by Vicky Owen
This is expensive and I have no idea who it belongs to, but it seems familiar. Something about the smell.
Intoxicating. Comforting. Soothing.
I don’t want to leave.
Wait.
Stop.
Focus.
Forget the intoxicating bed sheets.
Where the fuck am I?
I sit up quickly and the resulting nausea makes me immediately regret it. Catching sight of my gleaming yellow wristband does nothing to help matters.
Deep breaths.
Closing my eyes, I attempt to steady myself. Probably best to move as little as possible so that I don’t upset my stomach.
It’s the vodka and orange. I don’t even like vodka and orange. Too sickly.
One or two minutes pass, along with a little of the nausea, and eventually I feel brave enough to open my eyes again.
The room I’m in is huge. Easily the size of the entire apartment I share with Lexi and Mylo. The door—open, allowing some soft daylight to enter—is at the far corner from where I am. The decor is minimal. Heavy, dark drapes. Bedside tables on both sides of the bed.
There’s a chair next to the bed, but I can tell that it doesn’t belong there. Dents in the carpet near the opposite corner to the door indicate the chair’s usual resting place.
And this bed… is this king size? I stretch my legs as wide as they’ll go to see if they can reach the sides. Nope.
Wow.
Nice.
Gentle noise comes from outside the room. Soft footsteps heading towards me. A floorboard creaks quietly as the person outside gets closer. I freeze, unsure what I should do, but before I can do anything someone enters. Someone tall. Broad shoulders. Just a silhouette against the light shining in from the hallway behind them. My eyes need to adjust to daylight before I can—
‘Cerys, you’re up.’ Well he knows my name, whoever he is.
And I know that voice. He starts towards me and I feel myself shrinking back—not that I have a clue where I would go—and all of a sudden he’s beside me, sitting on the bed. A firm hand gently cups my face.
‘Look at me, try to focus.’
I definitely know that voice. As my eyes adjust I realise two things. Firstly, I still have my scratchy contact lenses in. And secondly, I know his face, too.
His face. His dark, messy hair. His bright blue eyes.
The scar across his right cheekbone.
The face I’ve seen a million times on social media and looking out from magazine pages.
The face from my past I never thought I’d see again in person.
The painfully beautiful face that crushed my heart when he chose another girl instead of me.
Jake Norton. Rock star. Girl magnet. Best friend. Crush.
‘Oh my God. It’s you.’
‘Here, drink some of this.’ He holds out a glass of water, like it’s just another day, like no time has passed. I look at it for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts, before turning back to him.
‘What are you doing here?’
Jake puts the drink down on the bedside table, his muscles pulling at the sleeves on his T-shirt. ‘Rescuing you, of course.’
Huh? ‘What?’
‘That guy you were with last night, he slipped you something. Fuck knows what. You were a mess. Couldn’t even stand upright, and he was taking you out of the club. I stopped him.’ He sits down on the bed. ‘How are you feeling?’
How am I feeling? I shake my head a little and look down. The dark bed sheet is kinder on my eyes. This is all so out of the blue. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t remember any of this.’ I just remember vodka orange.
‘Well that’s because you were drugged.’ He says it so matter-of-factly. Like it’s nothing so unusual to him.
But I guess maybe it isn’t.
Ana.
No. I take a deep breath, trying to slow down the rush of memories and feelings. One thing at a time.
Drugged?
‘Wait. Hang on. Don’t be ridiculous.’ I vaguely remember being bought a drink by some tall, blond guy. Probably the vodka orange that I can’t get out of my head. But I didn’t leave my drink unattended at all. There’s absolutely no way I would have. ‘The only drink I had was with me the whole time I had it. In fact,’ I realise, ‘I was probably just drunk.’ There’s no way I’ve been drugged.
Jake is looking at me doubtfully. Oh God, those eyes. ‘Drunk from a single drink?’
There’s only the one that I remember. Vodka fucking orange. We didn’t even pre-drink before going out because we wanted to make the most of the cheap alcohol during Freshers’ Week.
Jake’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer, and I can’t give him one.
‘It was strong. And anyway,’ I try changing the subject because the current one is too much to process, ‘why are you here, of all places? I don’t see you for years, and then I wake up in some random bed with no memory of the night before and here you are. Doesn’t look good, does it?’ I raise my eyebrows at him.
He looks down, shakes his head and smiles to himself, and I melt just a little bit inside. I’d forgotten how beautiful his smile is.
‘We’ve just finished touring.’
We being the band. No Reckless. I’ve never seen them play but they’re huge. They formed after he got together with Ana and dropped me.
The memory stings. I don’t care about his stupid band. It’s bad enough they’re always on the radio with that stupid fucking song. His answer isn’t an answer.
‘Doesn’t answer my question. Why here—and where even am I?’
‘Our studio is nearby, and this is my house. You’re in my bed.’
His bed.
He picks up the glass of water again and holds it out to me. ‘Drink the water, you must be dehydrated.’ Again I ignore his instruction, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with an array of conflicting emotions.
The nausea. The pounding in my head. Jake suddenly showing up. Grown-up Jake. Adult Jake. Hot Jake.
And claiming to have saved me from some potential rapist—my insides churn at the sudden realisation of what might have been.
The years of no contact, and him suddenly, apparently, caring for my well-being.
The memories flooding back are overwhelming. It’s all too much. Too little too late, and too much too soon.
With some effort, I pull myself properly upright and push the blanket back. My boots are visible on the other side of the room, but other than that I’m still fully dressed. ‘I need to go.’
‘You need to drink the water.’
‘I feel fine.’ A lie, but it feels like the walls are closing in and I want to go home. There’s an eight thousand word report that needs to be started.
‘No. Sit back. Drink.’ He picks up the glass and holds it towards me.
‘No!’ I explode, pushing against his immovable body, some of the water spilling onto the duvet. ‘You disappear for three fucking years and now you’re suddenly here. You essentially kidnap me and now you’re holding me hostage. I need to go home. I have things to do.’ I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
He frowns at me. ‘I didn’t disappear. I’ve been doing music stuff.’
‘You didn’t call me once! Not one fucking call. And now you suddenly care?’
He looks at me for a moment, dumbfounded, before standing up. ‘Fine,’ he says, running his hand through his dark hair, ‘I’m going to leave this water here for you and I’m going to make you breakfast. I’m not taking you home until I’m sure you’re okay.’
I watch him leave in his worn jeans and mussed-up black tee, and I try to think of something to say. So many things hang in the air between us but I can’t find the words to even begin.
He dropped me when I became an inconvenience for him. He doesn’t get to fucking save me. It’s too late.
‘And drink the water,’ he yells back to me as he descends the stairs.
Jake
I WALK INTO the kitche
n, flip on the stove top, and put a griddle pan on to heat up.
Grabbing some plates from the cupboard, I try to remember if there’s anything Cerys doesn’t—or didn’t, at least—eat. Nothing springs to mind as I set the plates and some cutlery down onto the table. I settle on getting the most obvious hangover breakfast food out of the fridge: bacon.
I also have eggs and mushrooms and…screw it. Full English for both of us.
While the pan heats, I set down some place mats and cutlery on the table.
Also another glass of water, which she is going to drink.
She’d better drink that other one too.
Tossing some bacon into the pan, I try to remember if Cerys was always so stubborn and argumentative.
There was the time she voluntarily stayed forty-five minutes after school to argue with our history teacher. We were all of twelve years old. Like a fool, I waited for her until she was done. We lived close to each other, so we always walked to school and back together. She’ll only be a second, I told myself and our friends at the time. The others went on ahead.
We never did catch up with them.
Flip the bacon.
She never hesitated to tell me if she disagreed with me over something. She was never one to agree with people out of some social sense of niceness. I liked that. Liked that she wasn’t afraid to own her opinion and argue why. Some of the other kids felt differently.
Years later, she had a huge disagreement with her biology teacher over a GCSE practice paper.
We’d started drifting apart by then. I started seeing Ana and got caught up in her world.
No more disagreeing over my music. No more teasing her nerdiness. No more playing Mario Kart or Street Fighter II while eating far too much popcorn and pick ‘n’ mix.
There’s a twinge of guilt in my gut. Don’t know what I was thinking when I dropped her for Ana. Teenage lust, I guess. But seeing her this morning… fuck. She was kinda cute when we were kids but now…now she’s hot. Still cute, but sexy with it.
The light in the room changes, catching my eye, and I look up. And there she is, standing the other side of the counter. No one has ever looked so good with messy blonde hair and smudged eye make-up.
All five foot something of her.
I’d forgotten how short she was. I carried her upstairs last night and had barely got her boots off her when she was on the bed and asleep already, before I’d even pulled the blanket over her. I moved the chair and kept watch all night. I wanted to make sure nothing happened in the night after whatever that fucker slipped her.
‘I didn’t even hear you come down the stairs. Did you drink the water?’
She glares at me and puts the empty glass on the counter top. Still angry with me. Angry for getting caught up with Ana, angry for leaving after college, angry for coming back like this. And then last night. Angry.
Understandably.
I try not to think about it, about what could have happened.
‘So did you drink it?’
‘It’s empty isn’t it?’
I start chopping some mushrooms. ‘You could have poured it out.’
‘Don’t be so fucking…yes I drank it. Happy?’
‘I’ve poured you another. It’s on the table. Go sit.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ She walks over to the table and sits on the chair, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
I smirk to myself, lowering my head so she doesn’t see.
For a few minutes there’s quiet—I fix breakfast, and she checks her phone. As I start dishing up, she puts it down. ‘This place is huge.’
‘Keen observation skills there,’ I say dryly, putting her plate down in front of her.
That earns me another glare.
‘You know, you didn’t used to glare so much,’ I say, sitting down opposite her and pushing a plateful of toast to the centre of the table.
‘Yeah, well, you didn’t used to make me breakfast. Or any food for that matter.’ She folds a rasher of bacon in half with her fork and puts the whole thing in her mouth, between her plump pink lips. ‘What happened to him?’
The question catches me off guard and I have to think for a moment. ‘Uh, I grew up, I guess?’
She looks puzzled for a moment. ‘No, the guy last night? What did you do to him?’
Oh. ‘I took care of him.’
She puts down her knife and fork. ‘“Took care of him”? What does that even mean?’ She’s narrowing her eyes at me.
‘Look, you’re safe. That’s all that matters. I don’t want to talk about that guy.’
Her gaze doesn’t shift while I put a forkful of mushrooms in my mouth.
‘What did you do?’
‘I didn’t punch him, if that’s what you mean,’ I say, swallowing my food. ‘I know you wouldn’t approve of violence.’
We look at each other for a moment and she frowns before looking back down and slicing into the whites of her eggs.
‘Why did you bring me here?’ she says.
What’s with all the questions? ‘It seemed like the best idea.’
‘Better than a hospital?’ She looks back up at me.
‘Yes,’ I say firmly. ‘Better than the truckload of media that would have showed up and then followed you around for weeks.’
‘Better for me or better for you?’ Her gaze holds mine. She’s challenging me and I have no idea why or what I’ve done wrong.
‘For you.’ Obviously, surely?
Again. she holds my look for a moment before going back to her breakfast. She picks up a slice of toast and starts buttering it, and I watch her dip it into egg yolk before eating it.
The whole interaction has me feeling strangely exposed. No one has this effect on me. No one is this quick at firing questions at me and knocking me off balance. No one but Cerys, and I’d completely forgotten what it was like.
We don’t speak again until we’ve finished eating and she’s finishing her second glass of water.
‘So you were in Low last night?’ She says, setting the empty glass down.
Low. The nightclub. ‘Uh, yeah, we were upstairs in the VIP area.’
‘“We”?’
‘Me, Gethin, the band.’
‘Ah.’ She puts her hands on the table.
I get up and take the plates over to the dishwasher.
‘Why such a big place? Is it just you here?’ She’s standing up now and stretching, looking around the open plan kitchen and living room area.
‘Yep. Just me,’ I lean back against the kitchen counter.
Hands on her hips, she surveys the whole floor. ‘Well, guess you need somewhere to bring your many fan girls back to.’
So that’s what she thinks of me. Admittedly there were a few years where I slept around and got myself a bit of a reputation that I’ve never been able to shake off.
Nothing like Harry though. But we were the only single guys in the band until recently.
Cerys is watching me.
‘Yeah, I guess.’ I don’t really know how else to respond.
She’s quiet again for a moment, and then: ‘I can’t believe how stupid I was last night. But I didn’t leave my drink unattended. Not once. I don’t understand what happened.’ She puts her face in her hands.
‘Hey,’ I walk over to her and, after a brief hesitation, pull her into me. ‘Bastards like him do that kind of thing all the time. He knew what he was doing. It’s not your fault. And he won’t be doing it again.’
I feel her nodding and I pull back. I want to pull her closer but she probably needs some space right now. Especially from men.
‘Who was he anyway?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know. Some guy. Insisted on buying me a drink. Don’t remember much else.’ She rubs her temples with her fingertips. ‘I really should be getting home. I need to shower. And I’ve got a report due on Monday.’
‘I’m taking you. You go get your stuff.’
‘No, I can find my way. You’ve done enough for me
already.’
‘Cerys. Shut the fuck up. I’m taking you. There’s no way I’m letting you find your own way home after last night.’
She rubs her forehead. ‘Okay,’ she says, turning and heading for the stairs, leaving her phone on the table.
CHAPTER 3
Jake
PUTTING THE USED cutlery and cups into the dishwasher, I can’t help but wonder: did Cerys actually like that guy? She never said she didn’t. I hadn’t even considered the possibility.
I guess I’d never considered the possibility of Cerys wanting any guy.
I realise now how stupid that sounds. She’s a grown woman. She’s probably had boyfriends already. Maybe she’s even seeing someone at the moment.
Any guy would have to be a fool to turn her down. Watching her walk back up the stairs a moment ago, I couldn’t help noticing her ass in those skinny jeans. But it feels almost wrong to be looking at her like that.
Nerdy, geeky Cerys. I guess I had a bit of a thing for her when we were kids. Hence the waiting around after class for her while she argued the finer points of the 1500s. But she was always more interested in school. And then Ana came along. If only I’d known the clusterfuck that would end up being. I shake my head at my stupidity.
With the tidying up done, I walk over to the sofa and sink into it while I wait for her to return. I’m exhausted. Not sleeping will do that to you. That chair I got for the master bedroom isn’t the most comfortable. Arching my back and stretching my arms up overhead, I realise I need a shower.
Cerys said she needs a shower too.
I could go up there now, take her into the shower with me. Peel those jeans off her ass and kiss down her thighs while hot, steamy water runs over us, dripping down her back…
Stop. No. Can’t think of her like this. She’s my friend from when we were kids.
No one should be thinking about her like that, especially me.
Except me.
Damn I want her. She’s nothing like the girls I’m used to now. The ones who throw themselves at me, making it all so fucking easy. Not that I’m complaining, but sometimes it feels like they’re all the same. All so agreeable.
Not like her.
