At Last (6 page)

Ryan came out of his bedroom and flopped down onto his sofa.

“Umm, all you have is beer.”

He sighed. “I asked those guys for one thing… Stay here. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Not even to sleep?”

Ryan winked at me. “Especially not that.”

He was gone and back in two minutes. Female neighbours, I thought sourly. He had tea bags, sugar and milk. He made me a cup of tea, then flopped down onto the sofa. He cuddled up to me, and within minutes he had been sucked in by advertising of his own making. I took the throw from the back of the sofa and tucked it over both of us. He turned over and draped his arm over my waist. His arm felt extremely heavy, and I wanted to shift it somewhere else, but I was getting quite turned on by the weight of him. I was scared witless by the phone ringing. I slipped away from Ryan and took the cordless phone into the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hello? To whom am I speaking?”

“Did I call you?” I asked sarcastically.

“No, but as I am calling my son’s home, it would be nice to know exactly who is answering his phone.”

Crap! His mother. “Hello, Mrs. Klark. My name’s Courtney.”

“Oh!” Her voice turned warm with rich laughter. “You’re Courtney. How wonderful. Did you meet Ryan at the airport?”

“Yes,” I said, wanting to say more, but shyness blocked anything else sensible from emerging from my throat.

“That is sweet of you. And where is Ryan?”

“He’s asleep. Shall I get him?”

“No darling, don’t wake him. Just tell him that we’re glad he’s arrived safely and we’ll be back from Copenhagen in a fortnight, all right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good. Well done for looking after my son, Courtney. Bye for now.”

“Bye bye, Mrs. Klark.”

Once I turned the phone off, I screamed silently at the set. To stop myself from waking up Ryan, I called my mother.

“Mmm,” she grunted.

“Mum, it’s me!”

“Ah,” came the early morning croak. “Met your handsome young man, did you?”

“Yes, Mum. He’s on his own for a few weeks, so I thought I’d stay and help him out. I just called to say that I’m fine and he hasn’t dumped me in the Thames. I’ll text you his address.”

“God, Courtney,” she groaned. “You do think of the most horrible things. Be good, and don’t do anything silly.”

“Course not!” I was all warranted indignation. Did having sex with Ryan count as silly? No. “Bye, Ma!”

“Hmm.”

She wasn’t a morning person at all. But as I still lived at home, I thought I’d be respectful by not making her chase me. I curled back against Ryan, snuggling into his toasty warm body. I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep until I realised that I was sitting on a surfboard, on a beach. Ryan was stroking my hip and kissing me briefly on the mouth. He then offered me food in that deep, sexy voice of his which was when I prised my eyes open to see Ryan waving a plate of ravioli under my nose.

“Ah! Greedy girl. I knew if a kiss wouldn’t work, food definitely would.”

“Where did this come from?”

“I went to Marks and got some grub. Eat up before it gets cold.”

I saluted and took the plate. A glass of fruit juice was sitting on the coffee table as Ryan brought his own plate and some garlic bread too. I was quite hungry and noticed that it was already one in the afternoon. “Where’ve you been all my life?” I mumbled around the tomato sauce and chorizo-stuffed ravioli.

“Erm, banging my head on a table, falling out of several trees, setting fire to a biology lab—completely by accident, mind you—playing the randy parts in school plays, getting my first camera and taking pictures of everything that moves, understanding my alcoholic limits, getting on planes back and forth and staying far away from sex-mad women, present company excluded. Stop laughing and eat.”

“Mm,” I swallowed the last bite of garlic bread, “Your mum called.”

We had been eating in a comfortable quiet, like we’d been together for years.
Get that thought out… Okay, far too late, I’ve designed my wedding dress
.

“Really?” Ryan said disinterestedly.

“Yes really. She said she and your dad will be back from Copenhagen in two weeks, and she’s glad you’re back.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t want to call her back?”

“God no. She only called because she had an idea you’d be here. Nosy old cow.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it would help if I shut up about you.”

“Nice to know I’m a good source of conversation,” I said dryly.

“I should win awards,” he added. “Are you finished? Good, I can take you home.”

I choked on my glass of juice. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, so you and I can have a proper date.”

“A what now?”

“Date, you know, dinner, drink, and I try to get my hand under your dress.” He hesitated. “I mean if you can’t…”

I laughed. “No, it’s okay, I really like that idea.”

He brushed his nose over my cheek. “Fantastic.”

He was lucky I was already prepared.

“Court, you’ve got this look on your face like you’re plotting something…”

My dress was awesome. I had told Selene that I was going to meet Ryan for the first time, and she gave me a dress without batting an eyelid.

“Think of it as a thank you for the hard work you’ve done, and a thank you to Ryan for introducing you to me.”

It was like I was in
Bugsy Malone
, and I was about to do the Charleston. The dress was all draping silk in the most beautiful vivid, green. I wondered if Selene realised how close the colour was to Ryan’s eyes. I was much calmer than yesterday, so I was able to do all my scrimping and shaving. I barely managed to get ready within an hour, pinning my chin-length hair up with little diamante slides and slipping on four-inch gold heels. I had no idea where we were going. I wouldn’t be happy if we ended up at KFC, though.

I skipped down the stairs to where Ryan was waiting for me, or waiting with my male relations. He was sitting in the living room in a dark blue shirt and a suit a shade darker than the shirt, arguing with the other four males.

I saw
Sky Sports
was on in the background, which explained the row. “Why shouldn’t they sack him? He’s a shit manager.”

“It’s not his fault—it’s the team that’s shit and the chairman who won’t dig into his fat pockets to buy some decent players.”

“So why not sack the chairman?”

“Because he’s the one with the money, fool.” The last derisive comment came from Adam, my oldest brother.

“Can I have Ryan back, please?” I asked. “He did come here for me, if you don’t mind.”

All five men gawked at me.

Dave was the first one to speak. “Why are you going out in a nightie?”

Dad said in awe, “What have you done with my daughter?”

Adam went a little nuts. “Mum!” he exploded. “MUM! You can’t let her go out like that! And where the hell is your coat?”

“It’s twenty-two degrees outside. I’ll be fine.”

Mum gave my hand a squeeze. “Don’t be silly, Adam, she looks lovely. Let me take a picture…”

Oh God. “NOO!” I squeaked.

Ryan stood up and curled me into his side. “Thank you, Mrs. Phillips, but we really need to get going. The table’s booked for eight thirty.”

Mum positively swooned and trilled to our departing backs, “Enjoy yourselves.”

I shut the door behind us, and once we were around the corner, out of sight, I turned to Ryan. “Oh God, that was so embarrassing, I’m so sorry. Really, I just…”

Ryan wrapped his arms around my waist and caught me in a kiss that should have thrown the pins from my hair. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured against my mouth.

“Thank you,” I said, my face hot with pleasure. “Did you shave for me?” I touched a hand to his smooth jaw.

He looked younger without the stubble. “Well, you and the restaurant.”

We stopped next to an Audi. “This isn’t yours?”

“’Fraid so. Another guilt gift for missing my graduation. Getting in?”

“You know what, I am going to give you a gift completely unconnected with guilt,” I announced, then wished I had kept my mouth shut.

Ryan leaned down to brush his mouth over my cheekbone.

“That would be lovely.”

He opened the door for me and eased himself into the car. We pulled away and headed toward Knightsbridge. “Where are we off to?”

“This little French place near mine. You can’t go there alone, you have to go with a woman, or they give you looks of deep disgust at your lack of sexual prowess. Then if you fancy a drink, London’s our oyster.”

“Cool. Can I pick some music?”

“Sure, my iPod’s there. Just flick through whatever you want.”

I flicked through and found my favourite band. “You know Skunk Anansie?”

“If you even mention
Cruel Intentions
, I will kick you out of this car while it’s still moving.”

“No, from when they started.” I selected “Get Off,” and we head banged for a good five minutes. Probably not the best idea, as I was quite concerned that our love of a good tune would get us into an accident. The shuffle took us to “Secretly,” my favourite track by the band. I wanted to sing for Ryan. It wasn’t something I did often, as my brothers would always tell me that I needed to shut up, or do karaoke. Since that was never happening, I stuck to singing in the shower.

“Court…” he said in awe. “Your voice!”

“Cheers!” I said lightly. “Makes a change from ‘Shut up!’”

“Don’t let them,” he said seriously. “Simon Cowell would have pound signs rolling in his eyes if he saw you coming.”

“Singing is just something I enjoy. Fashion is my love.”

He gave me a strange glance. “You’ve never mentioned the singing once.”

“Coz it’s personal. Or we should have had a chat when I was in the shower.”

Ryan grinned. “If that’s still an option, I’d like to take you up on that.”

“Behave!”

The little French restaurant happened to be Tom Aikens’ restaurant, Mr. Michelin star. Ryan did that slick money exchange thing to ensure our table was a really good one, then he was even more Prince Charming once we were seated. The waiter was so in love with Ryan, he barely left us alone. We spent the meal falling back into old banter, then taking the piss out of the snooty customers on either side of us. One had a load of Sloane girls braying loudly about their Harvey Nichols horrors: “Oh God, ya, I’m sure the girl was retarded. When I asked for the size four, she told me that they won’t have any more until next week. Don’t they have what they need in the stockroom? It’s Prada. It shouldn’t be that hard to find.”

On our other side sat a load of suits: “He really shouldn’t be working there if he can’t keep a hold on the figures. Useless, man, where did he go to school? South Bank?”

Ryan beckoned me closer. “Do you need to use the ladies’?”

“Why?”

“When you do, tell the waiter to do something for you.”

As we left, we heard the shrieks from both tables at the inclusion of five bottles of Dom Perignon to their bill. Ryan danced me down the road, delighted with our little plan. “They can afford it,” he assured me, dipping me then pressing lingering kisses to my neck.

“Let’s go somewhere really trashy.”

“Oh no.”

“Yes, Leicester Square side. Come on, I haven’t been there since I was seventeen.”

“And you’ll see why!”

We left the car by the restaurant and took a taxi into the West End. We landed in an awful bar that was packed with oily older men who kept approaching me. What was it with me and older men? Ryan was fending off women’s propositions with, “Ask my wife if she minds.”

I gave him a dirty look for that. Obviously that wasn’t going to work on some of the more determined women, who thought he was too beautiful to pass up. I used lines like, “I’m glad you’re not worried about STDs.”

A short, pudgy man seemed to have wax in his ears, as he ignored me to run his sweaty palms over my dress. Ryan told him with a short shove to his chest, “Oi, fuck off and leave my diseased wife alone.” He swept me out of there.

“I feel dirty,” I mumbled. “Can we go somewhere nice?”

“Please God, yes,” he agreed grimly.

We hailed a taxi and ended up in a rather sexy bar in Soho. Between us, we drank the yearly production in Bordeaux, then cocktails, then shots, made an awful lot of noise, made friends then lost them just as fast for being incomprehensible. I couldn’t sit up properly, and every time I tried to lean on the table, I would miss it by inches and end up on the floor underneath it. Ryan just howled with laughter, and on his last attempt at trying to pull me up, he ended up on the floor with a broken chair leg. We got thrown out by the bouncers for being drunk and disorderly. We were both way too drunk to even care.

“I’ve got you under my skin,” I sang, swaying to the music in my head. “I’ve got you…deep in the heart of me. Sing with me, babe!”

Ryan buried his face in my neck. “You are freakin’ hilarious. Wanna go home?”

“What are you talking about, it’s only…okay, it’s going three.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, trailing my fingers through his soft hair.

“We have got to calm down your drinking.”

“I don’t…no…I’m fine.” I grinned at him. “You wanna have sex with me.”

“Maybe when you’re not about to die of alcohol poisoning,” he said dryly.

Well, that stung. Ryan lifted my chin for a slow kiss. “I did not fly nearly six thousand miles for you to pass out before I even get your dress off. Okay?”

“Okay.” I gave him a bright smile. “You’re pretty.”

“Oh good God.” He laughed. “Home time.”

He hailed a taxi and all but chucked me into it, then ordered the cab driver to his flat. If my being drunk didn’t help him sober up, he stuck his head out of the window to make sure he was wide awake. Once we arrived, everything was blurry. The cab driver said, “You won’t get anything out of that one.”

“She’ll be fine,” he assured the driver, scooping me into his arms. How he managed to get his doors opened and closed with me being no help, I had no idea. I was far too busy singing Kings of Leon’s “Sex on Fire” which made him laugh, at least. He kicked the door to his flat closed, then carried me into his bedroom. He placed me carefully in the middle of the bed and told me to stay there. A minute later, he came back with a plastic bowl and a pint glass full of water.

“Let’s get you undressed,” he said. “Don’t worry about your mum, I sent her a text about midnight.”

“She thinks you’re candy for eyes,” I mumbled.

“Right.”

He managed to undo the buttons that ran along the side of my dress, then tugged it over my head.

“Christ!” he growled. I peeled back my eyelids. Oh yeah. My underwear: a purple leopard-print push-up bra with matching shorts that had “Diva” stitched on the seam of the left leg.

“Still don’t wanna?”

“God,” Ryan groaned, staring up at the ceiling. “Why are you testing me like this!”

“Night, Ry.” I yawned, turning onto my side. He somehow managed to tug a t-shirt over me and tucked me under his duvet. “Love you,” I added before completely giving in to darkness.

* * *

Everything hurt. My hangover should have killed someone weaker. I rubbed at my hair and tried four times to sit up. When I finally succeeded, I swallowed to keep the urge to retch down. I rubbed a hand under my eyes and realised that my eyeliner and mascara had just congealed into my skin. Disgusting. I tried to stand up then sat back down again, because it still hurt.

I looked down and noticed a few things. One, I had a t-shirt on but my bra and knickers were still in place. I was alone in Ryan’s bedroom, but there was no sign of male activity. My dress was hanging up outside his glossy black wardrobe, my shoes neatly beneath it.

If I headed to the bathroom, Ryan might be in there. He should not see me before I had sorted myself out. I wandered into the living room and came to a grinding halt. It was filled with Ryan’s mates. His male friends. I would like to remind you that I hadn’t seen a hair or toothbrush since yesterday evening. There was still probably a good amount of alcohol running through my veins.

“Hi,” I croaked.