“Wait.” He turned to Ed again so fast, he ended up straddling one of his legs. He spoke directly into Ed’s ear. “Do you at least want to try to stay in the competition?”
Ed nodded. Of course he did. It was the only chance he’d ever get to make up for the worst mistake of his life.
Pasha squeezed his wrist, his fingertips digging between tendons before rubbing as if in apology where they’d grasped too tightly. “And you don’t care what we’ll need to do to make that happen?”
“Are you likely to shoot me?”
Pasha frowned before slowly smiling. From this close, the change in his expression was like sunrise over the desert, warmth after a cold night, light after deep purple velvet darkness cloaking hidden danger.
“With a gun, you mean? No chance. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“In that case, I’m all yours.”
“Good.” That single word was a warm huff against Ed’s lips before Pasha twisted toward the red-faced guy who still stood in the doorway. “What’s your name?”
“Charlie.”
“Hi, Charlie.” They spoke in unison, and Ed saluted at the same time Pasha waved like a little kid, waggling all his fingers.
“Hi?” Charlie almost waved back.
“Tell me, are you on social media?” Pasha sounded relaxed and interested. Ed would have believed his tone if Pasha’s fingers weren’t digging into his wrist again.
“Yeah, of course I am,” Charlie said, chest puffing up when he added, “I’ve got over three hundred followers on Twitter. Double that on Facebook.”
“Good. Do you follow me?” Pasha’s posture changed when Charlie nodded, like an internal wire had pulled tight. Wedged into this narrow space, Ed clearly felt his tension. “That’s great. Now, do me a favor?” Pasha asked. “Take a photo when I say go, and then tag me in it on whatever social media you use. Ask people to share it. Keep posting it as many times as you can.”
“Okay. Then you’ll take a picture with me?”
“As many as you want,” Pasha promised. “Just wait a minute, will you?”
Ed had been in situations before where he’d had to make snap decisions. Too many of them for comfort, and some he still woke from remembering bathed in icy cold sweat. But when Pasha whispered, Ed listened.
“That production assistant said we’d need a voting miracle and that there was no chemistry between us. She wanted us to fight. But what if we did the opposite?”
Ed opened his mouth, but nothing verbal came out.
Pasha took that as agreement. “Nothing pulls in votes like a love story.Nothing. Put your hand on my face.” Ed obeyed without hesitating. “Good, now tilt your head. No, the other way. That’s right.”
They couldn’t get much closer.
“Pasha. What?—?”
“Call me Pash. I think we’re friends now.” He turned so their faces were visible from the side and lowered his voice significantly. “Okay, Ed. Look at me like I’m someone you’vewanted to fuck forever. Pretend I’m some pretty blonde with big tits.” He leaned even closer, his lips almost skimming Ed’s. “Or close your eyes and think of the boy band naked.”
When Charlie took their photo, he caught the split second before they both laughed.
3
PASHA
London was gray beyond the windows of theBritPop!tour bus.
When they neared Trafalgar Square, Pasha wiped away the fog left by his breath, but the black cabs and umbrella-wielding pedestrians outside still merged into a dull blur. The bold red, white, and blue of the tour bus must be a vivid contrast. A crowd of teenaged schoolkids spotted it right away. Their yelling was audible above the sound of the engine when the bus stopped at a set of traffic lights in sight of Nelson’s Column.
“Pasha! We love you! We loooooove you!”
“You hear that?” He peeled his cheek from the window and slanted a glance at Ed.