2016
I'm lying on a bed. The bed isn't mine. My eyes are wide open and I'm listening to him breathing evenly beside me.
And I'm so very confused. This is definitely not what I expected to happen this weekend.
But let's rewind a little, back to the village pub. Where were we? Oh, that's right, Angus had been making his intentions clear and I was definitely enjoying playing along. Those fingers back on my skin were somehow both electric and yet calming at the same time. It had been a long time since I'd been touched by a guy and God, it felt good. Having a gorgeous guy being attracted to me, clearly wanting me, was quite addictive too. Even if I knew deep-down he would probably want someone else by tomorrow.
I didn't want him to stop . . . but I also really needed the loo, so I excused myself, waiting until Angus had fully shifted his hand out of my top before I moved out of my chair. In the toilets, I took deep breaths, resting my hands on the edge of the sink and slowly raising my head to eyeball my own reflection.
If I do this, I found myself thinking, that's me definitely saying goodbye to any hope of me and Ryan.
Why in the world I was still somehow thinking this, after everything that had happened, I had no idea. Ryan wasn't interested in me, he treated me like I barely existed, and let's not forget I still hadn't forgiven him for prom night '99. And yet . . . There was still a gate inside my brain I couldn't quite bring myself to lock completely, and I wasn't sure why. The faintest of hopes still lingered.
"I'm so fucked," I whispered.
When I left the bathroom, Angus was standing outside, leaning against the opposite wall. "I like Rory," he said. "But I really couldn't listen to any more of his shite without you there to distract me." His smile was pure sex as he walked towards me, and I choked on a breath at the determination in his expression.
Clearly Angus had decided he'd had enough with the anticipation aperitif and wanted to proceed to the next course - kissing the life out of me. His lips slid onto mine as he pushed me back into the wall and I melted into the kiss. This guy knew exactly what he was doing and, for the briefest of moments, I was able to switch off and channel all the frustration I had been feeling into the kiss.
The problem was, however, that I was pouring all this emotion into the wrong man. My heart was flashing red warning signs, my brain was malfunctioning, and my libido was all over the place. This wasn't right.
I couldn't do it.
I extracted myself from Angus' lips and pulled back. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I can't. It's . . . Too much."
I expected him to maybe think I was overreacting - it was just a kiss after all - but he studied my face for a minute and then just nodded. An understanding grin spread across his face.
"I should have realised sooner," he said, almost speaking to himself. I looked at him curiously.
"Realised what?"
He shrugged. "That you're clearly his girl."
"Who are you talking about?" I asked.
"Ryan, of course," Angus replied. Like there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. As if it was completely obvious.
"I'm not . . ." I trailed off, confused. How did he know?
"Your secret is safe with me." Angus leaned over and dropped a warm kiss on my cheek as he wrapped a solid arm around me. "C'mon, let's get another drink and see if it really is possible to die of boredom from Rory's story."
"So you didn't shag him then?" Alice concluded as I filled her in the following morning. I obviously gave her a heavily truncated version, avoiding any mention of why I couldn't go through with it and Angus' own conclusion. I wasn't ready to reveal that much yet.
"Nah. It just felt too soon. And I'm not really into casual sex if I'm completely honest." This much at least was true.
"Plus he's way too young for you," Alice teased me.
I sighed. "Don't. You sound like Ryan."
Alice's voice changed tone. "Ryan said that to you too?" She asked. Her voice felt almost too casual. I nodded.
"I saw Ryan earlier," she said. He was having a rare weekend off, presumably while Alice was still there to provide experienced support. "He seemed a bit put out when I mentioned you and Angus had went out last night." Her brow furrowed. "Are you sure you and Ryan don't have a . . . Romantic history?"
"Not like that, we don't," I immediately protested.
Alice put down the folder she had been studying and looked me straight in the eye. "Iona," she said firmly. "Once this baby is out of me, we're going to the pub and getting absolutely steamboats . . . And I am going to get the whole story out of you. Because I'm finding it increasingly harder to believe you by the day."
Once again, I could only laugh because I had no doubt she would. If she hadn't already worked it out on her own by then; I really wouldn't have put it past her. She probably had a case file on it already.
When my working day was over I went back to my room, originally planning to just cuddle up with something funny on Netflix. But after I ate, and half-reluctantly watched a chick-flick (which turned out to be about a girl that fell for her boss - what the hell is wrong with my life?) I was feeling antsy. I decided a few drinks at the hotel bar would probably be a good idea.
It was busier than it had been the previous Saturday, but there were stools at the bar so I hauled myself up onto one and bought myself a wine. Rory was behind the bar along with Angus but thankfully it appeared he was all talked out after last night, so I mostly just chatted to Angus when he wasn't serving. Our banter was still flirty, and I was happy to continue to partake in that.
I got the impression that, for Angus, I was unfinished business. He'd thought I was a done deal but I'd never signed on the dotted line. So, even though he'd pretty much worked out that I had feelings for Ryan, he wasn't going to let that stop him from trying. In fact, he'd actually said to me later on the previous night that if I wanted to "make Ryan jealous" he was more than happy to help out.
I told him I'd keep that in mind. I was just glad we were okay. I couldn't stand the idea of yet another person not wanting me here.
Around half ten I was three glasses of wine down and had decided it was just about time to make a move (back to my room, not on Angus) when I saw a car pulling up outside. A few moments later, a guy I recognised as one of the barmen from the village pub stuck his head around the door.
"Just wanted to give you a heads-up that I just dropped your boss off. He was insisting on walking back but he's a bit pissed so I thought it was safer to bring him."
Me and Angus looked at each other. "I'll go," I said after a brief moment. Angus was still on the clock after all, and I'd been about to head back anyway, so I could easily check Ryan had actually made it inside and not ended up in the loch.
And I was hoping if he was drunk he might be a bit friendlier. Although I wasn't holding out too much hope of that.
"Thanks Iona," Angus called as I followed the barman outside. The guy looked at me, his eyes narrowed. "So you're Iona?" He said. The emphasis on the middle word flummoxed me; it was like a penny had dropped into place for him.
I nodded. "Cheers for bringing him back in one piece."
Ryan had made it to his room. But only as far as the door; he was fumbling with his keys and trying to fit one in the lock when I walked into the accommodation block. I studied him for a brief moment. Outwardly, apart from being slightly wobbly, he didn't seem too drunk. But when he turned and spotted me, I could see his eyes were slightly too bright and not particularly focused.
"Iona," he said solemnly, holding up his keys. "I think my room key is broken."
A nervous giggle escaped me as I walked over to him and removed the keys from his hand. "I think you're using the wrong key," I said gently, finding the correct one and opening the door for him. I flicked his light switch on and he stumbled across the room, letting his jacket drop to the ground before flopping onto his neatly made bed.
"Will you be okay?" I asked from the doorway. He rolled over to face me, his expression mournful. "Iona, I think there's a chance I might puke."
I came fully into the room at that point, letting the door close behind me, and shook my head at him. "What possessed you to get into this state, Ryan?" I muttered under my breath as I searched around for a suitable receptacle he could use for spewing purposes. I found a wastepaper basket under his desk and brought it over to him. He was covering his eyes with one hand as if the light was too bright so I put the lamp next to the bed on instead.
"Thanks Iona," he said quietly, opening his eyes and looking directly at me. He seemed to be delighting in using my name for some reason. He stared at me, eyes oh-so-very blue, as if he couldn't quite believe I was there, before his eyelids fluttered closed again.
Actually, that reminded me...
"Do you still wear contact lenses?" I asked him, shaking his shoulder slightly to get his attention. "Do you need to take them out?" For all I knew, he could have had laser surgery at some point over the years, although I knew he had always been squeamish about his eyes and struggled even with the idea of contacts for years.
He waved his hand dismissively before placing it back over his eyes. "It doesn't matter," he said.
It didn't remotely answer my question but you can't say I didn't try. If he had sore eyes in the morning on top of his hangover, that was all on him.
He had a mini-fridge like mine so I rummaged in it and found a bottle of water, which I placed on his bedside table. "I think I'm ill," he mumbled. "I'm so warm. Touch my forehead, Iona. I'm burning up. "
"You're just drunk," I told him, but to humour him, I sat down beside him on the bed and laid my hand on his forehead.
"That is so nice," he sighed. "So cool." He reached up and placed his own hand on top of mine. Then, unexpectedly, he pulled both our hands down his face to his stubbly cheek. I sucked in a sharp breath. I could feel him trembling under my touch.
"Iona?"
"Yeah?" My voice was shaking. I didn't sound like myself.
"Would you mind . . . Just lying with me until I go to sleep?" He hadn't opened his eyes again. I swallowed hard. He wasn't making this easy for me.
"Okay," I whispered.
Clumsily and once again unexpectedly, he managed to manoeuvre my hand to his lips and he pressed his lips briefly against the inside of my wrist. My whole body sizzled in response. "Thanks," he said softly, releasing me and moving over to give me space on the bed. I gingerly lowered myself down next to him.
And this is where I am now. Lying next to Ryan, listening to him breathing. Staring at the ceiling, my fists clenched. Waiting to ensure he falls asleep. Knowing he's still awake, but barely.
"Why?" He asks finally.
"What?"
"Why did you do it?" He rolls back onto his side, facing me, and I can feel his drowsy eyes burning into me. "I was gutted, you know. But I would have accepted it."
"I don't know what you mean." I really don't. His words aren't making sense. He's talking in riddles, or so it seems.
"We could still have been friends," he says, so softly I can barely hear him. "We could have got through it." He barely makes it through that last mystifying sentence before his eyelids droop again and I'm pretty sure he's out for the count.
I carefully edge myself back off the bed and creep towards the door. As my hand is on the handle, he speaks again, making me jump.
"Did you sleep with him last night?"
I pause. "No," I reply finally. There's no response to that.
So I leave the room.
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