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9
Sky
Two days later,the butterflies swarm around my stomach, as I pace the flat looking out of the window every five minutes expecting Dylan’s arrival. Myf was right. I have to listen to my heart and trust what he’s telling me. I agree to meet Dylan again, and lie to myself that the only reason I want to is because I want to fill in the gaps.
He arrives at the door wearing a leather jacket with a grey scarf wrapped around his neck, strands of his curling hair stick out of his black beanie. His face is reddened from the short walk from the car to the flat, and the wary look is on his face again. There’s an awkward moment where we almost hug, but are both too scared of rejection I think, and then we leave. The snow from the last few days melts in the winter sun, turning to grey slush on the pavements. Dylan’s car is parked a few hundred metres along the road and we tread carefully toward it.
I slide on the slush and Dylan catches my elbow. Even though I’m wearing a thick coat, the sensation of his hand on me sets the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy.
“Careful,” he says.
His pale blue eyes search mine as I grab his sleeve to steady myself and I’m seconds away from burying my head into his chest and allowing his familiar arms to hold me. I compose myself and step to one side.
Dylan appears to misread my action. “Do you trust me enough to be alone with me?” asks Dylan, as we climb into the black Audi.
“I told you, I don’t think you’re a rapist, whatever else happened,” I say in a low voice.
A muscle in his cheek twitches and he stares out of the window.
I agreed to go somewhere with Dylan, although neither of us had any real clue where. Public is awkward and there’s no way I’m going to his house.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He grins, brightening his gaunt face. “Fish and chips on the beach.”
I tip my head and look through the window at the grey skies. “You are kidding, right? It’s the middle of bloody winter.”
“We could go to a restaurant?”
“Dylan, when I met you, you spent several days hiding from the public, and now, you want to take me to a public place? Do you want the paparazzi to join us?”
Dylan shifts to face me, the movement sending the fragrance I associate with the encompassing emotions of the summer into the space between us. “Do you pay much attention to the celebrity news?”
“You know the answer to that question.” I’m not admitting my recent obsession with all things Blue Phoenix.
“Jem.”
I tense at his name. “What about him?”
“He’s screwing around with royalty.”
I choke back a laugh, visions of Jem and the Queen appearing in my mind’s eye. “I read about that somewhere but didn’t believe it.”
“Not proper royalty, but close enough to the Royal Family to have the press pack in constant pursuit. I think she’s some heiress who’s two hundredth in line to the throne or something stupid.”
The ridiculousness of Jem’s situation melts some of the tension and I giggle. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in weeks. You have to show me pictures.”
Dylan shifts closer, solid thigh touching mine. When he pulls up pictures on his phone, I hardly focus on them, the awareness of Dylan’s proximity suffocating me. If I close my eyes he could be the summer Dylan again, not the one who Jem dragged up for me to see.
The girl in the pictures is a lot younger than Jem, and I suspect that’s adding to the media frenzy. She has adopted the edgier rock chick look, bottle blonde stylishly messy hair, dark make-up, and grungy clothes. I bet her appearance goes down really well with her privileged family—about as well as her involvement with Jem Jones. There are plenty of pictures of the pair of them at clubs, or walking down the street, always tightly bound together and Jem’s face always pissed off. The protectiveness of his embrace surprises me.
“Takes the heat off me, anyway,” he says and tucks his phone away.
Do I move my leg or stay close? My inner battle wages but Dylan makes the decision and moves away.
“You want to take me to a cafe and eat fish and chips?” I ask.
His face takes on the childish expression. “No, I want to eat them on the beach.”
