Chasing Alys

by Morgana Bevan

  The frown cleared and Blondie’s amused eyes were appraising when they jumped back to mine. “He thought it was impressive too. His assistant was quite the firecracker. You gave her a run for her money.”

  “You met Mona?”

  He nodded. “A couple of times now. Do you know her well?”

  I shrugged. “A little. I hired her.”

  His unfocused eyes shifted to the left. “When she was trying to get out from under Shaun, you mean?”

  “I didn’t know they were involved at the time, but I guess so.”

  Our production secretary quit without notice two months in. She’d been missed, and the production team had struggled to absorb her tasks. For a couple weeks, we floundered trying to keep on top of the last-minute transport and accommodation changes for the entire cast and crew, as well as prepare the sides for the next day. When Mona accepted my offer to jump ship and join production, I snapped her up without much thought. Thankfully, Shaun hadn’t been pissed, and it hadn’t backfired on me.

  “Did you find out why she was crying?” he asked, bringing me back to the present.

  I frowned at the sudden question. My mind raced, trying to figure out how it applied to Mona. I’d never seen her cry.

  “What?”

  “The girl.” His intense blue eyes snared me like a trap. Why do I feel the urge to spill all my secrets to this guy every time our eyes meet? “Did you find out why she was upset?”

  The genuine interest in his gaze both intrigued and terrified me. Men rarely cared about my job. They asked the perfunctory questions about meeting famous people, but their eyes always glazed over when I tried to go deeper. Not this guy. I liked it too much.

  “She missed her mother. She died a couple of months before, and it was her first acting gig without her.” A pang hit me in the chest. I tried to force that memory out of my mind by raising the awful wine to my mouth and focusing on the acidic liquid searing my taste buds. It didn’t help.

  Our only child actress had thrown a fit because no one had danced her around the space or read lines with her. Like her mother did and never would again.

  His amusement faded. “Poor kid.” Admiration filled his tone when he added: “I’ve never seen someone soothe a kid so fast. Good work.”

  Heat spread up my neck and into my cheeks.

  “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. It took guts.” He raised his drink to his lips without breaking eye contact. “There were loads of people there whose job it was to look after the kid, right?”

  “Yes, but I went about it wrong. I should have spoken to the director and had him step in.” But I hadn’t really been thinking. I’d heard her cry and reacted.

  “Your way was far more badass.” He smiled. My lips curved in response. “I’m sorry for staring. I guess your face stuck with me after that.”

  I nodded. My eyes drifted towards the stairs, hoping Emily would magically appear and let me escape his sincere light. But no luck. Emily was still MIA and this guy still drew me in. So much for dousing the flames.

  For the first time, I noticed the sound engineer glaring with his arms crossed at the idiot on stage swinging the mic at the very tip of safe. Somebody really should stop him before he hits someone. Hell, if it meant he’d stop screaming, I’d do it. There was screamo and then there was this ear-destroying monstrosity. There were plenty of leather-wearing men in the room sporting spiky jewellery who probably loved it, but even they frowned at the band.

  “Do you like this type of music?” My persistent companion shouted. He tapped my arm with his cold plastic bottle, drawing my attention back to him. Goose bumps broke out, raising the hairs on my skin.

  “How can you call this noise music?” I asked, pretending that I knew enough about it to have an opinion beyond the Top 40.

  He shrugged. “Some people like it.”

  “But not you?” I held my breath, hopeful I’d at last found some reason to push him away.

  “Definitely not me. I like my music to have understandable lyrics.”

  Relief coursed through me before I could squash it. So maybe I didn’t want him to leave. My eyes widened as they travelled between the stage and him. “That has lyrics?”

  He chuckled. “They say it does. I have my doubts.”

  I glanced over his shoulder at his friends. They were engrossed in a heated argument and seemingly oblivious to his absence. They gestured wildly between them, their faces animated and invested.

  “What’s that about?” I asked, nodding towards them.

  “Who knows. Jared probably said something to wind them up.” He pointed over his shoulder. “That’s normal. I’m far more interested in you.”

  I laughed. “Smooth.”

  He ran his free hand through his hair, grinning boyishly at me. “I’m not all that great with that kind of thing.”

  I snorted and his lips widened, revealing a flash of his teeth.

  “I’d rather not get drawn into whatever they’re arguing about. Would you mind if I kept hanging out with you?” The words hit me as effectively as if he’d whispered them in my ear.

  The answer should have been no, instantaneous and swift rolling off my lips. I wasn’t interested in taking this brief flirtation further. I definitely didn’t want to lead anyone on. Yet I smiled and nodded.

  Relief slivered across his face before his confident demeanour fell back into place.

  “If you could have dinner with only two of your favourite artists, who would you pick?” His eyes wandered across my face, taking in my surprise. “What? Were you expecting me to ask something else?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  I shook my head, unsure if he meant my pick of artists or the question I’d expected to fall from his lips. Surprising man wasn’t so straightforward.

  “You don’t want to know the answer,” I said.

  “Fair warning. If you say Matthew Tuck from Bullet for My Valentine, I’m going to call you a hypocrite.” His eyes sparkled, and a ridiculous thrill swept through me. I enjoyed him looking at me with that teasing glint.

  I’d heard of Bullet for My Valentine. I’d have to live in a cave not to have. They were a Welsh band from a couple towns over, but I had no idea what they sounded like. “Okay. You still don’t want to hear my answer.”

  He stepped closer and his face lit up. He laughed at me. “Now I need to know. It can’t be that bad. You don’t look like the sort to love teeny-bopper music.”

  I laughed too, basking in his attention despite myself. “I’d probably invite Halsey and the Ward Thomas sisters.”

  He pointed at me. “That’s three.”

  “I can’t exactly split up the Ward Thomas sisters.”

  “Then you need to pick just them.”

  “Or I could pick someone else.”

  He gestured for me to do so.

  “Tanc Sade.”

  He frowned, focusing on a point beyond me. “He’s not a musician.”

  “He played one.”

  “Yes, but he’s not a real musician.” He smirked, shaking his head. “You’re terrible at this game,” he said, raising the bottle to his lips.

  “I did warn you.”

  He laughed, the sound rushing around me in a rare break in the music and drawing an uncontrollable smile from me. I could feel my resolve weakening. It would be wise to leave before I forgot why I needed a break from men in the first place. My eyes strayed to the stairs, but I stayed rooted to the spot. Just a few more minutes.

  Chapter Three

  “So, did you come to see anyone in particular?” His question startled me as his lips almost brushed my ear to be heard over the music. A shiver ran down my spine while he leaned back, his expectant eyes fixed on me.

  I took a sip of wine to cover it and regretted it. Wincing, I lowered the cup.

  My blond shadow gestured to the cup, silently asking for a taste. I happily handed it over. He took a tentative sip. I almost stopped him
, but then my winces hadn’t exactly been covert. He shouldn’t have asked if he wanted to keep his taste buds. Instead, I bit my lip and waited for the look of disgust.

  I didn’t have to wait long. His face screwed up like he’d bitten into a lemon. He washed it down with his own drink. “Can I get you something better?”

  “I’m good. I doubt they have better.”

  He glanced at the crowded bar with its low lighting. “You might be right.”

  Grimacing, he handed the offending drink off to some unsuspecting girl who’d wandered by. One glance at him, her eyes widened and she accepted it without question. Foolish girl.

  “My friend loves this band called Rhiannon,” I said, leaning up on my tiptoes until my chest brushed his.

  Somehow the volume of the music jumped up, and it quickly reduced us to lip reading. Whether or not he’d heard me was a mystery. He stared at my mouth, a crease forming between his brows while his brain dissected the muddled sounds and movement.

  It felt like an age before understanding softened his features and he nodded. “But not you?”

  “I’m not the ‘fixate on a band’ type. Emily’s played me one or two songs and they’re alright. Unlike this.” I nodded towards the singer, who was now trying to choke himself Bat-Out-of-Hell-style on stage. He’d wrapped the mic cord around his neck until it resembled a choke collar. One wrong step and he’d strangle himself. It was a worrying sight, and one I wasn’t prepared to experience on a Friday night.

  “I’m Ryan, by the way.” He offered me his hand and, smart or not, I took it. His rough fingers scraped against my skin, and I shivered as every nerve in my body kick-started at the brief contact.

  “Alys.”

  “I know.” He smirked.

  My smile slipped a little. I pulled my hand back and pressed my palm tight against my side. Whether to end the sensation or prolong it, I wasn’t sure. “How do you know?”

  “I asked Shaun months ago.” He paused. “Shit. That sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

  My lips twitched at his wide-eyed distress. “How do you think it sounds?”

  “Like crazy stalker shit. I promise you that’s not what it was.”

  I crossed my arms and considered him, my eyes dragging up and down his body critically. “I’m not worried. You don’t look like you’d know how to stalk a woman.”

  “Definitely not.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head, the picture of innocence.

  “And Mona would have ratted you out by now. I swear she’s part detective or something.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, you’d be right about that.”

  “I know. I got her on the track to her dream job. She owes me.”

  Ryan shook his head, smirking before he took another drink. His eyes laughed at me. “Duly noted. Well, Alys, I hope you’ll let me prove my innocence. Maybe give me your honest feedback over a drink after the show?”

  “Are you a superfan or something?”

  “They may be friends of mine.” His captivating eyes gleamed with secrets.

  “Ah, so it’s personal. That makes honest feedback a little difficult.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Any comments would end up being lies or partial truths and that’s no way to—” I clamped my lips shut as my brain caught up with my runaway mouth.

  That’s no way to start a relationship, I’d been about to say to a stranger. I didn’t even want a relationship. What the hell is wrong with me? Emotional shit and I did not get on. This was why I needed to get drunk and forget about the chaos that was men. Where the hell are you, Emily?

  Helpfully, the music dropped a couple levels just as those ridiculous words left my mouth, so there was no use hoping he hadn’t heard. Somebody out there was having a laugh at my expense.

  “No way to what?” Ryan asked, smirking as though he knew exactly where my head had gone.

  “So, where are you from?” It was a pointless question. I could hear the Welsh lilt in his accent, but changing the subject seemed the safest option.

  “Ponty, but I live in Glasgow. Have you been?”

  “Like the band!” I shouted before I could pull the plug on such an idiotic comment or mask my surprise. Not so straightforward, then.

  “Yeah. I went for uni and never found a compelling reason to come home.”

  His words reminded me that Emily would never miss this gig. My gaze strayed to the stairs again, scanning the faces of each newcomer. None wore Emily’s familiar pixie cut.

  In the fifteen years we’d been best friends, she’d never backed out of plans without warning. There had to be something wrong. Something serious enough to keep her from witnessing Rhiannon’s first gig in Wales.

  Serious like an accident. What if a bus hit her on her way here? My stomach rolled at the thought.

  Ears ringing, I took out my phone and hit dial. I had the device raised to my ear before my brain could remind me that I could only just about hear myself think. Ryan had almost kissed my ear to be heard while shouting. That image made my toes curl, and you can bet I’d be tucking it away to analyse later.

  Straining to hear the telltale sound of the phone ringing, I took a step towards the stairs, trying to escape the noise.

  “Where are you going?” Ryan called, keeping pace with me. The easy smile had fallen from his lips and he frowned down at me.

  “I’m sorry. I’m worried about my friend.”

  I only knew the call had connected to voicemail because the screen said so. Any dial tone was lost to the painful reverb of the guitar. I hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of my skinny jeans.

  My heart beat faster as more images of the terrible things that could’ve happened to Emily played in my head. I needed to find her. Now.

  With a hair’s width of space between our bodies, I raised up on my tiptoes. Heeled boots or not, there was still some distance between us. My hands gripped Ryan’s shoulders to steady myself. “Thanks for chatting to me, but I need to go,” I shouted, hoping that my voice would carry over the latest onslaught of screaming.

  “You’ll miss the best act if you go now,” he said with conviction. A hand landed on my hip as he closed the minute gap between us. My breasts pressed against his hard chest and his eyes held mine, searching. His head dipped towards me. My breath caught and my brain forgot why it was a bad idea to be this close to such a potent man.

  One kiss wouldn’t hurt, right? It had been a while since I’d gotten attached to a man, let alone a stranger. I was more than capable of controlling myself, protecting myself. One kiss wouldn’t change that, would it?

  Our noses touched, and the small puff of his breath on my face jolted me from the moment. The fog parted and logic sat clear before me, mocking my momentary lapse in judgement. A break from men means a break. No kissing strangers in a bar just because you find them oddly captivating.

  “I have to go. Sorry.” I stepped away, and his hands fell from me. His mouth hung open in shock – not used to women saying no to him, no doubt. With a parting wave, I made a beeline for the exit.

  “Wait!” Ryan called at the same moment the music cut out.

  Heads turned towards us, drawn to the slightest hint of drama. Some of them glanced over, but others bounced back for a second look. Their gazes seemed to glue to Ryan, widening with surprise before they turned to their companions with excited gestures. Weird.

  My body tensed. Other people’s interest made me hyper-aware of every minor flaw, imagined or otherwise.

  Back ballerina-straight and head held high, I ignored Ryan. I continued towards the stairs and the freedom of Albany Road.

  But determination and alcohol made men brave.

  Ryan’s fingers wrapped around my arm, pulling me tight to his side. An arm slipped around my shoulders, sheltering me from most of the onlookers. Had he tried to stop me, I would have pulled away out of pure reflex. But he kept guiding me through the crowd, so I let it go.

  The brief brushes of Ryan�
�s body against mine as he shielded me did funny things to my common sense. I squared my shoulders against the warmth that spread through my chest. All the more reason to get out of the building fast.

  “Can I at least get your number, or do I need to salvage a shoe?” His breath tickled my ear.

  With great reluctance, I shook his arm off and stepped away. “I like these boots too much, and I don’t share my number with strangers,” I whispered the words so that our watchers wouldn’t hear me over the crowd’s murmurs.

  The tiny stage was now a hive of activity as men in black band t-shirts swapped out instruments and reformatted the stage. The screamo band must have finished their set. Ryan’s tattooed friend bounced up to us with a knowing grin.

  “C’mon, dude. We’re up next.” He drummed his drumsticks along Ryan’s shoulders, tapping out an agitated beat.

  “I’ll be there in a minute, Jared,” Ryan said, stiffening. His determined eyes never strayed from my face. He took another step towards me, reaching for my arm again.

  “Tactile much?” I stepped back, dodging his searching hands.

  “Sorry.” He held his hands up and took a small step back. “It feels like I know you and I don’t yet.”

  I frowned at that. What does that mean?

  “Ry, James is having an issue with the amps.” Jared’s apologetic eyes darted between the two of us.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.” Ryan’s words were clipped and his smile tight. His eyes snapped to Jared’s face, ensuring he understood.

  “Ryan.” Now I was the one reaching out for his arm. I squeezed, dragging his attention back to me. He turned from his friend, who threw his hands up and backed away. “Thank you for keeping me company, but my friend would never miss this gig. I need to go and check on her.”