Blue Moon #3 (Story of Us Series - Into the Blue) - Sydney Jamesson Page 0,22

circumstances.” Charlie sidesteps Jake. “Keep me posted, Ayden. Bye.”

Jake watches her wiggle between the tables and follows her out into the cobbled street. He turns to me. “That went well.”

“Tell me about it.” I follow him, feeling well nourished, if a little overwhelmed by a conversation that I had not been prepared to handle alone. “Anyway, where were you when I needed you?”

“Me? I was standing a safe distance away, avoiding the fallout.” He buttons up his jacket and takes in the early evening air. “She’s as sexy as hell when she’s angry, but she sure can leave you shell shocked if you’re caught in the blast.”

“Caught? I feel like I was cornered, literally.”

“Oh. She’s not that bad. We’ve known worse.” He winks. “I have to see a guy about some tickets.” He turns right onto Camden High Street.

“I’ll leave you to it then and catch a cab.” I look left and right between the Tuesday night revellers in search of a black moving object.

“No way.” We both need a drink after that bundle of joy. “I know just the place.”

Avoiding the puddles, I follow his lead. “Will there be alcohol?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” he asks with a familiar grin.

“You know what, Jake, I haven’t got an answer to that. But seeing as I haven’t got anywhere else to be…” I slip my hands in my pockets and match his stride.

WHENIT IT COMES TO getting from A to B on Camden High Street, a good rule would be not to attempt it on foot at seven o’clock on a week night. In unison with the pleasure seekers dotting the pavement like characters in an Eraclis Artistidou painting are brightly decorated buildings, a lively backdrop to what started out as a tedious Tuesday night. Jake seems to know the area and exactly where we’re headed.

Me, I’m a curious fish out of water.

“We’re here,” he announces, pointing up at the blue neon sign boldly stating that this chalk white, stone building is the Jazz Café-London’s famous Jazz venue.

Who knew?

“Here?” I’m not convinced that this is the place to celebrate us having survived Miss Miller’s raucous reprimand, but I follow him inside anyway.

“Yeah. I’ve had some good times here.” He pulls the heavy door open, giving a dark silhouette of a man, the size of a small car a nod as we pass. “We’ll see Rufus in the back office about those tickets and get a couple of drinks. By nine, this place will be rocking.”

“Sounds great,” I murmur, finding that prospect disagreeable on so many levels. I envisage flashing lights, multi-coloured cocktails with sparklers sticking out of them, a bevy of beauties and the inevitable ‘bad’ press. The last thing I need. I’m supposed to be morphing into the ‘good’ guy now, right? The kind of guy who has a medal pinned to his chest not an inebriated brunette with a big smile pressed up against it.

I need to get out of here.

Jake knocks three times, before pushing open a door at the end of a dimly lit corridor.

En route I catch sight of empty tables and a balcony overlooking the stage; on that stage are half a dozen band members rehearsing.

“You wanna wait in here while I go find him? I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Take a seat.”

Jake flicks on the light and leaves me standing in a comfortable office where the fragrance of freshly cut flowers hits me like a breath of country air. Over by the arched, opaque window a bouquet of flowers has been arranged; on the leather covered desk there is a phone, a notepad and pen, and a desk lamp—nothing more. The room is surprisingly comfortable, clean and cosy. I sit with my back to the door, settle my right leg across my left knee and wait.

Behind me the door opens. I don’t bother turning. Only when I hear the lock turn and the light is switched off do I clench my fists, but before I can stand someone scented with a familiar fragrance slides their hands over my shoulders, and slips them inside my jacket in a kind of criss-cross. Spontaneously, I take hold of their slim wrists.

“Woah! What the…?”

“Calm down, Mr. Stone,” she whispers in my right ear, her hair tickling my neck. “This is going to be fun for both of us. Why don’t you sit back and enjoy the ride? I know I will.”

I tighten my grip on her wrists and remove her hands from my