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Cerys pushes a strand of hair behind an ear and shakes her head. “My life is in Cardiff with my daughter and...” Her mouth turns down. “Well, just me and her now.”
I chew my lip. I’ve spent the last few days wondering where Ella’s dad is. I figured it’s none of my business, but I’m alarmed Cerys is getting upset about it.
“Dickhead,” she mutters, “I should’ve waited for my hot rock star to come back, instead of getting pregnant at seventeen.”
She huffs, sits, and bends down to take her shoes off. The simple action, the ordinariness of the night, and the twinge of regret I feel for her blends together as I watch. I can’t picture her at fifteen—she looks completely different. I want to stroke the hair from her face and ask what happened and why she’s so sad, and a fierce protectiveness grips me. Because she’s the little girl from my past? No. Because nice people don’t deserve to be treated like crap.
When Cerys and Lou were fourteen, some older guys from Sixth Form sniffed around them. I know for a fact Lou got herself into a situation she shouldn’t with one of them. Me and Bryn stepped in and threatened violence we probably wouldn’t have carried out. But they backed off. I remember the Cerys from then, vulnerable and naive. She’s lost the vulnerability, her strength is obvious, but my urge to take care of her remains.
Cerys sits back with the black shoes in her hands. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Whatever that look is.”
Girls are weird. Multiply that thought by a thousand with her next move. Cerys heads toward the kitchen door with the determined look drunk people have, as if crossing a small space is equivalent to climbing Mount Everest. She pauses next to me.
“It was you,” she says softly.
“What was?”
“I fantasised about my best friend’s big brother; plenty of girls do. You had an added bonus—bass player in the most famous band in the world.” She fixes her gaze on my mouth and slowly runs her tongue along her bottom lip. “Then there was the night you kissed me, but I bet you forgot about that. Bet you’ve kissed thousands of girls.”
Oh, shit.Bad enough her words are turning me on in an inappropriate way, but her body is so close I can practically feel the soft curves against me.Don’t do it. Don’t touch her.What the fuck do I say to a comment like that?
For an eternal moment, we remain close to each other, fighting the past. I’m not sober, but sober enough to resist the urge to do what my dick is telling me would be an awesome idea.
Yeah, sex with Cerys has crossed my mind on more than one occasion since I returned home, but is Cerys saying how she feels still exists or is she reminiscing?
She places her small hand against my cheek. “You’re a nice guy, Liam. I didn’t think you would be.”
“Omigod!” shrieks Louise from behind. “Are you hitting on my brother?”
Cerys steps back dropping her hand. “No! I was just telling Liam about the crush I once had on him.”
Louise pulls a face. “Eww, no idea why!”
“Sure, we won’t tell him about you and Jem then,” replies Cerys.
“Noo! Shut up!”
“What the fuck?” I growl.
“Your sister made out with Jem,” giggles Cerys. “Same night you—” Cerys puts a hand over her mouth.
“Cerys! Shut up!” Lou’s cheeks grow pink and she avoids my eyes.
I stiffen more than aware of Jem’s reputation with girls. “When? When you were younger? I fucking hope not.”
“It doesn’t matter. Jesus, Cerys, go to bed.” Louise shoves her friend.
When they stagger out of the room together, I absent-mindedly tidy up the bottles from the kitchen table and put them on the kitchen counter. My ego loves the idea that Cerys had pictures of me on her wall, and likes the fact she crushed on me even more. Good thing we’re in my parents’ house and I’m not drunk or I doubt I’d stop at kissing Cerys this time.
