me; I think he’s contemplating what I’ve just said about coppers versus tenners while I’m wondering what his lips taste like. I use every jot of common sense and common decency to cast the thought aside.
‘Fair enough,’ he agrees, nodding his approval. ‘You know, no one has ever pointed that out to me before.’
Someone should open a window; it’s really stifling in here. I can feel my cheeks flush with colour. ‘Duh, isn’t it obvious? Who do you normally play with?’ I ask.
‘My band, my crew, you know, the gang.’
‘Well, I hope you’re paying them well,’ I say as I reach for my purse. I look inside; not unsurprisingly it’s empty except for a serious stack of loyalty cards and a button which came off my jacket last week. ‘Bugger, I haven’t even got coppers. How about we play for matchsticks?’ I suggest. ‘That’s what my family did when we were kids.’
Scott smiles. ‘Did any of your family end up in prison on charges of arson?’
‘No, but my brother Jake is doing bird for some dodgy deal he was involved in. He was distributing pirate DVDs,’ I admit thoughtlessly.
Scott doesn’t skip a beat but continues to deal the cards.
Oh. My. God. What made me say that? I never rush to reveal Jake’s stock trade. It’s hardly likely to impress anyone; usually this choice piece of family history has the opposite effect. Cards are a good idea. I can concentrate on hearts versus clubs, spades versus diamonds and stop with the moronic twittering and inappropriate reveals. I cannot believe that I am sat here with Scottie Taylor. We are sharing the same air, imagine that! He’s a legend. A god. I wish to hell I’d made an effort this morning. What made me think it was a good idea to come to the gig without even a wisp of makeup? I must be clinically insane. He’s pretty unkempt too but he’s wearing it much better. He hasn’t shaved this morning and his hair is dishevelled; he looks as though he’s just got out of bed. The thought makes me ache with something horribly close to longing. No, it can’t be. That’s just not right. I have a boyfriend. I can’t start to feel anything like longing for anyone other than Adam. I’m just naturally curious because Scottie Taylor is a pop star, that’s all. Doesn’t every woman want to know what Scottie Taylor’s hair feels like, what his tongue tastes of, what his sheets smell of? Just theoretically, of course. I wouldn’t dream of… I don’t mean, I’d ever… I have Adam. Deep breath. Deep breath. Just concentrate.
I’m actually really good at cards and know loads of games, thanks to endless caravan holidays in Britain with my family when I was a kid. We used to waste away countless wet hours playing a hand. I suggest we play German whist, a good two-player card game. Scottie knows it and agrees. Scottie plays with an admirable and steady determination too. I wonder where he learnt. I’d guess working men’s clubs when he was knee high to a garden gnome. I know from stuff I’ve read that his mum was a cabaret singer in pubs and he and his brother were dragged around with her from an early age. Scottie became an entertainer, his brother is an accountant. I guess his brother was watching the till as Scottie was learning to sing and play cards. We both concentrate on the game and say very little to start with. That suits me; I need to gather my thoughts. It’s a good game, we’re equally matched and each admires the other’s skill.
‘You bluffer,’ says Scottie with delight as I successfully beat him with a fairly average hand because he folded.
I scoop up his pile of matchsticks with the same pleasure as I would if we had been playing for tenners – well, almost. As I scoop my booty, he deals the next hand and his fingertips accidentally brush the cuff of my top – causing a sensation similar to riding a white-knuckle ride at a theme park. All my body parts get confused; the bits that I keep in my pants leap into my mouth, my breasts defy gravity as they seem to chase him round the room and my eyes dart to his, even though I know the last thing we should do is make eye contact. Eyes are dangerous. We silently stare at one another for some time. I’m not sure how long.