Chasing Alys Read online

  “Shit, Alys! Are you okay?” Eric’s concerned face hovered over mine.

  “I’m fine, just a little winded.” I held out my hands for an assist off the dirty floor. Eric pulled me up so fast that my feet left the ground. I laughed. Old habits die hard.

  “I’m losing my touch.” Eric frowned, dragging a hand through his hair.

  “I highly doubt that, but I’d say that is my cue to stop.”

  I always did this in some form, danced until I sustained some kind of injury. Normally, it was a twisted ankle, but a small knock on the head was close enough for me to pay attention. I might be high on the fun, but my body was tired.

  Eric and I hugged, promising to catch up again soon. He didn’t stop apologising until I’d walked away.

  After I left the room, I went in search of the toilets. Best check that my make-up wasn’t running down my face or that I hadn’t actually hit my head hard enough to open a gash. I was pretty sure neither was the case, but I needed a minute to catch my breath and come down from the high before we left.

  As I ascended the narrow stairs, a tall, blond-haired man with the most stunning blue eyes I’d ever seen jogged towards me. His hair was tied back. When he smiled, it lit up his entire face and pulled an answering one from my lips, setting butterflies loose in my stomach. He slowed as we reached each other, turning his body so that we could pass. His deliciously spicy scent made my mouth water. He nodded as we traded places but kept moving down the stairs.

  I stared at his retreating back, frowning at him and myself. What was that all about? I didn’t want him to stop, but I found myself wishing I was braver, unscarred and able to follow that tiny spark of possibility.

  When he reached the bottom step, he turned, glancing up at me. He gripped the banister, studying me. All you have to do is nod, walk back down the steps and talk to him, Alys. Simple actions in theory, but after nearly nine years of knockbacks, brave wasn’t a word I associated with myself. I was definitely scarred, and I was a realist. I was attracted to cheating assholes. I didn’t want to believe one could hide behind that face, but my luck had been non-existent for far too long. No, it was far better this way. I could remember his smile in my dreams, and he’d remain a nice guy.

  I continued up the steep stairs, my back rigid as I willed myself to keep going. But that didn’t stop me from searching the crowd for his crystal blue eyes when I went back down.

  With a smudge-free face, I returned to Emily and gratefully accepted the drink she’d bought for me nearly an hour ago.

  “There was a reason I agreed to dance tonight,” Emily said when I collapsed at her side, all thoughts of my brief encounter forgotten.

  “Oh?”

  “There’s this thing happening tomorrow night. It’s kind of a big deal.”

  I’ve heard that one before. My eyebrows rose as I considered her.

  “Okay, so it’s a big deal to me. Rhiannon are playing their first gig in Cardiff, and I’d really, really like you to come with me.” She held up her hand at my grimace. “I know you hate loud music, but I promise it’ll be worth it. Plus, we’ll have fun, get drunk and enjoy some good songs.”

  I’d never been the biggest fan of concerts. Too many people crowded into one room, the bass turned up so high that the floor and my heart vibrated unnaturally. It made me uneasy. I’d grown up in a village with one pub, and it was a place for more than getting sloshed. And being a small village, it was never jam-packed. Case in point, when we’d first turned eighteen, Emily had stolen the remote control from the bartender, and it did not go down well. She’d set the music to blaring, and the retirees who propped up the bar to catch up with their friends had scolded her. These were men who had been our loveable surrogate grandfathers for most of our lives. They’d always been free and easy with the praise. But turn the volume up until they couldn’t talk, and the claws came out.

  “Why can’t Oliver go with you?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to go with him.” She held my gaze, her eyes imploring. “I want to spend time with my best friend, making up for lost months. We should have had at least six hangovers by now – we’re behind schedule. And we’re not all lucky enough to finish work on a Thursday.”

  I laughed at that, raising the wineglass to my lips. She had a point. Normally we’d have partied and buried the latest loser to mess with me under a barrel of alcohol.

  “Did anyone catch your eye on your last show?”

  “I knew I forgot to do something,” I joked. Emily laughed, but I could see the concern in her eyes. “I was too busy most of the time to even think about it. Plus, the last thing I’d ever do is get involved with an actor. That would be a whole other level of drama.” I shivered at the idea.

  It had been nine months since my last attempt at a relationship ended in an explosion of mortification and tears. One day we were assigning labels, and the next he ghosted. Part of me suspected that he’d already been in a relationship, but of course, I hadn’t realised that until I was too far gone.

  After that, part of me had wanted to get blackout drunk, yet I’d restrained myself due to an intense work schedule. I couldn’t drown the memories when I had to get up at 3AM to beat a bunch of actors to set.

  It turned out that all I needed to exorcise him was a crazy and exciting production to keep me busy and remind me of the things I truly loved. From then on, I decided I was done with men. I wanted easy, drama free, and I wasn’t getting it from the men in Cardiff.

  However, in the process of losing myself in my work again, I’d barely seen Emily. Now, knowing that her favourite Glasgow band was on the billing and I had nothing else grabbing my attention, saying “no” felt next to impossible. So I agreed to go with her. I was grumbling while I did it, but after tonight, I couldn’t deny her. Really, I should have seen it coming as soon as she’d decided to try swing dance.

  Chapter Two

  Music blared from every direction, deafening the eclectic mix of people crammed into the dark, modest bar. Most ignored the band prancing around the small stage, choosing to shout at their neighbour between winces instead. Some crowded the bar itself, while others stood in groups on the dance floor before the stage. Almost all of them wore black band t-shirts and jeans. I’d missed the memo on the t-shirts, but then, I didn’t own any. My green blouse would have to do.

  There were other women going against the uniform who stuck out worse than me. A dark dive bar didn’t seem like the place for short dresses, stilettos or faces caked with make-up, but then, it wasn’t my scene, so what did I know?

  As far as I was concerned, heels would just stick to the dirty rubber floor. The air was so stagnant and hot that sweat dripped down the walls. My face already felt like it was melting, and I wore only a thin layer of foundation. I hated to think about the time these girls had wasted perfecting their eyeliner and the curve of their lashes. It would all end up nothing more than a black streak down their cheeks in a couple of hours.

  I pressed my spine into the pillar between the bar and the stairs leading down to the entrance. Then I remembered the sweat coating the walls and shot away before it could seep into my blouse. It was the perfect vantage spot. Emily wouldn’t be able to miss me when she finally turned up.

  After scanning the growing crowd for what felt like the hundredth time, I took a deep glug of wine and grimaced, fighting an instant need to spit it out. Served in a plastic pint glass, I’d naively thought it couldn’t get worse. But the burn in my throat begged to differ. That’s what I get for drinking wine from a bar that smells like stale beer.

  Had the music been better, this gig might have turned the tide on my distaste for live music. There was a crowd, but it wasn’t claustrophobic. I still wouldn’t be able to have a conversation without losing my voice the next day, but at least I didn’t feel like there was no escape.

  Thirty minutes passed. My feet stuck to the floor, my ears felt like they were bleeding, my taste buds were a thing of the past, and Emily was nowhere to be seen
. I couldn’t even get drunk to drown out the screams of the man on stage who had forgotten how to produce words.

  Foot tapping against the disgusting floor, I glared at the gaunt figure holding the microphone. He needed a haircut and an introduction to running water. Long black strands stuck to his thin body – when had he lost his shirt? – and it had nothing to do with sweat. That shine seemed far too pronounced.

  Reverb squawked through the small space, and I winced in tandem with the rest of the crowd. Why had I given in to Emily so quickly yesterday? I should have argued, resisted for at least an hour.

  I lived with Emily and when production was in full swing, we didn’t see each other much. A production coordinator’s day started far earlier than a school counsellor’s, and it ended much later. That meant we only caught sight of each other when I had a down day, which was few and far between. If my day off didn’t fall on a weekend, the most we managed was sharing a meal. Yet despite being like passing ships most days, we could still read each other with very little effort.

  I don’t know how I’d survived without my wayward best friend for the first eleven years of my life. Her attaching herself to me had been the best thing to happen, and not only because she ran off a bully with the whack of a textbook. She’d made life more exciting in our tiny village. Of the two of us, she was the daring one. She’d climb forty-foot trees on the regular, getting stuck almost every time. People would tell her she wasn’t allowed to do something, and she’d defy them all.

  Back then, I’d wished she’d approach love with the same daredevil outlook. I’d thought she was missing out. Now I knew better.

  My eyes strayed to the entrance yet again – and snagged on an oddly familiar blond-haired man. He stood on the opposite side of the room, staring at me whilst surrounded by a group of men. All four of them were varying degrees of hot, and together they packed an effective punch. Around them, men outright gawked and women tried to catch their eyes.

  Not a single one of their watchers approached, though. Nothing but empty space surrounded them, and except for Blondie, they seemed oblivious, laughing and joking with each other. The four of them were chiselled, over six foot tall, and gave off an air of unaffected calm in the face of so much attention. I could understand why they pulled focus; they were the epitome of cool and confident.

  Despite their competing good looks, my gaze kept coming back to the blond-haired one. His friends chattered around him, but he was silent, oblivious to them. His expression was oddly restrained as he stared at me across the smoky room. His face tickled my memories, but I couldn’t pinpoint why he seemed familiar. His hair fell to his shoulders in effortless waves that would make any woman envious.

  Then his eyes snared mine, pulling me in until the music faded. An easy smile tipped up the edges of his lips, and my heart beat faster. An image of him walking down the stairs towards me last night popped into my head. What were the chances that I’d stumble upon him twice in two nights?

  He looked different with his long hair falling in messy waves. Last night he’d been cleaner cut with his hair pulled back. He’d been hot then, but this…

  Glancing away, he raised a bottle to his lips and my eyes dipped, taking in the tight swimmer’s build hidden beneath his plain white t-shirt and black jeans. His trousers moulded to his thighs, and the shirt was so thin he might as well have been topless. If I’d met him last year, I might have taken it as an invitation.

  Why did I remember him? I was usually terrible with faces, and our interaction had lasted a matter of seconds.

  I caught my gaze before it could fall further and forced my attention back to his face. His lips twitched and my face warmed. He’d caught my once-over. Still, I couldn’t look away. I didn’t think I’d ever grow tired of that smile.

  A tall, thin guy covered in tattoos turned to follow the direction of his stare. He smirked, slapping my watcher on the back before leaning in. His lips moved, and the pair laughed. He gave him a shove towards me, and my stomach dropped. Looking was one thing, but being approached in this dive bar was not on my agenda. I didn’t care how he made my pulse race; I was done with men.

  I tore my eyes away and unlocked my phone to check messages, social media – anything to distract me. When my eyes tipped up again, drawn to him by some cruel magnetic force, he was openly grinning at me from across the room.

  Heat suffused my body, and I willed it away. All of my attempts to let people in had backfired. I was tired of trying, of getting my heart broken. And I was sick of men taking advantage and treating me like their plaything. After my last mishap, it was becoming clear that true happiness would not include a man. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to, anyway.

  A nice house with Emily close by would do me fine.

  I frowned at my phone. It revealed no more clues than the strangers surrounding me. It wasn’t like her to ditch me without at least a text, and Emily hadn’t been online in four hours. My fingers hovered over the keyboard while I chewed my lip in indecision. She hadn’t seen my last ten messages either. This was not like her.

  Fuck it. Another text couldn’t hurt.

  Alys: Where are you? Gig’s started and the wine sucks. HURRY UP! Xxx

  I stared at the screen for another minute out of some misguided hope that little speech bubbles would appear. They didn’t.

  “You’ve either been stood up or your friends are late,” someone shouted above me. Air tickled my ear. The sound startled me enough that I added my foul wine to the sticky cocktail coating the old rubber floor.

  My head snapped up. The god from across the room grinned down at me, his crystal-blue eyes captivating. His slightly crooked smile jump-started my pulse, and my grip on common sense slipped.

  I frowned at his nose. Not quite a god. The tiny bump on the bridge would have ruled him out of godhood.

  “None of the above?” He leaned towards me to be heard over the caterwauling filtering through the amps. His trim body blocked out the stage, and I couldn’t find it in me to be mad about it.

  My lungs filled with his smouldering, spicy scent, and if I weren’t a trained dancer, my knees might have buckled. What the utter hell?

  Eyes narrowed, I considered his open, patient face. There were two kinds of attractive men: the ones who were oblivious to their power, and the ones who knew their effect and exploited it.

  This guy knew he was good looking, and he expected me to fall at his feet. I should have spotted it last night. I’d had enough experience with his type over the years to know that I hated that kind of man. They were always looking for better, and they had a nasty habit of disappearing right when your heart decided it was safe to let them in.

  And yet that smile and those eyes still held me. I couldn’t make myself turn away. “My friend’s late.”

  “Remind me to thank her,” he shouted.

  A small part of me was grateful for my three-inch boots. With men over six foot, they made the height difference far more manageable. His eyes bore into mine, fixated. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, and my lower belly clenched in response. Hate these men or not, my body couldn’t ignore their charm.

  I’d dated a lot over the years – setups, online matches, one-night stands, unwise attempts at relationships – but none of them had made the room fade or my throat close up with nerves. Not even one of them had captivated me with nothing but a smile or made my heart race with the caress of their gaze. Somehow this one cut through the disinterest. I frowned.

  “So, this is going to sound crazy, but you seem really familiar,” he said.

  Relief snatched my unwanted nerves. I wasn’t odd for remembering such a brief encounter. “We passed each other on the stairs last night at the Old Ballroom.”

  His shoulders relaxed at my response. That easy smile creased his eyes, and my chest tightened. “We did, but I don’t think that’s it.”

  I searched his face for clues. I’d have remembered meeting him before yesterday. No way would I forget his quiet confiden
ce or my inexplicable fascination with the quirk of his lips.

  “You were on the set of the Mystery Lines show this summer, right?”

  I nodded. I’d been on it since May, rode out an uneasy couple of weeks short of production staff and still produced what would hopefully be the next contender for an Emmy or BAFTA.

  He raised the bottle to his lips, grinning. “I thought so.”

  My brows creased as I searched my memories from the summer. I couldn’t place him on my set. I would have noticed him.

  “My mate, Shaun Martin, was in it. You’re the woman who told the crew off for being callous idiots.”

  I covered my face, shaking my head. “You saw that?”

  Callused fingers gently pulled my hand away from my eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed. It was brilliant. They all stood about while the chaperone tried to get a handle on that little girl. You jumped right in and calmed her down.”

  “She was going blue in the face. Someone had to do something before she passed out.”

  “And that someone was you?”

  “No one else had the sense to, so yeah, it had to be me.” My throat hurt from shouting, but I didn’t want to stop talking to him.

  “I left the set pretty fast. How did they all take it?” he asked, rocking back on his heels while I squirmed with remembered embarrassment.

  “My production manager found it funny. The rest of them tiptoed around me for a couple of days.” I watched the swirl of wine in my plastic cup while I spoke.

  “It was brave,” he said, his tone firm.

  I peeked at him from beneath my lashes. His eyes travelled across my face, seeming to absorb every detail. “You think so?”

  He nodded. “Hundred percent.”

  “Did Shaun Martin really see?” I asked, my voice tentative and barely audible. He stared at my lips, frowning as he tried to decipher my question.

  Shaun Martin was the leading man of the series and kind of a big deal, even if he had started out trying to tank his career. At the beginning of production for Mystery Lines, he’d tried to get plenty of people fired. He hadn’t been successful, and thankfully he’d gotten over whatever had been making him act out. But I’d still disrupted set, even if I was defending a helpless girl. Someone like him hated wasting time, and I’m sure he could talk a producer into giving him anything he wanted the next time around, including not hiring a brazen production coordinator.