When word spread that I was playing a show, people wanted to come. What was supposed to be just Trev turned into him, Leanne, Paul, James, Neil and two members of the film crew. Callum was either sulking that I was getting all the attention, or was trying to avoid Leanne after the drama of the other night. Probably the latter.

I had to admit though, I felt pretty special that they were all so interested. Sometimes I worried I irritated people with my perpetual humming and singing and tinkering around on my keyboard. At least, I knew it bothered my neighbours back home.

They were constantly banging on the wall to punctuate their unhappiness.

I headed to the venue a little earlier than everyone else to set up and do a quick sound check. I used tassels around my ankles that jingled like a tambourine when I stamped my feet for percussion during my songs, because when you were a one-woman show your hands were typically occupied with the keyboard. I’d invented them one day when I had some ribbon and a bunch of metal tassels and too much time at my disposal.

My phone buzzed with a text just as I was done. I picked it up and opened the message.

Trev: We’re all here. Nice place. Can’t wait to hear you sing. xxx

My heart stuttered and I rubbed at my chest, scolding the organ for its foolish optimism. He’s your friend, Reya. Just your friend. I sipped on my tequila sour, my favourite drink to have before a show, and started trying to psyche myself up.

I wore a long black dress with short lace sleeves. Using my requisite gold sharpie, I scribbled my stage name over my left forearm in swirling, elegant letters. Queenie.

It was what my next-door neighbour, Mrs. Finnegan, used to call me growing up. She said my name meant ‘Queen’, but because I was still little she’d called me Queenie. She had no idea I’d eventually grow to be a smidge over five-foot-nine. I smiled fondly, remembering her and how I used to sneak into her house for tea and scones, unbeknownst to both my parents.

She was the only one who believed me in the end, and she died not too many months afterward. Then there was no one left. No one who didn’t think I’d lied.

I stared at my reflection, the low bulb overhead catching the highlights in my brown hair. They matched the gold in my eyes that you could only see when the sun shone through them. Lifting my glass, I downed the rest of the tart liquid and stood. It was almost time for me to go on stage.

I waited off to the side while a woman introduced me in French, although I only had a vague idea what she was saying.

My keyboard and microphone were set up just to the left of the makeshift stage, but I’d given the sound guy a backing track for my first song. It was one I often opened with, a cover of “Blue Bayou” by Linda Ronstadt. I’d stand by the mic at the front of the stage as I sang directly to the audience. I used to perform it in English, but one day I fell down the rabbit hole of the Internet and discovered a Spanish version on YouTube. It was perfect. Almost better than the original. There was something about the lyrics in Spanish that just sounded so much more meaningful to me.

Cheers sounded and I walked out, spotting Trev and the gang at a large table in the centre of the club. The place was surprisingly packed, but I couldn’t tell if people were here to see me or if they were just regulars who’d be here anyway. Either way, it felt good to play to a full house.

I spoke into the microphone. “Thank you. My name is Queenie and this song is called ‘Lago Azul’.”

The track started and I closed my eyes, just like I always did. The music was low, the bass slow and sultry. I moved my hips, bent close to the mic and began to sing. When I reached the chorus I sang louder and tapped my left foot on the second and fourth beat, causing the metal tassels on my ankles to jingle in time to the music.

I was almost to the end of the song when I opened my eyes and found Trev staring at me. I wasn’t sure how he was the first person my attention landed on, but then again, his gaze always had a certain siren’s song of its own, luring me in.

When the song ended, I bowed deeply and retreated to my keyboard. My comfort zone. It worked as a barrier against the ferocity of Trev’s stare.

He wanted me.

He always wanted me . . . when I sang. Maybe it was because I was absorbed in a persona. I wasn’t Reya: insecure, worrisome, weak. I was Queenie: confident, bold, strong.

Was that why I wasn’t enough for him? Why he didn’t try to keep us?

I played a bunch of songs, chatting with the audience intermittently. Before I knew it, I had just a few minutes left of my set and I couldn’t decide whether to play the song Trev asked of me on our first night here. Our hushed conversation in the dark room, each of us in our separate beds, thinking we were protected by the linens, even though our emotions were spilling out all over the sheets. I tinkered with the keys, hesitating and shooting a glance in his direction before I finally played the opening notes and sang.

One day I’ll be that girl in the club who dances like no one’s watching

Dances like no one’s watching

Dances like no one’s watching

Because she’s high, high, high

On life’s supply

Of paper weights and paper clips and paper paper

That once was a tree

Because we’re all just something yearning to be something else

One day I’ll be that girl in the club who dances like no one’s watching

Dances like no one’s watching

Dances like no one’s watching

Because she’s happy, happy, happy

But really sad, sad, sad

Because she’s drowning under life’s supply

Of paper weights and paper clips and paper paper

So go open up

Go dance like her

*whispers*

Just don’t make eye contact

Don’t make eye contact

Don’t make eye contact

I opened my eyes only when I whispered the very last line. I knew he’d be looking. He always was. It was the one thing in our relationship I could count on. His constant attention while I sang.

I thanked the audience for their appreciation, stood and hustled off the stage, my heart in my throat. Not considering the moments we’d shared up until now, that had been way too close. My skin was clammy. It prickled with awareness and apprehension and want.

I needed a drink.

I worked my way through the club, arriving at the bar and ordering another tequila sour. I slipped some Euros to the bartender when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Isaac, the boy from earlier in the day. I’d forgotten I invited him to come and wondered if he was old enough to be in here. He looked eighteen . . . almost.

“Hey Isaac! Thanks for coming,” I exclaimed.

“Reya, you were incredible up there,” he said just as Trev appeared over his shoulder. He didn’t look happy that I had company, which was ridiculous because Isaac was just a kid. Sure, he was tall, but it was pretty obvious how young he was.

“Reya,” said Trev, his voice low and questioning.

“Trev, come here. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Isaac’s eyes bugged out of their sockets when he heard the name, his entire body stilling. It was sort of adorable. Trev came to my side, sliding his arm around my waist possessively, which was completely unnecessary. He eyed Isaac with suspicion.

“This is Isaac,” I explained. “We met earlier today during filming. He’s a big fan of yours,” I went on, putting emphasis on the word ‘fan’ so he’d know to be polite. “I invited him along tonight so he could meet you.” When I finished speaking, Trev’s posture loosened as he realised this wasn’t some guy who’d just approached me at the bar.

“Oh, hey, great to meet you, buddy,” said Trev, smiling as he held out a hand.

Isaac didn’t speak, only stared at the offered hand, frozen in place.

I laughed softly and nudged Trev to make a bit more of an effort. “I think he might be a little star-struck.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Really,” said Isaac, finally finding some words. “I just . . . it’s an honour to meet you. I’ve followed your series since the very beginning.”

“The honour’s all mine. It’s a real treat to meet a fan. Can I get you anything? You want me to sign something?”

Isaac’s eyes widened again as he started to nod, “Yes, please,” but then he realised he had nothing for Trev to sign. I reached for some napkins and asked the bartender if he could spare a pen. He grabbed one from under the bar, and I handed both the napkins and the pen to Trev. As he was signing, I gave Isaac’s arm a light squeeze to reassure him. He shook his head, abashed, and I knew he thought he’d made a show of himself. He hadn’t. He was just shy. It happened to the best of us around famous people.

It was still surreal to think of Trev as a celebrity.

“Here ya go,” said Trev, handing the signed napkin to Isaac. I noticed he’d written a little note, too. Moments like these I saw the kind-hearted, struggling friend from years ago.

“Thank you so, so much. You don’t know what this means. I’m so happy I got to meet you.”

“Isaac’s a free runner, too,” I told Trev. “He’s pretty good,” I lied, hoping it might bolster his confidence.

“Oh yeah?” Trev asked, suddenly interested. “You ever think about going professional?”

Parkour was a growing sport, but it was difficult to find new people who were truly skilled. I knew this from all my time spent with Trev over the years. If Isaac had any talent, then I was sure Trev would be more than happy to connect him with the right people.

“No, I’m not sure I’m as good as Reya makes out,” said Isaac modestly, shooting me a questioning look.

“If Reya says you’re good then I believe her. How about you stop by tomorrow and we can go on a run? We’re filming at the Atomium all day.”

“Seriously?” Isaac breathed, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Sure,” said Trev with a kind smile.

“Okay, uh, yes, I’ll be there. Thank you again. I better go now. Mum likes me to be home before midnight.” And with that, he went. I pulled Trev’s arm from around my waist and turned to face the bar. He took the stool next to mine.

“Was I ever that innocent?” Trev asked, chuckling.

“Nope. I can say with one hundred per cent certainty that you weren’t. He’s cuter than a puppy. I think I might want to adopt him.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll make me jealous again,” he teased.

I glanced at him sideways and smirked.

“So,” he went on. “Exactly how good is he?”

Now I laughed. “I have no idea.”

“But you said—”

“I was lying so you’d take an interest in him and it worked.”

“Reya,” Trev scolded. “You probably just saddled me with a kid who’s gonna be afraid to jump off a four-foot wall.”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. I’m sure he’s good. He’s probably only about eighteen and he’s already ripped to bits. You don’t get a body like that from not practicing.”

Trev arched a brow. “How do you now he’s ripped?”

I tapped the side of my temple. “I can just tell. A lady’s intuition.”

He grinned and leaned closer, his elbows resting on the bar top. “Oh yeah? And what else can you tell with your lady’s intuition?”

“Plenty.”

“Enlighten me,” he challenged. What was it about Trevor Cross’s challenges that I couldn’t seem to back away from? I went all in.

“Well, for one, I can tell whether or not a man will be good in bed.”

He smiled so wide it practically split his face. “Oh, now this I have to hear.”

“It’s all in the walk. A confident, sure walk indicates a confident, sure lover.”

Trev chuckled. “You crack me up, Reyrey.”

I smiled and tipped my glass to my lips as Trev asked, “So, what does my walk say?”

I shook my head fervently. “I’m not touching that one.”

He pouted. “You’re no fun.” A pause as he shot me a dark look and muttered low, “Guess you don’t need to examine my walk.”

I narrowed my gaze playfully. “I knew you’d sink to that level.”

“That’s because you know me best.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

He tilted his head, curious. “No?”

“Even in the days when I thought I knew everything there was to know about you, you were still a bit of a mystery.”

Our gazes locked as he replied, “Must be that poker face of mine.”

“Must be,” I agreed quietly.

A moment passed before he said, “You were amazing tonight, by the way. That song you opened with fucking killed me.” The husky tone of his voice had me glancing away. That was the Trevor Cross I first met so many years ago. A friendly joker who somehow sounded suggestive and provocative at the same time.

“You did always love it when I spoke Spanish,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual.

“I still do. It’s the sexiest thing in the world.”

“You’re so predictable.”

“You think?”

“Yep. All men love it when women speak Spanish. All women love it when men speak French. It’s written in the code of our DNA.”

Trev laughed softly. “Is that a fact?”

“Sure. I bet if you studied a double helix real close you’d find it somewhere,” I joked.

Trev reached out to run a finger down my neck and over the exposed curve of my shoulder. “You’re probably right, but I only love it when it’s you.”

His tender words somehow made the tequila hit my blood stream quicker. Or maybe it was all in my head. Either way, I felt slightly weaker than I had a moment before.

“Don’t,” I begged, my breathing choppy.

All of a sudden his mouth was at my ear. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t say stuff like that.”

His hand moved to my hip and I felt it all the way between my thighs. “Why not?”

“Because it makes me feel like doing things I shouldn’t,” I answered truthfully, shifting to look into his eyes. I was drowning in all that blue.

“Maybe you should,” he murmured huskily, his mind drifting off somewhere and then back to me. I swallowed when he whispered, “Last night my sheets smelled of you.”

My stomach flipped. The first night I slept in his bed I’d been worried about his scent being on the sheets. I never gave a thought that I’d be leaving mine for him.

“Trev . . .”

“What?” he probed, a sexy challenge in his eyes. He knew he had me. I needed to be stronger.

I steeled myself and said, “When we get back I’m changing your sheets.”

He very slowly shook his head. “No. You’re not.”

I lifted my chin. “I am.”

“Touch those sheets and see what happens.”

“Is that a threat?” I asked, my voice firm. He didn’t respond, only continued to hold my gaze in a battle of wills. Why was he doing this to me? He told me we were just going to be friends. Now it’s night two and already he’s flirting. Or was he just teasing, bantering like we always used to? This felt like more than harmless banter though.

The moment was broken when a familiar voice said, “Can I have a round of Jager bombs?”

I looked away from Trev to find Leanne standing by the bar. “Hey Reya. Brilliant gig. You were incredible.”

“Oh thanks,” I said, still feeling the heat of Trev’s attention as she started counting fingers then glanced at the bartender. “I need six.”

He nodded and began putting her order together.

“You can’t drink tonight, Leanne,” said Trev and he sounded almost fatherly. It was weird. He’d always been the wayward kid of his family. “Tomorrow’s too important.”

“It’s just one drink.”

“Jager bombs aren’t a drink. They’re the gateway to a night of debauchery and we both know it,” Trev went on.

“I have to agree with him,” I put in. “It’s like the entrée before a giant steak.”

“Or the oral sex before the fucking,” Trev added and I rolled my eyes even though the way he said ‘fucking’ gave me chills.

Leanne huffed. “But I’ve already ordered them.”

“And now you can un-order them,” said Trev.

“Actually, I can’t. Look, he’s making them now.”

“I’ll pay then. You’re still not drinking them.”

She put a hand on her hip. “Do you know what? I’m really sick of people telling me what to do around here.” She turned and stomped back to the table where the others were waiting. Trev slipped a few notes onto the bar and went after her. I sighed, knocked back the last of my drink, and headed backstage to grab my things. One of the club workers had kindly brought my keyboard out back. A few minutes later I was making my way out front when I bumped into Trev and the others climbing into taxis.

“There you are,” said Trev, coming and taking my things from me. I climbed in next to him. Paul and James shared our taxi, while Leanne, Neil and the two crewmembers got in the other one.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” said James, referring to the song I opened my set with. He broke my attention away from the fact that the side of my body was pressed tight to Trev’s. I tried my best to keep a sliver of space between us.

“Oh yeah, I grew up speaking two languages,” I answered. “My parents were immigrants. They spoke no English at all when they first came to the U.K. They had to learn as they went along.”

“Really?” James asked, sounding interested. “My grandparents emigrated from Trinidad back in the sixties but they both spoke English. Every once in a while, my gran dips into Creole, but only when she’s really pissed about something.” He chuckled. “Where did your parents come from?”

I stiffened, but Trev was probably the only one who noticed. He was one of the few people who knew how the subject of my parents was a sore spot. Still, I answered James’s question out of politeness. “Madrid. They grew up under Franco so it was very different from Spain nowadays. It’s funny, I mean, they left to escape a totalitarian regime, but the ideals stayed ingrained in them. They’re, um, very conservative, very strict, and very religious.”

“I bet that was no picnic growing up,” Paul put in, eyeing me.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “No, it wasn’t.”

Relieved to see we’d arrived at the apartment, I was the first to get out of the taxi. I knew it was rude not to at least offer to put in for the fare, but I felt stifled. Between whatever Trev was up to and talking about my parents, I had to get out of there.

When I opened the door to the apartment there were two crewmen in the living area tinkering around with their cameras, waiting. As soon as they saw me come in they started filming. I frowned and headed down the hallway to the linen cupboard, knowing they weren’t interested in me. They were waiting to film the guys when they got in.

I found some spare sheets and carried them into Trev and Callum’s bedroom. I was hoping to get the task done before Trev walked in, but no such luck.

“What are you doing?” he asked, shutting the door in the face of one of the film crew. It served him right for trying to follow Trev into the bedroom.

I only had the pillowcase off so far. “I’m changing your sheets like I said I would.”

He came at me, tugging the pillow from my grasp and tossing it back on the bed. “And I told you not to.” He spoke low, his words held an edge of threat.

I stood firm and picked the pillow back up. “Why not? You’re being weird.”

He exhaled a heavy breath and levelled me with his eyes. “Just don’t. Just . . . give me this.”

My throat felt heavy as I stared at him. There was a deep, starkly vivid need there and it was almost shocking to see. He’d been trying so hard to hide it, but right then I saw a flicker of the truth. I saw a crack in his I just want to be friends façade.

I looked at him, then at the bed, then back at him. His gaze lowered to my lips and I wet them instinctively. Heat fizzled between us and I dropped the pillow. He took one, two steps forward until there was only an inch of space left. His breath hit my cheeks and I stood frozen in place. He lifted a hand to my face and traced a line with his fingers down the side of my neck. I closed my eyes for a second when he spoke.

“This is harder than I thought it would be.”

I didn’t know why, but I let out a quiet, watery laugh. “It’s only been three days.”

“The hardest three days of my life.”

“Maybe I should go home—”

“No,” he said, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t want you to go.” His hand came to my shoulder, gripping firmly.

I dropped my eyes to the floor. “I should, um, get to bed.”

“Reya, look at me.”

I looked up, ensnared in those icy blue eyes of his again. They’d always been my undoing. “What?” I whispered.

He bit his lip, looking conflicted. “Just . . . promise me you’ll stay. If I back off, will you stay?”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure I could leave even if I wanted to anyway. “I’ll stay.”

“Thank you,” he said and gave my shoulder another squeeze.

I moved away from him and to the door, opening it and leaving before I lost my nerve. I could’ve kissed him and he would’ve let me. He could’ve kissed me and I would’ve let him.

This was all such a mess. I thought of my conversation with Karla before the trip and I knew she’d been right to be sceptical. Trev was the one thing in this world I could never, ever resist.

I’d always want him. Only him.

Even when I knew wholeheartedly that I shouldn’t.