shot first and asked questions...never.
Don’t ask, but jump to conclusions. Check.
Don’t give him a chance to explain. Check.
That was Sasha all over.
Just being here in this rundown dead-end school was bad enough, never mind spending more time with her.
He found her in the old school hall. Nothing had changed here either—the whole scenario was as if he’d rewound ten years to his adolescent nightmares. If this was the punishment for being the bad boy of rock, he was definitely going to work on his game from now on.
The place still smelt of sweaty socks and cheap lemon air freshener. Still had scuffs in the dirty cream paintwork, and old velvet curtains that didn’t quite fit the stage. Where she was standing. In front of a gaggle of kids who, as it happened, made quite a good noise.
‘Sorry to interrupt...’ He waited for her to turn round. Watched the silent gasp, the irritated raise of her eyebrows, the flush of her cheeks. The hesitant smile as she saw her bag in his hand.
Sunshine streamed through an upper window, casting bright light across the stage in a perfect arc, catching dust motes dancing almost in rhythm with the song.
Even from this distance he could see the different hues in her hair, not just red, but gold and blonde too, drifting down her back, shimmering with every move.
Goddamn she was sexy. And so different from the women he usually dated. First off, she’d said no to him. Again. That never happened.
She wasn’t lured by his fame or his wealth; in fact far from that, she didn’t want a dime of it for herself. Which was refreshing and curious. And the fact she’d left without taking advantage of what he’d had to offer pushed intriguing to the top of the list of adjectives he already had for her.
She wore another fifties’ summery dress today, short capped sleeves, tight V neck and full skirt in a soft green that accentuated her waist and fell in feminine folds to her knees. Demure enough to be suitable for her job, it was cut from some kind of thin fabric that made you want to touch it. Touch her.
Holding her finger towards him to signal him to wait, she led the choir through a medley of three recent number one hits, none of them his, while they performed a quirky dance routine at the same time. A mix of above-average talent and ability, they had enough charisma to pull at the heartstrings of any benevolent audience, but probably not enough to win any prizes. Yet.
Sasha was good with them too. Praising and cajoling when the more timid ones forgot the words, or were reluctant to walk to the front of the stage. Singing along with them in her soft lyrical voice that swung him back to a time he’d be better off forgetting. Swaying her hips as she conducted. Her head tipping back with a gentle laugh as one of them played the fool, then bringing them back to focus again and finishing the song.
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