Chapter 12

He took the first step four beats after the music started. The opening was all arm sweeps and leg extensions, nothing taxing, nothing original. Sweet moved around him in what would be Jack’s part, like the little yippy terrier he’d seen in that Warner Brothers cartoon last year. And the last thing Paul wanted to be compared to was a hulking, bruiser of a bulldog.

“I’m going to look like bloody Chester if you make me do that,” Jack complained loudly before the music was even through.

Paul winced at the echoing of his own thoughts—the apt echoing of his own thoughts. He dutifully finished the number, sighing with relief when the music finally stopped. “See? Even Jack gets it.”

“Then we’ll take it up with Jesson,” Sweet started.

“You really want to go running to him instead of working with us on this?” Paul asked.

“Least let us show you what it could be.” Jack hopped up from the chair and slid it out of their way. “Jesson’ll want options, if nothing else.”