Pasha dragged his gaze up from Ed’s lap where it had fallen. Ed’s frown was completely gone now, and Pasha paid attention. Inches from faintly freckled cheekbones and a jawline male models would kill for, he wondered how the hell Ed had slipped under anyone’s radar. With the right clothes and a song that matched the soulfulness of his voice, he could easily pull in more votes.
A lot more.
If management hadn’t already decided to get rid of them both, Ed would absolutely be a front-runner.
“You are a lazy singer,” Pasha said. “You sing from here.”
Ed’s Adam’s apple bobbed under the palm Pasha covered it with. He slipped his hand down to the middle of Ed’s chest before slowly lowering it a little farther over solidly defined abs. “You’d extend your range and have a lot more control of your pitch if you started singing from much lower.”
He withdrew his hand fast when a member of the production crew clumped his way up the aisle. When he was gone, Pasha added, “Your voice coach should have worked you harder. You’ve got to practice much more.” He cleared his throat. “That’swhat I mean by lazy. It’s like you’ve got all that natural talent, but you don’t even try to use it.”
“What voice coach? And don’t change the subject.” Ed looked over his shoulder, speaking again when he was sure they couldn’t be overheard. “Tell me, what exactly was the point of that madness back in the control box?”
“Seemed like it might be a hook, that’s all,” Pasha said quietly. “It’s possible I wasn’t thinking straight at the time.”
“You can say that again.” Ed shook his head. “That poor kid. All he wanted was a photo with you. You probably terrified him with all those bossy ‘follow me’ orders.”
“Go ahead and call me names, but being bossy is what might save us.”
He saw Ed’s forehead begin to crease again, so he fished his phone out of his jacket pocket before the deep lines could set in. “Look.” He quickly accessed an app and touched an @ symbol. “This is what I’m talking about.”
As he focused on the screen, Ed’s expression shifted between annoyance and confusion.
“Who the hell are all those people, and what does #NewShip mean?”
“The hashtag?” Pasha took the phone back and scrolled. A photo of two guys, half in shadow, staring into each other’s eyes like nothing else in the whole world mattered, fit in the curl of his palm. “‘Ship’ is short for relationship. All those people are new social media followers, and they’re talking about us.”
“Relationship? But we’re not—” Ed’s posture stiffened. Pasha put some distance between them, wondering for the first time if he’d done the wrong thing. In fact, Ed was suddenly so rigid that a punch might be incoming, but all he said was, “That’s not true about us at all.” Ed reached out and touched the screen, zooming in so their faces filled it. “I didn’t know that’s how we would look. I didn’t think?—”
Pasha didn’t let Ed finish. “It doesn’t matter what you thought. Tell me what yousee, because with ‘ships,’ that’s all that matters.That’swhat can save us if you agree to continue.”
Ed said nothing at all.
Pasha had nothing to lose. He pushed a little harder. “’Cause from where I’m sitting, it kinda looks like you were about to kiss me.” He ignored Ed’s subvocal denial and scrolled to another image someone had enhanced with a romantic, soft-focus filter. “Fuck, it looks like you want to do a whole lot more than kiss me. I was there when it was taken, but if this photo makesmewonder whether you’ve got feelings for me, how do you think it looks to the public?”
Ed’s silence continued, so Pasha kept quietly talking.
“Someone’s cropped this one. You can’t even tell where we are. All that anyone will have to work on is exactly what we’re showing right here. Jesus, Ed, you’re looking at me like I’m the love of your life. I’ll marry the next person who looks at me the same way for real. Or at least tie them to my bed for a very long time.”
All Ed had to offer was a small sound that caught in his throat.
Pasha reached over, pulled Ed’s phone from his shirt pocket, and thrust it into his hands. “For the love of God, please tell me you do social media.”
He watched Ed unlock his phone. A dark-haired baby stared out until Ed opened the same app.
“Now, follow my personal account rather than the oneBritPop!controls,” he instructed Ed, watching like a hawk as he added Pasha’s screen name. “No, it’s Trueman with an E.TruenotTru. And for fuck’s sake unlock your account, won’t you, so fans can see whatever you write?”
Ed hesitated, his finger hovering over a cog on the screen. “I only use this account for family and real friends.” He paused so long that his phone locked again.
It was time to get real. Pasha held his phone out again. “Can you see how many times the photo’s been shared already? Three hundred times in the hour since Charlie posted it. Three hundred people who might pick up the phone to text in a vote if they think their ‘new ship’ is real.”
“I still don’t get the whole deal with ‘ships.’”
“It’s about love, that’s all. Love or its potential.” He saw the pink stain of a flush climb Ed’s neck like a ladder. “Maybe hearts and flowers don’t mean much to squaddies, but there are plenty of people who would kill for some love in their lives. They want it so much, they see it even where it’s impossible. They see it where it’s never, ever going to happen.”
Ed shook his head in denial. “People aren’t that stupid. And we’re both guys, so?—”
“No.” Pasha cut him off. “They’re not stupid, they’re hopeful. I don’t know why shipping happens so much online. I just know it does. People don’t even seem to care so much about same-sex barriers. They hope for romance, that’s all, and—” This was the key point. “—they’ll vote to support it.”