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Did he just call mecariad?
* * *
The hyperventilation stops somewherebetween entrée and main course as I serve other tables and manage to keep the soup in the bowls. Still, the idea of approaching a table full of famous people I’ve mortally embarrassed myself in front of, is as unappealing as my planned night out tomorrow.
My usual pre-Christmas catch-up with school friends returning home after heading their separate ways is normally fun. This year not so much. Each year, we drift apart a little more and some drift closer. Such as my now ex and my now ex-best friend.
I’m pulled out of my musing by Kim, who digs me in the ribs. “He asked where you were.”
“Who did?”
“The Blue Phoenix guy you poured soup on.”
“What? Why?” I ask in alarm.
Kim shrugs and picks up large plates from the side and hands them to me. “Maybe he wants sexual favours in return for not registering a complaint?”
“What the hell?” Kim’s face shows no hint of teasing. She actually believes this? “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I noticed he’s the only one of the group without a date. I’ve always wondered if he already had a guy instead, but he definitely appreciated the view when I was serving him.” Kim straightens her white shirt with a grin. “So, he’s probably looking for a hook-up.”
“Be my guest.” I gesture towards the door. Kim is around my age, studies at catering college and works here part-time. She looks older than me though, one of those girls who’s spent a lot of time studying make-up artistry videos on YouTube. I’m a mascara and lipstick girl. Although, when I’m here, I have to trowel on thicker make-up to reach Gemma’s standards of grooming.
“Avery! You know I have a boyfriend!” she protests.
“Fine, but he can forget trying anything with me.” I take the plates of carved beef and push through the double-doors with my backside. With each step closer to the table, my skin heats an extra degree. I grip the plates, my earlier nervousness about serving Blue Phoenix now multiplied by a thousand after ‘Soupgate’.
Without making eye contact, I place the plates on the table in front of Bryn and the guy next to him.The guy next to him?Huh, try Dylan ‘smoking hot and I wouldn’t need asking twice, thank you very much’ Morgan. The blonde-haired girl he’s with is used to reading my kind of reaction to Dylan and arches a brow at me. But Dylan’s not the only attractive guy here—there’s enough testosterone at this table they could bottle and sell to people who need to get laid.
As this thought crosses my mind, I meet Bryn’s eyes. Standing closer than I’d prefer, I’m confused. Is this anxiety or attraction? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.
Great.
“Thanks,” he says. “Looking good.”
“Pardon?” I can’t believe I was just thinking about people getting laid.
“The food. Looks good,cariad.”
“Oh. Right.”
Then Bryn winks at me, followed immediately by a shout of pain and a dirty look at the blonde-haired girl with Dylan. “What the hell did you kick me for?”
“Leave her alone, Bryn. She’s having a bad night,” she says.
“I’m only being friendly!”
“Don’t stress,” says Dylan. “Bryn isn’t one for picking up random chicks.” His words are also followed by a scowl at his girlfriend as she smacks the back of his hand. “What?”
“Chicks!” she hisses.
“Jesus, Sky. Randomgirls…”
I don’t care what he calls me; Dylan Morgan just bloody spoke to me. I make a noise somewhere between a mumble and a giggle, a sound akin to an injured woodland creature then back away.
Bryn’s gaze is fixed on mine, and whatever Dylan says, I recognise that look. The slow smile Bryn gives cements my certainty that he loves my reaction to him.
