“Not those kinds of wings, silly.”
Then Nigel remembered Phil’s eagle tattoo. He hadn’t told Tracy about that. Maybe she was really onto something. Nigel’s heart began to beat faster.
He’d immediately raided his wardrobe, and over the video link, Tracy had advised him what would have the maximum impact on Mr Muscles as she called Phil. “For a gay man your fashion sense is terrible,” she sighed when Nigel hauled out a multi-coloured silk shirt he’d bought during an extended layover in Sydney the previous year. “Black is your colour, darling.”
“I don’t want him to walk past me because he can’t see me if it’s dark in this pub.”
Tracy shook her head and from over four thousand miles away, picked each item of his ensemble. “All you need now is a haircut and a splash or two of that aftershave I bought you for your last birthday, and you’ll have Mr Muscles well and truly hooked.”