Page 67 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

And just like that, my whole body erupts into tingles as his gaze sweeps back up from my toes to my eyes. All thoughts of him being in a complicated relationship with his business partner evaporate and, without thinking, I lick my lips and run my unshackled hand down the bodysuit, pulling a few of the straps into place, just to give it something to do. I fear I might reach out and pull him into me. I’m having flashbacks to kissing him. His hands sliding down my body. I’m like an addict wanting more.

‘Right. Yes,’ I say, trying to think of casual conversation that doesn’t make me have sexual thoughts about him. I clear my throat. ‘So, tell me about yourself. How long have you been doing this? What’s your full name? What’s your social media handle?’

Why am I making this sound like a job interview?

He looks up from his phone with surprise. Quite rightly, he must know I am going to google the shit out of him.

‘Matteo. I’m thirty-two years old,’ he says smoothly after a slight pause, tilting his head to the side and eyeing me up. ‘I like limited-edition old-lady scooters, music festivals and confident women with the ability to cope adequately. Not on Twitter. Don’t do Snapchat.’

He goes back to checking his messages.

‘No surname?’ I’m not having that. No way.

He smiles at me with a slightly exasperated expression. ‘Okay, brace yourself,’ he says, shouting over the loud music asthe Dollz launch into their opening number. ‘I come from a long line of…’

It sounds like he might be saying overly sexy men, but I don’t trust my hearing, what with my heartbeat pounding so loudly in my ears.

‘Pardon?’ I yell back. We are right next to the speaker, and I can’t make out what he’s saying, even from a few inches away. ‘You have a long what?’

This startles him.

God help me. I have an addiction.

‘Xavier Matteo George Marie-Carmen.’ He tilts his head. ‘I’m not finished. Torrado Grande.’

Oh my.

‘It sounds like a name that you have literally just given yourself to sound, oh, I don’t know… incredibly difficult to google?’

‘Why would you want to google me?’

Good point. He doesn’t need to know why.

‘So, “Grande”, that’s a right mouthful,’ I shout, moving swiftly on. ‘What’s the “big” bit referring to?’

Jesus Christ.I’ve done it again. He must think I’ve hanky-panky on the brain.

After an embarrassing few seconds, he carries on as though I’d not sexualised his name while I try to appear as though I am listening to him intently, and not, as I am currently doing, visualising his manhood and whether it is indeed a right mouthful. I just need to keep my eyes trained on his handsome face and not let them wander. I will concentrate on my set. The Dollz will be coming off stage soon and I am on straight afterwards. My mind is all over the place at his close proximity.

‘It’s very embarrassing, I know!’ he says.

‘Not as embarrassing as my first night on The Strip,’ I say, blushing at the memory. ‘Singing for you.’

‘You don’t have to do that!’

‘Do what?’ I yell.

This conversation is becoming quite a chore over the racket. I pull him behind the stage curtain, where the ear-splitting music is slightly muffled. We are almost touching as we stand facing each other.

‘You don’t have to take off your clothes for me.’

I suppress a howl of nervous laughter. ‘I’m not going to take off my clothes. What are you talking about?’

‘What areyoutalking about?’ he says.

‘My night on The Strip.’

‘Oh.’ He shrugs sheepishly.

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