Ed couldn’t answer right then.
Pasha now stood and had one hand pressed flat on the glass. He flashed a grin at Anya, but the smile that spread across his face as he and Ed looked at each other was slow, and wide, and gorgeous.
Anya sniffed. “I don’t know how I missed that he was gay. He didn’t give me a single clue. Not one, and my gaydar is usually spot-on.”
Ed hardly heard what she said. Relief that Pasha looked okay—looked great, in fact, instead of pissed off or upset—meant he acted without thinking. He raised a hand and pressed it against the window so only a pane of glass was between their palms.
Gerry was wrong.
Pasha wouldn’t accept an offer if he made one, would he?
Across the street, zoom lenses caught the hope on Ed’s face, and shared it with the nation.
7
PASHA
Well before seven on Sunday morning, central London was as quiet as Pasha had ever seen it. It didn’t matter that the city wasn’t buzzing right now; he was still thrumming internally from the rush of another winning performance. Taking shit from the boy band all week had been worth it once the votes had been counted—they had barely made it, while he and Ed had won for a second time by a landslide. Or Ed had at least, with Pasha holding tight to his talented coattails.
Now he sat next to the man who, at the start of the contest, had acted as if performing in public was a cross too heavy to bear, and he could hardly believe how wrong his first impression had been. A few weeks had made a profound difference.
What had seemed like silent judgment back then turned out to be something else entirely. Pasha saw a hint of shyness now at odds with Ed’s physical presence when their cab driver praised his performance.
“It was a great song, and I had help with the arrangement” was the extent of the credit Ed took.
The musical director must have a soft spot for Ed. He’d switched up the score of a classic love song that had caused thehairs on Pasha’s arms to stand at attention. The audience had lost their collective shit when the song reached its apex, and even Gerry Hanson had looked calculating instead of his usual smug when Pasha spied him later.
Now, Pasha tried to put the icy calculation he’d seen out of his head, and he looked out the window as the cab passed national landmarks. He strained his neck when they passed Trafalgar Square until Nelson’s column was no longer visible, before giving up and turning to face Ed. “So what’s the deal with Gerry?”
Ed startled as if someone had fired a rifle, then answered with a question of his own.
“What’s the deal with you and Trafalgar Square? You about break your neck to keep it in sight every single time we drive past.”
Observant bastard.The cab driver was just as bad, leaning back to eavesdrop and glancing in the rearview mirror. Pasha played to his audience of one. He fluttered his eyelashes a few times. “What can I say? I’m drawn to men with big columns. Nelson’s always done it for me.”
Ed shook his head, but the cab driver’s laughter almost masked what Pasha said next. “Seriously. What’s going on?”
Ed glanced forward, then across to where Pasha was still pressed against the cab window. Ed held out his hand, expression giving nothing away, and Pasha took it without thinking. Ed’s grip was firm, exerting steady pressure until Pasha unfastened his seat belt and slid across the backseat.
Maybe Ed wasn’t as slow on the uptake as he’d first guessed. He made a show out of securing Pasha’s seat belt again for him, leaving his arm around Pasha’s shoulder. They sat so close now that Ed could speak directly into his ear.
“Gerry did exactly what we thought he might.”
“What?” Pasha took a second to order his thoughts. “The divide-and-conquer thing? He offered you a place in the final?”
Ed’s nod was quick.
“When did he do that, Ed? We stuck together like glue last night, apart from when we were singing. And why? Anyone who heard that song would know you’d make the cut without his help.”
Ed shifted in his seat and tucked his head even closer. From the cab driver’s perspective, it must look an intimate position. Pasha was about to congratulate him on taking the initiative when Ed’s words suddenly registered.
“Pash, he made the offer days ago, when we rehearsed at the dance studio.”
“But that was on Wednesday. It’s Sunday, Ed.” Pasha would have moved away if Ed hadn’t held him so firmly.
“I didn’t accept. If I had, he would have given me the group-number slot to sing with Anya—and only with Anya. He says the offer is still open, but only until next week.”
“Arsehole.”