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They shake and Mia indicates him with her manicured hand. “Dave Green. My date.” She emphasises the word ‘date’ and arches a brow at Bryn.
“Thought I recognised you. Rugby? You're in the England team, aren't you?” asks Bryn.
“Yeah. You follow the rugby?”
“Welsh boy.” He smiles. “Guess we're natural enemies.”
“Oh, silly!” Mia giggles and wraps an arm around Dave's huge forearm. “You don't have to fight!”
“We're kidding, Mia,” says Bryn with a sigh.
“As long as you don't mind me spending time with your girl,” Dave says, placing his hand on Mia's ass. “Don't want to fight you over her.”
“Not sure. Are you okay with that, Avery?” Bryn asks.
Transfixed by the situation in front of me, I don't respond until Bryn pokes me in the side and I jump. “What?”
“You’re my girl and Dave wants to spend time with you.”
“Really?” Again with the bloody squeaking.
The heavyset man rubs his cheek and looks between me and Mia. “Nah. I mean Mia. You telling me you got two girls, Bryn?” He laughs. “Rock stars…”
“He lives with me, but I'm a free agent,” says Mia.
“Youlive withme.”
“But do you all share a bed?” asks Dave with a leer. “Bryn. Seriously, man.”
“No! I haven't been in Bryn's bed!” I retort. Dave runs an interested look along my body. Omigod, he'll ask to join in next.
“Is that right?” asks Mia. “Very strange for you, Bryn, dating a girl who doesn’t spend time in your bed.”
Bryn laughs and his soft lips brush my mouth, stunning me into silence. “She means in my London place. We’ve shared a bed plenty of times, haven't we? I don't need two girls. Avery is more than I can handle.”
What the hell?
“You know I'm a private person, Bryn! Don't discuss our sex life!” I desperately attempt to hide the pink creeping from my neck to my chest.
The sparkle in Bryn's eyes had better not be amusement. “Sorry,cariad.I forget myself sometimes.”
When he kisses my cheek, Mia makes a soft sound of derision. Already despairing at my bad social skills, the best course of action at this point is to walk away. “I need the bathroom.” I pull away from Bryn's grasp and beat a hasty but careful retreat across the slippery floor.
This is the first bathroom I've ever been in that has seats. Leather seats, flowers, and baskets of individually wrapped Yardley soaps. I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirrors and I look like a stunned rabbit caught in the lights of the rich and famous train powering towards me. What am I doing here?
As I wash my hands in the rectangular marble sink with my tiny soap, I scramble to catch up. It's one thing for Bryn to ‘sort of date’ me, another to start talking about our sex life, andoff goes my one track mind again, straight into Bryn's bed.
A middle-aged woman in a smart suit approaches and passes me a soft, white towel, confusing me until I realise she's a staff member.
“Thanks,” I mutter and hastily dry my hands. I can't even be alone to compose myself in the bathrooms.
I push through the heavy black doors and straight into the noise of the party. Now the place is twice as full, the voices vie to be heard above the music and the heat level has risen. Earlier, I spotted double-doors leading to an outdoor area at the rear of the building. Maybe the bins are kept there. I don't care as long as I get out of the place.
The glass doors are propped open and a number of smokers stand in the shadows, indulging their vice in private. Outdoor chairs and heavy wooden tables are pushed together and stacked in one corner, furniture unneeded in the middle of winter. At least the January cold prevents the crowds extending out here.
Avoiding eyes, I head across the paved courtyard to the edge of the area, where a wooden bench rests near a high wall. The cool air is partly a relief and partly an indication why standing outside jacket-less is a bad idea in January. Knowing my luck, it'll start snowing soon.
I'm confused. Really bloody confused. When Bryn called this morning, once the shock wore off, I tripped around the house high as a kite for the rest of the day. Unable to eat with excitement, I tried on several outfits, spent an extra-long time on my make-up, and prepared myself for a date with Bryn. Not a gate-crashing of a restaurant pretend date.A date.
