Chasing Alys

by Morgana Bevan

  He made all the right noises, but that negative little voice in my head quickly reminded me that we only had two weeks to find our feet. I didn’t want to ask him if he was worried about leaving me, though. It would just sound too damn needy for my liking.

  The driver’s door opened, halting my search for the slightest doubt in Ryan’s eyes. Emily stuck her head in, her hasty retreat forgotten.

  “That does not look comfortable, Evans. Are you a bit stuck?” She laughed, poking at his wedged shin.

  “I think I’m alright here. You good to drive?” He joked, wiggling his feet. They had ended up in the driver’s seat, so not the safest position for six more hours on the motorway.

  Emily walked around the car and opened the passenger door. She pulled the seat forward, freeing Ryan from his entrapment. He kissed me gently before easing himself out of the back seat. He only hit his head once – quite the achievement for a man of his height getting out of a three-door car.

  After we all had settled back in our seats, Emily handed over the treasure she’d hidden on the roof. My mouth salivated at the scent of chocolate. I had my nose pressed to the lid of the to-go cup before she’d even shut her door. Yum. Peppermint goodness.

  “We good to get to Cardiff without any risk of Ryan running me off the road?” Emily asked, buckling herself in.

  The engine roared to life, muffling what I hoped was Ryan’s grumbled denial. I wished I’d had a camera ready for his patently false expression of innocent outrage. Emily snorted. She exited the services with her shoulders shaking.

  “Where the bloody hell are you?” An irate voice blared from Ryan’s phone. It wasn’t on speaker, yet I could hear his manager loud and clear.

  “Didn’t you get my text?”

  “You’ve got interviews, Evans. Get your ass back here!”

  “I can’t do that, Matt. I’ll see you in Oslo when the tour kicks off.”

  Matt was still shouting when Ryan ended the call. Only the strains of a You Me At Six song filled the silence. I was holding my breath, waiting for Ryan to speak, to ask Emily to drop him off at the nearest train station.

  “Sorry about that. He’ll get over it.”

  Ryan turned in his seat until he could meet my gaze. The tension seeped from my shoulders at the determination shining there. The fact I needed that reassurance irked me, but I refused to give it headspace.

  Nothing had changed. He didn’t regret his decision. That was all that mattered.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “It’s been three days. Are you guys really not going to go out?” Emily asked. She’d been studying me from the corner of her eye for the better part of an hour.

  “It’s alright. This is relaxing, and I’ve been meaning to watch this film for years.” I pointed to the TV and the frozen face of a young Hugh Grant. “Ryan doesn’t mind us staying in.”

  The man in question handed me a bowl of fresh popcorn and joined me on the sofa. He wrapped his arm around me and had started drawing circles over the skin my t-shirt left bare. “I’ve got all I need right here.”

  “Keep spouting cheese like that and people will start thinking you’ve gone soft,” Emily laughed, curling her feet beneath her in the armchair. “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate the company, but barricading yourselves in this flat isn’t helping either of you.”

  When neither Ryan nor I rushed to refute her claims, a smug grin took over her face. So maybe I’d redirected my focus onto recovering rather than facing the outside world and its effect on my fledgling relationship. Ryan hadn’t said a word against it either.

  The truth was, I’d been plagued with headaches ever since we got home and had spent a few days after taking a truckload of painkillers. They were strong, and I didn’t really want to experience any side effects in public, like walking into a lamppost because they made me sleepy, so it was a valid excuse.

  Today, though, my head felt back to normal. I hadn’t needed painkillers in the last two days. I’d even managed to dance around a bit without feeling like the earth had rolled off its axis. Maybe it was time.

  Curiosity and wariness warred on Ryan’s face. I didn’t think he’d care if we stayed in or not, but Emily was right: we needed to spend some time alone.

  “Do you dance?” I asked, making a snap decision that would test my recovery, but if I had to change out of my leggings, it had better be for a good reason.

  He considered me for a moment, his eyes pinching slightly at the edges while he tried to read my thoughts. “For you, I do.”

  “Right answer.” My heart galloped in excitement. It had been too long! “Grab your coat. I’ll order a taxi.”

  I had just enough time for a quick outfit change before the taxi arrived. I rushed Ryan out the door before he could change his mind. No one agreed to be my dance partner only to take it away.

  In the car, he kept up a constant stream of questions, trying to figure out where we were going and exactly what I intended to make him do. Silence was all he got from me, but the anticipation increased the wattage of his smile.

  The taxi let us out opposite Cardiff Castle. Our destination was on a pedestrianised road, so it would have to do. Ryan got out first, taking my hand the moment I slid free of the car. For a Wednesday night, the bars lining the street looked surprisingly busy. Some brave, or foolish, souls even stood outside nursing their drinks in the freezing cold. I’d told Ryan to leave his hat at home. He’d attract more attention with a baseball cap where we were going.

  Ryan’s lips stayed surprisingly sealed as I led him up the street towards Santiago, a cocktail bar and our destination for the night. Latin music pumped from the speakers, fuelling the dancers making the most of a quiet night. A handful of people stood at the bar, and others flooded the dance floor, pulling advanced moves and eating up the small space.

  Ryan stared at them, his fascination plain to see.

  “So, salsa dancing?” he asked when we reached the bar. He had a mildly skittish glint in his eyes.

  The rock star is unnerved. I hadn’t really thought it was possible, but I enjoyed it all the same. I hid my smile behind my daiquiri.

  “I didn’t think it would be fair to drag you to a tea dance or a swing dance social.”

  “Tea dance?”

  “It’s a fun ballroom and Latin social event.” I chuckled. “Someone always forgets to adjust for a crowded dance floor and manages to injure another dancer with a wayward hand flick.”

  His eyes widened. “I appreciate you going easy on me.”

  “I’ve surprised you.”

  “A body like yours, it shouldn’t have.” His heated eyes flitted down my frame. “Level with me… how much of a fumbling idiot am I going to be?” He combed his hands through his long blond hair.

  “It’s a beginner’s class, like at the Old Ballroom. You’ll be fine,” I reassured him. He’s kind of cute when he gets nervous. Raising up on my toes – I didn’t have a wish for a twisted ankle, so I’d worn flats – I kissed him softly. He tried to pull me back as I stepped away, but I dodged him. “You’ll probably take to it faster than I did, music man.”

  The bartender directed us up to the second floor. I hadn’t been to a class at Santiago’s before, so the place was new to me. I usually took advanced classes on Thursdays at another bar down the street, but it had been a while.

  People of varying ages milled about in scattered groups, drinks in hand. They all wore calm veneers, but they couldn’t hide the nervousness I’d come to expect from beginner dancers. Despite being deep in conversation with their friends or partners, I’d wager they were all surreptitiously watching others for cues.

  Everything changed the moment Ryan cleared the steps. Heads swivelled to him as they had that first night in the dive bar. Women eyed him with approval and desire, heads bent to their neighbour. Men stepped in front of their partners in a hilarious and unconscious display of insecurity. And all the while, Ryan appeared blissfully unaware of the attention he drew.


  He held his glass in a tight grip. His other hand rested on my hip, clenching and unclenching. His gaze kept moving, skipping over the other dancers and the space.

  “Nervous?”

  His eyes jolted back down to me. He grinned like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t tell the guys, but a little.”

  “It’ll be easy for you, I promise. Plus, you’ve got an experienced partner. You’ll be doing tosses and spirals like the best of them in no time.”

  He turned towards me, holding me tight, and smiled. The movement forced his tense muscles to relax. “When did you start dancing?”

  “I can’t really remember; I’ve just always done it. Growing up in a small village with limited sources of entertainment, you take what you can get, I guess. Other than my failed attempt to learn an instrument, there was ballet, jazz, contemporary and ballroom to distract me through most of the year.” That didn’t mean I stopped trying to find new things. For a brief time, I took up surfing, but after one too many irrational shark scares, I packed it in.

  Ryan’s eyes scanned my face, missing nothing, stripping me bare and digging deeper than I was ready for. He wore his trademark smirk, but his lips remained sealed.

  “What?” I asked, laughing to cover the tremor in my voice.

  “I’m just trying to figure you out. Your words say it was a chore, but your eyes say otherwise.”

  “I enjoyed dance, yes, but until Emily moved into the village it was…” I let out a shaky breath. How had a salsa class started this? My eyes burned, and I couldn’t get the words past the lump forming in my throat.

  “Lonely?”

  “Maybe we should talk about this later?” After another drink – or five.

  “If that’s what you want.” His words were reassuring, but the firm set of his jaw stripped it away. He’d been like a dog with a bone in his chase for me. There was no way he would forget or let it go.

  The real question wasn’t whether he would let it go, but why didn’t I want to share my boring childhood with him. I’d come to categorise it as normal for a girl raised in the middle of nowhere. Yet the thought of sharing my very basic and normal start with Ryan embarrassed me. My mouth snapped shut at the realisation. Emily would laugh her arse off if I ever told her.

  “My parents are – were – full-time authors, both fiction and nonfiction,” I forced out in a rush. Ryan paused, his attention refocusing on me, and I started sweating.

  Inside, I wailed at my body’s stupid reaction, but I continued all the same. “For their work, a small village was ideal, especially when our house was actually a couple of miles away. I didn’t know any differently, so yes, I was happy. But with a very small school and parents who liked to lock themselves away with their work at all hours, I got bored.”

  “Dance broke the boredom for you?”

  “No. Emily did that. Dance was just a thing we did for entertainment without internet, along with climbing trees and building dens. I didn’t fall for dance until I left for uni, really. My years of practise had made me a ‘natural’, they said. My degree was a huge change of pace. It was harder than I’d been expecting. I liked the feeling of acing something without having to put in any effort. That sounds awful, doesn’t it?” I grimaced, barely resisting the urge to take it all back.

  But I wanted him to know me and like me. Still, could I sound any more conceited?

  “Nah. I feel like that when I play around with the drums.”

  “You play drums too?” I asked, surprise taking over my face.

  “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not an accomplishment,” he said, squeezing me slightly. The action contracted the hard muscle beneath my hand.

  An image of all that bare muscle pressed against me danced before my eyes. Electricity set my skin tingling, and I didn’t dare meet Ryan’s gaze. He’d see straight through me and rush us home. I wanted to dance first.

  Silence fell while I stared at his chest, struggling to get my desire under control. Heat warmed my face as I grasped for the last strain of conversation. Swallowing hard, I said, “Anyway, other than Emily, dance ended up being the only steady thing in my life for a while, so I guess the quiet childhood I hated so much was a gift all along.”

  Mercifully, class started as soon as I said those words, putting a stop to the questions on the tip of Ryan’s tongue and giving me a focus for the surge of nervous energy consuming me.

  As I predicted, Ryan picked up the dance quickly. His fumbling steps lasted all of ten minutes. He started using his hands to signal in a way most people spent years trying to learn. I was so caught off guard he tripped me up. I was laughing hard when he used his grip on my hand to keep me upright. He pulled me into his body, reverting to basic back-and-forth steps.

  He grinned. “What’s so funny?”

  “I said you’d pick it up fast and then I tripped myself up when you did. What’s not funny?”

  “So, I didn’t do it wrong?”

  I shook my head. “You were perfect. How did you learn to signal?”

  “I was just copying the teacher,” he said, his gaze jumping to the instructor and her assistant as they demonstrated the steps again for a perplexed couple.

  My eyes widened as the reality of what he did settled in.

  “What?” Ryan asked, frowning down at me.

  “Seems you really are a natural, music man. It took me years to learn how to read hand signals. Most guys struggle with it unless they’re dance fanatics.”

  Ryan grinned. “What I’m hearing is I’m useful. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  I laughed. “Alright, put the ego away and lead me.”

  Ryan spun me around and pulled me back against him in a move he hadn’t been taught. He pressed his mouth to my ear as we continued with basic steps. “Maybe I just like being close to you.”

  He shifted his hips so that our bodies brushed. Something clenched low in my stomach and my eyes fell shut for a moment while I talked myself out of skipping the rest of the class.

  “Dance with me, please?” I whispered, unable to hide the heat in my tone.

  I didn’t have to ask twice. He spun me again and launched into a series of improvised movements. His grin grew as he figured out how to combine steps to increase the difficulty. By the time the class ended, I was sweating, and my face hurt from laughing and smiling so much. He took to salsa like a colt to ground. It wasn’t fair, and only served to accentuate the insecurities of the men holding tight to their girlfriends.

  When the class ended, the instructor suggested we stay for the next level. More people were eying Ryan now than when we’d entered. For his safety, I declined and herded us out fast.

  “I’m happy to stay if you want to do another class,” the loveable yet oblivious idiot said as I clattered down the stairs to the main bar.

  “I’m good. Let’s go get a drink somewhere else. Better not cause a riot.” I laughed and continued out the door, shrugging into my coat.

  “What does that mean?” He took my arm and pulled me to a stop. His brows were drawn together in confusion or hurt, I didn’t know which.

  “Sometimes you’re just too perfect.” Raising up on my tiptoes, I pressed myself to his dance-heated body and kissed him. His arms immediately wrapped around my waist, holding me tight.

  “What was that for?”

  “For being so focused on me. You missed all the attention you were getting in there.”

  The confused look returned, and I gave up all pretence of subtlety, counting off all the hilarious reactions he’d elicited. Starting with the guy who almost tripped his partner up in his rush to block her view of Ryan and ending with the single girls who’d been staring daggers at me.

  “No more dance. Got it.” He nodded, his lips twitching. “Where next?”

  Pressed this tightly to him, with the buzz from the session still floating around me, I realised I didn’t want to stay out. “We’ve got alcohol at the flat. Why don’t we go home…”


  He swallowed, catching the meaning behind my heated words.

  I leaned in until my mouth brushed his ear. “I want you.”

  He shuddered, and his eyes darkened. Glancing sharply at the nearby taxi rank, he nodded and without comment, rushed us towards the line of waiting cars.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ryan’s lips caressed my neck, and his arms wrapped around my waist.

  “Damn,” I hissed.

  The key slipped yet again against the lock. I couldn’t get the door open. It was déjà vu all over again, only this time I had no head injury to dissuade me.

  “Do you need a little help?” Ryan teased, his breath hot against my ear.

  My head fell back against his chest and I surrendered the keys without a word. He had no trouble unlocking it the first time, to a chorus of my mutterings.

  The door swung open, and with his hands firmly back around my waist, Ryan pushed me into the entry hall. He kicked the door closed and scooped me into his arms without so much as a grunt of effort. Then he carried me upstairs, making a beeline for my bedroom.

  The flat was dead silent. The clock in the kitchen ticked painfully loud in the dark. Emily must have gone to bed already.

  Not bothered by the quiet, Ryan shouldered the door open and walked towards my bed. I shut my eyes and waited for the hard bounce as my back hit the mattress.

  It didn’t come.

  Instead, he placed me gently on the duvet and followed me down. I don’t know which of us reached for the other first, but our lips met, and I happily melted into the sheets, into him. My legs wrapped around him and I enjoyed the pressure of his hard body weighing mine into the mattress. He rocked against me and I groaned, a sound he swallowed.

  Loud moans and rhythmic thumping sounded through the walls dividing mine and Emily’s rooms.

  “Oh yes!” Emily cried, her shout of ecstasy so loud it must have rung the entire street.

  Ryan and I froze, our eyes meeting in question before we both burst out laughing.