He’d thought he was ready for this.
He had a stash of presigned photos in his pocket and had planned to walk the line, giving them out with Ed right beside him. Such a significant increase in numbers had to be down to their coverage this week. Their radio interview had featured in just about every evening news show, and the green room webcam footage had quickly gone global. If this crowd were any measure, a surge of new fans now shipped their fake romance. And far from being giggling schoolkids, people of all ages held aloft homemade rainbow-colored #TrueBrit banners.
What had been exciting at first now gave Pasha the jitters. This was escalating really fast. So many TV news crews showing interest meant the sky was the limit.
Usually the contestants had time to sign photos for their fans and hug their friends and families before heading in forthe sound check. This time the tour bus swept past the cheering crowds and circled to the rear of the building.
“What the fuck?” Pasha stood up so fast, he almost hit his head on the overhead storage. Ed tugged him back down. “Why the hell didn’t the bus stop back there like usual?” He didn’t care about friends and family, there would be no one waiting in the crowd for him, but he did want to meet the fans to say thanks—that seemed so important.
The night before had been his best in the house so far. He’d spent hours propped up against the pillows on Ed’s bed, scrolling through message after message of support from fans who shipped them harder than he had ever expected. Answering their online questions would have kept him busy until midnight if Ed hadn’t suggested he go practice with Anya. Singing with her until they were both yawning between verses had been a great end to the evening.
Now he couldn’t help pouting a little. “I wanted to meet some of our shippers.”
“Don’t call them that.” Ed stood once the bus stopped. He reached out and grabbed Pasha’s hand. “It still sounds weird.”
“They are weird.” Pasha followed Ed off the bus, their fingers twined together until they got to the steps. “And wonderful.” The moment his feet touched the pavement, Ed wrapped an arm around him. He grabbed both the garment bags holding their changes of clothes from a rail the wardrobe department had set up, then pulled Pasha along with him.
“Hey.” Pasha tried to slow their pace, realizing that Ed was essentially herding him as fast as he could to the dressing rooms. “Slow down. There’s no hurry.”
Ed shook his head. “Come on.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just want to grab one of the smaller dressing rooms. I don’t want to share with the others, that’s all, so we can relax before I have to go rehearse with Anya.”
“Relaxed” was the last word Pasha would choose to describe Ed right now. He looked as stern as hell, scoping out the passages leading off the backstage hallway with intense concentration like he expected an ambush. “Hey,” Pasha said as Ed’s pace finally slowed, “what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Ed pushed open a dressing room door after scrawling their names on the whiteboard hanging outside. He shoved Pasha in by the shoulder, closed the door quickly behind them, and leaned against it. His huffed exhale was abrupt. “I keep expecting management to have another go before the show starts, that’s all.”
Pasha sat at a dressing table and switched on the lights that surrounded its mirror. Ed’s reflection showed his tension hadn’t left him. His shoulders were still rigid, and that slight tic in his jaw was a dead giveaway. His gaze met Pasha’s and held it.
“If they spoke to you, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
Ah.
This was what had him so riled up. Ed’s description of his run-in with Gerry hadn’t exactly sounded like a picnic.
“No one’s made me an offer like Gerry made to you. If you hadn’t told me, I’d be none the wiser.” He left a beat before saying, “You could have taken it. A place in the final, Ed. It could have been yours.”
“They think I have accepted.” He started to strip out of his clothes. “And you’re really okay with me singing the duet with Anya?”
“Yeah. That’s what we decided, didn’t we?” He looked up as Ed unfastened his jeans, the muscles in his forearms defined as he popped fly buttons. “I’m totally okay with you.” He correctedhimself. “Withit, I mean. I’m okay with it because you singing a duet with her is part ofourplan now, not theirs.”
Ed moved fast for a big guy. He crouched between Pasha’s knees so swiftly that there was no time to ask what the hell he was doing. The door opened right as Ed reached up and pulled their faces close together. Someone gasped and then quickly closed it.
“Sorry.” Ed’s lips almost brushed his. He dropped his hands to Pasha’s thighs and leaned back while still on his knees. “Didn’t hear anyone coming until they were right there.”
“I didn’t hear anyone out there at all.” Right now all Pasha heard was the thunder of blood behind his eardrums. He swallowed thickly. Ed took up his whole field of vision. He spoke without thinking. “Your shoulders are insane.” His hands followed the same no-self-control agenda, momentarily touching skin that was smooth and firm beneath a scattering of freckles.
Ed’s blinks were slow and regular, the look he leveled warm and amused.
Pasha pulled himself together. “Your hearing’s weirdly acute as well.” He shoved Ed away a little, shifting in his seat as if about to rise to his feet.
“How about you lock the door behind me?” Ed put some weight where he still gripped the front of Pasha’s thighs as he pushed himself up. “Or go hang out with the girls in makeup?”
“You really think that management are gonna try something the minute your back’s turned? I can look after myself just fine.” He’d been doing okay for years.
“Sorry.” Concern rippled the edges of Ed’s usual calm. “There’s something about Gerry. I don’t trust him one bit.”