Page 14 of Gorilla in the Groove (Shamrock Safari Shifters #3)

"Yeah, we will. Fate wouldn't do us dirty like that. Are you coming to the competition tonight? I'll have them hold a ticket for you." Her face lit up a bit more. "I didn't think I'd have anybody to hold tickets for. I'm surprised how much it helps."

"I'll be there. And you'll be amazing."

Irina tossed her hair, trying to look snooty. "Heck yeah I will!"

"I'm not sure snobby people say 'heck,' macushla. You might have to use stronger language."

"Heck fire yes I will!"

Mick burst out laughing, and let Irina go so she could prep for the performance.

To his surprise, Mick wasn't the only person who showed up for Irina's reserved seating at the opera house.

Not only were there three people from the Marquee a couple nights earlier, but the woman who'd danced with Irina at the pub afterward was there, too.

She was dressed more casually than Mick himself, wearing close-fitting black knit clothes that looked like she could move easily in them, and with her sun-bleached tangled curls pulled up in a bouncy bun.

She offered Mick a hand as she came to sit down, saying, "Fiona O'Rourke, we met at Sin é. "

"Fiona," he said in delight. "Nice to meet you again. I'm Mick. Irina will be thrilled you came."

"A girl with feet like that deserves people cheering her on."

"I think she's got loads back home, but it's a long way, you know?"

"And Ireland's dead expensive, even for holidays," Fiona said with a sigh.

She dropped into the seat next to him, and Mick found that in the moments Irina wasn't on stage, he was watching Fiona more than the dancers.

She very clearly knew what she was about, with trad dancing, and her expressions flitted from approving to disapproving, from impressed to disdainful, from sympathetic to grimacing or grinning.

"They're bloody good," she murmured to Mick at the interval.

"But your Irina's among the best of them. What's her story?"

"Her nan was Irish," Mick said, unexpectedly proud to know enough to share. "She learned trad dancing from her when she was only little, and fell in love with it. This is the chance of a lifetime for her. The dance of a lifetime," he added with a smile.

"She's Irish, then? That's brilliant."

"She is, yeah. Like properly, citizenship and all. She didn't do well the other night," he added. "Or she wasn't judged well. Would you say she's good?"

Fiona eyed him momentarily. "I just said she's good. Would you know who the judges are?"

"Not by name. I met one yesterday. He looked like he'd been a dancer and sucked a lemon."

"Hah! Barry Hayes, I'd wager. He's a purist, that's the nicest word you'd call him. Even when we were dancing he didn't like that there were non-Irish girls in the ranks."

"Men didn't bother him?"

"There weren't as many, and more of them were Irish, so he could ignore the ones who weren't more easily."

"What a charmer."

Fiona rolled her eyes. "You've no idea. I'd love to talk to your Irina after the performance, though. Have you permission to go backstage?"

"I don't know." Mick took his phone out, texting Irina, though Fiona waved it off and settled back in her seat as the lights dimmed.

"It's no bother, they'll let me back and you with me."

Mick wished he had a minute to sneakily look Fiona O'Rourke up, since she clearly knew the dance industry inside and out, but instead, he tucked his phone away and waited with increasing anticipation for Irina to take the stage again.

She did, a few minutes later, in a solo number that had the crowd cheering and roaring their approval of her.

Mick found himself pounding the shoulder of the lad next to him, who'd come with two girls to support Irina herself, and the lad pounded his shoulder back, as if they were at a match, not a dance concert.

When a breathless Irina took her bow, the cheers rose again, and she bounced offstage joyously.

Others followed her, but none with the life and light that Irina had.

Not to Mick's eyes, anyway, and when he glanced toward Fiona, it seemed like she was assessing them with an eye to comparing their performances to Irina's.

As the evening wrapped up and the final scores were announced, this time it was clear that loads of the audience disapproved when Irina Zarabaka's placement was in the low middle third, not near the top.

Anger flushed through Mick as Irina's shoulders rounded with defeat, and at his side, Fiona clicked her tongue.

"Well, that's horseshit, so it is. Let's just step backstage, shall we, and have a bit of a chat with the judges." She rose and strode down the aisle with such confidence that people who were otherwise lingering or trying to exit the theatre themselves got out of her way without hesitation.

That's how people usually respond to us, his gorilla said approvingly. She should find a fierce, strong mate who is worthy of her.

Mick, scrambling after Fiona, couldn't help a brief smile. I'm sure she has exactly who she wants as a mate, he promised the gorilla. Whether that's having one, or not.

The gorilla clearly regarded the possibility that Fiona O'Rourke didn't have a mate as simply awful, although it did, after a moment, concede, It would be hard for her to find someone worthy.

Damn straight it would be. A minute later they were backstage, thanks to one stricken look from a stagehand who obviously recognized Fiona and decided not to take his life into his own hands by trying to stop her.

The backstage area was a tangle of tight but open spaces, lighting rigs, curtains, crowds, and darkness.

Mick had spent enough time backstage before gigs to be very aware that he needed to walk carefully, because he could send one of those rigs crashing over if he walked into it full force.

Not that they were badly balanced; it was just he was that big and strong, and the backstage area, small and busy.

Very busy, with loads of tiny women in sparkling costumes all crowded together. Mick searched for Irina with his gaze, not finding her until she suddenly blurted, "Mick," from behind him, and threw herself into his arms with a sob.