The Road Trip(48)

Addie

‘Addie,’ he says.

We’re at the table, pouring out cava from the bottle Deb conjured up from somewhere. I look at my sister before I turn around. She grins at me. She knew he was coming.

‘I missed that happy face, Ads,’ she says, as I turn in my seat, already beaming, and look at Dylan.

He’s swept me up out of my chair before I can say anything.

‘Christ,’ he says, ‘Addie Gilbert, do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?’

I mean, I don’t, really. He said I miss you plenty on Skype, but he always sounded so flat. If he missed me, why didn’t he come back? But the thought evaporates the moment he presses his lips to mine. This is my Dylan. A flop of brown hair, startling green eyes. Ridiculous as it sounds, he seems to smell of sunshine and vineyards even here in this sticky club. We kiss for so long everything melts away, music pounding around us. We break apart eventually, and he laughs, smoothing his thumbs across my cheekbones.

‘I’m so sorry I took so long to come home. I’m a fool. Forgive me?’

He apologises so easily. I don’t know any other guys who do that. It’s like he’s not got that male ego thing, the pride that’s always getting wounded. I love that about him. But . . . I’m not sure it fixes things. Can you get rid of a mistake with one easy apology like that?

‘Oh, God, Addie, please,’ he says, pressing his lips to mine again. ‘Don’t be angry with me. I can’t stand it.’

‘Where’s Marcus?’ I ask.

Dylan looks surprised by the question – it surprised me a bit too. ‘Home,’ he says. ‘In Hampshire. I told him I wanted to come straight here to see you, so he went back to stay with his dad.’

I nuzzle into Dylan’s chest as my mind whirs. As the months have gone by, I’ve wondered about Marcus. Whether he’s the reason Dylan didn’t come home sooner. I can’t imagine he was in any rush to get Dylan back to me.

‘And . . . you’re here now?’ I ask him.

‘I’m here now. For good. In full knowledge that I should never have left your side.’

‘I’m drinking your cava!’ Deb yells at me. ‘You look busy.’

I laugh and give her a thumbs up, then drag Dylan to the dance floor as Deb knocks back my drink. Me and Dylan dance, pressed so close together every inch of us is touching. The strobes flash. My head’s spinning. I’m giddy with having him back.

‘You know,’ Dylan says, close to my ear so I can hear him over the music, ‘I’m beginning to think my life thus far has been one long string of poorly made decisions and very foolish mistakes, except for the day I knocked on your door.’ He presses his lips to my hair and I hide my smile against his chest. ‘I’m not leaving your side now.’

‘That’s going to be a bit tricky,’ I say, pulling on his hands to get him dancing again. He’s pretty good. I’m not sure why I assumed Dylan would be a bad dancer but this is a nice surprise.

‘Tricky?’

‘Your family live two hours away, don’t they?’

He doesn’t catch it. I repeat the words, my lips against his ear.

‘I’m not moving home,’ he says. He sounds triumphant. ‘I’m moving here.’

‘Here?’ That’s the grand plan he’s spent months coming up with? ‘Here, like, Chichester? What are you going to do for work?’

‘I’ll figure it out,’ he says, and there’s that shadow on his face again. ‘If Chichester will have me.’

The lights paint his hair yellow, green, yellow. The music’s so loud it’s more buzz than noise.

‘What, you’re going to rent a flat here?’

‘Or buy one. Dad’s always on at me to get on the property ladder.’

I gawp at him for so long he laughs a bit uneasily, pulling me closer again.

‘Or not, whatever. I just want to be here. I should have been here all along.’

Someone bashes into me, throwing me hard against his chest. I stay there, wrapping my arms around his waist. I’ve always believed everyone should get a second chance. And he’s sorry, and was it that bad, anyway, him staying away a bit longer than he said he would while he figured stuff out?

And . . . I still love him. So there’s that, too.



I sneak him into my room. The moment we click my bedroom door closed we’re breathless, literally clawing each other’s clothes off. Dylan tears the neckline of my dress and pauses, seeming surprised at himself, which makes me laugh so much I have to cover my mouth with a hand to keep quiet.

His body is the same but different. The tan lines are clearer, the muscles a little firmer maybe, but it’s him, Dylan, home, and the feel of him against me is enough to send me quivering. We kiss hungrily, open-mouthed. I’m desperate. Aching. I’m so frantic I mess up the condom, and Dylan laughs, breathless, stilling my hands with his own.

‘We have time,’ he says, voice hoarse. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

He lays me down on the bed, moving on top of me. His arms bracket me. I lift my chin, demanding a kiss, and he presses his lips to mine, slow, soft. By the time he reaches for a second condom I’ve begged, literally begged him, and when at last he moves inside me we both cry out.