Reverb

by Lisa Swallow

  I untangle my head and hands from Bryn’s and rub my lips together. My face smarts from the scratch of his scruff and the tingling extends into places I really shouldn’t think about.

  “Good idea, you coming, Avery?” Bryn has a cocky eyebrow, one that joins his constant so-called funny suggestiveness. How am I noticing this?

  Probably time to leave.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Cool.” He grabs my hand and twists me toward him into a smothering hug. The warm scent of him beneath the open leather jacket begs me to start kissing him again. I pull away and step aside before I’m tempted to act on that.

  Bryn calls a goodbye to Rachel and Simon, who are lost in their own world on the sofa, before looking to Taylor and Martin. “Nice to meet you; maybe we’ll catch up again sometime.”

  Before anybody can ask questions or comment, I’m out of the flat door, jumping down the steps two at a time and attempting not to trip. Bryn’s heavy footsteps follow.

  Pushing through the main door of the building and onto the street, I halt and wait. The door slams behind and I turn to a grinning Bryn.

  “What the hell was that?” I say.

  “What?” His face pulls into consternation.

  “Kissing me!”

  “Didn’t you like it? We can try again?”

  Bryn steps closer, eyes shining. Oh, my God, he’s actually bloody serious.

  “No!” I cross my arms. “I don’t kiss strangers!”

  “I’m not strange.”

  “Well, you’re not normal! Stop it!”

  “You’re funny.”

  “You’re bloody annoying!”

  “But my kissing is awesome, right?”

  My cheeks fire. “Will you stop talking about kissing?”

  He steps closer. “It’s a while since I kissed a girl.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Bryn rubs his head. “Did I upset you that much?”

  “I don’t like being played with. I’m not a toy!” I shiver against the December night and bury my hands into my coat pockets.

  “I didn’t mean… I did it to stick two fingers up at your bitchy friend and your ex. I wanted him to think about what he threw away.”

  “You’re weird,” I retort and set off along the street.

  “Let me take you home,” he calls after me.

  “Oh? Not to your hotel?” I ask, sarcastically.

  “Sure, if you want. The bar’s open. I reckon you could do with more wine.”

  I pause and turn. “Am I not drunk enough for you?”

  He approaches. “Avery, I have no need to get you drunk. I don’t hassle women into sex.”

  “I guess you don’t need to.”

  Bryn stands back and sweeps his hands through the air, down the length of his all too impressive body. “What do you think?”

  What do I think? I think that his laid back exterior hides something and I want to know what it is.

  “A drink at your hotel?” I ask.

  “If that’s all you want, cariad.”

  I straighten. “Don’t call me that. I know what it means. I’m Welsh too, remember?”

  “You prefer sweetheart?”

  “Definitely not!”

  “Bach?”

  I pout. ‘Little one,’ like I’m a kid or something. “Sure, mountain man.”

  He smirks. “Hill. My name means hill.”

  “Bryn? You’re a mountain, not a hill.”

  “Whatever. Feel free to climb me.” He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, imitating me, and grins.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Oh, you’re so cute!” He picks me up in arms that could probably wrap twice around my waist, and lifts me so my face is level with his. “You’re half the size of me!”

  “I am not half your size! Get off me!” I dig my nails into his hands and he drops me back to the floor. “And I am not cute. If you keep this up, you’ll soon discover how not cute I am.”

  Bryn laughs and rubs his mouth. “Sorry, one beer too many. But you are cu–” I jam a spiked heel onto his foot. “Jesus Christ!” he yells. “What was that for?”

  “Not listening.” I hitch my handbag up my arm. “I changed my mind. Call me a taxi.”

  “Come for a drink with me,” he says. “Don’t let them spoil your hot date with a rock star.”

  “This is not a hot date! You crashed our meal!”

  “Do you want a hot date?”

  Bryn’s tone is light, no hint of suggestiveness, but this doesn’t stop me thinking about how he kissed me. “Not really.”

  “Liar.”

  I’m too cold to be hanging around arguing with a rock star who I expect always gets his own way, and my level of intoxication leads to my next decision.

  “Fine. I’ll come for a drink, but this is not a date.”

  Bryn pulls his phone from his jacket pocket. “Sure thing, cariad.”

  Chapter Seven

  AVERY

  Light bounces from the shiny tiled floor of the hotel lobby, and I squint as I attempt to stay upright when my shoes refuse to grip the floor. Gingerly, I head after Bryn who’s striding ahead to the opposite side of the lobby.

  He pauses and turns back. One of the receptionists stares from her position behind the long checkin desk as Bryn heads over and takes my elbow.

  “How drunk are you?” he asks.

  “I’m not drunk! It’s the floor.”

  “Uh, huh,” he says with the smirk I’ve decided I’ll slap off his face if I see it once more this evening.

  Bryn heads to a dim corner of the quiet bar and slides onto a black leather bench seat. I choose the uncomfortable metal chair opposite. Understated Christmas decorations of tinsel and fairy lights adorn the small bar, but that’s the limit of Christmas-ness. Bryn grabs the laminated menu from the table.

  “What do you want?”

  “White wine will do.”

  “Pfft. Cocktails. Look, let’s drink all the cocktails!”

  I frown. “All of them?”

  “The selection isn’t huge.”

  “Neither is my capacity to hold alcohol. I’m only staying for one and then you’re calling that cab to take me home.”

  “Don’t worry, Cinderella, I’ll have you home by midnight.” He taps the menu. “After a Blowjob.”

  “What the hell? You’ll be lucky!” I shift my chair back to stand.

  “No, here.” Bryn indicates a picture of a drink on the menu and bites down a smile.

  “God! You’re so obvious! That’s not even funny.” I snatch the menu from him and peruse the pictures. I have no idea what any of them taste like so I point at one. “Whatever that one is. It’s pretty. Thanks.”

  A few minutes later, Bryn returns with two glasses, one tall with the contents striped red and yellow, the other bright blue.

  As he sits then picks his up, I giggle at the delicate drink in his broad hands.

  “What?”

  “Cocktails. You.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever. Drink up. There’s more to try.”

  “I said I’m only staying for one.”

  He pouts. “Okay.”

  Strained Christmas music fills the uneasy silence and I gaze around the bar to avoid meeting his eyes. Why exactly am I doing this? Ego trip that Bryn Hughes wants to spend time with me? Hoping, he’ll kiss me again? I sip the potent mix and meet the eyes of a group of girls adorned in Christmas jewellery, enjoying their own cocktails nearby. Yep, ego trip.

  “So, you reckon Martin was jealous?” asks Bryn.

  I look back. “Martin? Maybe. He made his choice though.”

  “You think? I bet he wants you back.”

  “I don’t want him back!”

  Bryn dispenses with the straw in his glass and takes a huge gulp of his drink. “Why not?”

  “Umm. He screwed my best friend behind my back and then moved in with her. I think he’s off my list of potential life partners.”

  “How l
ong were you together?”

  “Four years.”

  “That’s a long time, Avery, especially at your age.”

  “Exactly, I think that’s why we fell apart. We grew up and changed.”

  “Yeah, but it must’ve been something special.”

  “Evidently not.”

  Bryn finishes his drink and indicates my barely touched multi-coloured concoction. “Keep up.”

  “No.”

  Shaking his head, he picks ups the menu and wanders back to the bar, returning several minutes later with another two small glasses. He places one, a brown drink, in front of me. “You can tell everyone a rock star gave you a Screaming Orgasm.”

  “Jesus, Bryn…” Despite the childish obviousness of his comment, heat spreads from my scalp to my toes.

  “What? Don’t you like them?” He bites the corner of his lip. “The drink I mean.”

  “Of course, that’s what you mean.” I attempt to sound firm and not squeaky. Hoping it’s too dark for him to see my red cheeks, I focus on my current drink. My refusal to continue this topic leads to half the contents of the glass disappearing. Jeez, this is strong.

  “As I was saying,” says Bryn, starting on his next drink, “you and Martin had something special.”

  “Once over, I guess.”

  “Don’t you think that’s worth fighting for? If you guys are meant to be, you’ll come back to each other.”

  “Yeah, right. If he cheated once, he’ll do it again.” I pause. “Why all the interest in my love life?”

  “I believe if two people are meant to be together that whatever happens, they will be.”

  How drunk is he? “If you believe in that crap.”

  “Liam and Cerys, it happened to them.”

  I read the story, childhood friends turned lovers years later, or something. I bet the fact he was the rich and famous Liam Oliver helped.

  “I don’t think me and Martin are meant to be together.” Bryn’s constant harping on about my failed relationship isn’t helping the sick feeling caused by Taylor rubbing my nose in it this evening.

  I should numb that.

  I finish the orange and red drink, pick up the smaller glass, and pull a face at the contrast in taste. Bryn laughs at me and opens his mouth to say something. I throw the discarded paper umbrella in his direction. “One more reference to screaming orgasms or blow jobs and I’m leaving.”

  “I wasn’t going to!” Bryn picks up the umbrella and tucks it into his hair, just above his ear.

  “Liar.”

  We share a smile. Maybe it’s the alcohol that led me to forgive him or maybe it’s the attraction increasing with my fuzziness.

  Is he trying to get me drunk? I set the glass back down. Bryn waves over my shoulder at the whispering girls nearby. No, why would he need to when he has a ready choice of girls he wouldn’t need to persuade?

  “What about you?” I ask him. “Is there someone you’re meant to be together with, some long lost girl from the past?”

  Bryn doesn’t reply. Uh oh. More cocktail disappears down my neck at the awkward silence.

  “Because you never see me with anybody?” he asks.

  “I don’t really follow Blue Phoenix, but you didn’t have a guest with you at the wedding.”

  “I told you, almost did.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Don’t be! Jesus, she’s a pain in the arse who won’t give up.” He shrugs. “Long story.”

  “They always are; the good stories.”

  “Yeah. But I do believe in what I said. Sometimes shit happens that pulls people apart that’s neither person’s fault. In those situations, I think there’s always hope.” He drains his glass. “Next!”

  “Bryn, we’ve been here less than a half an hour and you’ve already had two!”

  He pulls a disparaging face. “Cariad, please, I’m a rock star. Drinking is in my job description.”

  Before I get a chance to respond, he disappears back to the bar.

  Two glasses in front of me: one half-empty and one empty, I’m not far behind Bryn. The fuzziness spreads a warm, relaxing happiness. Will he ask me to his hotel room? Maybe he could give me a real, live screaming orgasm. I slap my cheek. Jesus, Avery.

  The next two drinks are a bright red strawberry Daiquiri for me and something white and blue for Bryn. I don’t ask what it’s called. I might not like the answer.

  “So, tell me all about yourself,” says Bryn.

  “Isn’t that a bit late now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It would’ve helped if you’d known more than my name and my ex-job before you pretended to be my boyfriend.”

  Bryn sniggers. “Boyfriend. That’s such a cute word.” He catches my glare. “Okay, sorry. Yeah, I don’t even know your full name.”

  “Avery Paige.”

  “Oh, your name sounds like you should be a film star. What do you do, Avery Paige?”

  “I’m at uni.”

  “Studying…?”

  “Teaching.”

  Bryn bites the corner of his lip. “Oh yes, I can imagine you reprimanding a class full of naughty boys.”

  I ignore the connotations. “When you’re my size, you learn to stand up for yourself.”

  “So I’ve noticed. You’re quite defensive.” He picks up the yellow and blue paper umbrella and pokes it into my thick brown hair. Bryn’s fingers brush my cheek as he withdraws his hand and my heart skips a beat.

  “Be honest, you’ve spent a lot of time teasing me. Plus this whole, ‘I’m Avery’s partner’ thing stressed me.”

  “Oh. Did it? Sorry, I thought it would be funny.”

  “Exactly, I don’t like being a source of amusement.”

  Bryn’s eyes widen. “No, no. Shit, I got this wrong. I thought it would be funny to see their reaction.” He huffs. “I’m a bit impulsive sometimes. I was bored, wanted to see you again and I saw how much you didn’t want to go without a partner tonight. So I thought it’d be fun.”

  Wanted to see me again? I sip the cocktail through a straw as my throat tightens. Bryn’s expression is one of genuine concern.

  “It was kind of funny,” I admit.

  “See!” says Bryn triumphantly and slaps his hand on the table. “I knew you liked it!”

  “Tonight has been… interesting.”

  “Enjoyable?”

  “Different.”

  “Fun?”

  I shake my head with a smile, dismissing once again the annoying memory of his kiss. “Fun.”

  “Cool.” Apparently satisfied, he leans back in his seat and drains his glass.

  I glance at the umbrella in Bryn’s hair. “You’re a surprise. I thought you’d have a bigger attitude. Like after the soup incident.”

  “I’m no different than anybody else.”

  “Sure you’re not, millionaire rock star Bryn Hughes.”

  Bryn scrunches his nose. “Yeah, my life is a bit different to usual but that doesn’t stop me being who I am. I don’t buy into all that sex, drugs, and rock n roll shit.”

  “Never?”

  He sips his drink. “Not recently. At your age, I did. What guy wouldn’t in my position? But I always worried our life would change back any minute. Everything seemed too good to be true and it took me a while to go with the flow.”

  “You’re the sensible one?” I ask incredulously.

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” He grins. “I was going to go to uni. I did A levels and everything, just in case the band didn’t work out.”

  “To do what?”

  “No idea, I never got that far. Blue Phoenix took over.”

  “Huh.”

  “Huh? You didn’t think I was a smart guy?”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “Yes, you do. I’m Bryn Hughes, the hot as hell drummer from Blue Phoenix and your date for this evening.” He flourishes his hand in the air.

  I tip my head. “So you hide behind him?”

  “I don’
t hide.”

  “I wonder who the real Bryn Hughes is?” I ask, surprised at the bold statement. Alcohol and my mouth are never a good combination.

  Bryn picks up the menu. “What are you having next?”

  My stomach churns and suddenly the decision to drink a cocktail with cream after one with extremely strong spirits hits me as unwise.

  “I think I need to use the bathroom,” I say and climb off the chair.

  Bryn scratches his cheek as he watches me steady myself on the table. Thank God, this room is carpeted and my shoes can’t slide. My focusing ability left around the second cocktail because I have no clue where I’m going.

  “I think it’s that way,” says Bryn and points to an illuminated sign across the bar area.

  “Right.”

  “Do you need some help?”

  “No!”

  He raises his hands in defence. “Okay, just being a gentleman.”

  “I doubt that’s in your rock star job description.”

  “You don’t know me,” he says. “I am respectful of women. I’m a nice guy.”

  I’m drunk, clearly, and Bryn’s increasing number of weird statements suggests he’s not far behind.

  “I’m sure you are. Excuse me.”

  Halfway across the short distance, I slump onto another chair. Nope. Not happening. I lean forward and stare at my shoes calculating how much I’ve had. The wine at the restaurant, whatever the hell was in the cocktails, all on top of carbonara. No wonder my stomach is complaining.

  A pair of black shoes appears in my line of vision and my eyes travel up the long, muscular legs across his expansive chest and to his concerned face. Crap, this man is hot and with my brain in neutral, my body takes charge.

  “Do you need some assistance?” he asks.

  “Maybe,” I mumble.

  As he takes my arm and helps me up, the girls who I’m now closer to giggle and whisper. I attempt to put my arm around Bryn’s waist, but he’s too broad so rest my head against him instead. I bury my nose into his T-shirt. Is this what rock stars smell like? Sandalwood with a hint of sex? I’d giggle too, but I don’t want to open my mouth.

  “Ah, cariad,” he says and grabs me as my legs buckle.

  “Don’t call me that!”