Wild Thing. Nicola Marsh
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you call her Mak, you’ve known her longer than me?’ Tanner’s smirk didn’t hide his blatant curiosity.
Hudson could lie. But he didn’t bullshit Tanner. They’d been through too much together, from the time they were at Kings Cross High, two misfits without mothers, trying to do the best they could with asshole fathers.
‘Mak and I go way back,’ he said, rubbing the tension cramping his neck muscles. ‘When I was working the clubs at the Cross, our paths crossed constantly because her mum danced and waitressed there. We became friends.’
Tanner must’ve sensed the seriousness behind his declaration, because he stared straight ahead rather than grinning like an idiot. ‘How come you never mentioned her back then?’
Because Mak had been all his. The one bright spot in his lousy world. Someone he could confide in, someone who understood the daily battles of growing up in the Cross, because she faced them too.
But he didn’t say any of this to Tanner. Instead, Hudson shrugged. ‘I didn’t want you giving me shit. She’s younger than me and I wanted to protect her.’
‘A regular Sir Galahad,’ Tanner scoffed, the lame-ass grin returning. ‘What happened?’
‘We had a falling out.’ Massive understatement considering the blowout they’d had the night he’d stumbled upon her stripping. ‘Haven’t seen her in years.’
A speculative gleam made Tanner lean closer. ‘So you two haven’t...you know?’
‘No.’
Not that he hadn’t wanted to. But Mak had been off-limits due to her age—and her naivety, if he were completely honest. She’d radiated an innocence that shone bright in an otherwise grimy world. A world of pimps, prostitutes, drugs and strippers. A world he’d worked in out of necessity but had done his damnedest not to let taint him.
It was one of the many reasons he’d flipped out that night he’d seen her gyrating naked on stage.
That, and because of his mum.
‘Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, man. Makayla’s a bombshell and if I were single I’d take a shot at—’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
‘Whoa, easy, big fella.’ Tanner held up his hands. ‘Just giving my opinion. And if you overreact like that to a simple suggestion, I advise you to get laid, pronto.’
Hudson wouldn’t give his doofus friend the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t far off the mark. What with getting this show off the ground, he hadn’t had time to date lately. In fact, it had to be at least three months since he’d had sex. Maybe that was the reason he’d wanted to bound onto the stage and drag Mak into the nearest dressing room when he’d first seen her up there ten minutes ago?
Yeah, like that was the only reason.
‘I need to organise call-backs so if you’ll excuse me I’ve got work to do.’ He brandished the clipboard at Tanner, who grinned as if he could see right through his feeble excuse.
‘Get laid, buddy. It takes the edge off.’ Tanner stood and clapped him on the back. ‘According to Abby, Mak hasn’t dated anyone in ages, so you two should get reacquainted.’
His glare was lost on Tanner as his friend sauntered away, lifting his hand in farewell. Damned if Tanner’s advice didn’t resonate.
He’d love to put the past behind and move forward with Mak. But how could he approach her as a friend, when she’d just nailed the lead dancer role in his show?
He might have found his leading lady but once he told her, it ensured they could never be anything but professional.
Mak’s talent had floored him. She deserved this role.
So where the hell did that leave him?
BY THE TIME Makayla made it back to Le Miel to start her shift she’d managed to come up with forty-three different ways she could make Hudson hurt.
Decapitation, evisceration, circumcision...not that she knew if he needed the latter or not, considering they’d never got that far, but she’d be willing to do it without anaesthetic.
His laconic, trite ‘we’ll be in touch’ mocked her, echoing through her head until she’d thumped the steering wheel of her car several times. It hadn’t helped. Hopefully, venting to Abby would.
Because if Makayla knew one thing, Hudson wouldn’t call her. After the way they’d parted five years earlier, he had no freaking intention of calling her. Ever.
Even if he did, would she accept the job? Could she work with the guy who’d judged her and found her lacking, effectively ending their friendship?
She’d heard the rumours on the entertainment grapevine. That landing the lead gig at Embue could be a good segue into the latest dance extravaganza staging at the Opera House in a few months. And from there...well, dancing at the Sydney icon would look mighty fine on her CV if she ever made it to Broadway.
Broadway...her dream since she’d donned her first tutu and slipped on her first tap shoes.
Growing up, she’d spent countless hours poring over the Internet, watching video clips of shows at the many theatres in midtown Manhattan, wishing she could be a part of it.
Her mum had never scoffed at her dreams. Instead, Julia Tarrant had fostered her love of all things dance, spending every cent she earned on Makayla’s dance lessons. It wasn’t until her mum had died that Makayla realised the extent of her mum’s sacrifice: Julia had no savings, but a detailed record of where her money had gone over the years. A budget that indicated Julia’s love for her daughter.
Makayla had adored her mum and discovering she couldn’t afford a decent send-off...it had driven her to take drastic action and accept that stripping job for one evening only.
The night Hudson had lost the plot and their friendship had imploded.
‘Ugh,’ she muttered, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stomach her usual beignet and cappuccino before she started her shift.
Of all people to audition for, it had to be Hudson.
What the hell was he doing anyway, producing a dance show at Embue? Back then he’d been a gofer for the clubs at the Cross. Doing whatever jobs that came his way. He’d always talked about getting out when he was older, doing something in the club scene, so how did that equate to producing a stage show?
Entering the kitchen, she slammed the back door harder than intended, causing Abby to jump, the pastry brush in her hand clattering to the work bench.
‘Sheesh, what’s got your knickers in a knot?’ Abby waggled a finger. ‘Don’t you know it takes precision and genius to create the perfect lemon tartlet?’
Makayla rolled her eyes. ‘You could make pastries in your sleep and they’d still turn out delish, so quit your moaning.’
‘Ouch. Someone’s in a mood.’ Abby frowned as Makayla slumped onto the nearest stool and scowled. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’
‘I had an audition this morning. It didn’t go well.’ Makayla folded her arms, belatedly realising that not even the delicious aromas of cinnamon and sugar wafting from the ovens could lighten her mood today. ‘It was a biggie. And I danced my ass off.’
Concern creased Abby’s brow. ‘And they said no on the spot?’
‘Hudson said “we’ll be in touch”.’ She made inverted comma signs with her fingers. ‘But I know that’s BS.’
‘Hudson? I know a guy called—’
‘Yeah, he’s Tanner’s bestie. I didn’t