“Mind?Baby, everything is about to get so much better.” I tug at her hair. “Especiallyfor you.”
Her flush deepens. She nabs the cheesiest chip out of my fingers and smiles sweetly when I glare at her.
A cry goes up in the distance, and we both turn and watch as fireworks start flashing through the sky further down the river. Big bursts of red and gold and green, showering sparks down over the water. I know from experience that they’re coming from Trafalgar Square. I take another deep drag of beer, watching the bright lights pop and scatter.
“What do you think the fireworks are for?” Beth asks through a mouthful of melted cheddar.
“Eid. Ramadan just ended.”
She looks up at me, licking grease off her fingers. “How do you know that?”
“My grandparents are Muslim.”
“Did you used to celebrate Eid?”
I nod. “My whole family did. Everyone will probably be in Trafalgar right now, watching the show.”
It’s weird to know that they’re so close. I could potentially go and join them. It’s just a twenty-minute ride on the Tube. In twenty minutes, I could be huddled up with them, staring up at the fireworks like when I was a little kid.
She glances up at me. “But not you?”
“Nope. Wasn’t invited.”
“Because of your job?”
“Among other things.” I scuff my feet against the pavement. “I believe being a ‘lazy sponger’ was also cited as a reason.” My voice is bitter.
“Lazy?” She tilts her head. “Is that why you got so upset with me a couple weeks ago? When I thought you didn’t work?”
I give her a grim smile, nabbing a chip. “Sorry. Sore spot.”
She laughs. “I’ll say. For the record, it’s pretty shitty to get annoyed at me for thinking that you’re unemployed whenyou’re literally hiding your jobfrom me.”
I groan. “I know. I was a knob. Just hit too close to home, I guess.”
She links her arm through mine. “Why do they think you’re lazy?”
“Don’t you?”
“Um, no.” Her cheeks colour. “I think your job has you working up a pretty solid sweat.”
God, she’s so cute. “But it’s easy,” I protest. “Stripping is easier than office jobs. It’s easier than working a nine-to-five, then going home and spending all night working overtime. Like Seb and Jack.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Not for me. I’d find working an office job a million times easier. Especially at the level you do it.” She pops another chip in her mouth. “How did you get started with dancing, anyway? Jack said you met at uni. You didn’t want a job in Com Sci?”
“That was originally the plan.” We start walking again, trailing slowly down the street. “My mum’s a GP, my dad is an orthopaedic surgeon. They assumed I’d take my degree and work for NASA, or the CIA, or some shit.”
She pulls a face.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She stabs a chip and pokes it at my mouth. “I just can’t imagine you sitting behind a desk, is all.”
My lip twists. “Well, neither could I. I tried, though.” Fuck, did I try. I look out at the water, watching the coloured lights flash over the surface.
She puts her head on my arm. “Cy?”
“I never graduated,” I admit. “Dropped out in my fourth year, a few months before my final exams.”