But unfortunately for me, he only extends his arm, and points. “That’s our old place, just there.”

  “Kentish down? Just there?” It’s nothing but a small conglomeration of yellowy lights where he’s pointing, and I have no chance of making out our old flat in the dark, but it’s nice to know it’s so close. Some piece of the two of us. Some London history that spans across different realities, that we shared, almost as though we lived there together. A pin drop in time and space that marks ‘us.’

  “I had no idea we’re so close to it. But we got the Jubilee Line out. Where even are we?”

  He looks at me with an amused frown. “Primrose Hill.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, we’re just… Didn’t you ever come up here?”

  “Not once.”

  “Call yourself a Londoner.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Back over there,” he points past my shoulder, “is my place. But down there,” his arm stretches out, “is Camden.” With that last word, he raises an eyebrow and adds a cheeky grin. “You know, I’ve just had the best idea.”

  “Oh, have you? Just now? Just this exact second?”

  He ignores my insinuation, speaking casually, “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk. Ten if we’re fast.”

  “And what did you have in mind?”

  “Just a drink or two. Nothing outrageous. We’ll have you back in your basement by midnight.”

  Bad idea.

  Very bad idea.

  “I don’t want to miss the last train.”

  “God, no. That would be terrible.” He climbs to his feet. “You’d have to stumble back home to my place, drunk. We might even have to catch the dawn up here in the cold along the way. Sounds awful.”

  “Awful,” I mutter, even if my skin’s on fire at the idea he might have had a similar vision to the one that’s just assailed me: him riding my cock, rasping my name, me fisting his dick until he comes all over that nice tight shirt of his as the sun dawns on a new day.

  He holds his hand out. “Will you come?”

  “What?”

  “Will you come?”

  “What?”

  “August, will you come to Camden with me? Right now? Please?”

  “Um…” Really a very bad and terrible idea. Awful.

  But I’m so flustered by that filthy scene in my mind I can hardly talk. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess… w-we could…”

  “Perfect.” He grabs my hand, and before I can think up an excuse, he’s pulled me to my feet, and I have to run to not fall after him as he sprints down Primrose Hill.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GOOD AUGUST

  KICKSTART MY HEART

  This probably isn’t smart, but he’s the super genius, not me. I take no responsibility for bad ideas. I just hope he won’t be too mad.

  I’ve barely been able to think straight all day, ever since he rolled his sleeves like that. His nice wrists and his nice shirt and those slutty glasses, every time he pushed them up with his instructive index finger.

  I’ve got it so bad for this guy.

  He’s still holding my hand, letting me lead him along, and it feels as if I’ve grabbed hold of a live defibrillator. Or, what I imagine that would feel like. The lyrics of ‘Kickstart My Heart’ by Mötley Crüe drift in and out of my brain as my feet pound the Camden pavement, moving August along as quickly as I can.

  I know there’s something going on between us. You don’t call a man beautiful beneath the stars while discussing lonely space probes and not expect it to mean something.

  Sure, it’s possible I’ve got my wires crossed, but there’s only one way to find out: a whole lot of alcohol.

  Yes, I’m broke. But I happen to know a place where we’re on the door, so that means free drinks.

  Of course the very moment we step into the glow of the venue’s sign, his hand slips from mine and he stops dead in his tracks. “Koko?”

  Yeah, okay, maybe he doesn’t want to see my ex. Neither do I, but needs must. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  “No. Look, I think I’ll⁠—”

  “No, no, you can’t go home.” I sweep his hand back up. He lets me, which is a great sign as far as I’m concerned. “We’re on the door. We’ll just slip in, find a quiet corner, and hang out. Just us. He’ll never even know we’re here.”

  Hearing the words on my lips slaps a reminder into me that I’m talking like this is a done deal, like the reason he doesn’t want to see Jon is because of whatever I hope is going on between us, and not just because Jon was a total wanker this morning.

  But then a new worry clouds my mind, and I have to ask, “You do like Bon Jovi, don’t you?”

  “I am human,” he retorts, with a reassuring suggestion of offence taken.

  “Great! Then we go inside, listen to a few songs, have some drinks on them. That’s all. Come on. Please?” I feel the breath of his sigh on my cheek, and if I had it in me, I’d step right up and kiss his lips to seal the deal. But I can’t do anything except tug at his hand, and try to hide how big my grin is when he stumbles, one, two, three steps after me.

  There isn’t much of a line, so it’s only seconds before we step into the dark and heat of the venue. We check our coats, then it’s time for drinks. I’m about to ask what he wants when, “August?” a voice shouts.

  My heart sinks.

  “August!” shouts another.

  I’m flung backward with the momentum of Amber smacking into me for a huge hug. As quickly as I realise she’s already under my arm, August’s shoulder hits mine from a matching shock, Shashi having thrown her head against his chest in the same movement.

  He raises his hands as if he’s found a leech attached to himself, and the coldness makes Shashi’s head snap up. She stares at him, looks across at Amber, follows the line of Amber’s linked arms up my body and to my face, then, “What the fuck?”

  Amber slides away as quickly as Shashi does, and the two of them stand there gawping at us.

  “It’s me,” I say. “I’m your August.”

  Both take a small step towards me, eyes on August like he’s an alien. Which I guess he kind of is.

  “This is Amber and Shashi,” I attempt, trying to catch his eye, but he’s busy scrutinising Shashi, who’s busy scrutinising him with her deep brown, deeply lined, heavily mascaraed eyes. “This is my cousin.”

  “Your cousin!” Amber cries. “Yes! Jon said he looks like you, but this is… Wow.”

  “Yeah, we do look slightly similar. In the dark.”

  “You look exactly the same,” Shashi mutters, and I watch her fast mind gathering intel, comparing shoulder heights, eye colour, scanning our hands and our shoes, but she does it all without sound and barely a movement, nothing but the clank of ice in the gin and tonic she twists around in circles.

  I feel as though we’ve done something wrong. Like we’re about to get caught. But last I checked, there’s no rule about hanging out with your double. Even if you have a crush on him. Even if you…

  Fuck.

  If we sleep together, is that incest?

  “Jon asked us to wait out here for you,” Amber says, her tone a little more conspiratorial than I’d like.

  I can’t meet August’s eyes when her words bring his attention to me. “Well, that’s weird,” I reply, perhaps a bit testily. “We’re not together anymore,” I add, perhaps a bit pointedly.

  “I said you wouldn’t come,” Shashi interjects, still scrutinising August.

  “I almost didn’t. But I thought…” What did I think? Nothing to do with Jon, that’s for sure. “We just stopped in for a few free drinks. We probably won’t stay for the whole thing.” But now I can’t help but glance over at August. I’m practically begging him to suggest we go somewhere else. Somewhere private. My place or his. I really wouldn’t care if he’d just stay with me.

  Fuck, that came off as desperate.

  It’s fine. It’s not like he can hear me.

  He certainly can’t, because to my great surprise, he nods towards the bar and asks, “Should we go through?”

  “We’ll meet you.” Amber’s quick to grab Shashi’s hand, and her red hair swishes in the light when she turns away, then gets caught in her eyelashes when she looks back at me. In an instant, her arms are around my neck, and she plants a huge, cherry-red kiss on my lips, before leaning her head back to stare into my eyes. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, Amber.” And I did. A lot. Her and Shashi and the whole thing. All of what I lost in the breakup. But then she’s off, and I know where she’s gone, so I take August’s hand and lead him to the bar, deep into the middle of the thickest crowd of people.

  He hasn’t tried to stop me, and he hasn’t tried to ask me about any of it, and my mind’s reeling. Yes, this was a terrible idea. Maybe we should leave. But I can’t send him off home on this note, and I’m not taking him to some dodgy quiet pub to try to talk this through.

  I order two beers, and four shots of raspberry vodka, because why the fuck not? I’m so anxious about this whole mess I’m pulling us deeper into. I just want him to… I don’t know. “Drink?”

  I shove a small, sickly shot at him. The support band’s still playing, and maybe I picked the noisiest bar in the venue to give myself some breathing space.

  He doesn’t look convinced by the shot, and if it’s too loud for him to argue about it, that’s perfect. He takes the drink, taps it against mine, then we throw them back. I’ve got the next one in my hand a second later, pushing it into his.

  His frown has a touch of humour, and I’m glad to see it. He takes the drink, we tap, we drink. Then I’m honestly about to order another to keep myself distracted when he takes my hand. His strides are as fast as they can be, working us out of the crush of the crowd.

  I guess he knows his way around here too. Why wouldn’t he? The place has been here forever. I wonder how many bands he’s seen here in his world.

  He takes me up the back, into the dark, up the stairs, and pulls me into one of the small rooms, tiny, empty, sticky, just a few red velour chairs and a thick, transparent-plastic wall to look down onto the stage. Then he turns to me and asks, point blank, “What’s going on?”

  Wow. Look at that carpet. It’s really very interesting. Red. “I don’t know. Nothing?”

  “Who’s that girl?”

  “Amber or Shashi?”

  “The girl who kissed you,” he snaps.

  “Oh.” I make myself meet his eyes. “That’s Amber.”

  “And what is she? Is she… Are you…” He glares at the doorway. “Should I leave?”

  “Leave?” My mind is so scattered right now, cold and hot and maths all day and this man who is me, and all my feelings for him, and he won’t kiss me, and the two shots hit me suddenly, and…

  Is he jealous?

  Fuck, that’s hot.

  Should I make him more jealous?

  “Is she another ex? Is she…” He’s looking over at the stage, where the last band’s just finished, and the flash of lights on his face in profile reveals a storm.

  Maybe I’m too honest for my own good. “She’s nothing like that. She’s just a friend.”

  “Just a friend who kisses you on the lips?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s a little more complicated…”

  “Complicated how?” He moves to the alcove of the window, where he sits with his arms folded, giving me a half side-eye.

  But there’s space next to him.

  As fucked up as it probably is, I like him mad at me. Maybe because it’s solid. Maybe because I really am an attention whore. Maybe I’ll look into therapy sometime.

  When I sit next to him, I hold my beer on my thigh like it’s a shield, playing with the wet label. “It’s… so…” I take a sip. “So Jon’s… Amber’s…” Another sip.

  He hasn’t said a word. His eyes are dark, and he’s watching my every move, that tension all about him.

  “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “In the simplest way possible.”

  “Okay. So. Amber and Shashi are… I don’t want to say ‘groupies’ because they’re more than that. But they’re groupies.”

  He mulls over the words for a moment before his lips part. “Was he fucking her when he was with you?”

  The words are harsh and don’t play around. That’s the scientist in him. And I like that. Usually. But I also don’t. Because it’s gone from the game of a jealous guy I like to a cold and clinical lab table, ready for an autopsy. “Yeah, he was fucking both of us.” I rush to add, “But it wasn’t like you think.”

  “And she’s okay with that, treating you like that?” He’s pissed off now, at the wrong person entirely. He should be pissed at me. I can’t even explain this. Not without explaining it. Which is pretty much the last thing I ever wanted to do.

  “I’m okay with it,” is my perfectly pathetic attempt at calming him. “It’s just the way things were. It wasn’t just Amber, like you think. Or Shashi. It was whoever else was around. But often them… all of us. Um.”

  When I can stand to glance over at him, he looks like someone’s dipped him in plastic, all pale and still and hard.

  Jesus Christ. Way to turn him from jealous to repulsed.

  “It was… J-Jon said…” I stutter out, ripping at my beer label. “See, he didn’t want to cheat on me, he said. So he wanted me there too. And then it was all aboveboard, you know? Because he couldn’t just be with one person because that’s not who he is. But you need to understand, he’s a rock star⁠—”

  “He thinks he is.”

  “He is. And I don’t know how much you know about the music industry⁠—”

  “I know orgies aren’t part and parcel of the life or success of a band,” he virtually spits at me. “He used you. What the fuck, August? How can you let him treat you like that?”

  “No, it’s not like that.” Fuck. Why am I even bothering to explain this? He looks about as angry as I’ve felt with myself for so long now. And here I am defending Jon, and August’s eyes are pure rage. “God, you hate me now.”

  “I don’t!”

  But before either of us can say another word, “August!” Amber’s in the room, Shashi leaning in the doorway, staring at August with that intense look of hers. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. He needs you.”

  What the fuck now?

  She manages to get me standing with the sharp tug she gives me, but I plant my feet firmly. “I’m busy. Tell him I can’t come.”

  She wrenches me again, and I step back to fight her off while she rattles out, “No, no, you don’t understand. He’s refusing to go on stage until he sees you. He needs you to go back there and tell him it’s all good.”

  For fuck’s sake!

  “It’s not all good!” I shout at her, which I shouldn’t do. And that makes me feel briefly bad before I remind her, “We broke up!” And I really think I’m saying that more for August’s sake than for hers, because I can feel him slipping away from me. God, this was such a bad idea. But he needs to know, “Jon and I are through. I don’t have any feelings for him anymore. I’m totally single and I’m totally available, and I’m ready to move on. And if there was someone here who wanted to do that, I wouldn’t be going back there with Jon, because I don’t care about him anymore. I’m just here for the free drinks!”

  Shashi’s perfectly drawn eyebrows lower. “That was highly specific.”

  Was it?

  Shit. Shit, fuck, shit!

  But Amber’s not giving up, black fingernails wrapped around my wrists, dragging me as hard as she can. “This is an emergency. You can’t let him do this.”

  “Why’d you tell him I’m here?”

  “I couldn’t lie to him!”

  “You didn’t have to say anything at all! Amber, I don’t want to see him. I’m done.”

  Her hands land on my chest, smoothing over my shirt like it’s so many feathers she’s ruffled. “I know. I know! But look at this crowd. You can’t let him throw a London show just because you’re mad at him.”

  “Let him?” A disbelieving laugh gurgles up out of me. “I’m not ‘mad’ at him. I’m just finished with him. He’s not my responsibility anymore. I don’t want his moods. And I don’t want his midnight calls. And I don’t want to be the reason he goes on stage or not. This is bullshit. And you can have all his bullshit now, and all this guilt. Honestly, I don’t even care anymore. I just want him to give my keys back so I can be done with him.”

  “August!” The sound’s loud and slurred and just about sends me into a complete spiral. Amber jumps back by Shashi’s side, then in a swish of tassels and scarves and hair, there’s Jon.

  He doesn’t even put down the half-drunk bottle of whiskey, only throws himself on my chest, then slips down to his knees, pushing his forehead against my pelvis, and on a breath of pure alcohol that I can smell all the way up here, declares, “I love you, August. I love you, baby. Don’t leave me. I can’t go on without you.”

  “Jon. Jesus fuck, get off me!”

  “No.” He scrunches his head back and forth, and that disgusted raise of August’s top lip is making this ten thousand times more mortifying than it would ordinarily be, which is a lot. “No. I can’t do it,” Jon wails. “I need you, baby. I need you back.”

  What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do? This is the kind of scene I would have found touching once. My messed-up need to be needed. But now all I see is this fucked-up man-child who wants me to be responsible for his life choices. Who needs constant reassurance from me when he gets it from everyone else around him at the same time anyway.

  “Jon, you’re fine.” I say it softly but firmly. “Go do your show.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that, man. Don’t. Remember Brooklyn? Remember all the good times we had?”

  Why does he have to do all this in front of August? August, who I only brought here to try to get him tipsy enough to kiss me. Now that’s completely off the fucking table. “Stop it, Jon. Get up.”

  “I won’t⁠—”