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21
AVERY
Bryn Hughes askedme to go ice-skating with him.
Bryn Hughes.
Ice-skating.
I said yes, mainly because I think this could be the most hilarious thing I've seen in years.
So, on a dim and freezing Sunday evening, I'm at Canary Wharf looking through the crowds of people for a rock star. Even if he wanted to, Bryn couldn't be inconspicuous. People his height and build stand out—add in the too captivating looks and confident persona and he shines through the masses.
We agree to meet by the skate hire and Bryn's there, waiting, leaning forward, and watching the skaters nearby with interest. My heart does a tiny somersault and the giddy sick feeling in my stomach intensifies as I approach. The mountain of a man fills the space around him, and any doubts I've had about seeing him again are dragged away as I'm pulled toward him by the strange effect he has on me.
Bryn doesn't notice at first, too busy smiling at the antics of a couple of teenage girls gripping each other and trying to stay upright. His curls are pushed beneath a beanie, flattened against his head and touching his collar. I've never dated a guy with long hair before. With Bryn, it softens him because despite being the proverbial gentle giant, Bryn with a crew cut would terrify small children.
“Evening,cariad,” he says as I approach.
“Hello.” I push my shaking hands in my thick, black coat pockets, hoping Bryn thinks my red cheeks are due to the icy wind.
“Looking good.”
Not as good as you. And, sweet Jesus, do not smile at me like that.I break out in goose bumps, unable to forget the rough kiss he gave me with those amazing lips. I moisten mine and when Bryn raises an eyebrow I realise my eyes are telling the story running through my head. Nope, he won't believe the amount of red on my cheeks is the cold.
When I don't respond, he indicates the nearby skate hire. “I would've hired yours too but I don't know what size your feet are.” He points to his ice-skates and I giggle. “What?”
“You in ice skates.”
“Well, I'm at an ice rink; I'd look a bit bloody stupid if I wasn't.”
“I know but…”
He pouts. “Rock star? Don't pigeon hole me, Avery Paige.”
“Apologies, Bryn Hughes.”
A relaxed smile passes between us as my fears about meeting Bryn again ebb further. He's right. Bryn is more than a rock star; he's a crazy guy with a weird sense of humour to match mine, who asked me on a date.
No, he's not. He's a bloody god.
At his name, a girl with thick blonde hair falling from beneath her big, blue woollen hat looks over her shoulder, then between us with a goggle-eyed expression—a look I’m beginning to recognise as one to expect when Bryn is around. She nudges and whispers to her friend.
“Get your skates on!” Bryn says. “We might need to beat a hasty retreat.” He tips his head at the girls behind. I head past him to collect my skates, apprehensive about the evening ahead; exactly how long will it take before I embarrass myself?
The venue is crowded, mostly with couples but a few families remain for the evening. The rink spreads into an icy pathway winding the perimeter beneath tall trees covered in tiny white lights. I tentatively reach the edge of the rink and watch the children pushing penguin-shaped skating aids across the ice, debating whether I should've asked for one.
Bryn appears next to me, sharing my look of concern as we both hang onto the edge.
I giggle at the ridiculousness. “When was the last time you did this?”
“Probably ten years ago. You?”
“About the same.”
“We're a bit crazy doing this then?”
“Absolutely.” Bryn's grip remains on the side bar, lips pursed, and any last doubts I had that he was an ego driven, pretentious rock star fade. “Whoever stays upright the longest gets to choose the next date.”
