28
Chris
After meeting most of the other guests, and dancing with half the rugby team, I decide to go to the bar for a break. I order a rum and coke and casually – well, almost – take a seat on a stool that’s a little too tall for me.
I watch the room: the guests, the happy, party atmosphere, and I tell myself that I’ve made a good choice in coming here and ignoring him.
I didn’t even notice him. He doesn’t exist.
Shit.That’s a lie.
He was the first thing I noticed as I came down the stairs, sitting alone at the bar, trailing his bottom lip on the floor, as if he’d been forced to come along – just like when I force Evan to do something he doesn’t want to do.
I realise that’s not the best comparison to make: comparing Ryan to my son, a man to a teenager. Maybe it’s because Ryan O’Connor barely acts like a man.
Okay, that’s another lie.
Ryan O’Connor is a man. And what a man.
Nope, I didn’t notice him at all. I didn’t notice his blue shirt, with the sleeves pushed back to his elbows, showing off his muscular biceps. I didn’t notice his tightly-fitting jeans, like a second skin against his firm legs. I also didn’t notice his light hair falling messily over his forehead, or his sexy beard. Or his penetrating blue eyes that could make ice melt.
Nope. I didn’t notice any of it.
I take a few sips of my drink as Riley waves at me from across the room, pressed up against Ian on the dancefloor. They’re beautiful. Perfect. In love.
I’m not jealous, though.
I put my glass back down on the bar as a hand grabs me forcefully, making me jump.
“What the hell…?”
“Let’s go,” he says, anger in his voice.
“Sorry?”
“Come and dance. With me.”
“Have you hit your head? I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“You really are a—”
“A dickhead? A bastard? Whatever you like. But you’re going to come and dance with me now, and I won’t ask again.”
“You’re impossible, you know – you’re…”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Less chat,” he concludes, before dragging me across to the dancefloor.
“You’re controlling, obnoxious…”
“Whatever you want,” he says, tightening his grip on my wrist. “Just dance.”
I give in – or, my body gives in. How could I control him?
Ryan pulls me against him, domineering. His body is exactly like I imagined: as hard as marble, maybe harder. His hands keep me bound to his body. It’s not intimate – it’s irritating, possessive – but I like it.
I must be completely mad.
