her voice was all “Come fuck me and hurry up about it”.
“Yeah.” He tried not to let the word carry extra meaning. Epic fail. It was one syllable and still he could hear the longing in it. Pretending he didn’t want to chase her down was like fish without the chips; half a meal, totally unsatisfactory.
He could’ve won a lot of money on predicting her next line. She planted her hands on her hips and said, “Then you better come get me.”
He groaned, put his hand on the first rung of the climbing rig and looked up at her. Without knowing it she had point to me written on her face. He took a deep breath, steadied his focus and hoisted himself up. The Hand was folded shut. He knew it wasn’t active so it wasn’t going anywhere, and that helped a lot. He looked up again to see her surprised grin and five seconds later was in the cage with her.
He said, “Four-two,” and let go of the railing.
“What?”
“I’m keeping score. I’m four, you’re two.”
“Score of what? Wait, I’m losing?”
“Sure are, baby.” He spun her around and clipped the battery pack to her shorts. Then he ran his hand up her back, under her shirt, threading the mic cords from the battery pack to her earpiece.
Rielle shivered as his knuckles grazed up her spine, flicking over her bra strap.
When he leant into her and said, “Done,” in her ear, she spun around to face him.
“Taken any Zanect today, Jake?”
He smiled, “Nope.” She looked puzzled, definitely a point to him. Maybe even a bonus point for difficulty. The thought made him laugh as he grabbed the railing to start his descent.
She stepped up close behind him. “My turn.” She fanned her palms over his mid back and up to his shoulders where she tucked her fingers into the neck of his t-shirt and pressed her body against his. There was no suppressing his groan of delight.
From the ground where he was micing Ceedee, Teflon watched Jake. When Ceedee moved off, he elbowed Lizard and jerked his chin up to indicate the Hand. “How long’s that been going on?”
“Fucked if I know,” said Lizard, mouth dropping open as he stared up at Rielle and Jake.
“What are we looking at? Aw, what the fuck?” said Bodge joining them. “How long’s that been going on?”
“Yeah, that’s what we wanna know,” said Teflon.
The three of them watched as Jake turned back to face Rielle. She pulled a thread on the shoulder seam of his t-shirt and it unravelled, opening a flap in the cotton at his neck. They watched as she stood on tiptoe and dropped a kiss on the skin revealed under the torn shirt and Jake’s head tipped back as she nuzzled close.
“Geez, get a room,” said Lizard.
“I’m too old to watch this,” growled Bodge. But he kept watching.
“I’m not,” said Teflon, “bring it on!”
They were still watching when Jake jumped the last few steps to the stage floor, “What?” He walked towards them, knowing full well he’d been sprung.
“You gettin’ a bit, Reedy?” asked Lizard.
Jake was trying to fold the torn neckline of the shirt to stop it flapping, but gave up. “Cheap tour shirt,” he said, ignoring Lizard and the whole issue until Bodge clapped a big hand on his shoulder, and gave the loose cotton flap a tug, widening the hole.
“You be good to that girl, Reedy, or you’ll be worried about more than a torn shirt.”
Lizard stepped up, grabbed the shirt flap, pulled, and over the sound of ripping cotton said, “Yeah, what Bodge said.”
“Hey!” Jake tucked his chin down. The rip in the cotton opened the t-shirt to his mid-chest.
“Ah Reedy mate, the quality of the roadies on this tour, all arse, no class,” said Teflon, holding up his hands, shaking his head, aiming to give off a superior air. He went to walk past Jake, but at the last moment spun back, grabbed his shirt front and tore the rip wider.
“Shit!” His shirt almost in two halves now and most of the cast and crew were laughing at him.
Glen called out, “Jake, that’s a safety hazard mate. You wanna work on my crew, you can’t be wearing that. Next thing you know it’ll get caught on something and strangle you.”
“What the fuck, Glen?” He laughed.
“You heard me mate. You’re a safety hazard.” Glen scratched his head, looked about furtively, as though hoping to avoid being overheard. “Our tour manager is a bit of a bastard, runs