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“Bryn!”
“Fresh air might help.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as we drive, singing loudly to the music he’s cranked up in the car. So much for conversation.
“You should’ve been the lead singer; you’re not that bad,” I say to him as the car stops on my street and he turns the volume down.
“Not that bad, huh? Yeah, I do backing vocals. Made more sense for Dylan to be lead since he’s a guitarist too. Us drummers are a rarer breed.”
“I can’t imagine you front of stage.”
“No, not for me. I like to hang in the background. It’s safer there.”
“I always found that a good plan in life.” I check my pockets to make sure I have my purse and phone. “Okay, thanks for the lift home.”
“Thanks for the fun night.”
I shake my head. “Sure, Bryn.”
“You didn’t have fun?”
“Some of the evening was okay.”
Bryn shifts closer and focuses on my mouth. “The kiss?” He moves his eyes to fix on mine.
Oh, God.
Why does he keep mentioning the kiss?
I can’t reply.
Say something.
Like what?
“Not the kiss?” he says in response to my silence. “Was I that bad?”
I shake my head.
Say something.
Anything.
Bryn shifts closer, and his leg touches mine. I jerk and he moves it away again. Bryn’s eyes remain on mine and I’m convinced he’s going to move in for an action-replay.
“I was drunk,” I squeak out eventually.
Bryn clutches his chest. “That hurts! Big kick in the ego. So will you give me a chance—see if I can do better?”
As Bryn reaches over to touch my face, the car suddenly feels very, very small. Tiny. Airless. My stomach tightens and I swallow. “I feel sick.”
Bryn laughs and hits his hands on the steering wheel. “Shit, you’re funny! Well, I enjoyed it anyway.”
He doesn’t elaborate on ‘it’ – the evening or the kiss?
“It was different,” I say, relieved at the cool air coming through the open window.
“Shame we can’t do this again sometime. I’m away and then I’m touring. I’m back in the UK late March, if you want to catch up?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Three months is a long time to wait for a second date.”
