Page 15 of Love You Like That (Excess All Areas 4)

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“Hey,” Cerys signed, arriving in the large dressing room for the band. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to catch up today after breakfast.”

Zoe shrugged and closed her laptop. “It’s cool. I had work to catch up on and the hotel had great Wi-Fi.”

“I noticed you were chatting with Alex a lot on the bus,” Cerys signed. “And after breakfast when I left.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “He’s someone to talk to,” she signed. Someone fascinating. She admired his easy confidence. His ability to talk to new people. Her mind went back to the girl in Aberdeen for a moment and she bit down the nibble of envy.

“Yes. But you normally don’t want people to talk to, and that’s why this is even more interesting. Remember the competition you entered the first year of uni? You drew with that guy, and he tried to tell you it meant you had to go out on a date with him because it was fate.”

“Not the same,” she signed, bringing her two forefingers together to tap them. “We didn’t deserve a tie. His piece was not as complex as mine and his runs were clunky. I wasn’t going to make nice with a guy who didn’t have the awareness to realise it.”

Cerys laughed. “You were always competitive.”

She had been. And she missed it. At eleven, she’d made the local newspaper, having written a full score for the nativity play. It was impressive, but she’d only done it because she’d been pissed not to get chosen as the narrator, which she’d felt to be the most important part. Anyone could play Mary and shove a cushion up their dress. And of course Jude Haversham was picked to be the star with all her blonde hair. But the narrator…man, she’d wanted the part so badly she could taste it. And the only way to get over it was to outshine Mollie Bebbington who’d got the role.

By twelve, she had no friends at school. No one who shared her love of music. No one who understood why she practised so hard. No one who supported the myriad of after school music lessons she had. No-one who cared that she had so much time off school due to ear infections.

“Fair point.”

“But about Alex…” Cerys signed.

“What about him?”

“I like him and you.”

“Oh, god. Stop.”

“Just saying.”

“Well, don’t. Just because you are loved up, doesn’t mean we all need to be.”

Cerys looked over Zoe’s shoulder and gave someone a thumbs up. “Ed wants a last-minute meeting. I have to go. Catch you later for drinks, yeah?”

Zoe nodded.

She reopened her laptop and began to work on some graphics for an online party the author was attending. Twelve hero names from the series for each of the months. Now she needed to determine thirty-one places for them to have sex and the game would be complete. She put her own birthdate as a forest. Not that she’d ever tried outdoor sex. The idea was enticing and horrifying in equal measure. For kicks, she gave Cerys’s birthdate a yacht. Mollie Bebbington’s birthday had always been the day before Zoe’s, stealing a little bit of her thunder because Mollie’s parents were rich and would send in gift bags for the whole class. Zoe’s mum had always sent in a tub of Celebrations so everyone could take a couple. She grinned as she gave Mollie’s birthdate a swamp.

The chances of Mollie ever playing the game were almost zero, but a small part of her loved the idea she might.

When it was finished, she returned to the series bible.

After what felt like a solid hour of work, Zoe looked up from her screen.

Alex and Willow chatted as they walked towards her. Alex wore a heavy black fabric kilt skimming the top of large black boots, left open. On top, he wore a black tank which fit his frame and showed off his lean yet muscular arms to perfection. The pearls he always seemed to wear were the only thing not black. The combination was quite breathtaking. A strong physical presence and build, with blond curls, ink, and a kilt. There weren’t many men who could pull that off.

She’d never particularly loved dressing up. Cerys had style in spades and watching her friend all but dancing in skinny jeans, a black jacket with its sleeves rolled up, and a vintage rock T-shirt, made her mildly envious.

Zoe looked down at her own loose denim and oversized white shirt. Comfortable. Durable.

Dressing up for concerts was just about the only thing she didn’t miss about performing. Foundation felt sticky on her skin, and she hated the way mascara made her lashes feel so stiff it was as if she could snap them. And for some reason, lipstick just never seemed to last on her. Except red. That shit stained her lips so badly she looked like a deranged piranha for days after.

Instead, she worked to keep her complexion flawless, hid from the sun, and drenched her skin in fancy products made from even fancier ingredients. Oh, and tried not to envy the ease of Willow’s perfect day make-up.

Willow eased down onto the sofa across from her and settled her palms on her bump. Alex dropped down next to her, manspreading as the fabric of his kilt dropped between his thighs. For a second, she wondered if he wore anything underneath it.

“What are you working on?” Willow asked.

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