Chasing Alys

by Morgana Bevan

  “Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Gemma said in singsong.

  “Or not-so-secret, going by the look on her face,” Nick added. He was leaning around the monitor to get eyes on me. I rolled mine.

  “Three episodes in two weeks.” My voice cracked as I clicked my screen back to life. They didn’t need the reminder, but it did the trick. All eyes returned to their own screens, and I was left to beat my list.

  As the hours passed, I kept thinking. Developing strong feelings wouldn’t do either of us any good. I was certain I hadn’t made a mistake refusing him. With my dating luck, a long-distance relationship would be even harder. But the thought of never knowing the softer, unguarded side of him filled me with unwanted regret.

  That regret concerned me. I didn’t regret saying no to men. I shook them off and kept working. Doing that with Ryan was proving difficult. Keeping my distance was fruitless. He liked chasing me, and I liked being chased. We were both masochists barrelling towards a painful break. Despite knowing that, I couldn’t make myself stop.

  All I had to do was block his number and ignore any other deliveries. Sure, he might turn up at my flat, invited by Emily, but avoiding him until he went back to Glasgow would be relatively simple.

  There was no part of me that thought one night would end well, but there was some appeal in getting it over with and out of our systems.

  Only what if Ryan turned out to be the one person I couldn’t walk away from? Which would I regret more, sleeping with him or not?

  Not was my gut reaction.

  Less room for my imagination to run wild and keep me up at night. He could be terrible in bed. I doubted it, but I could dream.

  Wait! Was I actually considering it? It felt like I was.

  I sat blinking at my inbox, dumbfounded and unsure how to proceed. Did I text him? What would I even say? “Hey Ryan, I changed my mind. Let’s fuck?”

  I mean, it was direct and to the point, but also ew. I’d need a personality transplant to send that kind of message. My search for ideas hit a brick wall very quickly. I’d had plenty of one-night stands, but one, I’d been drunk; two, they’d started in bars; and three, they were complete strangers!

  Or I could just go the simple route and ask him to meet for dinner on his last night in town. Figure the rest out tomorrow and not stress over it for the time being. I knew I’d regret not coming up with a plan tomorrow, but to my overtired brain it felt like a great idea. I fired off a text and got the hell out of the office before someone asked me to put out another fire.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When seven o’clock rolled around the next day, I was giddy shutting down my computer and had to refrain from skipping out the door.

  Most of my colleagues had already left, so there was a limited number of witnesses to my emotional U-turn. Not that anyone but Nick and Gemma would question it. Nick was in the Alps and Gemma had taken a half day. Miraculously, I’d ticked everything off my to-do list. But it didn’t feel anywhere near as satisfying as it should have.

  I called good night to the security guard. But one look out the front door and my smile vanished. It was bucketing down. I could see the water bouncing on the pavement outside. The wind rattled against the glass doors. The one downside to working in Cardiff Bay – when it rained, it stormed.

  How had I missed the weather change on the top floor surrounded by windows?

  I reached into my handbag and opened the side compartment, where I stored my small umbrella for instances like this. My heart sank. The compartment was empty. I must have left it in the living room to dry out and forgotten to return it.

  I considered raiding the office for umbrellas. With all the location shoots they did, there must be some lying around.

  Before I could return to the lifts, I spotted some idiot standing across the road. He stood under a grey golf umbrella wearing nothing but jeans and a leather jacket.

  To be fair, he looked delectable. My pulse raced just looking at him.

  Pulling out my phone, I took a deep breath, trying to control the premature excitement I could feel building.

  Alys: Why are you standing in the rain?

  He pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen and turned back to the building. My imagination provided a crystal-clear image of his favourite smug smirk.

  Without replying, he crossed the road, dodging oncoming cars, and approached the entrance. The automatic doors swung open, blasting me with frigid air. I shivered. My thin jacket could not compete against the cold. I really needed to start checking the weather forecast, or at least look outside once in a while.

  “Weren’t we going to meet at the restaurant?” I asked, cutting the unnecessary chitchat and stepping under his umbrella. This close, I could smell the mouth-watering scent that always seemed to follow him. The desire to bury my face in his neck was far too strong.

  “I had a feeling you might need an umbrella.”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, that happens a lot. Too used to studios with my car within dashing distance.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  We walked back into the Bay in silence. Keeping the umbrella up in the driving wind coming in off the water was hard enough without adding chatter. I was so cold; I pressed as close to him as I could, allowing myself to enjoy the heat radiating off his body.

  The sun had long set and the lights from the buildings made the skyline glow. It was almost romantic, if you ignored the weather.

  Other than a couple of people rushing between the restaurants and the Wales Millennium Centre, the area was deserted. Some had been caught out like me and made do by throwing a scarf over their heads. Others brazenly walked through the mire, getting drenched, their faces scrunched in misery.

  Ryan led me to a French restaurant that Emily and I had wanted to try, but we’d always been too broke. Last night I’d decided that it was time to try it out, and Ryan made reservations.

  We were seated quickly, and Ryan’s umbrella and jacket were whisked away by the maître d’. A server appeared with an open bottle of Malbec before we had even considered the menu. My favourite wine. He must have ordered ahead. The server poured a sample into the glass in front of him.

  Ryan stared at it with a look of pure consternation. He eyed it like it might poison him.

  “You don’t have to drink wine with me if you don’t like it.”

  “I’ll drink it. I just don’t know the difference between good and bad wine.”

  “And the thought of saying yes to a bad bottle with me made you sweat?”

  “It seems the idea of doing anything wrong by you has that effect on me.” He laughed. I couldn’t join in. His words were just too sweet for me to shake off. He almost made me wish our situations were different, that our only real option wasn’t long distance. That I wouldn’t question our moments apart, tense for the inevitable day he cheated.

  I tried to distract myself by studying the vegan menu, which had been waiting for me on the table. Yet another thing he must have prearranged. The prices surprised me. I’d always avoided the place, thinking it was too pricey, but my favourite Italian cost exactly the same.

  We ordered our meals quickly, and the server retreated to the bar. The restaurant was unsurprisingly empty for a dreary Friday night. Sensible people avoiding the driving wind and the rain bouncing on the tiles outside. Inside, soft French music played in the background, the atmosphere calming compared to the storm raging outdoors.

  “So, when are you guys going back to Glasgow?” I asked.

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  Maybe.

  I watched as he played with his wineglass, the liquid swirling around the edges. If I was going to do this, ask him for one night, then leaving would be logical.

  “Soon, I expect. Shaun’s flat is nearly all packed up, so my reasons to stay are dwindling.” His shrug was unaffected, and it might have been my imagination, but the hitch in his voice screamed “give me a reason to stay”.<
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  Some piece of me didn’t know what was good for it. That piece wanted to give him a reason: me.

  Working myself back around to a one-night stand was one thing, but Ryan staying in Cardiff indefinitely was not something I wanted to think about. Yes, I’d miss his sneak attacks when he left, but I couldn’t offer more.

  Ryan sipped his wine, his eyes fixed on me. Putting down his glass, he reached for his cutlery. He fidgeted with the fork, picking it up and pushing the tines into the callus on his index finger.

  “I’ve been thinking about our predicament,” he said. “Logically, I agree with you. On paper we don’t make sense.”

  Give the man a medal. It only took him eight days!

  I didn’t really believe he would meet me for dinner to deliver an “I give up; I’m leaving” speech, so I shut my mouth and waited him out.

  “You live here. I live in Glasgow. The band needs me there. Your job is here. I tour for at least half the year, if not more, and I don’t always get advance warning.” He put the fork down and hid his hands under the table.

  “We’d never see each other.” The unspoken “told you so” was evident in my tone.

  “Yes. And logically, I know that would cause issues, but I can’t get you out of my head.” He looked genuinely pained over it.

  If I weren’t suffering from the same inconvenience, I would have made some joke about taming the rock star. As it was, I found the courage to dive head-first into my ill-prepared plan.

  “I think I have a solution,” I said, leaning forward in the hope of stopping my voice travelling around the room.

  “And what would that be?”

  “I think we need to fuck.”

  He blinked, surprise blanketing his features.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “This could just be lust. I agree there’s something here and since I won’t entertain anything more serious, this is the only solution I have.” My words were rushed as I scrambled to talk him around. “We have sex and then we can both go our separate ways tomorrow, satisfied with our heads straight again.”

  “You hope.” Surprise mingled with acceptance in his expression. He lowered his glass back to the table without taking a sip.

  “If it isn’t just lust, it changes nothing for us. You’re still leaving, and my mind will be unchanged. I won’t do long distance.”

  “Understood.” He agreed far too quickly. His lips tipped up at the edges in a satisfied grin. “I was not expecting you to be the one saying that when I agreed to dinner.”

  He was right, but it still left me reeling. We’d agreed to have sex. Just like that. My stomach flipped. Sweet mother, what have I done?

  “Honestly, I thought I’d have to work a lot harder.” He grinned, picking up his fork.

  “I’ll try anything right now if it helps put this to bed.” I regretted the words the moment they left my trap.

  “Anything?” His eyes widened as he considered the possibilities.

  I left him to it and ate my food.

  It took the server removing my empty plate to jolt Ryan out of his thoughts. He cleared his throat, the fire in his eyes warming my blood.

  He swallowed hard. “Please tell me you don’t want dessert?”

  I shook my head, not trusting my voice not to embarrass me.

  “Talk to me about something innocent.”

  “Aw, does the rock star need help controlling himself?” I laughed, enjoying his discomfort a little too much.

  “Yes, his manners are in shreds,” he whispered, making my breath falter.

  The thought of him starting something in the restaurant shouldn’t have excited me so much. The consequences would be bad enough. Images of us splashed across the tabloids and paparazzi staking out my flat and work flashed through my mind. Did he have paparazzi following him around?

  Happily, I started babbling about my shitty day at work and the boring things I had to get through. I might have whined just a little about missing the chaos of my life on a drama set. A chaos Ryan didn’t understand and therefore he had no issues picking faults at the hectic, limited routine that came with it.

  Midway through my rambling, he’d taken my hand and now used his thumb to draw featherlight circles in the centre of my palm. His calluses scraped against my skin.

  Heat flooded me, and by the time we’d finished our meal, I couldn’t keep my eyes from Ryan’s lips.

  He released my hand to settle the bill. I was so focused on not leaning across the table to kiss him, he paid the total without a peep of argument from me.

  The server returned Ryan’s jacket and umbrella while I drained my wine. I might have hoped it would ease the nervous tremor in my stomach. The room tilted a bit when I stood. I felt ever so slightly tipsy, but it wasn’t really a surprise. We’d shared the bottle and my alcohol tolerance was on the weak side after months of nothing but work.

  It was still tipping it down when we stepped outside to wait for the taxi. We hovered under the restaurant’s awning while we waited for the driver to arrive. Neither of us spoke, but Ryan fitted me under his arm, moulding me to his body. It was becoming a habit.

  His phone pinged, interrupting our charged silence.

  The umbrella went up and we rushed out into the downpour. Even though I watched my steps, water still splashed up my legs. Ryan opened the door and guided me, holding the umbrella and his body in such a way to shield me from the wind and rain.

  It’s funny, the little things people do that make us feel loved.

  Cared for. I meant cared for.

  He slid in after me, shutting the door and locking out the cold. I confirmed the destination with the driver as Ryan slid into the middle seat to get closer to me. He buckled himself in and took my hand, pressing it firmly to his bouncing thigh.

  “How long does it take to get to yours?” he asked, his voice tight.

  “About twenty minutes.”

  He groaned in frustration then wrapped his free arm around me. I relaxed into the heat of his side. The warmth and smell of him cocooning me added to the buzz of intoxication.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The front door slammed behind us, the sound deafening in the flat’s silence. Through some miracle, it seemed Emily had made herself scarce. Ryan spun me around, and my hands settled happily on his hard chest, smoothing along the ridges of his pecs.

  Tucking a deft finger beneath my chin, he tilted my face to meet his gaze. Ryan studied me with desire in his eyes. His head dipped, and my breath hitched in anticipation as our lips pressed together. The kiss deepened until I found myself up against the hallway wall, dragging Ryan’s jacket down his arms. It fell to the ground with a thump, and my hungry hands immediately reached for his t-shirt.

  Ryan’s lips left mine, pulling back enough to study my upturned face. “Do you still want this?” he asked, his words measured and quiet. His calm tone belied the fire in his eyes.

  Did I still want it? Him? I almost laughed. Definitely not the response he was looking for.

  I nodded, unsure of my voice.

  “Because it’s not too late. I’d understand.”

  I swallowed hard, my fingers releasing the edge of his t-shirt. “Do you want to stop?”

  “Fuck no.”

  He pressed my lower body tighter to his growing erection, teasing a groan from my lips. If there was ever a time to be thankful for the creation of high heels, this was it!

  “Good,” I breathed before pulling his face back down to mine.

  His fingers grazed my scalp as he angled my head to deepen our connection. And I was lost. His hands wandered, smoothing up and down my torso, drawing a gasp each time he brushed my nipples.

  Ryan broke our kiss and I drew in some much-needed air. Wow. After a kiss as good as that, I knew I was in trouble.

  His thumb smoothed gently across my kiss-swollen lips. His eyes jumped to mine, and he smiled. I’d expected arrogance, but the wonder lighting up his features shattered all of my defences.

&n
bsp; He kissed me once more before tilting my head to the side, exposing my neck and trailing featherlight kisses there. Goose bumps scattered across my skin. Overloaded with sensations, my head fell back against the wall with a happy sigh.

  “Like this, do you?” Ryan whispered against my neck.

  Tired of the torture and desperate to move things along before I resorted to begging, I pushed Ryan away. He almost argued, but one look at the hunger in my eyes stilled his protests. With a firm grip on his hand, I led him through the flat and into my bedroom.

  Once the door closed, Ryan pulled me roughly back into his arms. His tongue invaded my mouth and the pressure amped up, teeth biting and hands clawing at the fabric barriers keeping us from skin-on-skin contact.

  The calluses on his fingers tickled against my skin. The tension in his eyes as they skimmed over me, the way his hands clenched and unclenched around my waist… I could get used to it, and that was extremely dangerous. I shut the thought out. There is no tomorrow for us.

  “Ryan!”

  He smirked in response. I tugged his t-shirt off. My skin felt hot, feverish. Rather than return to me, Ryan stood back and let his eyes roam.

  Following his lead, my eyes dropped, devouring all the gloriously toned skin I’d revealed. Ryan’s upper body was sculpted. His biceps bulged in a way that playing guitar would not yield. I knew he had tattoos, but I hadn’t really paid them much attention before. Now it was hard to ignore the black ink that painted half of his right arm and shoulder. Feathers outlined the muscles in a beautiful but simplistic design. The desire to trace them with my tongue almost overpowered me.

  With my fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, I pulled him back to me. Crushing my lips to his, I let the fire take me over. His deep groan of approval vibrated through my entire body. His hands fisted in my hair, tugging hard enough to bite.

  I made quick work of his jeans, blindly fumbling at the button and zip. Without breaking contact, he kicked off his shoes and helped me rid him of his clothing.