Reverb (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

AVERY

I drop my ‘stuffed to the brim’ rucksack on the floor in the hallway of the small house and glance around. Whenever I'm away, the place improves in my mind, but then I return after the holidays and my fantasies of cleanliness are proved to be an illusion.

Ben sits on the sofa, focused on his phone. He looks up when he hears the front door close and smiles apologetically. “Yeah. We need to tidy a bit.”

A bit? The plates on the table in front of the TV look like they're beginning their own ecosystem. The empty wine and beer bottles vie for space with empty bags of crisps and food trays. “Did you have a party?”

“No. Not really. I mean, a couple of the guys stayed over Christmas and…”

Distracted, I lean closer and examine his face. “Ben. Are you growing a beard?”

He rubs the scruffy facial hair and I take in his appearance. Ben's once unruly brown hair is slicked into something resembling a quiff and his clothes are decidedly different. For a start, his shirt has a white and brown flower pattern.

“Ben?”

“What?”

“Hipster much?”

“I'm bloody not!”

“Another one is claimed by the dark side,” I say with a laugh and look back to the mess. “Your hipster friends didn't help tidy up?” A thought strikes. “I hope they stayed out of my room!”

“Yes, Avery,” says Ben with a sigh. “They wouldn't dare go in there and mess up your oasis of calm.”

“You mean my threat of injury to anybody who went in while I was away worked?”

Ben laughs. “Yeah. That too.”

I wander into the kitchen, take one look at the leaning tower of plates and glasses, consider whether an engineering student visited and achieved such a feat, then walk straight out. “Sort that, Ben!”

“Yeah, sorry, didn't realise you were coming back.” He begins gathering rubbish into a pile. “Why are you back?”

“I need to try and find some work before term starts.”

“What happened to the job you had at home?”

“That, as they say, is a long story.”

“They sacked you? What did you do? I can't imagine you upsetting people.”

“Not talking about it.” I throw him an empty plastic bag. “How's the hot water situation?”

“Bad. Still waiting for the landlord to come round, lukewarm showers for the win,” he mutters.

“It's almost a month now!”

“You don't need to tell me that!”

“What about the heating?”

“Take your coat off and find out.”

“Jesus! Have you called the landlord again?”

“No.”

“Do I have to do everything?”

I live with Ben, Michelle, and her boyfriend, John. Out of the four of us, it appears I'm the only one who learned to do things for themselves before leaving home. I organise the bills, the (mostly ignored) household rosters, and frequently call the landlord with problems. Ben knows how pissed off I get about this; he turns away to intently focus on sorting out the junk lying around the lounge.

“Are Michelle and John back yet?”

“No. I’ll call the landlord in the morning.”

Muttering Avery style, I leave the room.

As I partake in the lukewarm shower in the cold bathroom, I consider the wisdom of returning to London early when, with my parents, I had a cosy house with copious hot water and free food. Why did I decide to swap that for an icebox of a house and a diet that's likely to exist of pasta and baked beans?

I have a friend, Erica, who works at a club, pole dancing in the evenings, and is paid more in one night than I could earn in two weeks from waitressing. I declined her offer to introduce me to the manager, using the excuse they probably prefer taller girls who could reach more than halfway up the pole. Who knows what the club owners like in an employee; I've never been to one myself. Erica told me I'd be fine because of my ample assets, but I politely declined. Still, if I had a pound for every guy who stares at my chest instead of looking me in the eyes, I wouldn't be in debt.

I have to hope the gods smile on me and send some work my way. Otherwise, after my finals, progressing to a teaching course is out of reach.

Chapter Twelve

BRYN

I snap my eyes open, aware of a warm weight on my chest and unaware of how I got home last night. My head feels as if someone put it in a vice, the room spinning along with it.

I made it to my bed but not alone. The weight is a naked chick.

Shit.

I carefully extract myself from the blonde-haired girl, recollections of last night filtering in. My jeans and shirt are piled onto the floor next to her dress and panties; no prizes for guessing what I got up to last night.

Crap.

I pull on my boxers and head to the én-suite. Closing the door, I knock my head against the wall. This is the second time in a week. Was I passed the mantle from the other guys when they finished their womanising ways? Making up for lost time now, I know Hannah strung me along for two years.

Not amused at myself, I head for a shower and replay the evening in my head as the warm water trickles over my aching head. A few drinks with Jax, Will, and Nate, we started mid-afternoon and the bourbon went down a little too well. Well enough for the guys to persuade me to go to the pub with them.

There were girls, obviously, but when did they arrive? What the fuck was I drinking? Wouldn’t be as bad if I could remember the sex.

I head out of the bathroom with a grey towel wrapped around my waist. The chick is dressed, perched on the edge of the bed in her crumpled black dress, blonde hair sticking out at the sides and make-up rubbed across her face. I think I remember this chick, somebody Jax knows? Cherry? Cherise? Something like that. I wipe a hand over my face. Nope, I don't remember her name.

“Hey,” I say warily.

“Bryn,” she says with a small smile, staring at my semi-nakedness with renewed interest.

“Um. Last night…”

She attempts to smooth her hair into order. “Don't stress, I don't expect anything from you. We're good.”

“Right.”

I tense as the girl approaches, and her subtle perfume triggers memories of her in my bed last night and there was nothing coy about her then. Running a finger along my naked chest, she gazes up at me from beneath thick, dark lashes.

“Unless you want to get together again some time?”

Shit. I can't keep doing this. “No.”

My abruptness doesn't faze her. “No problem.” She slides her feet into her black heels. “You're with that heiress anyway, aren't you?”

I groan. “No. I'm not.”

“It's cool. I know what you Blue Phoenix guys are like. I won't tell anyone.”

As I hastily show the chick to the front of the house, I pass a stunned looking Mia. The girl averts her eyes, but I give Mia a warning look. Following an awkward, muttered goodbye, I close the front door and rest against it heaving out a breath.

Mia stands with her lips pursed and dog under her arm. “I know I have no chance with you, Bryn, but stop being mean to me!”

“How am I being mean to you?”

“You know I like you and you keep bringing girls home! Noisy girls.”

I’m about to retort that at least they enjoy themselves but bite my tongue.

“And you're so rude!” she exclaims. “You just kick them out as if you can't get away quick enough. I don't know what's got into you!”

I bristle at her judgment. “Yeah, it's awkward when you're here the next day and they think I'm with you. When are you moving out?”

As usual, Mia ignores the question. “Well, I'm glad you said no to me now!” she retorts and walks away.

I've begun searching for accommodation on Mia's behalf, spoken to Steve about the issue. The guys can't understand why I don't get Mia to leave but she's eighteen and clueless. Hotels won't take her with the dog; and much as I'd love to kick the rat into the street, I'm a soft touch over animals too. I repeatedly attempt to get her to go home to her dad in the States, but she refuses.

So Mia stays.

Cerys tells me I'm being unfair, but I'm pretty sure Mia has the message now. At which point, Cerys snorted with laughter and suggested I take a look at myself in the mirror and question women's usual reaction to me. Yeah, I'm more in tune with girls who think I'm hot recently, and look where that's landed me.

What the hell am I doing? Am I so lonely and short of things to do that I let a girl I don't like live in my house and pick up random women to sleep in my bed?

****

As I douse my hangover with several glasses of water and a couple of painkillers, Mia reappears, bringing her haughty attitude with her.

“Are you coming tonight?” she asks, gathering her girlie crap off the kitchen counter into her designer handbag.

“Where?”

She exhales loudly. “Yvonne's party! The opening of the new place. You agreed to take me when we talked about it the other night.”

I scour my memory. Nope. “Was I drunk?”

Mia straightens. “More than likely, you normally are!”

“No, I'm not.”

Mia casts a look at my latest collection of empties on the table and tips her head. “Right.”

“I can't go with you,” I say and sip my coffee.

“Why?”

“I'm taking somebody else.”

Mia's head snaps back as if I just hit her across the face with her designer bag. “Who?”

Yeah, who?

“A girl.”

“Which girl?”

“Not you.”

“The one I saw you kicking out of the house this morning?”

Nice one, Bryn. Keep digging your hole because now you’re going to have to go – with a girl.
“No. I guess you'll see tonight.” I pull myself out of the soft armchair and push my hair from my face. “House hunting today?”

She pouts. “Yes, I am, actually.”

“Really?”

“I might move back in with Tammy now we're friends again.”

“Right. Good idea.” They were sworn enemies two days ago; this girl's personal life is more complicated than mine. “Take her to the party with you.”

Mia tosses her long, dark hair over her shoulder and fixes me with a steely gaze. “I have other options apart from you.”

Deciding to make a big exit, Mia grabs her bag and spins around with a flourish before heading into the hallway. The door bangs closed.

Mia's moving? And she has other 'options'?

Thank fuck for that.

Problem is I’m left with a dilemma. Who do I take? Or do I cancel?

This is a bloody big party and one I can't say no to. Yvonne was friends with Trudy, and is head of Blue Phoenix’s current PR company. She's carefully constructed her guest list and wants representatives of all her clients. The other guys aren't around and she calls me every day to check I'm still going. Surely, she has enough soap opera and reality TV stars on her books to make up for me.

There is somebody I can ask, someone who'd make the evening easier. To be honest, this is the excuse I've been waiting for.

Avery.

Every time Hannah invades my mind, I push her out with images of my night with the funny girl from Wales. To begin with, I toy with asking to see Avery again because we never had sex and I wanted to; the chemistry between us beneath the banter aroused me a hell of a lot. Then memories of our time alone enter; drunken conversation, the way she reacted to my humour, and how comfortable I felt around a girl I only knew a night. There's a strong sense something was cut short before it began. Wouldn't it make more sense to fill the hole inside with another girl rather than my bed with girls for empty sex?

I tour at the end of the month. There's time to reconnect and see how things play out with Avery. Maybe we're not matched on any other level than the spark between us. Why not kindle it for a few weeks and have some fun?

I scroll through my recent calls and find the number from 12.05 a.m. on New Year’s Day, recalling the amusing call from Avery and I bet she did call me deliberately. I smile to myself, anticipating Avery's reaction as I dial.

“Hello?”

“Morning, cariad.”

A long silence follows before Avery hoarsely replies, “Bryn?”

“Sure is. How are you?”

“Fine.” I can barely hear and she clears her throat. “You?”

“Bored. Do you want to go on a date with a hot rock star?”

“Um.”

“Um?”

Another long silence. I tap the table; surely, my star status isn't that big of a deal? “Avery?”

“Sorry, I wasn't expecting a hot rock star to call me when I woke up this morning. I don't know what to say.”

“Yes? Like I said when you stalked me the other week, if I'd known you lived in London, I'd have asked you on another date.”

“Stalked you? I did not…” She pauses. “Funny. Another date? I don't think our first counted as a date.”

“Really? Well you ended up in my bed.” Silence. “I want to see you again.”

“Okay…”

“You sound doubtful? I've had a shit Christmas and New Year; you were the best part. I had fun.” I lower my voice. “We could have more fun.”

Another pause. I hate phone conversations and not being able to read people's faces and my humour obviously doesn’t translate on the phone. “I don't know. This is weird.”

“I have a proposition for you. Well, a favour.”

“What favour?” she asks in a guarded tone.

“There's this party tonight and I want you to come with me.”

“Party? Tonight?”

“Small celebrity thing and I don't want to go on my own.”

“Why?”

“Reasons.”

“I don't know.”

Wow, talk about unimpressed by my star status. “One night. Go on.” I take advantage of her hesitation. “You're telling me you've never once wished you could go to a celebrity party with a hot rock star?”

“Funnily enough, that has never crossed my mind. You really want to take me to a party?”

“Why not? Don't you date rock stars? I told you, my prospects are good and…”

“Very funny, Bryn.”

I tap my fingers on the table. Why do I want to see this chick so much? I stamp down the Bryn who wants to see Avery because he missed out on sex with her last time and remind myself I like her for more than that. Talking to Avery is like calling an old friend, an immediate reconnection, and I have no clue why.

“I’ll think about it and call you back,” Avery replies. “Thanks for calling.”

When she hangs up, I stare at my phone in disbelief. Shit, she’s funny. Is Avery interested or not?