Wade tipped his chin and laughed toward the loose-woven net of shifting leaves.
The walkway eventually brought them back within hearing of the local pub, music and laughter pulsing from the building, and—
Noah fisted Wade’s jacket and dragged him inside. They both needed to loosen up. Relax. The first performances of the night were underway on the small platform up front, and a clipboard was doing the rounds in the hands of a jovial-looking Maori gentleman.
They removed their jackets, and Wade flagged down the waiter to get a round in. When that clipboard showed up under their noses, Noah signed himself up.
“You want to sing?” Wade looked at him, astonished.
Noah squeezed the pen. “I thought I better give it a go.” He scribbled the name of his chosen song. Not exactly a favourite, but well known. Maybe tonight the lyrics could speak for him.
“Noah?”
“Hmm? Oh, right.” Noah apologised, returning the clipboard.
“Not so fast.” Wade chuckled. “I meant pass it to me.”
Of course. Noah took a much-needed gulp of beer.
“Nervous?” Wade asked once the clipboard had disappeared.
“As long as no one grades me on it, I think I’ll be fine.” Another gulp.
Wade’s eyes glittered. “I see.”
“You see?”
“Outwardly you have a very calm demeanour, Noah.” He laid a hand over the top of Noah’s beer as he reached for it again. “But I’m figuring out your little tells.”
Noah swallowed. “I guess . . . I’m a bit nervous. A-a natural response to subjecting oneself to judgement.”
Wade removed his hand from the glass and placed it against Noah’s jaw. His fingers were cold at the tips, electric. Their gazes held. “There are three things people might think. One: Who is this hot guy and how do I get his number? Two: This guy better not make a move on my girl.”
“And three?”
“That guy is here with me.”
Noah’s breath solidified in his chest, right beside his pounding heart.
Wade smiled crookedly and turned back to his beer. Noah counted down from five before doing the same, and pressed his arm against Wade’s. Heat leaked through their long-sleeved t-shirts, and Wade flexed.
A new song started and Wade whipped his head up. He thumped his foot to the beat and hummed along.
Noah laughed, emboldening Wade and his tone-deaf rendition of The Clash’s “Brand New Cadillac”, until Wade’s pocket lit up and he tugged out his phone. His face paled as he looked over at Noah, said “Sorry, I gotta—” and took off outside to pace the length of the pub window.
“Next up, we have Noah. Noah Dashwood, anywhere?”
Noah raised his arm, snuck one more sip of beer, and headed to the stage.
Wade still wasn’t in by the time he’d been handed a microphone and the music started. Noah’s gut balled up the disappointment. Never mind. All he could do now was sing. The lyrics scrolled over a blue screen, and Noah gave his best attempt at sticking to the beat. The chorus he got right, along with half the audience— “. . . hooked on a feeling . . .”
They had no idea who he was, but they cheered him on, clapping and joining in, and Noah grinned right back at them.
He finished with a thumbs up to the locals and jerked his head toward the loudest of the applause. There—leaning against the back wall, black hair still a mess from the wind, hands thumping together—was Wade.
Noah waved him to the stage. “Your next entertainer, folks. Earplugs advised.”
Wade laughed as he took the microphone. “A wise warning. I’m here to make you all feel better about yourselves.”
Noah took up the abandoned spot at the wall and his shoulders thrummed as if he felt Wade’s touch.
The crowd whooped, and Wade winked at them. Maybe his voice didn’t switch keys smoothly, but the rest of him flowed with the music. He held himself easily, confident, hips swivelling in perfect time. He poured himself into the song, and it was . . . impossible to look away. And impossible to supress the strange burst of . . . something that bubbled up when their eyes met over the audience.
As Wade wound down to his finale, Noah drifted across to meet him at the bar.
“What do you think?” Wade flagged the bartender and ordered two more beers. “Another song?”
“I’m done showing off for today.”
Wade grinned. “I wouldn’t mind seeing more. But if you want to let me hog the spotlight . . . how about a game of pool?” He nodded his head toward the adjacent room. “There’s a table free.”
“Good at pool, are you?”
“Well, I don’t want to toot my own horn.”
Noah relished the cheeky dimple that popped on his cheek.
“I can teach you if you like?”
“Teach me, huh?” Noah cocked his head.
Wade leaned in and whispered in his ear, eliciting a rush of shivers. “It’s all about how you hold your stick.”
