Not judging by the way her body responded so explosively to mine last night.
Still, Conor’s a safer bet for her. I’d be reckless to underestimate the threat he poses. He doesn’t have a track record of abandoning her. And he lives in the same country.
We could be so fucking good together. I just need her to trust me enough to let me in. Even if we live in different countries, even if we have very different lives, I know for certain I need her in mine in some capacity. She’s always been her own woman. The question is, how do I get her to be mine?
If I can only gain her trust again, I know we could have something phenomenal. I deliberately ignore the geographic logistics of the situation. I can buy a plane if needs be. I could buy a hundred fucking planes. What I can’t buy is her.
She finally breaks the silence between us. ‘What’s going on in that mysterious mind of yours?’
I bite my lip, trying to think of something witty for a couple of seconds before deciding to go with the simple truth.
‘I’m wondering how I can make you mine again.’ Stretching my hand across the table, I find hers and rub my thumb over the back of her hand.
She sighs, and a sad smile forms on lips that are painted a festive, seductive shade of crimson. ‘Ryan.’
Her words are weighted with a heavy acceptance. She’s written us off before we’ve even tried.
‘You live in the States. You’re a goddamn rockstar for heaven’s sake. It wouldn’t work.’
‘What I feel for you is real. I spent years closed up, emotionally stunted, unable to move on. When I’m with you I feel fucking alive again. I know you feel it too. It might have been ten years, but even after all this time there’s something blazing between us. Don’t even try to deny it.’
‘I’m not denying anything. But we are worlds apart.’ Her hand squeezes mine back, but it’s with sympathy or empathy or some other negativity. She’s right, I know she is, but I’m still compelled to try.
Pierce interrupts briefly with our drinks: another bottle of champagne. The old romantic clearly has experience wooing a woman. Either that or he’s been employed directly by Cupid himself.
When he returns to his stake-out position at the bar, I lean as far across the table as my torso will allow. ‘You’re wrong. I know I broke your heart. Give me another chance and I swear to god, I’ll prove to you how right we are together.’
I have no idea how to embark on a real relationship, let alone a long-distance one, but I’m practically begging and I don’t care. The need for her to be mine is all-consuming.
An influx of rowdy women arrive and congregate next to us, queuing for the bar. The laughter and cackling suggest this isn’t the first pub they’ve hit today.
Centrally positioned within the gaggle stands a blonde woman wearing a flashing white tiara, a knee-length white coat and high white boots. The red flashing sash draped over her shoulder saysBride-To-Be.Two others sportBridesmaidones. The others wear red and white outfits in support.
These women are the exact demographic of my typical fan base.
Pierce arches an eyebrow and takes an inconspicuous sip from his drink. Frankie stands taller and takes a step in our direction. I slink down into my seat, wishing for Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak because I’ve got an awful feeling my peaceful afternoon with Sasha’s about to be horribly interrupted.
The women examine their surroundings like sharks searching for seals. Searching for prey. It’s a look I know well. Jayden wears it regularly. Specifically when he’s on the hunt for a shag.
As if in slow motion, one of the bridesmaids turns in our direction. Her eyes flick towards us and just as her head twists away, she yanks it back in a double take.
I know in that split second I’ve been busted.
Frankie and Pierce join us at the table. ‘Think we should probably go, boss. I’ve paged the park security. They’ll have a car at the back entrance in three minutes. We just need to get you out of here without starting a goddamn riot.’
Sasha squeezes my hand, biting her lip as she watches the scene unfold in front of her.
Sure enough, the bridesmaid elbows the girl next to her, who elbows the girl next to her. The hushed whispers become full-blown squeals.
As I stand from the stool I hear, ‘Oh my god, is that Ryan Cooper over there?’
The news reaches the bride before I’m out of my seat. She marches over to our table with the expression of a soldier charging into war. Her mission is clear.
‘I wish I had a newspaper to hide your face,’ Pierce mutters. ‘Even a fucking bin bag would be helpful at this point.’
Before the blonde gets within three feet of the table, Sasha stands, blocking her path to me.
‘Is that mistletoe up there?’ She points upwards and my gaze turns to festive foliage, which is indeed bursting with fresh mistletoe. When I look down again, her mouth’s an inch from mine. With her bust against my chest, the scent of her skin surrounds me, the warmth of her breath on my lips. Snaking my arms around her waist, I wrench her into my arms, ready to flip her behind me if things get out of control.
