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Bryn pulls me out of the door into the darkness and leans against the wall. “I'm not most rock stars, and you're not most girls.”
“I am perfectly aware of your uniqueness, Bryn.”
Bryn shuffles down the wall, so he matches my height then pulls me close. “I love you.”
In the dim light, his eyes shine, the confusion he held behind the words in the early days have disappeared along with my doubts his heart still belongs to another girl.
Tracing my fingers across his angular face, I relish the words and the multitude of butterflies that swarm inside when he tells me. “I love you, too.”
Bryn's mouth meets mine, a gentle buzz when our lips meet, the familiarity of his kiss offering the love he's talking about. I press into him as he winds his hands into my hair and our kiss deepens. Until Bryn, I'd never been kissed with the passion and tenderness he manages to blend. Sometimes more on the passionate, such as now as his hands slide beneath my clothes, firing heat along my skin. I delve my hands beneath Bryn’s T-shirt and hold his waist.
“Avery!” he says as he pulls his face away. “You can't undress me here. We're in public.”
“I was only kissing you.”
“You're insatiable. I hardly get a break before you're ripping my clothes off again.”
I smack him in the chest. “I do not!”
He tips his head. “Really? So if I take you somewhere private, you won't try and take my clothes off?”
“If you tease me, you won't be gettingmineoff.”
Without another word, Bryn drags me into the rain and we run across the muddy grass in the direction of our tent. The sky lights up, followed by a crack of thunder echoing through the quiet site.
“Holy fuck!” Bryn stops and his grip on my hand tightens. “Storm.”
“Yes, and rain. A lot of rain. Move!” I shove him as the water flattens my hair.
“I'm not staying out here in this.” A second flash and clap of thunder instantaneously, and Bryn jumps. “Fuck.”
“That storm is close.”
“I know! Why are we standing here?” He drags me back in the direction we came. “Quick!”
Bemused, I run after him and, when he ducks at the next crash, realisation dawns. “Mountain man, are you scared of thunder?”
“Shut up and get inside!”
The bar has filled with other visitors escaping the storm, including a little boy crying with his mum. Water drips from us and I shake rain from my hair.
“Bryn?”
His face is pale and at the next crash, he backs away from the door. “What?”
“Are you scared of thunder?”
“I don't like storms.” He frowns. “I hope you're not about to laugh at me.”
“No. It's kind of funny in a not-funny way.”
“I bet you have a phobia, too.”
“Not really.”
“Spiders? All chicks are scared of spiders.”
“Don't be so sexist! And I'm not.”
