The cab pulled up in front of their destination. Ed gripped Pasha a little tighter. “I would have told you?—”
“But you didn’t.” Pasha unfastened his seat belt and slipped free from Ed in one smooth move. He got out of the cab and shook hands with a representative from the radio station interviewing them that morning, then headed straight for the crowd of fans who must have stalked theBritPop!website to find them here so early.
“Hey.” Pasha greeted the fans like he wasn’t rattled that Ed had kept Gerry’s offer secret. He tamped down a flare of frustration and focused on letting the fans know exactly how much he appreciated them getting up so early. As he exchanged hugs and accepted homemade gifts, his upset gradually lessened.
Ed was less than a meter away, surrounded by an all-female posse, drowning in their attention. He turned toward Pasha as if about to ask for his help. This was where Pasha had stepped in during every public moment since they had joined forces. But this time Ed straightened his back and faced them again on his own. Pasha watched Ed try his best—stilted, and clearly way out of his comfort zone.
They were much better at this together.
So much better.
Yes, management had made Ed an offer, but he hadn’t accepted. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
Pasha went to his side. After a moment’s hesitation, he linked their hands together.
Ed’s grip was a quick, fierce squeeze.
Even feeling off kilter, Pasha couldn’t help the spread of his grin when the fans acted so giddy. He escaped that tight grip to sign autographs, but Ed found his hand again and didn’t let go until they were in the radio station green room.
“We’ll be ready for you in a few, guys,” an assistant said from the doorway before leaving them alone with tea and a tray of pastries.
Ed was the first to break the silence. He leaned over from the armchair he sat in and said, “I didn’t?—”
Pasha silenced him by settling quickly on his lap and whispering, “Hush,” right into his ear. “There’s a camera.”
Ed gripped his hip, but he kept his mouth shut, his gaze flicking to the camera in the corner.
“Don’t say anything for a minute.” Pasha pulled out his phone and searched online for the radio station’s website. “Ah. Look.” He tilted his phone so Ed could see just as well as he could that they were live via webcam.
“Good spot.” Ed’s breath was warm and tickled, but the tip of his nose was cool, tracing the dip of Pasha’s temple. He heldPasha steady. “You think anyone watches at this time in the morning?”
Pasha’s shrug was tiny. He wriggled as if getting comfortable, face tucked toward Ed’s ear. “No clue, but you can bet fans and reporters will watch later.” He hesitated before adding, “Maybe management will as well, looking for chinks in our armor.”
The tip of Ed’s nose had warmed up, tracing a slow circle. It almost felt as if his lips touched the same spot when he said, “They won’t find any chinks.”
Pasha pulled back a little and looked over the top of his glasses. “You sure?”
Ed’s nod was quick. His hair had grown out since the start of the contest. His fringe parted a little at the force of Pasha’s relieved exhale.
Ed said, “Most of the boy band gave you a hard time all week. Then Anya needed your attention.” He cupped Pasha’s face with one hand while pushing his glasses slowly up his nose with the other. “She did, Pash. She missed you. Then it was Saturday before I knew it. There was no need to add any more pressure to your plate. I could handle Gerry, and I knew we’d get time out of the house together today. So here I am, telling you, because we’re in this together.”
In a contest that was meant to be dog-eat-dog, it was a small moment of open honesty that resonated.
Ed’s hand stayed on his face for so long that Pasha found he’d leant into it. “Wow, you are gettingsogood at this,” he said as quietly as he could. “This is going to look amazing on camera.”
“Camera?” Ed blinked twice and then straightened in his seat. He cleared his throat but still sounded gruff. “Oh, yeah. What was up with the boy band anyway?”
“Those dicks?” There were footsteps in the hallway. It was time for their spot on the capital’s number one breakfast show. They followed an assistant to the studio and then waited in ahallway outside. “They must be getting desperate. For once, all three were trying to wind me up, asking which one of us was the girl.” Pasha laughed. “They didn’t seem to like my answer.”
“Which was?”
“A mix of lies and truths like usual.” The radio crew watched through the glass separating the studio from the hallway as Pasha touched Ed, adjusting his collar like it needed straightening. His fingertips feathered the skin of Ed’s neck, which felt hotter than usual. “I told them there was no girl in our ’ship. And that you’re all man—” The door to the studio opened, and Pasha passed through, turning to finish his sentence with a wink. “—which is just the way I like you.”
Ed watchedPasha steer the interview like it was a ship he’d chartered. He set a course to promote their agenda and turned every question to their advantage until the host waved a white flag made from his list of questions.
“This is pointless,” the DJ admitted. Then he held the piece of paper close to his desk-mounted microphone and tore it into thin shreds. “London, I give up. I’m going to let Pasha Trueman run the whole show. Phone in if you have any #TrueBrit questions. I’m going to sit here and drink my tea.” His wet-sounding slurp was exaggerated.
“You mean we can interview each other?” Pasha actually wriggled on his seat.