Reverb

by Lisa Swallow

  Bryn drags me to my feet and half-pulls me toward the bar entrance.

  “Bathrooms,” I mumble.

  “Not on your own. You might collapse and hit your head or some shit like that.” He hitches me upright for the fourth time. “I’ve been told I have a feminine side but I don’t think I’ll pass as one to get into the bathrooms.”

  “I feel sick.”

  We pause by a wall on the edge of the lobby and I slide to the cool floor. “Crap, I’m sorry. I should’ve thought someone like you wouldn’t be able to drink much.”

  “Someone like me?” Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick.

  “Your size. I got carried away. I’m having a shit time too.”

  “Mmm.” The floor appears the safest place for my head and that’s where it’s going. “Cause I’m so small and cute…”

  ****

  BRYN

  When I said I wanted girls falling at my feet, this isn’t what I meant. Avery lies on the floor, cheek against the tiles with her mouth parted, semi-conscious.

  Great.

  I glance around but we’re alone in the tiled lobby, close to the elevator doors. What the fuck do I do? Experience tells me there’s CCTV in the elevator; if I’m seen hauling an unconscious girl up to my room, an arrest warrant won’t be far away.

  “Avery!” I crouch down and attempt to pull Avery upright, hitching her up with my arms beneath hers. She mumbles and slumps back to the floor.

  Shit.

  I can’t put her in a taxi in this state and I don’t know her address.

  “Avery! Come on.” I repeat the exercise and this time manage to catch her around the waist before her legs buckle again.

  She clings to my shirt and murmurs, “I don’t feel good.”

  Jesus. Worried that, at any minute, somebody could walk up to us and misinterpret this, I cycle options in my not-so-sober mind.

  “Are you okay to come back to my room until you feel okay?” I ask, as if permission from an inebriated Avery counts for anything.

  She doesn’t respond, sliding from my grasp again.

  As I half drag Avery into the waiting elevator, the ridiculousness of the situation amuses me.

  Did I secretly know I’d picked the wrong girl in Avery when I told myself I was going to find a one-night hook-up? Mixed signals didn’t help. The enthusiasm in the kiss we shared wasn’t matched by Avery’s frosty response afterwards. Plus, collapsing on the floor in front of me doesn’t scream ‘I want you’.

  Sighing, I hit the button to the 15th floor and support my new friend against me. I bloody hope she doesn’t throw up on my shoes.

  Better luck next time, Bryn.

  Chapter Eight

  AVERY

  I spin back to consciousness and open an eye as I roll over in bed and bury my face in the pillow.

  This isn’t my pillow. Or my room.

  Or my head because it bloody hurts and doesn’t feel connected to my body.

  I sit and scan the room.

  Or my boyfriend.

  Bryn sits in an armchair opposite, in front of the heavy curtains of the hotel room. Shirtless, ink decorating his powerful shoulders. If I could keep my eyes open without the light drilling into my brain, I’d take a better look at exactly how ripped this guy is. Instead, I glance at Bryn focused on his phone before closing my eyes again.

  “Shit!” I say.

  He looks up. “Back to the land of the living, cariad?”

  “Don’t call…” I give up and slump back. “Not really.”

  “Still feel sick?” he asks.

  “My head… What time is it?”

  “Eight.”

  “Ugh.” Asking where I am would be logical, or getting the hell out. I subtlety check my clothes for intactness, and satisfied I haven’t spent a night having wild sex with a rock star, I close my eyes.

  ****

  “Avery!”

  I groan and shift again to see Bryn leaning over me. Damn, he put his shirt on. “Shit, sorry. You want me to go?”

  “It’s after twelve; won’t someone be worried about you?”

  “They probably thought I’d stayed at a friend’s. I often stay out when I’m visiting my parents,” I mumble.

  “Oh. Okay.” He sits on the edge of the bed.

  “You look tired.”

  “Slept there.” Bryn points at the small brown sofa. “Didn’t want you freaking out waking up in bed next to me.”

  If I didn’t feel half-dead, I’m sure I’d have inappropriate thoughts at that comment but my head is banging. “I’m not naked. I’d be fine. You didn’t need to do that.”

  Bryn’s phone beeps and he checks the screen. “For fuck’s sake!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. You want me to get you home?”

  I inhale. “I might get a shower to wake me up.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  I pull my leaden body and spinning head from the bed. “You want breakfast?” Bryn points to the plate of congealed eggs and bacon with a teasing grin.

  I’d stay and give him a filthy look but I don’t have time. Rushing into the bathroom, I slam the door and reach the basin in time to get rid of the multi-coloured poison from last night.

  ****

  The shower has zero effect on my zombie-like state, although I feel like a cleaner version of the walking dead once I’m done – and thank God for hotel toothbrushes. No way am I wandering round in front of Bryn in a towel; I pull last night’s clothes on and head out of the door.

  Bryn is still in the room in his rock star glory and the lurching this causes in my stomach doesn’t help my fragile state.

  “How are you feeling now?” he asks.

  “Sick. I need to go, Bryn.”

  “Yeah, I need to get home too. I’ll order you a taxi or do you want me to drive you?” Bryn stands and grabs his leather jacket.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to drive me home.”

  “But it’s partly my fault you’re here.”

  “True. But what if people see?” I’ve seen the tabloid images of famous people pursued through the street. What if I’m photographed coming out of Bryn’s hotel? “Don’t you get followed by the media?”

  Bryn snorts as he shrugs the jacket on. “They don’t care. I’m not as exciting as the Ego Twins or Liam and his fairy-tale romance. How many famous drummers can you name? You don’t need to worry. Sure, if you were underage or famous maybe, but don’t stress.”

  “Such a relief I’m nothing special!”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Wow.”

  “Shit, that’s not what I meant, Avery. I meant you’re not part of the A list, that bullshit. Currently the press are making stories up about me and Mia Jordan.”

  “Who?”

  “Heiress with too much time and money who wants a singing career and the world to think we’re an item.” He pulls a face. “Anyway, don’t want to talk about her. She’s the pain in the arse I told you about.”

  “Right.”

  A smile plays around the corner of his mouth. “Hmm. Mind you, if she saw a picture of me with you she might get the message I’m not interested. Maybe I should find a photographer.” He winks.

  I splutter. “What the hell? No. Although Taylor wants to see a photo, remember?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Bryn wrinkles his nose.

  “And now I need a bloody story to explain why you aren’t going to be around on New Year’s Eve!”

  “You’re not seeing them again, are you? Isn’t one torture session enough?” he asks in surprise.

  “I’m home. It’s New Year’s Eve. It’s expected.”

  “Hmm. Can’t help you out there; I’m in London that night.”

  “I didn’t ask you to. I’ll think of something.”

  Bryn pulls his mouth into an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t think things through.”

  “No, I guess it’s all a game to you.”

  “Not really, I hope you don’t think I was playing arou
nd with your feelings. You’re funny. I liked spending time with you.”

  Friends. Jesus, I wonder how many of his ‘friends’ he gives kisses like the one he gave me? My bleary eyes meet his tired ones and he gives me a small smile. I’m in a hotel room with Bryn Hughes, the man I hardly know, but who I’m happy to get blind drunk with, apparently. If I hadn’t reached the unconscious stage, what would’ve happened? Would I be here and embarrassed by a night of passion with a rock star? I’m ashamed to admit to myself the answer would probably be yes to that question.

  With each drink, the more I paid attention to what attracted me to Bryn. Yeah, the killer body, the strength of the arms that held me, and the kiss, but more. Despite the teasing, I liked Bryn’s weird humour, his natural friendliness and his misguided attempt to help me take on my ex. I’d happily have indulged in another of his mind-melting kisses and whatever else he was offering.

  It’s a bloody good job I lost consciousness.

  Bryn orders a taxi and we head to the lobby where I perch on a sofa avoiding the curious looks from the same receptionist as last night. Crap. Bryn stands next to me arms crossed. All I want to do is get home, climb into my bed, and not come out until Christmas.

  “Can you text me and let me know you got home okay?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “Text. Phone. Message. I’ll give you my number.” He takes the phone I’m holding on my lap, the one I was studying Facebook on to avoid conversation and taps the screen. “My number.” He hands it back.

  I have a rock star’s phone number. I stare at the digits. “Right.”

  A taxi pulls up in the covered drop-off zone outside and I stand. What now? We eye each other cautiously, the embarrassment of the morning after but without the night before. No screaming orgasms or blowjobs for us.

  “Sorry about the kiss,” he says. “I’d had a few beers and…”

  “And you’d need to be drunk to do that.”

  Bryn reaches out and pulls his fingers through my tangled hair. “Don’t put yourself down. I enjoyed it.”

  My legs decide that I’m not walking to the taxi, frozen on the marble floor as my heart rate skyrockets. What do I say to that?

  He draws his brows together. “Clearly you didn’t; but at the time, you were enthusiastic.”

  “Bryn, okay, stop now.” My attempt at staying nonchalant fails with the breathlessness.

  “Thank you for an interesting evening, cariad.”

  “Certainly one I won’t forget in a hurry.”

  “Same.” Bryn holds his arms out to hug me and before I get a chance to protest, he squishes my face against his chest. From this day on, I will love the scent of leather and sandalwood. “Take care, bach.”

  “I am not little!” I protest, pushing him away.

  “So cute…” He arches an eyebrow.

  “Goodbye, Bryn,” I snap and stomp away. Stomping doesn’t work in the heels I’m wearing and I slip, managing to right myself before I end up on the floor for a second time in twenty-four hours.

  “Avery!”

  I turn back to him. “Wait. Let me drive you home.”

  “I’m fine; the taxi’s here.”

  Bryn rubs his hand along his cheek. “I want to drive you.”

  “Why?”

  “I feel I owe you, last night… That was my fault.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can take responsibility for myself.”

  Bryn bites his lip and sweeps a slow look up and down my body. “I’m not saying anything; my foot still hurts from last night.” He holds his hands up in defence as I scowl at him. “Please? I want to make sure you get home okay.”

  Why do I agree? Because I don’t want to leave Bryn? Because I think he’s going to ask me to see him again? I shake the thought away, yeah, right. Bryn said he was a gentleman, and that’s what’s happening.

  The journey takes ten minutes, the motion and the odd smell new cars have turns my stomach again. I close my eyes and concentrate on not heaving all over the expensive upholstery. Bryn opens the window and icy air blasts my eyes open.

  “Bryn!”

  “Fresh air might help.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as we drive, singing loudly to the music he’s cranked up in the car. So much for conversation.

  “You should’ve been the lead singer; you’re not that bad,” I say to him as the car stops on my street and he turns the volume down.

  “Not that bad, huh? Yeah, I do backing vocals. Made more sense for Dylan to be lead since he’s a guitarist too. Us drummers are a rarer breed.”

  “I can’t imagine you front of stage.”

  “No, not for me. I like to hang in the background. It’s safer there.”

  “I always found that a good plan in life.” I check my pockets to make sure I have my purse and phone. “Okay, thanks for the lift home.”

  “Thanks for the fun night.”

  I shake my head. “Sure, Bryn.”

  “You didn’t have fun?”

  “Some of the evening was okay.”

  Bryn shifts closer and focuses on my mouth. “The kiss?” He moves his eyes to fix on mine.

  Oh, God.

  Why does he keep mentioning the kiss?

  I can’t reply.

  Say something.

  Like what?

  “Not the kiss?” he says in response to my silence. “Was it that bad?”

  I shake my head.

  Say something.

  Anything.

  Bryn shifts closer, and his leg touches mine. I jerk and he moves it away again. Bryn’s eyes remain on mine and I’m convinced he’s going to move in for an action-replay.

  “I was drunk!” I squeak out eventually.

  Bryn clutches his chest. “That hurts! Big kick in the ego. So I don’t get a chance to see if I can do better?”

  As Bryn reaches over to touch my face, the car suddenly feels very, very small. Tiny. Airless. My stomach tightens and I swallow. “I feel sick.”

  Bryn laughs and hits his hands on the steering wheel. “Shit, you’re funny! Well, I enjoyed it anyway.”

  He doesn’t elaborate on ‘it’ – the evening or the kiss?

  “It was different,” I say, relieved at the cool air coming through the open window.

  “Shame we can’t do this again sometime. I’m away and then I’m touring. I’m back in the UK late March, if you want to catch up?”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Three months is a long time to wait for a second date.”

  “True. Oh, well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “I don’t think the odds are in our favour, no.”

  Bryn takes my face in both hands, his huge palms covering most of my cheeks. “Shame. I like you, despite the fact you poured soup on me as an excuse to get into my pants when we first met.”

  “Ha-Ha.”

  I attempt to move my head but I can’t; instead, I wrinkle my nose at him.

  “Anyway…” Bryn places his lips on mine, briefly, before looking back at me with a softness I find strange. I could do it. I could kiss this man. Again. My heart bangs against my chest, but the giddy reaction I had to his kiss last night won’t override the nausea. I pull back and he lets my head go.

  “Take care of yourself, cariad.”

  “You too.”

  Bryn hugs me again, his jacket cool against my cheek. This is weird and getting stranger.

  “Right.” I extricate myself and open the door. “Bye, Bryn.”

  As I climb out, he blows me a kiss. I stagger to the path leading to my parents’ two-storey house, glad the snow has been cleared.

  “Don’t forget to tell everyone!” he calls through his now open car window.

  I pause and look back. “About what?”

  “About Bryn Hughes giving you a Screaming Orgasm!”

  His voice carries across the street and I look around. Nobody else is outside apart from Mrs Peters scraping ice from her car, three houses down and who I hope didn’t hear.

&nb
sp; “Oh, my God!” I yell. Without thinking, I grab a handful of snow, teeter back to the car, and before he gets a chance to say anything else I pull his T-shirt forward and shove the snow down his chest.

  Bryn catches the snow and throws it out of the window before catching my arm. “Still trying to get my clothes off?”

  “No! God, Bryn, please. Stop.”

  “That’s not what you were saying last night!” he says loudly and waves at someone behind me.

  I take a sideways look at a middle-aged man walking his snow-covered poodle.

  “You’re not funny!” I hiss, distracted by the way the damp patch from the snow defines his chest. Yes, definitely a good job I passed out last night.

  “Ah, but you love me really.” He catches my wandering look and raises an eyebrow. “The offer’s always open, cariad.”

  Bryn’s red BMW pulls away and travels slowly along the street while I stare in disbelief. What the hell just happened? – Then, last night, the wedding – pulled into Bryn’s life for a little over a day, and I have memories that will last a lifetime. I doubt I’ll ever see him again, in March, or anytime. A knot of disappointment joins the nausea as I walk into the house and close the door on the weirdest night of my life with the strangest man. Strange because Bryn Hughes is the opposite of anything I expect from a stratospherically famous rock star, and everything I want a man to be.

  Chapter Nine

  BRYN

  Christmas, a time of year for family, and don’t I bloody know it. For weeks leading up to the day, Mum calls and hassles me about going home. I always do and I expect I always will. Apart from one Christmas, about five years ago, I missed out because I was overseas. Luckily, the heat of the States took away from the Christmas feeling, but an odd emptiness I never expected took its place.

  Three days after my weird night out with the strange girl, who I can’t shake from my mind, and I’m here on Christmas Eve. My three older sisters are spread around the country with their husbands and kids, but my youngest, Tegan, still lives at home. She finished her A levels, took a year out, and recently returned from a trip to Asia. Now we’re all together under one roof.

  Yeah, we’re a bloody big houseful when we get together – sisters and partners, Mum and Dad, grandparents, uncles and aunts, niece, nephews. Good thing my parents accepted my gift of the converted farmhouse on the outskirts of Swansea.