when I stay out all night. Still, I did text Alec to let him know I wouldn’t be back so that he’d stay in and keep an eye on them.

Not that it happens often. In fact, this is the first time it’s happened in a long time.

“None of your business,” I tell him. “Just like it’s none of my business what you get up to in your own time, Alec.”

“Okay, so you’re gonna be like that, eh? Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you, you wouldn’t happen to have that Avery chick’s number, would you?”

I raise both eyebrows at once while shaking my head. “No, I wouldn’t. And I thought I told you she was off limits.”

“Come on, Jade, you know that only makes me want her more,” he replies with a cheeky wink.

“She’s in the orchestra, Alec. I barely know her. Why on earth would I have her number?”

“Huh,” he says, chewing on his lip. “Maybe I’ll look her up on Facebook.”

“Yeah, you do that. But don’t come crying to me when it all goes belly up and she starts to get clingy.”

Alec grimaces, and I let out a laugh. I knew he wouldn’t like that imagery. My brother is about as commitment phobic as you can get. A typical twenty-one-year-old male who wants to sow his wild oats without any thought to the consequences.

“I’m a man, Jade. I don’t cry.” He pauses and amends humorously, “I might whine to you something fierce, but you’ll never see me cry. Not in public, anyway.”

I point a finger at him before letting Specky in from the back garden and scooping her up into my arms. “You leave that girl alone. She’s done nothing to deserve you. Stick to the mean girls. At least you know they deserve it.”

He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll think about it. By the way, I had a word with Damo. He’ll be steering clear of Pete from now on.”

A quick breath escapes me. “That’s good news. What did you do to him?”

Alec intertwines his fingers and flexes his hands. “I didn’t have to do anything. The prick remembers when I kicked his older brother’s arse a few years ago. I think that was warning enough for him. All those fuckers only pick on little boys because they know they’ll be easy targets.”

Stroking Specky’s soft head, I ask, “Are you sure he got the message? Pete really broke down with me yesterday. I feel like shit for not realising what a hard time of it he’d been having.”

Alec eyes me. “He got the message, sis. Don’t you worry.”

I nod, believing him, and then go upstairs to my room. I spend a couple of hours reading and lounging in bed with Specky before I have to get to work. When I arrive I find a small white envelope in my cubbyhole. I open it up and discover two tickets to a show the orchestra is playing next week. There’s a note that reads:

Tickets for April as promised. I hope you’ll come, too. I spoke with Lara, and she says you’re not working that night. Been thinking of you all day.

Shane.

xxx.

My heart squeezes as I hold the tickets in my hand. I’m not sure if April still remembers she was promised them, since she hasn’t asked. That probably means there’s some other guy on the scene for her to focus her attentions on.

My shift is a busy one, but a couple of hours in I get a break and manage to slip off to the dressing rooms. The orchestra had a rehearsal earlier, so a lot of the musicians are still hanging around for the evening concert. Shane’s sitting in his spot, a book open on his lap as he sinks his teeth into an apple.

Memories from last night flood my senses. And yeah, I’m kind of jealous of the apple.

Like before, I slide my bottom up onto the table in front of him, and he brings his attention from the book to me. He looks pleased to see me as a handsome smile shapes his mouth. I take a sip from the peppermint tea I’m drinking in a paper cup I snagged from the staff room.

We don’t say a word, simply staring at each other in the same silent communication that’s becoming something of a habit. Close by someone’s streaming music from a radio, the faint melody of “Cosmic Love” by Florence + the Machine in my ears, moons and stars and hearts seeping into my subconscious. A landscape of emotion.

Whichever people can actually pull off friends with benefits without their feelings getting involved, I lift my hat off to those heartless fuckers, because I’m failing catastrophically.

Shane pulls his chair forward and runs his hands up my legs, stopping mid-thigh.

“Thanks for the tickets,” I tell him, clearing my throat.

His gaze flicks to mine. “You gonna come?”

His words give me a little jolt, and the dark look in his eyes tells me meant every ounce of that double entendre.

“I hope so,” I finally respond, and shift my bottom a little so that we’re a fraction closer.

He sucks in a breath and starts moving his practiced hands up and down my thighs, slow and torturous. “The PR company that handles the orchestra wants me to do a television slot tomorrow morning.”

“Really?” I ask excitedly. “What for?”

“It’s to promote the upcoming season of shows. I’m shitting a brick, to be perfectly honest.”

“Have you done TV before?”

“Once or twice in France and Germany, but that was with the quartet, and the other guys did most of the talking.”

“Do they want you to do it alone?”

“No, I’d be going on with Henry White.”

The name rings a bell as I reply, “That’s the conductor, isn’t it?”

He nods and tells me sheepishly, “One of the agents got it into her head that I’d be a big selling factor with female ticket buyers, which is why they’re pushing for this.”

A grin tugs at my lips. “Oh, yeah?” I reach over and fix his collar. “She might be right. Plus, Henry would be an added bonus.”

He narrows his eyes, and his hands pause on my thighs. “What does that mean?”

I shrug and tease, “He’s seriously hot. There’s something about conductors, you know. All those vigorous movements, kind of like they’re fucking the air.”

Shane purses his lips, clearly trying to suppress a smile. “You’re being mean. I don’t want you to find anyone else in this place attractive other than me.”

I lean closer so that my mouth is above his ear when I whisper, “After last night, you have nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing to worry about, Shane.”

“That’s good to hear, but I might need a little more convincing,” he says, bringing his mouth to my chin and giving me a little nip. A man a few seats away is blatantly watching our interaction, but I’m enjoying this far too much to care right now. Turning my face quickly, I catch Shane’s mouth in mine and kiss him softly. Just a whisper of a kiss, a promise of more to come later.

“Will you come with me tomorrow?” he asks then, voice low.

“Would you like me to come?”

His nostrils flare. “I’d love you to.”

“Then I’ll come,” I say, pressing my lips to his one last time before sliding off the table. “I’ve got to get back. Good luck with tonight’s show.”

“Yeah,” he replies, and I can feel his eyes glued to my behind the entire time I walk away.

 

The next morning I’m woken at six-thirty by my phone ringing. Yeah, that’s right, six flipping thirty in the mother-effing a.m. Peering at the screen through squinted eyes, I see it’s Shane who’s calling, and I remember I agreed to go with him to the television studio. What with him playing a concert last night, we didn’t get a chance to hash out the details.

I was exhausted after my shift and so was he after playing, so unfortunately we didn’t have the opportunity to take further advantage of our “arrangement.” Hopefully, I’ll get to remedy that tonight, or maybe even today if I’m lucky. I answer the phone groggily, and Shane tells me he’ll be picking me up in half an hour. There’s a smile in his voice; clearly he can hear how tired I am. I don’t know how the people who work on those morning shows manage getting up so early every day.

I feel like a zombie as I take a quick shower and get dressed. I don’t have time to dry my hair, so I twist it up in a loose bun. For an outfit I throw on a nice peach-coloured shift dress with my biker boots, mixing prim and proper with some urban decay. There’s a knock at the door soon after, and Shane greets me with a smile and a takeaway coffee cup.

We’re quiet on the drive, with him giving me heated looks every once in a while. Where does he get his energy from? I’ll need at least two more coffees and something carb-heavy before I’ll feel like the living.

“That’s a nice dress,” he murmurs, turning a corner into the studio parking lot.

I rub my palms on my thighs, smoothing out the material. “Thanks.”

When we go inside, a runner leads us both to the wardrobe section, but Shane says he’s happy to wear what he has on already. He looks good, too, in light grey slacks and a tailored white shirt. Smart casual.

Henry White, the orchestra conductor, is already there, having his salt and pepper hair fussed over by a stylist. Shane takes the seat beside him and gives him a smirk, at the same time waving off the offer of having his own hair primped. I always wondered whether the people who go on these shows are forced to endure the wardrobe and makeup part or if they have a choice. Seemingly, from what I’ve seen so far, they get a choice.

Opting out is probably better, because you can always tell when the person feels uncomfortable in what they’re wearing and the makeup that’s been piled onto their face.

 Shane introduces me to Henry briefly, and then I have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom, nature calling. I almost get lost as I search through corridors that all feel identical, people rushing this way and that, busy bees. From what I can tell, the show is live on the air right now, but Shane and Henry aren’t going on until the final ten minutes.

At long last I find the ladies room, and then on my way back to the hair and makeup department I see Shane walking toward me. Before I can react, he’s pulling me into an empty closet and shutting the door. Then his hands are in my hair, pulling out my bun and letting it fall over my shoulders. His mouth crashes down on mine as he inches the hem of my dress up my legs.

“I couldn’t wait until after,” he groans against my lips, pressing the hard length of his erection to my inner thigh.

I let out a sharp hiss of breath at the feel of him, a thrill in my belly. He was so desperate for me that he’s doing this here. Here! An idea pops into my head as I kiss his neck, and then I draw away from him so that I can lower myself to my knees.

In the dimly lit closet, I see Shane swallow deeply as he watches me. The only light is streaming through the cracks in the door from those fluorescent bulbs that line the windowless halls.

I rub him through his slacks and nuzzle my nose against his cock over the fabric. Then I draw down the zipper and pull him free, luxuriating in the feel of all that silky, hot hardness.

“Jade,” he whispers, his voice low with need.

“Let me,” I whisper back before tipping my tongue, feather light, to the head of his penis. He shudders. I take him into my mouth, just the barest inch, then draw away and dip my head to lick him from the base of his cock all the way to the tip.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, his hand going to my cheek in a caress.

Opening my mouth wide, I take as much of him in as I can. I’ll never be able to fit all of him. He murmurs lots of sweet things to me as I bob my head up and down slowly. I grip his thigh for support and then go deeper. His answering strangled moan tells me he likes it. Increasing my speed, I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, and a salty drop of pre-cum hits my mouth.

His hand moves from my cheek and slips down the front of my dress, under my bra and directly to my breast, where he squeezes. I feel myself growing wet between my legs when he pinches my nipple, continually applying pressure and then releasing.

I’m sucking him fast now, the tempo increasing as my own desire builds. I’m so turned on I feel like I might come simply from the way he’s pinching my nipples. He’s doing it to both of them, pinching and releasing. His cock is hard and wet in my mouth. I drag my teeth along his length, just a tiny hint of pain, and I’m rewarded with a masculine groan and more pre-cum.

I lick him from the base all the way to the head one more time before I take him back inside and suck him with vigour. I’m dying for him to come into me, dying to taste him. I’ve never felt such a need to pleasure a man as completely as I do with Shane. He’s so gorgeous, such a beautifully pained soul, and there’s this deep need in me to make him feel as good as I possibly can.

One hand releases my breast and goes to my hair, fisting it right at the nape of my neck. He tugs ever so gently, and I gasp around his cock. Looking up into his eyes, I see him almost smiling, his gaze dark with desire. Every time I suck on him he pulls, and every time I can’t help my muffled gasp.

Then I feel his body tense up; his cock gets so hard and big that I can hardly fit him anymore, and he cries out as warm spurts of semen fill my mouth. I keep moving my lips on him, up and down, up and down, until every last drop has been released. I swallow, and he pulls me up to stand, pushing me harshly against the door and slamming his mouth onto mine.

His hand slips beneath the hem of my dress and right inside my drenched underwear. I moan as his fingers rub at my folds, finding my clit and giving it a little pinch.

“So wet,” he breathes, his tongue licking a line from my ear to my jaw.

My hand goes to his cock and rubs; he’s hardening again already. His fingers whisper over my entrance before plunging inside, and I have to hold onto his shoulder to keep upright. My legs turn to jelly as he finger fucks me hard and fast. Pleasure ripples through me, and the noise of my heavy breathing fills the tiny space. The sound of his fingers slapping against my wetness echoes in the background.

“So tight,” he goes on, his fingers still fucking me, his mouth doing pretty things to my neck.

“I wish we were somewhere else,” I manage to whisper, because I don’t want this pleasure to end. I want him to fuck me with his cock for days. Unfortunately, we’re in a storage closet in a television studio with dozens of people rushing by right outside the door. So for now his fingers will have to do. Not that they’re doing a bad job. No, not at all.

“I don’t,” he replies, his voice a hot caress. “I like it here. It’s sort of forbidden. The danger of being heard, getting caught.”

Well, now, isn’t he just a little kinky bastard.

At this he thrusts his fingers right up into me, and I moan far too loudly. His answering chuckle makes me want to smack him, but I’m enjoying what he’s doing far too much for that. His thumb starts to flick at my clit, building a fire inside me.

I gasp and moan, pressing my face into the hollow of his neck. I nuzzle his earlobe and then lightly take it between my teeth and bite. He rewards me by rubbing a hard, torturously slow circle around my clit with his thumb, his fingers inside me slowing down. I feel him hit every pleasure spot now, the lack of speed somehow making this better.

“Come for me, baby,” he urges as he nuzzles my nose, encouraging my face to move from his neck so he can see my eyes again.

“I’m going to. Soon,” I tell him in response, my words all shaky as everything inside me builds to what is going to be a fucking intense orgasm. Our gazes locked now, I let out a breath, and he sucks it in. Breathing each other’s air. My fingernails dig into the fabric of his shirt where I’m clutching his shoulder, and I practically yelp when all of a sudden he pumps fast again, sensation shattering from my core and outward into my whole body. His thumb presses hard into my clit and I come, moaning and sighing all at once, tremors wracking my body.

I hold onto him for long moments after they’ve subsided, my head all in a daze. His arms go tight around my waist, and mine go around his neck. We kiss and peck at each other, not saying a word but silently acknowledging that what just happened between us was incredible. And needs to happen again — as soon as possible.

Shane moves and brings his wrist to his line of sight to check the time on his watch. Quickly, he lets out a string of swear words and untangles our bodies.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, disappointed that he’s pulled away from me.

“I have to get back. We’re supposed to be on the air in five minutes.”

Oh, shit. I step back and take a look at him, fixing his hair while he buttons his trousers. Opening the closet door, we step out into the light and hurry to the studio. Along the way Shane’s phone rings in his pocket. He stops and pulls it out, staring at the screen long and hard but not answering. I study his face, wondering why he looks so pissed all of a sudden. Then he ends the call and shoves the phone back in his jacket.

A harried runner gives Shane an annoyed look when we finally show our faces. Shane takes a peek at himself in the mirror; he’s still a little dishevelled after our encounter, so he straightens his clothes and fixes his hair some more.

Henry gives him a knowing smile, and then they’re both being escorted to the set. I follow behind. I’ve never been in a studio like this before. I take in all the equipment and lights, the behind-the-scenes team making sure everything runs smoothly.

There’s a male and female duo presenting this particular show, and right now they’re reading off a teleprompter, doing the intro for Shane and Henry. An overweight man in his fifties who looks like he’s in charge talks swiftly to the two of them in a hushed voice, and then they’re both walking onto the set and shaking hands with the presenters. They take their seats on the red sofa, and the male presenter, whose name I think is Jim, asks the first questions. I stand close by on the side lines, watching and listening.

“You’re both very welcome. Now, tell us a little bit about the new season that’s coming up. I hear you’ve got lots of exciting shows happening.”

Henry nods and dives straight into a practiced spiel about the orchestra’s upcoming events. I hardly pay him any attention as I focus on Shane. He looks flushed, and I guess he has reason to be, given the last half an hour. The female presenter gives him an appraising look, her expression showing that she likes what she sees. Huh.

There’s a long table nearby with tea, coffee, and various pastries. Me being me, I clocked it right away as we walked onto the set. Stepping over to it, I pour myself a cup of coffee, dumping in three sachets of sugar and some milk. I also grab an iced Danish and take a big hungry bite. Free food, you have to love it.

When I settle my attention back on the show, Shane’s eyes meet mine past all the cameras, and he smiles.

Wow. I’ll never get used to how his smiles make my heart go pop.

“I hear you’ll be having some fabulous musicians from the around the world coming to play with you,” says the female presenter, trying to bring Shane into the conversation.

He doesn’t say anything. Oh, shit, I think his nerves might be getting the better of him…or maybe he’s too busy smiling at me to hear her. There’s a moment of awkward silence before Henry comes to the rescue.

“That’s right,” he says. “Philippa Sedgwick and Ian Hughes will be with us next week.”

“And is it true that Mona Campbell might even be making an appearance?” the presenter goes on.

Now she has his full attention as his face whips to her. Suddenly, my focus is no longer on Shane’s gorgeous smile. It’s on the brief look of horror that quickly passes over his features before he puts a casual mask back in place. Uh, what? Mona’s going to be playing at the concert hall? From the looks of it, Shane had no idea about this.

Henry replies in the affirmative, and my gut sinks. The presenter brings her focus onto Shane again by asking, “Isn’t it true that you and Mona have a romantic history?”

“Yes, a long time ago,” Shane answers, trying to be polite.

The presenter smiles, like this is all fun and games. “I suppose sparks will be flying at the reunion.”

Shane gives her a cold look. “As I said, it was a long time ago.”

“Mr Arthur and Miss Campbell will be playing Brahms’ Hungarian Dance No. 1 and 5 together,” says Henry.

Now Shane cuts his eyes to the conductor. Obviously, this is the first he’s heard of any planned duets. Henry goes into more detail about that particular show, but I tune him out. Shane’s jaw is tight with tension, and he looks like he wants to get up from the sofa and leave. Take that, live television.

Thankfully, he doesn’t leave.

I will his gaze to meet mine, and when it finally does I try to channel all my calming chi into one look. His tension visibly slips away as he gathers himself and settles back into the interview. I wonder why the management for the orchestra has organised these duets. I only have limited knowledge, but normally it’s the job of a guest musician to do solos. Then again, Shane is something of a celebrity in this world. Perhaps they wanted to drum up a bit of gossip and intrigue, sell more tickets and the like.

Soon the interview is being wrapped up, and the presenters are thanking both Shane and Henry for coming in. The two look to be having a heated discussion as they step off the set and over to a quiet corner. I move around a guy operating a camera to get closer so I can hear.

“Why the hell is this only being sprung on me now?” Shane grits out.

Henry has a beseeching look on his face. “Honestly, I thought you knew. Maybe it’s a clerical error and someone forgot to contact you.”

“I can’t play with her. There’s too much bad blood there. It’ll be a disaster.”

“Surely if she’s agreed to do it, then there can’t be that much bad blood. Like you said before, it was a long time ago, Shane.”

Hmm, it can’t have been that long ago. If my estimations are correct I’d say a year at most.

“This is fucking bullshit, and you know it. Someone deliberately made it so that I wasn’t told until it was too late to back out. I know how this works. They think they’ll have a sold-out house because people will want to come and witness the sheer fucked-upness of it all.”

Shane drags a hand through his hair, and Henry gives him a small smile. “Is fucked-upness a word now?” The teasing lilt to his voice makes Shane a little less tense, and a tiny laugh escapes him.

“Shut up.”

Henry clasps him around the shoulder. “You can do this, son. Believe it or not, I’ve had a few romantic entanglements with musicians over the years, too. I know it can be tough.”

Shane looks at him and nods, seeming to come to a conclusion that he’s going to struggle on. Play the duets with Mona, and get them over and done with.

I can’t say I’m pleased about it, but I’m glad he’s not going to let it all get to him.

Spotting me standing by a water cooler, he comes and wrap his arms around my middle, placing a kiss to the very tip of my nose. I laugh.

“I suppose you heard all that,” he says, lips in my hair.

“Yeah. You handled the interview really well, despite everything. For a second I thought you were going to say some choice words to the presenter.”

“Oh, there were a few on the tip of my tongue, all right. I held them in, though, for the sake of professionalism, of course.”

“Of course.”

At this moment the presenter in question walks by with an assistant. I still don’t know her name, but she cocks an eyebrow as she takes in the two of us wrapped around each other and then keeps walking. Shane says his goodbyes to Henry and then leads me by the hand out of the studio.

I breathe in the cold, crisp air once we get outside. There’s something kind of depressing about the lack of windows inside.

“Want to go for a drive?” Shane asks as he slides into the driver’s seat.

I shrug. “Sure. Where do you have in mind?”

He glances at me and then straight ahead through the windscreen, tapping his hands on the steering wheel. “Let’s go see the ocean.”

 

I keep staring at him as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot. While he drives I turn on the radio, messing around with different stations until I find something I like. Once I settle on a song, I sit back and enjoy the ride.

His phone rings again, and again he ignores it, waiting until it goes to voicemail. I’m starting to become a little too curious about who he’s avoiding speaking to.

Somewhere along the way, Shane reaches over with one hand and squeezes my thigh. He leaves his hand there, only moving it when he needs to before quickly putting it back. I watch him, remembering when he’d been doped up at the hospital and blurted out that watching me drive was like foreplay. I kind of get it now. His arms strain beneath his shirt when he steers, his profile beautiful and strong at the same time. It kind of makes me hot and bothered.

I look at his hand currently grasping my thigh and realise that he hasn’t had the opportunity to wash it since we were in the closet. He’d done the entire live television interview with me all over him, and I’m still on him. The idea causes a little shiver to dance down my spine.

A while later we’re at Bray strand, and Shane’s parking again. It’s not a warm day. In fact, it’s kind of chilly out. It’s a good thing I brought a coat. Getting out of the car, I shrug into it and button it up all the way. There are hardly any people on the beach, just one or two folks walking their dogs. There’s a good deal of wind, creating waves that bash against the shore.

Right now the tide is fully in, making the sea seem that much bigger and closer. Shane leads me down to the sand, where he finds a decent spot and sits. He pulls me between his legs, my back flush with his chest, and puts both his hands over mine to keep them warm. He’s wearing an expensive black wool coat, and the collar brushes off my cheek when I turn to briefly press my lips against his.

“I didn’t even remember to ask if you’re working today,” he says, breaking the kiss as the wind sings through the air. We’re nothing but spots of rust inside a giant’s thin whistle.

“Not until six. Lots of time to do lots of things,” I say, and give him a wink.

By the hot look that comes over him, I’m betting he knows exactly what I’m talking about. Turning his body slightly, he looks behind us at the street beyond the beach that’s lined with hotels and bed & breakfasts.

His breath makes me tremble when he brings his mouth close to my ear. “We could get a room. I don’t think I have the patience for the forty-minute drive it will take to get back to my place.”

My eyes flicker between his when I turn to face him, a feeling of reckless abandon coming upon me. For a girl from the Liberties, renting out a hotel room just to have sex in would be considered quite lavish, extravagant, even. I mean, we’re going to pay for it and not even stay the night.

“Let’s do it,” I whisper before kissing his perfect lips again.

Pulling me up to stand, we walk arm in arm across the road and down the street. After a few minutes we finally settle on a hotel and go inside. It doesn’t take long to get a room. I try to protest when Shane hands over his credit card, but he won’t hear a word about me paying. It’s a good thing too, because I’m quite low on cash. I’ve never been with a guy who could be considered a gentleman, so it’s a whole new feeling to be paid for like this.

We touch each other in subtle ways until we reach the elevator. Shane punches in the number for our floor, and then we’re ascending. Hardly a second passes before he’s pushing me against the wall and devouring me with his mouth, his lips, his tongue. Everything he does makes me melt, makes my body pliant, a willing supplicant to whatever he sees fit to do with me.

Ping, the elevator doors open.

The hushed sound of our feet stepping swiftly across thick carpet.

He slides the key into the door and then pushes it open, dragging me along, hardly taking his mouth off my neck the entire time. I’m vaguely aware of the room being nice, but not overly fancy, and then my bottom’s hitting the mattress. Shane pushes up the hem of my dress until it reaches my belly and then drags the entire thing over my head. Now I’m only wearing my bra and knickers, pretty matching cream ones, I note happily.

I’d been in such a rush to get ready this morning that I couldn’t remember what I put on.

Shane starts to undo the buttons on his shirt and I watch, my chest heaving as he reveals inch after inch of his perfect lightly tanned skin. The hint of Asian blood in him means he doesn’t have pasty pale skin like most of the men I’ve been with. He’s so beautiful, from a whole other world, really.

I shiver as a cold breeze sweeps in through the window that’s slightly ajar. The maid must have left it open to air the place. Shane sees me tremble and walks, now topless, over to the window to close it. I’m still in the exact same spot he left me in when he comes back and climbs on top of me, whispering, “Come on, Bluebird, I’ll warm you up.”

Oh, my God. I’m certainly in for something right now. His string-roughened fingers push my legs apart as he settles between them. His mouth moves to the curve of my cleavage as he buries his face there, and let’s just say there’s a lot to get buried in. I smile, thinking of how preoccupied he can be with that part of my body, yet he rarely refers to them directly. Almost like he’s too shy to say he likes them.

I find that shyness incredibly appealing. It’s so rare to find a man like that these days.

There’s no shyness in him now, though. There rarely is when we’re being sexual. When we’re alone. It’s other times that he gets bashful, like how he’d blushed when I’d talked about him fucking me outside the concert hall the second night we met. Anybody could have heard. Such scandal.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks, all raspy as he looks up from my breasts. At the same time he pulls my body up slightly so he can unclip my bra and do away with it.

“I was thinking about how you’re a study in contrasts,” I murmur, and squeeze my eyes shut with pleasure when his tongue flicks across my nipple.

“Oh, yeah?” he says while his mouth busies itself on the tightening peak of my nipple, one hand pinching, one mouth sucking. A strangled cry comes out of me before I speak.

“Around other people, you’re all polite and reserved. But then when we’re alone, you’re all take charge and throw me down on the bed.”

His answering chuckle radiates from my nipple in his mouth right into my breast and throughout my entire body. I’m immediately wet. Wow. My skin goes all goose pimply again, but not from the cold air this time. His hand moves between my legs, rubbing at my underwear, which is a little worse for wear after our encounter in the studio.

He grips the side and pulls them down my thighs. I whimper in frustration when his mouth leaves my nipple so he can remove my knickers completely. Then he’s spreading my legs apart so wide I feel a strain, and his mouth is right over my sex, breath heavy and humid on my flesh. His hands grip either of my thighs as he brings his mouth directly to my clit and sucks.

Oh, shit. I cry out, fisting the sheets so hard they might rip. My neck arches back, my head thrashing against the pillow. He continues to suck as his fingers thrust inside me and pump, hitting my G-spot perfectly. Just as I feel I’m about to come, he withdraws. I moan unhappily this time as he brings himself to kneel between my legs. His hand slips inside his pants pocket, pulling out a condom.

Then he’s shoving off his pants and freeing his gorgeously hard cock. He rolls the condom on, his eyes not leaving me the entire time. I’m almost grateful that he left me hanging when he shoves his thick length into me in one swift movement. I’m so primed that I feel it more intensely than ever. My body is on the cusp of orgasm, and as he starts to push his hips back and forth, driving his cock into me again and again, I feel the most intense release building. A release the likes of which I’ve never felt before.

Our gazes lock as he takes both my hands in his and lifts them above my head. He holds me captive as he continues to thrust into me exquisitely hard. It’s not fast; his speed is measured and controlled. Every time he fucks me, it’s so hard and deep I feel like my body is melting. Burning.

Sunlight streams into the room, and I’m suddenly aware that we’re fucking in daylight. We did the other morning, too, and it’s shocking because it’s something I never do. Every inch of me is on display for him. Sex for me has always been at night, always in the dark. Most often with alcohol as a primer. You can hide yourself in the dark. In the light it’s like an entire tapestry of your emotions is on show. Everything that’s inside you is on display for your lover to see.

Before now I’d always considered daytime sex to be something that people in love do. They wake up in the morning and fall into it, still half asleep. Or maybe they feel an urge in the middle of the day. So completely inappropriate but so right at the same time.

A sheen of sweat has accumulated on Shane’s forehead, on his chest, too, as he thrusts into me with a kind of determination you’d only get from a man like him. A man who practices a skill to perfection. Tremors pulse through me, the muscles of my sex tightening every time his cock drives into me.

Unable to hold back, I shift my hands out of his hold above our heads. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a deep kiss. It’s as we’re kissing, our tongues sliding against each other, his chest pressed to my chest, that I completely fall apart. My muscles clench as I come on his cock, pulsing so many times I lose count.

I’m moaning and whimpering as we kiss, and he pulls back to watch me, his cock still moving inside me. I can see his movements grow more desperate as his own release builds. And then the most erotic, masculine groan I’ve ever heard comes out of him when he comes. He unravels and I watch him, unable to take my eyes off him.

When he’s completely spent, he puts his arms around me tight and rolls us so I’m lying on top of him. Reaching down, he pulls a sheet over our bodies, pressing soft kisses to my mouth and face.

“That felt incredible,” he says, voice low, as my eyes drift closed and I relish the feel of his warm, damp skin on mine.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, sleep pulling me under. Since I got up so early this morning and only got to bed late last night, I’m exhausted.

“I love the feel of you,” he continues, his voice a lazy caress. I can hear his tiredness, too. A little thrilling jolt rushes through my sleepy brain at his words. “You’re so tight and wet. I want to feel you skin on skin again.” His tender hand drifts over my lower back in a circling motion as he refers to the other morning. Things had gotten out of hand, and we’d neglected to use protection. It’s a dangerous thought, but I want to feel that again as well.

I nuzzle my face into his neck and make a little purring sound of agreement. Seconds later, we’re both fast asleep.

When I wake up, it’s because I’m incredibly turned on, which, might I add, is not how I usually wake up. Shane’s hand is between my legs, gently stroking. I moan and glance over at the clock on the bedside dresser. It’s just after two, which isn’t so bad. I still have more than enough time to get back to the city for my shift.

“Fucking hell, I want you again,” he grits out as he takes my earlobe into his mouth and gives it a playful bite. Somewhere in between our nap we’d rolled over into a spooning position. With one hand on my belly, the other still between my legs, he moves me so I’m flat on my stomach. He kneels behind me and nudges my legs apart with his knee. A few seconds pass, and I get the feeling he’s admiring me from this new angle. I shiver. Then he pulls me up to take me from behind. I cry out at the pleasurable invasion, feeling him from a whole new position this time. The depth is delicious as he starts to hammer into me fast.

Not knowing where to put my hands, I grip the headboard for support. I’m vaguely aware that there’s no condom in the mix this time, the sneaky bastard. As I said before, I don’t have concerns about him giving me something, and I know that I’m clean and on the pill, but it just feels too close like this. I practically see my heart pumping out of my chest, my vulnerable veins reaching out and attaching themselves to his.

It’s hard for me to place my emotions in the hands of another person. Even if it’s a sweet and caring person like Shane, there’s this sense of panic. A fear of not knowing what they might do with your delicate organ. They could push you back into a destructive addiction which may cause your family to fall apart. When I was a drunk, I didn’t care. I’d give my heart to the most untrustworthy, low-down men I could find. I guess that’s why I’m so cautious now. I know what it’s like to be burned.

Both of Shane’s hands fist my hips as he swears some really lovely, sexy curse words, telling me how great I feel, how beautiful we look joined together. When we come this time, we do it in unison, my walls pulsating around him, milking his cock. I feel him fill me up, and a wave of emotion washes over me. It feels foreign and way too intense, so I push it away. I try to focus only on the sensation of him inside me. When he withdraws, he picks me up in his arms and carries me into the bathroom.

Before I know it, the shower has been turned on, and he’s settling me under the spray. He comes in to join me, sliding the door closed behind him. He’s brought in some tiny bottles of hotel shampoo and soap, and I laugh with pure joy as I watch him struggle to get them open. Finally he manages it and pours some shampoo into his hand before lathering it into my hair. I do the same for him, luxuriating in the simple activity, loving the feel of his wet hair beneath my fingers.

For the next half hour we wash every inch of each other, staying in the shower until the water has almost run cold. I think we both like it here. We’re away from reality in a world that’s only touch and water and soap. Finally we get out, rubbing each other dry with the big fluffy white towels that were resting on a shelf by the door.

Reality intervenes with the buzzing of his phone on the dresser. I pick it up and look at the screen, but there’s no name, just a landline number. I recognise the area code as South Dublin. Shane follows behind and swipes the phone out of my hand, cancelling the call.

“Who’s been calling you?” I ask curiously, tugging the towel tighter around my chest as I sit down on the bed. I know it’s not exactly my business, but his avoidance puts me on edge. Either it’s someone he just plain doesn’t want to talk to, or it’s someone he doesn’t want to talk to in front of me.

Shane sighs and runs a hand through his wet hair, coming to sit beside me. He picks his phone up again and rubs his thumb along the blank screen.

“It was Mona’s home number. I don’t know why she’s been calling,” he finally answers.

I look at him in surprise for a moment, before saying, “You haven’t answered at all?”

He shakes his head. “I have nothing to say to her.”

“Maybe she wants to talk about the upcoming show. You two are going to have to work together then, right?”

His tortured eyes continue to stare down at the blank screen of his phone. “Yeah, probably. I’m still not sure if I’m capable of doing it.” He pauses and meets my gaze now. “She brings back too many bad memories.”

Reaching over, I slide the phone from his hand and put it aside, before slipping my fingers through his. “You mean your…your suicide attempt?” I whisper softly.

His nod is barely perceptible. “It’s not something you’re ever going to forget,” I tell him, pulling him into a hug. “Unfortunately, our memories like to give us a little bitch slap from time to time. I know all about it. Use the pain as fuel, let it make you stronger. You’re the best musician I’ve ever seen and that’s because of the emotions you channel into your music. Those emotions are what make the audience love to come see you, to feel that catharsis.”

He chuckles sadly. “You didn’t happen to complete a psychology degree at some point?”

I give him a warm smile. “Nope. I learned all I know in the school of hard knocks. Plus, I force Clark to teach me new stuff all the time.”

“Well, you can thank Clark for me. You give better advice than most of the professionals I’ve seen,” Shane replies, rubbing his finger down my cheek.

Giving him a serious look, I say, “You’re welcome, just remember it when you’ve got to face Mona.”

“I should be able to survive the memory bitch slap,” he answers warmly.

“That’s the spirit,” I murmur and lean in for a kiss.

We’re both quiet as we dress. Shane seems thoughtful, contemplative, even. I’d give anything to know what’s churning up inside that head of his. I tie my hair in a fish tail plait, a style my mum taught me when I was only little. Shane stands behind me at the mirror, fully dressed now, and runs his hand down the braid.

“Pretty,” he murmurs before pressing his lips to my cheek. I smile at him, but it’s half-hearted. There’s a pebble of fear in my gut that I can’t seem to shake. A feeling of urgency that this sweet thing we’ve got can’t last.

On the drive home, we stop off at a restaurant for something to eat. Afterward, Shane drops me home, and I scurry about to get into my work uniform and throw dinner together for April and Pete. I’m out the door with just enough time to spare and arrive at six on the dot.

That night after the concert, Shane finds me as I’m helping with the close-up. He asks if I’d like a ride home, and I tell him yes. Although if he tries for an invite to stay over, I’m going to have to tell him no. It’s not that I don’t want him to stay, it’s just that we tend to be pretty loud, and my entire family will be home.

We leave through the backstage exit, and I ask him how he played tonight. There was a big group of students from a nearby music college in the audience, so we had a full house. As we leave, we’re stopped in our tracks by a group of girls in their late teens and early twenties who are getting some of the orchestra musicians to sign stuff.

Huh. Orchestra fan girls. I never thought I’d see the day. Unless there’s a really big name playing at the venue, we don’t normally get a lot of fans queuing up for autographs. Most of the time the musician or speaker will stand in the foyer to sign books or CDs.

“Oh my God, that’s him!” I hear one of the girls hiss excitedly as Shane emerges through the exit.

The next thing I know they’ve all flocked around him, thrusting programmes and CDs in his face to sign. I quickly get shoved out of the way, so I step back a bit, kind of annoyed at their rudeness. Looking at the CDs, I notice some of them are old ones he recorded with the Bohemia Quartet. One girl asks if he’ll sign her arm, and he does so graciously. Glancing down at my watch, I realise I’ve been standing here waiting for at least ten minutes, and they’re not showing any signs of letting Shane go soon.

I’ve got an early start in the morning, since the concert hall is hosting a big conference, so I need my beauty sleep tonight. I try to get by a few of the girls to tell Shane I’m going to head off, but a brunette gives me the stink-eye and elbows me out of the way, telling me to wait my turn.

“Uh, I’m not a fan. I’m his friend,” I tell her, disgruntled.

She gives me a look as if to say, so what? and I decide I’m really not in the mood. I put both hands around my mouth and call to him over their heads.

“Yo! I’m going to walk. I’ll call you tomorrow, ’kay?”

I’m surprised that he actually hears me over the excited chattering. His head whips up from a CD he’d been signing, his eyes locking with mine.

“Give me ten minutes?” he asks pleadingly, and some of the girls’ gazes cut to me.

I tap my wrist. “It’s late, and I’ve got an early start. You stay. I’m good walking.”

He looks disappointed for a minute but then finally nods his acceptance, gives me a quick wave goodbye, and goes back to signing. I turn and start in the direction of home. When I reach my street, I notice somebody sitting on my front doorstep. As I get closer I see it’s Patrick, looking like shit with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, intermittently taking sips. If ever there was a picture to describe the term “lowest ebb,” this would be it. So much for him staying away for a couple of weeks. It’s only been a few days, and he’s back already. He must be having a particularly bad time of it.

I stop in front of him and tap my foot on the path. “Do you mind getting out of the way, Pat?” I ask. As it stands, he’s completely blocking my entrance.

His bleary eyes move up to meet mine, and he does a little shrug. “Been knocking for ages. Alec won’t let me in.” His voice is all lonesome and dejected, and something stirs inside me. I know what it feels like to be Patrick. I’ve been at rock bottom, too, and it’s the loneliest place in the world.

I go down on my haunches and study him. He glances up from his bottle and does a little huff as though to keep from crying. To be honest, his face is so messed up he could already be crying, and I wouldn’t be able to tell. Somewhere in the days since I last saw him, he’s gotten himself a black eye and a fat lip. Either he was in a fight, or he owes someone money that he can’t afford to pay back.

“It never leads anywhere good, does it?” I ask, reaching over and tapping the glass bottle in his hand.

He stares at me full-on then, and it’s hard to keep looking at eyes that bloodshot. His mouth twists, and then he finally answers, “No, it doesn’t.”

I don’t know a lot about Patrick’s life before he met my mother, but I do know a few bits and pieces. His father was a violent drunk who beat his wife and kids. The usual fucked-up family story. At times it’s hard to judge Patrick when I know there’s a reason for his behaviour. As I said, I’ve been there myself.

I take the bottle from him, and he must have completely run out of steam because he doesn’t even bother to fight me. I’ll probably regret this decision in the morning, but I help him up to standing, wincing at the smell of him, and say, “You can stay one night. Tomorrow I’m going to call an old friend of mine and get you booked into rehab, okay?”

At hearing the word “rehab,” his entire body stills, and I can tell he’s deciding whether or not to make a run for it. Is a night with somewhere warm and safe to sleep worth going into a clinic? I can practically see his mind weighing the options as he stands there frozen. A minute later he wipes a hand across his mouth, turns to me, and nods.

I open the front door and lead him into the kitchen before sitting him down on a chair and placing a pint of water in front of him.

“Drink this. You’ll thank me in the morning,” I say just as Alec comes down the stairs.

“Jade, I already told him he can’t stay. Why did you let him in?”

“I took pity on the pathetic bastard. Come and help set up the couch for him to sleep on, would you?” I reply tiredly.

Alec scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“It’s just for one night. I’ve got a friend who works at the rehab centre I went to back in the day. She might be able to find a place for Patrick. That’s where I’m sending him in the morning.”

“You think it’ll work? He’s quit rehab at least five times already.”

“I think I can get through to him if we talk. This is the last chance he’s going to get, and I’m doing it for you, April, and Pete. If it’s possible to get him clean, then I’ll do everything I can to help. You three deserve a proper father, even if you are all grown already.”

Alec keeps staring at me and then pulls me into a hug. “You’re a better person than me, sis. I gave up on him a long time ago.”

I smile at him tightly when we break our hug. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a lost cause.”

Because I was one, and I know it’s possible to get better.

Alec goes into the kitchen, speaking a few quiet but hard words to Patrick as I go upstairs to get some pillows and a blanket from the airing cupboard. He’s probably warning him not to fuck this up, because this is the last chance we’re going to give him. In the living room I make the couch into as much of a bed as I can manage. It’s old and threadbare, but it’s the best we have to offer him at the moment.

Entering the kitchen, I find Patrick alone now, sipping quietly on the water I gave him. I put the kettle on and make myself a cup of tea. Then I go to sit down opposite him.

“How old are you, Pat?” I ask, clasping my hands around the warm mug.

He looks at me, then slurs, “Fifty-two.”

I whistle. “That’s old.”

“Piss off,” he says, but chuckles just a little.

“Apart from when you were a kid, did you ever not drink? And I don’t mean just a day or two. I mean being completely sober.”

He purses his lips, thinking about it. He looks a little ashamed when he replies, “No.”

“And in your fifty-two years, have you ever been happy? More to the point, has drinking ever made you happy?”

Dejectedly, he shakes his head, not even bothering to form words.

I take a sip of tea. “So, every time you go drinking and gambling, you think it’s going to make you feel better, but it never does, not in the long run, anyway. Maybe there’s a period of about an hour in every drinking session where you feel on top of the world, but the rest of the time you feel like shit. Am I right?”

“Are you lecturing me, Jade?”

“If anyone needs a lecture, it’s you, Patrick. So you go through all the money loss, the sickness, the depression, the feeling like you’re twenty years older than you actually are, and you never learn your lesson. All for a pathetic hour of feeling free and many hours of feeling nothing. That’s fairly fucking dumb, isn’t it?”

Patrick lifts his head like it takes a great effort. “I know my life is a joke. You don’t have to remind me.”

“Yeah, your life is a joke, but it doesn’t have to be. You get yourself sober, get a job, and a little apartment maybe. Spend some time with your kids. They’re great kids, Pat, and I feel sorry for you that you’ve missed out on so much with them. But anyway, don’t waste time regretting your mistakes — take control and make them right. Don’t waste any more time.”

Picking up the pint glass, he tips the last of its contents into his mouth. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t say you’ll try, say you’ll succeed. Trying means you’re giving yourself the option to fail. Don’t give yourself that option. I didn’t, and look at me. Five years sober.”

“Okay,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll — I’ll succeed.”

I stare at him approvingly. I have no idea if he’s actually going to clean up his act. That’s all on him. All I can do is give him a little push in the right direction. After walking him into the living room, I pull back the blanket I’ve set on the couch and gesture for him to lie down. He slips off his boots and jacket and then drops down onto it, closing his eyes.

I’m at the door, about to leave and go to bed myself, when Patrick suddenly says, “You’re a good girl, Jade. I know I’ve always been a prick to you, but you never deserved it.”

I only nod at him, not knowing what to say. In all the years I’ve known him, I think this might be the first time he’s said something genuinely nice to me.

“And I’m sorry about your sister,” he says then, his words mumbled.

“Who, April?” I ask, my brow furrowed.

Eyes still closed, he shakes his head and whispers, “No, not April.”

I suck in a sharp breath. Emotion immediately grips me, clogging my throat. I can’t speak, so I simply step out of the room and close the door softly behind me. It seems I’ve just been dealt my own little memory bitch slap. Upstairs in my bed, I lie beneath the covers and stare at the sparrows on my wallpaper.

Those sparrows mean so much more to me than most people even realise.

For the first time in years, I think of a girl long past and cry myself to sleep.

 

The next morning I almost regret having given Patrick a chance. It takes forever to wake him up, and he’s hung over as fuck. The living room smells like a brewery, so I have to open all the windows as wide as they’ll go to let the stink out.

Once I’ve wrangled him into having a shower, I go get my phone to call my old friend Cheryl. She works as an administrative assistant at the rehab clinic I booked myself into way back when. Thinking about it, it should be time for me to get a new tattoo to add to my collection soon.

When I get her on the line, I beg and plead and practically promise her my left kidney to get her to find a place in the clinic for Patrick. In the end she finally finds a way to squeeze him into a three-week stay. I really hope he stays the course. If he leaves, then I wash my hands of him.

There’s only so much you can do for people before they have to take control of things themselves. It feels like I’ve barely had time to breathe as I rush into work after getting Alec to drive Patrick to the clinic.

I have a two-and-a-half-hour break in the middle of the day between the conference and the evening concert, so I go home to put my feet up for a while. I’m at a deli getting a chicken salad wrap made up when my phone buzzes with a text.

Shane: Hey Bluebird. You want to come over tonight? Xxx.

A little thrill goes through me at his question as I remember our time in the hotel yesterday. I do want to come over, but I don’t text him back right away. There are a few misgivings rising to the surface of my thoughts, telling me I should slow things down with Shane. I mean, fuck buddies are only supposed to get together every once in a while, right? But with us it seems we’re seeing each other practically every day.

At my house I’m hoping to relax and watch some mindless daytime television. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to get my way as I step inside the living room to find April lounging on the couch, snogging the face off some guy. They’re going at it so much that they don’t even hear me come in. I have to cough extra loudly to get their attention.

Immediately they hop off each other, and I grin, eyeing the guy. I could definitely refer to him as a boy, thankfully, because he looks no older than eighteen or nineteen. He’s got the whole skater style going on.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, folding my arms and shooting April a raised eyebrow.

She fumbles with her T-shirt, fixing it back in place. “Uh, this is Chris. Chris, this is my older sister, Jade.”

“Pleased to meet you, Chris,” I say, flopping down onto an armchair and opening up my wrap. I take a big bite, chewing as I ask, “So, where did you two meet?”

“He lives in the apartment next to Lara’s. We met when I was leaving her place one day,” says April, a small smile on her lips. She seems nervous. She must really like this boy, and he’s actually an appropriate age. I could jump for joy right now.

“Cool,” I say, just as she gets up from the couch and motions for Chris to do the same. He rises, his cheeks flushed with obvious embarrassment. They’re about to leave when I tell her, “Oh, by the way, Shane gave me tickets for you to see him play. Do you still want to go?”

April looks at me, and then her eyes flick to Chris. “Nah, you can have them. I’m good.”

Well, no one could ever say my sister didn’t have a flighty side. A new boy on the scene, and she’s all but forgotten about her little crush on Shane. Although it’s probably a good thing. It could get slightly weird, given I’m having sex with the man.

The front door opens and shuts, signalling their departure, and I let out a contented sigh. Peace at last. When I’m done eating, I let Specky in and she sits on my lap, keeping me company as I watch a Dr. Phil rerun. Is it just me, or is he getting bitchier in his old age?

After a while I take out my phone and read Shane’s last text again. I feel bad leaving him hanging, but I really don’t know how to reply. In the end, I bite on my lip and start typing.

Jade: I’m going to be working late again. Can we wait a few days? Miss you. X.

I hit “send” before realising that asking him for a few days’ break from each other and then telling him I miss him is a bit of a contradiction. It’s true that I miss him, though. It’s just that what happens when we’re around one another scares me.

My phone buzzes.

Shane: Miss you, too. Like crazy. A few days will kill me. Tomorrow?

I can’t stop my heart from speeding up when I read this. I mull over how to respond for a minute.

Jade: This is only supposed to be a casual thing. I want to see you, but I think we’re letting ourselves get serious too quickly. It frightens me…

Whoa. Talk about frank honesty. I feel incredibly nervous after I hit “send,” not knowing what he’s going to say to that, but I need to get it out there. Seconds later my phone starts to ring. Oh, no. He’s calling me. This can’t be good. Forcing the shakiness out of my hands, I pick up the phone and answer.

“Hey.”

“Babe,” says Shane, his voice low and full of affection.

“What?” I respond, unable to disguise the note of anxiety in my tone.

“You’re fucking adorable, but you need to stop overthinking this.”

“No, you need to stop being so nice to me,” I blurt out, and he chuckles.

“What? You want me to be a bastard instead?”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re being all attentive and stuff, and I know exactly what you’re up to.”

There’s a smile in his voice when he replies, “Okay, enlighten me, then?”

“You’re making this ‘arrangement’ into a relationship, a serious relationship, and that’s not what I agreed to.”

When I dived into this thing head first without a thought for my sanity, I never considered he’d be sly like this. And the fact of the matter is, my heart loves that he’s being sly. My heart is a needy thing that wants to be lavished with attention.

He lets out a long sigh, and it sounds like he’s fiddling with a piece of paper or something. His voice is low and serious when he says, “That’s not what I’m doing, Jade. I can’t help it if I’m into you and I get carried away. Tell me where the boundaries lie, and I’ll stick to them.”

I bite on my lip. He sounds like he means what he’s saying. “Okay,” I reply warily.

There’s a beat of silence before Shane says, “Are you at home or at work?”

“I’m at home.”

“Should I come over so we can discuss this in person?”

“No,” I answer, almost too fervently. “I have to get back to work soon. Let’s just talk on the phone.”

Because if I see you in person, I’ll only want to kiss you, and then no talking will get done.

“Okay, stick it to me, babe. What are your rules?”

Oh, God, did I mention how much I like his telephone voice? It’s so deep and masculine, like a cup of warm chocolate. And when he calls me babe like that? Fucking hell. It’s not one of those contrived terms of endearment, it’s like it just slips out so naturally and he can’t help it.

“Well, I suppose only seeing each other every couple of days would be a good rule,” I say.

“How many days is a couple?”

“Um, three?”

“Right. So I can’t see you for another two days?”

I hesitate, realising I don’t like the sound of that, either, but I soldier on nonetheless. “Yeah.”

“That’s going to be hard. What if we bump into each other when you’re working?”

“That’s fine. When I say ‘see each other,’ I mean, like, you know…”

Jesus, am I blushing?

“Fucking?” Shane finishes for me, a raspy note in his voice.

“Yes.”

There’s a muffled sound of him moving and then, “Okay, what else?”

“No, uh, public displays of affection when we bump into each other.”

“I can’t touch you?” He sounds disappointed.

“No, you can’t.”

“I like touching you.”

“And that’s something that couples do. We aren’t a couple.”

“Fine. Anything more?”

“I think that’s it. I’ll let you know if I think of more.”

Specky, who had been snoozing on my lap, wakes up and hops down onto the floor before scurrying into the kitchen. I stand and follow her, opening the back door to let her out.

Shane clears his throat. “So then I suppose I won’t see you until the night you and April come to see me play.”

Oh, for God’s sake, why does he have to sound so sad…and so appealing?

“Actually, there’s a change of plans needed there. April got herself a new boyfriend and has no interest in coming to the orchestra anymore. I think I might ask Alec along. I know he’ll agree to it if I tell him Avery will be there.”

Shane laughs. “Sounds like a plan. Will you stay with me that night?”

My reply comes out low and shaky. “Sure.”

He seems happy again when he says, “Brilliant. I can’t wait.”

I laugh, loving how quickly his mood can improve, especially since it’s the prospect of spending time with me that improves it. Again, my needy heart is reaching out for some affection, and it’ll take whatever it can get.

“Right. I’ll see you then, Shane.”

“See you, Bluebird,” he murmurs, and then hangs up.

That night during my shift, when my break comes I decide to go outside for some fresh air. There’s an emergency exit to the rear of the first floor that leads out to a metal staircase. I’m not supposed to, but it’s where I normally go when I need some quiet time. I’ve been uncharacteristically accident prone tonight, letting a glass smash onto the floor and almost spilling wine on a woman who was ordering drinks from me.

It’s all because of Shane.

The merciless man is turning my entire life upside down. Perhaps not in a way that anyone can see, but my head is a complete mess because of him. I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it up. Lara let me steal one from her bag in the staff room. I don’t normally smoke. I only do on occasions like this when my nerves are at me.

I take a long, deep drag and stare out at the tops of the trees in the gardens behind the concert hall. If I listen carefully enough, I can hear the wind rustling through the leaves like the trees are whispering secrets. The smoke flows out of my mouth, a wisp of fog snatched away by the darkness.

Hushed conversation drifts up from below, and I peer down to see two people standing just outside the backstage exit. I’m leaning against the railing, so if either of them looked up, they’d see me right away. It only takes a second for me to recognise one of them as Shane, and the other looks to be his father.

“Why won’t you speak to her?” I make out his father’s words. He’s dressed casually, so he’s clearly not here to see the show.

Shane drags his hand through his hair. He’s wearing the tuxedo that all the men in the orchestra wear during performances, a black coat with tails, a white shirt with a white bowtie. I momentarily note how handsome he looks in it, how much it suits him, before he replies to his dad, “I told her I was through after the other night. How could she think it would be a good idea to invite Mona and Justin to her event?”

“Your mother didn’t realise how upset you’d be. Besides, we saw you on the television the other morning. You said you’d be playing a duet with Mona for the orchestra’s new season. I can’t see how you can be mad at her when you’ve agreed to work with the woman.”

Shane steps forward angrily, and his dad takes a step back. “That’s got nothing to do with it. And for your information, I wasn’t told about playing with Mona until it was announced to me quite inappropriately live on the air. I expect that kind of carelessness from the orchestra management. I shouldn’t have to expect the same from my own mother.”

“She’s very sorry, Shane. She hasn’t been herself since you stopped taking her calls.”

“Good. She deserves a taste of her own medicine.”

“She’s your mother. For God’s sake, have a heart.”

At this Shane whips his head up to his dad, spitting out, “Is she my mother? Really? As far as I’ve been told, my mother is some impoverished Chinese woman who needed money so bad she agreed to sell her baby to a pair of strangers.”

“Now you’re twisting things. You’re my son, and you’re your mother’s son, too. It shouldn’t matter who birthed you. Your parents are who raised you.”

Shane stares at his dad, his shoulders slumped sadly. “I know that. I’m sorry for snapping. You’re not the one I’m mad at.”

Wow. I think maybe I should head back inside. I look down at the cigarette in my hand, realising that the whole thing has burned all the way down to the butt, and I only took one drag. I’d been so rapt with the conversation going on below me that I’d forgotten to smoke it.

Looking back at the two one more time, I actually feel a little sorry for Shane’s dad, stuck in the middle of a fight between his wife and son. Then I feel sorry for Shane, too. He’s clearly in turmoil over what his mum did. I feel like going down there and comforting him, but that might not be my place. And anyway, I have to get back to the bar.

Leaving them to the rest of their talk, I return to my post and try not to think about how Shane is suffering right now. I know he has to go back inside and play the second half of the show, which must feel awful after fighting with his dad.

When I get home that night, I bring up Shane’s number on my phone several times, agonising over whether or not to call him. Every time I chicken out, and in the end I have to toss my phone under my bed so I won’t be tempted. Instead I pull out my old mp3 player and fire up the one album I have of his, Songs for Her. I close my eyes and listen, and once again I fall asleep to the sweet allure of his violin.

 

I thought that two days would be lots of time to get my head around me and Shane, but seemingly I can’t get past the butterflies I feel when I think of him to even consider anything else. I’ve thought it a very appropriate description to compare the feeling of being “in lust” with a person to having butterflies in your stomach. But at the same time it irks me, because they always fail to mention how those butterflies have wings made of steel, cutting through your insides so that all you can feel is burning.

I haven’t seen Shane since the incident with his dad, which is probably a good thing, because I don’t know what to say to him about how he’s stonewalling his mother. Is it wrong for me to think that what he’s doing is a good thing? I don’t know all the ins and outs of the situation, but from what I’ve heard, she doesn’t really deserve forgiveness.

Alec readily agrees to come with me to the concert, since I mentioned we might have drinks with Shane and Avery afterward. Of course, all I’ll be having is a plain old orange juice, but the rest of them are free to get a little tipsy if they like. I put on my black shift dress and heels before twisting my hair into a fancy bun and putting on some silver stud earrings. I go light on the makeup as usual and knock on Alec’s door to see if he’s ready.

When he steps out, I grin from ear to ear. He’s wearing a navy shirt and dark slacks. I think this is the fanciest I’ve ever seen him dressed.

“Are those your interview clothes?” I ask in amusement. Someone’s definitely out to impress tonight.

He shrugs. “They might be. Am I driving, or are we getting a taxi?”

“You can drive. It’ll give you an excuse to offer Avery a lift home, now, won’t it?”

“Ah, I didn’t think of that!” he says, raising his hand for a high-five. I leave him hanging, though, not wanting to participate in setting my brother up to score the shy violinist any more than I already have. I feel bad for a second before I realise that Avery will probably be delighted with the attention. My brother might be tatted up to bits, but he’s definitely a looker. You’d hardly notice the tattoos with the way he’s dressed tonight. All you can see is the faintest tip of a demon wing he’s got inked on the side of his neck.

When he was a teenager, I always used to tell him not to tattoo any body parts he couldn’t cover up: hands, face, neck, etc. I warned him he’d never get a job if he did. I’m surprised he didn’t make me eat my words when he had no trouble getting work in construction.

We park outside the concert hall and go inside. It’s odd, but in all the time I’ve worked here, this is actually the first occasion where I’ve come to see a show. I’ve sat in on one or two during my shifts, but I’ve never been an ordinary audience member until now.

Lara’s standing in the middle of the foyer at a podium, selling programmes, when we walk in. She knew Shane gave me tickets for tonight, but she still makes a big deal as we approach her.

“Well, la di flipping da. Look at the two of you all dolled up to the nines.”

Alec gives her a smooth grin, his eyes scanning her up and down. I think Lara is the only woman I know who’s immune to my brother’s lasciviousness. She’s been around the block far too many times not to recognise a player when she sees one. Needless to say, his flirty smile doesn’t work on her.

“Thanks, Lara,” I say, giving her wrist a quick squeeze. She shoots me a reassuring look, knowing I must be nervous, and I feel better for it. Alec and I move on and go inside the auditorium to take our seats. There are people chattering all around us, the place only half full so far. Most people are out at the bars, finishing their drinks.

Shane got us some of the best seats, too, right in the middle. If you’re too close to the front, you only have a partial view of the musicians, while if you’re in the middle a good few rows back you can see everything much better.

I shoot a quick text to April, making sure everything’s all right at home since she’s babysitting Mia at our house tonight. She texts back a minute later telling me everything is fine and that Pete’s in his room watching movies. I tuck my phone back in my bag and focus on the stage.

Alec eyes the empty seats and asks me where Avery will be sitting. I point out the second row in the violins section and then have a look at the programme I got from Lara. There are going to be three pieces played, the first of which will be Debussy’s La Mer. I know enough French to translate that as “The Sea.” Next is a piano piece called “Une barque sur l’ocean,” by Ravel, which means “A Boat on the Ocean.” And lastly is Sibelius’ “The Oceanides.” Turning back to the front of the programme, I see the title of the concert is Uisce, which is Irish for “water.” Clever.

About five minutes later the auditorium is full, and the members of the orchestra are walking out onto the stage. I see Shane right away, looking dashingly handsome as always. The audience claps, and his eyes drift across the hall until he finds me. He gives me a heart-stopping smile, and I can’t help grinning in return. Fizzy excitement bubbles in my belly. I adore classical music, and it’s a rare treat for me to see it live and not in small scraps like when I’m working and manage to catch a few stolen minutes of a performance.

Tonight I get to gorge myself and see an entire show from beginning to end. Once the musicians are seated and have tuned their instruments, the conductor walks out and takes his place at the front of the stage. He says a few words introducing the piece they’re going to play, but my attention is all on Shane. I watch how he turns a page of sheet music on the stand in front of him and whispers something friendly to the violinist beside him.

There’s a moment of quiet right before the music starts, and I relax into my seat, closing my eyes and allowing it to wash over my senses. The piece has a soft, slow start, but I can tell it’s building. Suddenly, there’s a loud caw from above, and I blink my eyes open to see two seagulls swoop low and fly right over my head.

The salty smell of the sea fills my nose and the walls begin to move, bricks turning over on themselves and transforming into wooden slats. The top of the auditorium where the organ and choir section is located begins to narrow into a point, becoming the bow of a ship. Down the centre of the hall, giant billowing sails rise up to the ceiling. The roof disappears, replaced with clear blue skies, wind fluttering through the white sails.

The boat containing all our souls moves with the music, calm waves crashing against its sturdy sides. Bright rays of sunlight shine down, caressing my skin and reflecting through the glassy waters. A dolphin jumps out of the sea in an explosion of droplets before diving back under. It emerges again, so playful, dancing alongside the moving vessel.

Then, up ahead, dark clouds form, a storm on the horizon. Rain crashes down from the sky, soaking all of us in a sheath of cold water. A clap of thunder sounds as the wind gets turbulent and waves form, rocking the boat from side to side. The ship rocks so hard to one side it almost turns over.

People clutch onto each other, but the orchestra plays on, because when everything else in life fails, there still has to be music. My heart seizes as I stare straight ahead at a dark object rising out of the water. A whale with its mouth wide open, so huge it could swallow us whole. We narrowly escape the mouth of the whale, only to crash into its tail. A crack shatters in the body of the ship, and water starts to gush through.

More and more water comes. There’s no escape. We’re going under. My entire body is surrounded now, only my head above, my breathing laboured, panicked. There’s nothing but water and music and death.

The music stops. The audience starts to applaud, and my heart pounds like I really did just drown. One man a couple of rows in front of us rises, initiating a standing ovation. Others follow suit. Alec nudges me with his elbow and we both stand, clapping as the musicians graciously accept our applause.

There’s a short intermission, and Alec goes out to grab a drink at the bar. I stay in my seat, still too moved by the music to do anything but feel the after-effects. A grand piano is wheeled out onto the stage. When the hall re-fills after the intermission, a guest pianist is introduced to play the Ravel piece.

The rest of the concert passes beautifully, and I make a promise to myself to do this more often. My phone buzzes with a text as Alec and I slowly leave the auditorium.

Shane: Come backstage.

I reply simply.

Jade: On my way.

When we reach the dressing rooms, Alec immediately goes in search of Avery. I imagine he has some big compliments about her performance all at the ready, with the intention of getting into her pants by the end of the night. I’m not sure why, but I have this feeling that the two of them could be good together, that she could be the woman to finally knock Alec on his arse.

I can’t see Shane at his usual spot, but then I know why when two strong arms wrap around my middle. I smell his cologne first, something citrus and masculine.

“Three. Fucking. Days. Are you trying to kill me, woman?” he whispers huskily in my ear.

I chuckle. “That wasn’t my intention, no. And I thought we spoke about PDAs?” I whisper flirtatiously in reply, turning my head to him slightly. He presses a light kiss to my cheek and pulls away.

“Sorry. I’ll have to expend more willpower in the future.”

I look him over, seeing he’s already got his violin case with him, a backpack hanging from his shoulder. It seems he’s all ready to go; he hasn’t even changed out of his tux, which, by the way, I don’t mind. Not at all.

He holds his hand out to me. “Shall we go?”

“Um, yeah, just give me a second,” I say, turning around and trying to pinpoint Alec. I spot him a few yards away, leaning against Avery’s dressing table as she brushes her hair and seemingly blushes profusely. I wonder what he’s said to her to warrant such a reaction. When I catch his eye, I mouth to him that I’m leaving and he nods, waving me off.

Turning back to Shane, I meet his gaze, and his eyes are shining. God help me, but it looks like he’s got big plans for me tonight. I take his hand, and he leads me out of the building and to his car. Before I know it, I’m strapped in and we’re driving in the direction of his place.

Glancing from the road to me, he asks, “Did you have a good time?”

“I loved it,” I answer honestly, and bite my lip. I can’t handle the intensity of his gaze, so I stare out the window at the passing scenery instead. There’s something electric about him tonight, and it makes me jumpy. His hand moves to my thigh and trails up under the hem of my dress. The warmth of his skin causes a tiny moan to erupt from my mouth. I wince with embarrassment. Has three days away from him really made me this needy?

He strokes the apex of my thighs, his thumb seeking my clit over the fabric of my underwear. Shivers break out on my arms and neck. Then he moves his hands and continues driving until we get to his house. I almost protest. When he parks, he gets out first and walks around to open my door for me, helping me from my seat, his hands on my waist.

My feet hit the concrete, but we don’t move. I stand there, staring up into his eyes as his grip on me tightens. He ducks his head down and presses his lips to mine, his tongue flicking out experimentally for a second.

“Better get inside, or I’ll be in danger of taking you right here,” he murmurs darkly into my ear and I tremble, allowing him to lead me to the house. I didn’t bring an overnight bag because I don’t plan on staying the entire night. I have to get back to April and Pete, but there’s also the fact that sleeping with Shane, and I mean actually sleeping, is too intimate. Since we spoke on the phone, I realised that needs to be another rule. Just sex. No sleepovers.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks as we walk into his kitchen.

I shake my head, and he sets down his bag and violin case. I glance at the clock and see it’s almost eleven, which means I can spend a couple of hours here before I have to leave. Seconds later he’s scooping me up into his arms and kissing me so deep I ache.

Kissing and roaming our hands over each other, we fumble up the stairs, somehow finding our way to his room without tripping up on anything. He turns me so my back is to his front, and then his hand goes to my neck, gripping it possessively as he walks me over to his bed. My knees hit the mattress and he bends me over, grinding his erection against my bottom. Frenzied, he tugs my dress up over my thighs until my underwear is bared, which he quickly rids me of.

He seems to be in the mood to take the lead and I let him, revelling in it.

His mouth joins his hand at my neck, licking and sucking. “It’s probably a bit late to be bringing this up, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m clean.”

My brain is too fogged by desire to get what he’s saying at first. Then I understand. “I’m clean, too,” I reply breathlessly.

His hand on my neck tightens. “I don’t want to use protection with you. Is that okay?”

Moaning as he uses his teeth to nip my neck, I nod my head. “Yeah. I want to feel you.”

My response seems to please him, and he gives my bottom a little spank. I yelp and he growls, kneeling down behind me and lightly biting the curve of my arse cheek.

Emitting a low groan, he purrs, “Have I ever told you how much I love your arse?”

I laugh. “Not that I recall.”

“Well, I do. It’s fucking perfect.”

He bites me again, a little harder this time, and then stands. Before I know it he’s undoing his pants and whipping out his cock. I’m still bent over the edge of his bed, waiting, my impatient sex quivering with anticipation. When I feel him part my lips and position his cock, my muscles clench, needing him inside. He pushes in slowly, easing through my tight channel and feeling every inch of me around him.

“Every part of you is perfect,” he breathes, both hands going to my hips and holding on.

He thrusts into me once hard before he starts to fuck me with quick, delicious pumps. I fist the duvet, trying to keep my arms from falling limp. When he’s inside me, my entire body gets so full of pleasure that I can hardly focus on doing anything.

“Perfect,” he says again, this time sounding like he’s gritting his teeth. “I love doing this to you.”

I can only moan in response. The sound of our skin slapping together fills the room, and I can feel my wetness running down the inside of my thighs, I’m so turned on. There was hardly any foreplay between us, and still I’m soaking wet. He reaches around the front of my body and between my legs, finding my clit and rubbing fast circles, coaxing me to a sharp orgasm. I moan loudly as I come, my channel tightening and releasing around his cock.

“Wow, babe, you feel amazing,” he murmurs, kissing the back of my neck, still thrusting into me.

He keeps going after I’ve orgasmed, clearly not ready to end this yet, savouring me. When he finally comes, the sound he emits makes me shiver. His arms tighten around me, and he doesn’t pull out. Instead he guides us onto the bed so that we’re spooning. He kisses just below my ear, creating tingles at the base of my spine. I feel him softening inside me, and then he finally pulls out.

“Let’s get under the blanket,” he tells me, all husky and sleepy, as he pulls the duvet out from under us and then over our bodies.

“Are you tired?” I whisper.

“I could go another round if you want, but I’d rather sleep. I love sleeping with you, Bluebird.”

I turn around in his hold, trying to keep from sinking into him and just letting myself sleep. Tracing my fingers over his beautiful face, I say softly, “I can’t stay, Shane.”

His body tenses and he frowns. “Why not?”

“It’s another rule I thought of. No sleepovers. Plus, I need to get back and check on the kids.”

“Shut up and sleep. That’s a ridiculous rule,” he says, his arms turning to steel around me, clearly getting ready not to let go. “And we both know Alec is there to keep an eye on April and Pete.”

“Shane,” I start, but he interrupts me.

“No, babe. I’m sorry, but I’m not accepting that rule. I can deal with only seeing you every three days and I can deal with not touching you in public, but I can’t fucking deal with you not sleeping here. I need this.” He pauses, face serious. “Please.”

The agony in his features makes my chest pound. God, I feel like a bitch right now. My resolve withers away, and I press my lips together.

“Okay. I’ll forget about that rule, then,” I whisper tenderly, my words barely audible while my heart urges me to forget about all the rules.

He kisses me softly and gives me an intense look. “Thank you. Now go to sleep.”

Resting my head on his shoulder, I close my eyes and let sleep take me. That night when I dream, I dream of drowning in deep, dark water, and Shane’s music pulling me back to the surface.