Page 39 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

He continues to stare at me.

I’m wondering if he’s thinking about that almost kiss when I leaned in or whether the fiasco at The Jolly Roger has cancelled it out memory-wise. He is breathtakingly beautiful from this close up, and I’m finding his clean, soapy scent a veritable pheromone. I wonder if he is single.

Pull yourself together. He is the boss. Show some respect.

‘I would have stayed around last night to make sure you were okay but…’ He shrugs and exhales loudly without bothering to finish the sentence.

‘I suppose you would have had angry customers to deal with. And an angry girlfriend?’

There, I said it. Now tell me who the dark-haired beauty with the mean eyes is.

He cocks his head as though to say,What do you think?

‘Apart from being late, do you think you are going to be as bad tonight?’ he asks, ignoring the question about an angry girlfriend. ‘Just to give me a heads up, that’s all.’

Quite right. My nosiness smacks of insecurity. His private life is none of my business.

‘I’m on my way there, right now. I’m really sorry,’ I tell him. I think I’ll be apologising for that until my dying breath. I lift my arm to wave down a taxi, but it flies past without stopping. So does the next one. I blow out my cheeks. This might be harder than it looks. ‘I promise. I’ll get there somehow. There won’t be a repeat of last night. Otherwise, I’ll ask Nancy to give you a full refund. I’ll probably get sacked but to be honest, the way I’m going on, I probably deserve to be.’

The corners of his (deliciously kissable) mouth lift slightly as he shrugs. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. You messed up, so what? It happens. And if I remember rightly, you actually warned me not to go see you. And you made your feelings about this place pretty clear from the off.’ His eyes are suddenly sparkling with mischief.

The sheer cockiness only adds to his appeal.

‘Oh God,’ I groan, my hands flying to my face. I peek at him from between my fingers. ‘Please forget all those things I said about Benidorm.’ And all those insults about the people who live here. His home. I am outwardly cringing.

‘It’s easy to judge a place if you don’t get to know it properly. By the way, Nancy has sent a playlist through to the venue manager. She insisted he set it up ready in case you fly in at the last minute and bombard the audience with some horrendous mix of distressing tear-jerkers. Her words, by the way.’ He smiles at me. ‘I hope you know all the songs on it, with you being so new at this.’

Ah. Awkward.

‘I’ll sing whatever she wants. We’ll put on a great show tonight, don’t worry,’ I say, praying I can get there on time and the Dollz won’t turn up pissed.

‘Have those girls left you again?’ he asks astutely.

Christ Almighty, what sort of amateurs must he think he’s dealing with?

‘No. Well, yes, but it’s fine. I’ll be there on time.’ I try to act casual. ‘Where is the gig exactly?’

‘You don’t know where you’re going, do you?’ He sighs. ‘Come on. I’ll take you.’

Thank fuck.

‘Watch out for these cobbles,’ he says, holding out a hand for me. I force myself to relax because he obviously only sees me in a platonic way so there is no need for my imagination to run riot at his close proximity. He takes my hand and leads me down a narrow, deserted street shaded from the sunshine. A breeze flows through it, cooling us down. Our fingers are loosely entwined, sending shoots of electricity up my arm. I must not read anything into it. The Spanish are a very handsy people.

‘Is this where they find me naked and a bit murdered?’ I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

‘No, you’re thinking of the next alley along.’

He’s sharp, isn’t he?

We keep moving along the street until we reach a busy cobbled square, drawing lots of stares from people. We are spectacularly overdressed for this part of town as we make our way across the square to a huge park bursting with greenery. It’s magnificent, crowded with families and children playing. A far cry from the Benidorm I have seen so far, which is littered with drunks and mobility scooters. I feel instantly guilty at having been so judgemental about the place.

‘This town is beautiful,’ I say, admiring the wide central avenue stretching for miles, flanked by trees and benches.

‘Yeah. Not bad for a shithole full of pickpockets and naked Germans,’ he says.

I nod, embarrassed to my core. ‘I have a problem with trying new things. Being out of my comfort zone can make me defensive. My flatmates say it can be very off-putting. I’m sure this is a wonderful place to live and work.’

I hope I don’t sound disingenuous. I give him a sheepish look by way of apology and pray that he doesn’t ask me where I live or what I do for a living. Unemployed with no clue what to do with one’s life doesn’t quite have a glamorous ring to it.

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