Flirty.

He gets back on the stage, walks off, and walks back on, taking a bow. The clapping continues, and when he rises, he smiles wide before his body starts to shimmer and disappear. What the hell? Was that a projection? Then the real Jay walks out from backstage, taking the same bow the projection Jay just took. The cheering deafens me as I rise with everyone else to give him a standing ovation.

This might just be the best show I’ve ever seen.

The house lights come on, and people begin to gather their things, slowly exiting the venue or going to get one last drink from the bar.

“That was flipping amazing,” says Michelle. “My brain is hurting trying to figure out all those tricks. I think I just need to give up. The man is a genius.”

I rub at my arms, trying to get rid of the goose bumps, and they aren’t from the cold. Jay exudes charisma and sex appeal when he’s on the stage. It sort of leaves you feeling empty when the show is over.

“Yeah, he definitely thinks in a different way to the rest of us,” I say just as Jessie turns up.

“Hey. Did you enjoy the show?” she asks, all out of breath.

“Of course! I’ve never seen anything like it,” I exclaim as she links one arm through mine and the other through Michelle’s.

“Come with me, ladies. We’re having a small after-party backstage, and you’re both invited.”

Thirteen

Leading us past the staff doors behind the bar, Jessie brings us down a short corridor and into a VIP room with red walls, black velvet chairs, and glass tables. Jay is standing on the opposite side of the room, signing autographs for a bunch of Goth teenagers. The only other people are two men and an older woman who are sitting at a table having drinks and chatting animatedly. They’re dressed in black like Jessie, so I’m thinking they’re more members of Jay’s stage crew.

“Oh, come on, just tell us how you two did the change when Jay put on that scary mask,” Michelle urges, trying to get Jessie to reveal some secrets.

“You know what?” Jessie chuckles. “The fucker actually had me sign a contract for confidentiality, so I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to, babe.”

Michelle pouts, and Jessie asks her if she wants a drink. My friend tells her yes with a little too much of a flirtatious tone for my liking. Michelle is a great friend, but she’ll flirt with anyone who gives her compliments, male or female. I just hope Jessie is wise enough to see that.

I catch Jay’s eye just as he signs his last autograph and a bouncer comes to escort the teenagers from the room. He’s still topless and sweaty from the show as he strides over to me.

“I shouldn’t be speaking to you,” I say, poking him in the chest with my finger. It’s not an excuse to touch his bare, sweaty skin, I promise.

He chuckles, giving me an indulgent look. “Why not?”

“Because you made me a part of your act and never gave me any warning! You know I don’t like the attention.”

Now he wears a cynical, amused expression. “You loved it.”

“I did not,” I say firmly, folding my arms.

He steps closer now, looming over me, and he smells incredible. I hate that he smells incredible. His voice dips low when he takes my chin and lifts it so that I have to look him in the eye. “You fucking loved it.”

I pull away quickly. “Whatever. I’m going to get a drink.”

“Help yourself,” he says, following me as I locate a bottle of wine on a table full of drinks and start to pour. When I sit down at the table with everyone else, Jay slides in beside me, a whiskey in his hand. He still hasn’t gone to clean up or put a shirt on. Is he trying to kill me?

Jessie introduces me and Michelle to everyone else. They include Ger, the sound and light guy; Ricky, the stage coordinator; and Sharon, props and wardrobe. I feel Jay scoot a little closer as the conversation drifts around me.

I talk to Sharon for a while, interested in how she got into the whole wardrobe business. I’m actually a little jealous of her, to be honest. She has my dream job. Although Jay doesn’t have too many complicated outfit changes, so perhaps it would be my dream job if he decided to wear something a little more flamboyant. Let’s just say, if John Barrowman’s stylist up and quit, I would sell my left kidney to get the gig.

“You still pissed with me, Watson?” he asks after a while.

I roll my eyes and give him a smile as I slur, “No. I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

“Are you drunk?”

Holding up my thumb and forefinger, I answer, “Just a little bit.”

He chuckles. “I’d better keep my eye on you, then, huh?”

I don’t answer. Can’t. There’s quiet between us before I break it. “I just don’t get how you can do all that stuff. I mean, how did you make the fire rise from your hands?”

Jay tilts head to me. “I’d like to hear your theory.”

I rub at my chin. “My guess would be that you had tubing somewhere on your body containing lighter fluid, and then flint somewhere else that helped you light it. But the flames were so big, so it had to be more powerful than that.”

His eyes crinkle at the sides as he smiles at me. “You know what my secret is?” he whispers and I perk up, eager for him to actually reveal something.

“I have an obsessive fixation with obscure science. Most people only care about the final result. They don’t think about the way things work. They don’t consider how their laptop manages to perform its tasks or how their fridge keeps their food cold — they just want a functioning computer and fresh food. That’s how I get ahead. I think about what I want to do…for example, make fire rise from the palms of my hands…and I work my way backward. Or sometimes I’ll be reading and come across an interesting fact, and I’ll come up with a way to make it work to my advantage.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as you’re making out. Most people wouldn’t be able to do what you do, even if they did think backward. I know I couldn’t.”

“Well, I couldn’t design and make a dress that fits perfectly, so we’re even,” he says, clinking his glass with mine.

I cross my arms, happy with his compliment. Not many people know about my dressmaking, mainly because it’s such a solitary occupation, so it’s nice to get some props for my efforts. I imagine if my mum was still alive, she’d be proud that I’d continued on the skill she gave to me.

“So, tell me more. I want to know some obscure facts.”

“Well,” says Jay, lifting my hand and turning it over. He starts to run his finger along the veins on the inside of my arm, and I have to cover up a tremble. “If I said you were 60,000 miles long, I’d technically be telling the truth, because there are 60,000 miles of blood vessels inside your body.”

I scrunch up my mouth. “Really? Don’t tell me that. Now I feel squeamish. That’s a lot of veins.”

His eyes travel to my mouth, and he lifts his thumb to smooth out my lips. “You exchange more germs when you shake a person’s hand than when you kiss them,” he murmurs.

“Oh,” I whisper, having one of those crazy moments again when I think he might kiss me. Like always, though, he doesn’t. He seems to welcome the distraction when Jessie suggests that we all play a game of strip poker.

“Ha! No way am I playing that with you two,” I say, pointing between her and Jay. “I’ve seen you both shuffle a deck of cards, and it’s frightening how fast you are.”

“That’s right,” Jessie replies, grinning in Michelle’s direction. “I’ve got lightning fingers.”

Because I’m drunk, I imagine little lightning bolts shooting out of her hands, and it makes me chuckle to myself. I stop quickly, though, not wanting to come across like a creepy “laugh at my own private jokes” creeper.

Jay nudges me with his shoulder. “When have you seen me shuffle a deck?”

“In those videos I watched of you, remember?”