Summer Star (The Blue Phoenix Series Book 1.5) (9 page)

The rain washes over, running down my face, the cool water soaking my skin as I debate whether to keep walking or go back inside.

What’s the point in trying to change if, when I do, I fuck up?

CHAPTER TWELVE

The next morning, Sky's still asleep when I head downstairs. Pouring a glass of water, I stand in the kitchen window and stare at the outside world, at the same struggle between the clouds and sun as yesterday. The weather isn’t the only thing uncertain about today. My attempt to talk to Sky when I got back from my cold walk last night failed and ended with a discussion I didn't want: which one of us should leave. She accused me of playing games and suggested we forget the almost sex and go back to pretending we're merely sharing a house if I won’t leave.

How is rewinding possible?

Draining my glass, I head back upstairs to change; deciding a run along the beach should clear my mind and replace the gloom. An example why the mind clearing isn't possible confronts me as I reach the top of the stairs. Leaving the bathroom at the exact same moment, Sky freezes in the doorway. I'm rooted to the top step, because the only thing covering Sky is a short, blue towel barely reaching her knees, and another wrapped round her hair. That and an expression of embarrassed horror.

My heart rate skyrockets and it doesn't take long for me to imagine her without the towel.

“Fuck. Sorry,” I mutter.

Not sorry enough to look away
. Why the hell doesn't she go back into the bathroom so I can get past into my room? The tiny hallway to the bedrooms won't allow us to pass without touching and if my skin brushes hers, we'll be back to where we were yesterday afternoon. I watch as drops of water run along Sky’s damp skin, following the route from her neck into the top of the towel with my eyes.

Wet Sky.

Shit
.

Sky says nothing.

As I ascend the last step into the hallway, Sky's eyes widen and she backs away. The next thing happens in blissful slow motion but ends too soon. The towel in her hair slips and big eyes still on mine she grabs at it. Simultaneously, the towel around her body slips down as the knot loosens. Unfortunately, Sky manages to catch it before the whole thing drops so all I get is a glimpse of the glistening curve of her breasts.

Still too much
. I hold my breath and close my eyes, willing her to have moved before I open them again. “Fuck.”

I open them. Still there. Holding onto my loosening self-control, I edge past to my room. The space between us is a hair’s breadth from skin touching skin. Sky coughs and I stop, gauging whether she'd be okay with me ripping off her towel, holding her against the wall and showing her what she missed last night. The fact Sky is clearly fighting her desire too isn't helping. Why are we doing this? Why can't we just give in?

Grazing my teeth along my lip, I search her eyes for a 'yes' but she looks away.
Not okay with fucking against the wall
. Obviously - this is Sky. I inch past, arm brushing hers with a burst of static sparking from the charged gap between us. Aware Sky hasn't moved by the time I've crossed the small space, I ground myself by resting my head against the hard wood of the door.

“Sky, please go and get dressed before I do something that will really piss you off.” I don’t dare look back.

Seconds later, Sky’s bedroom door slams shut and the hallway empties of the expectation in the air.

Rewinding time by coming here not only collided me with Sky, but also spun me back to past frustrations and confusion. There has to be a halfway point. I'm Dylan Morgan; I know what the hell I'm doing with women. But not Sky. I’m confused because for the first time, what a chick wants has to come first because that way Sky will stay in my life, for a few days. Maybe longer.

I’ll talk to her again as soon as I’ve finished my run, and when Sky has clothes on.

****

When I return from the beach, Sky's car no longer stands outside the house.
Crap.
I rush inside and to my relief Sky’s gear is strewn around the lounge, including her books, so I'm sure she hasn't left for good. A quick check of the bathroom reveals items of Sky’s piled around the sink. Chicks never leave that shit behind so she’ll definitely be back. How long will she be gone? Where did she go?

I'm about to head downstairs with my guitar when I catch sight of my phone screen where a series of messages are half-displayed.

I slide my finger across to find who sent the messages.

Myf.

I knew it wouldn't be long until she got involved. Myf's the only chick I've managed to stay friends with, the girl from St Davids who's been a friend of the band ever since Blue Phoenix formed. Myf isn't around as much as she was in the early days; her own music career takes her overseas and we rarely catch up in person. When I decided to disappear, I was on the brink of going to Myf but didn’t. She’d give me a hard time about running from shit. She always does.

No, even Myf can't help this time.

I reply.

I stare at the words and chuckle at the ridiculousness. How many normal people have to prove they're alive to friends because some dickhead decides to tell the world you're dead? I haven't looked at the media since I arrived in Broadbeach, but I bet the stories about why I ran and where I am are as creative as usual.

Seconds later the phone rings and I debate whether to answer. Should’ve known better than to reply. Myf won't leave this until I talk.

I sink onto the bed and answer. “Myf.”

“Dylan! Where the hell are you?”

I smile, typical Myf, admonishment before sympathy. “On holiday.”

“Ha-ha. Seriously, where did you go? Are you okay?”

“No. I mean, yeah, I'm alive, okay. But needed to get away. I haven’t been coping with shit.”

Her tone softens. “Why didn't you tell me? You know I'm here for you, Dylan.”

How can I say 'yeah, but you're not enough'? “You're in New York, Myf, it's not like you could help.”

“But I'm always here to listen, bach,” she says gently.

Her Welsh endearment tugs; I forget Wales and then Myf reminds me. “I know, but I got lost in myself. I'll be okay. Honest.”

“You shouldn't run; you always run and it never helps. Sort this out.”

“I'll be okay.”

“Will you? I think you need somebody to talk to.”

“I'm not on my own.”

Myf quietens. “What do you mean? Dylan, please don't tell me you're holed up with a girl. I thought you left because you wanted to back away from that part of you. That is what this is about, isn't it?”

“She isn’t a groupie.”

“She? Who? Dylan, be careful.”

Sky belongs here, in this place, and can’t be pushed into reality. Not yet. “I couldn't begin to explain who she is without this sounding crazy.”

“What? Crazier than the normal Dylan Morgan situations?” she asks sarcastically.

“She makes me feel like I'm not him, Myf. She's helping.”

“Yeah, I bet she is. In your bed?”

“No, you don't get it. She doesn't know who I am.”

Myf scoffs. “You seriously believe that?”

“Yes.”

The forcefulness of the word silences her again and we enter a Dylan and Myf standoff. Myf always speaks plainly and conflict is never far away if she tells me anything I don’t want to hear.

“Like I said, be careful.”

“I don't want to talk about this; I don't know why I said anything. Listen, Myf, I'm okay, and I'll be back in London soon.”

“This girl...”

I cut her off. “I don't want to talk about her.” 

If I tell the world about Sky, she's theirs and I'm not even sure she could be mine yet. Talking about her to Myf is weird, another person knowing means Sky is real and not merely a girl hidden in my fantasy world.

A different future flickers and joins the reality I’ll eventually return to - this never has to be over.

Okay, I pissed Sky off but this can be more than us here and now. When I go back to the band, she could come too. I could be with Sky and she could teach me more about not being an asshole.

We could be Dylan and Sky.

The cloud that followed since last night lifts. Something’s extraordinary and overwhelming between me and Sky; why lose that after a few days?

“Listen, I have to go. Thanks for your concern. Tell everyone the longer they leave me alone, the sooner I'll come back.”

We end the call with more cajoling from Myf about opening up. My phone contains other messages from the band and entourage, all asking me to contact them.

Everybody but Jem.

****

The afternoon darkens into rain, again, and Sky hasn't returned. Lost in my music all afternoon, the crashing realisation from before translate into a song - the song for Sky.

My summer sky, my summer Sky

I want this life to be just you and I

I'd give it all up and that's no lie

For my summer Sky, my summer Sky

I don't write songs about chicks because it gives them the wrong idea, like they're special, and we'll be together forever and shit like that. What would Sky say if she knew? I smile to myself, planning the day I finish and play the track to her, when we're back in reality and she's my summer Sky forever.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Sky who returns a little later is guarded, but she came back and she bought enough food to suggest she’s either very hungry or won’t be leaving soon.

I watch as she pulls tins and packets from the bags. “I'll help you unpack.”

Sky jumps in surprise, oblivious to my presence for once. She bangs her head on the cupboard and slings an unimpressed look my way as she rubs her head. “Thanks.”

She can be as pissed off as she wants, but I’m determined to fix this.

“Sorry about earlier; you have a weird effect on me.”

She sweeps a gaze over my bare chest. “Is the semi-nakedness to try and distract me?”

I smirk. “Possibly.”

Sense of humour obviously lacking, Sky returns to her task. I pass her a jar of sauce. “I should give you some money. I'm eating your stuff.”

“Maybe go and buy your own then!”

“I can't. Can I?”

“You can't hide forever!” She pushes hair from her eyes and continues.

“I know.” I say quietly but she ignores me. “So I take it from all this food that you're staying then?”

“Of course, why would I go?”

“Because you said you're uncomfortable with...this.”

“There's room here for both of us. You can pay me for food if you want.” Sky rummages in one of the shopping bags and pulls out a packet of chocolate biscuits, which she promptly opens with her teeth, and begins eating one.

“Sky...” I laugh.

“What?”

“You, you're so natural and wonderful and downright fucking funny.”

“Don't start the games again!” she says through her mouthful of biscuit.

I take a biscuit too and lean against the counter, watching her as I munch.

“Not used to girls who eat?” Sky snaps. “Prefer the skinny ones who starve themselves?”

“This is about yesterday still? I don't prefer skinny girls.” Tentatively, I place my hand over hers. When we're physical, even the smallest amount it soothes me and I’m counting on this being the same for her.

“Please don't,” she says but doesn't move away.

“Hmm.” Desperate for her to let me in, I touch Sky’s mouth with the pretence of wiping a crumb and she takes a sharp breath. “Okay, I'll cook something, to say thank you for sharing with me.”

“No, it’s okay...”

“Do you think I can't cook?”

“I think you don't cook much, Mr. Rock God.”

I tense. “Don't take the piss.”

“Don't behave like one!”

“You're very feisty tonight.”

“Some guy pissed me off.”

“Then he needs to make things up to you.”

Sky regards me for a moment, brow creased. “Okay, cook. I'm cold and I'm getting changed.”

Before there’s any chance for me to say anything else, she hightails out of the room, leaving me and assorted food I have no clue what to do with. Why the hell did I offer to do this? My cooking skills are almost non-existent and I consider whether to order pizza again. No. This is something I have to do, for myself and for her.

I study the food on the counter, and chew a nail. I'm relieved to find a jar of sauce that instructs me I can just tip the contents over chicken and vegetables, then serve with rice or noodles. Even I can manage that. I hope.

Sky returns ten minutes later and, after some curious disbelief, she disappears with her book. Sky and her books... surely they can't be more interesting than me.

Setting plates on the table, I marvel at myself. Look at me, cooking for a chick again. There's a weird sense of pleasure that I'm doing something for Sky, the first of many things. I inelegantly tip the noodles into the finished sauce and try a mouthful. Not bad. Not burnt, anyway.

Spooning some on the plates, I step back and admire my handiwork. Something’s missing. Wine for Sky. As I uncork a bottle of red, I call Sky; and when she doesn't respond, I sneak into the room and look over her shoulder. Unaware of me for a few moments, she continues reading and I lean closer, catching some of the words on the page. I don't see whole sentences but there are a few words on there I can't imagine coming out of Sky's mouth.

“Put down your smut, and come and eat,” I say.

A red-faced Sky shuts the book and I grin at her. “This isn’t smut! If it was smut, there'd be no plot.”

Yeah, right.

I usher her to the kitchen and we sit at the small table.

“Not bad,” she says.

“I knew you'd want wine...”

She watches as I pour two glasses. “Are you having one? I thought you were dry.”

“One glass, I can control myself.”

I attempt to catch Sky’s eye but she stares at her plate of food. Connotations. “Noodles.”

“Perceptive.”

“A tip for you. Don't cook a girl something she could spill all over herself on a first date.”

Yes. Gotcha
. “Date?” I ask innocently.

“I mean, in the future, when you date,” she adds hastily.

“I don't date.” Sky takes a mouthful of food, deliberately obscuring her face with hair. “I'd date you though.” My admission clearly has no effect because she continues eating. My stomach tightens. “Sky?”

Sky fixes confused eyes on mine. “How exactly would you date me, Dylan? When you can't go anywhere in case every teenage girl in the world descends on you?”

“After this.”

“After what?”

“When we go... back, I want to see you again,” I say, willing her to see the truth of my words.

Carefully she sets the fork on the table, hand trembling. “You're delusional. Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“You don't know me.”

“Isn't that the idea of dates, to get to know someone?”

“I don't think...”

I close my hand around Sky’s and say softly, “Come on, people do this all the time. They meet, like each other, and start dating. I want to try doing that with you.”

“I don't think dating is something that would happen between the real Sky and Dylan, do you?”

“Why?”

“Who are you really Dylan Morgan? From what you've hinted, you don't even live in the same country as me, or the same world.” She looks at me. “We're living in an illusion. Where you're Dylan, I'm Sky, and the rest of the world doesn't exist. As soon as we step outside of the fantasy, we won't exist anymore.”

My heart joins my sinking stomach as her words rip apart the fantasy I've spent the afternoon creating in my mind. “I’ll take that as no?”

When she doesn't reply, irritation replaces the disappointment. What do I do? How do I make Sky understand that we can be more? I know we want each other, so why are we playing fucking games? No more is said but Sky's wineglass empties quicker than mine.

“Okay, let's talk about something else. Can we carry on with this... arrangement? Will you get to know your Dylan a bit more?”

“My Dylan?”

“The Dylan only you know.”

“Who's he?”

“Not the person I left in London three days ago. The guy you're reconnecting me with; giving life to.”

“I think you're doing that yourself.”

“With the help of a smart-mouthed girl who doesn't take any shit from me, yeah, I am,” I admit

Finally, she cracks a smile. “Okay, I can carry on smart-mouthing you for another few days if you love it that much.”

“I do.”

I wait for Sky to finish eating, so she can stop pretending my cooking is the most amazing thing she’s tasted and she can’t possibly stop looking at it, then I clear the plates and let her relax with her glass of wine. I don't want Sky drunk but the edge off her attitude would help.

“About yesterday,” I say eventually.

“Yesterday doesn't matter. Forget it.”

“Yesterday matters to me, because I upset you. Can I explain?” Sky pours more wine but the nonchalance is slipping. “I'm selfish, spoilt, and always get what I want.”

“Nice line in self-deprecation, Dylan.” She sips.

“Can you listen for once, instead of playing word games with me?”

She 'zips' her mouth so I press on. “I wanted to prove to myself that I could be different to the selfish, spoilt guy I am; the one who takes what he wants and doesn't give a fuck about someone else's feelings. That's why I stopped.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, how about I'm not the normal kind of girl you meet and I’d tell you to stop? Or are you telling me you couldn't stop yourself?”

An uncomfortable retreat to three years ago flashes into my head.
Lily
. Shit. “No, never.”

“This is funny; you're talking as if you want to protect my honour or something. I'm not a virgin; I'm perfectly aware of what I'm doing and what I want.”

The horror of her words is apparent on her face before I get a chance to reply. I cock a brow. “What you want?”

“I didn't mean...”

I touch Sky’s hand again; the truth helps. “You do weird things to me, and I want to get to know you to figure out why.”

“Fine, take me on a date then.”

My world brightens with her response. “Awesome, thank you.”

For the first time today, a genuine smile of content passes between us, the guarded looks drawing away. Yeah, okay, maybe the wine helps but I’m not complaining.

When Sky excuses herself and disappears upstairs, I clear the plates away. Her book rests on the kitchen counter, where she placed it before we ate. I run water in the sink and squirt in some detergent before picking up the paperback
.
I’ve heard about these so-called erotic books chicks like, but never looked at one before. I open to Sky's bookmarked page where the billionaire and secretary are getting hot and heavy in an elevator. Intrigued, I flick through the pages to read more. I don’t get far before I’m greeted with another more explicit scene, this time in a kitchen.

Whoa. Okay. Sky likes reading porn.
Sky?

Hell, with me here why does Sky need to read about sex in books? I'm more than capable of showing her my skills in the kitchen can go beyond bacon sandwiches too, if that’s what she wants. I blink away the image of us the book conjures and place it back on the counter.

Do women finally have instruction manuals?

The sink and soap bubbles almost overflow due to the distraction and I hastily twist the tap off. Washing up isn't something I do; I can picture the guys taking the piss now. Domesticated Dylan.

“I said I'd do that, you cooked,” says Sky from behind and I glance over my shoulder.

“I think I put too much soap in.” I frown at Sky’s giggle but this seems to have warmed me to her as planned. “So I don't wash up often. I have a dishwasher.”

“I bet you don't load the plates.”

“Sometimes.” She gives me a Sky look. “Okay, no.”

“Twenty-four years old and you don't know how to wash up? You'll never make anyone a good wife.” Sky tuts playfully and the easy-going atmosphere prompts my next move. I grab a handful of bubbles and wipe them down her face. “You'll have to teach me.”

“Hey!” Eyes glinting, she grabs a handful too.

“Don't you dare!” I say and back off.

As she's joined the game, I laugh and grab her wrists, holding them with one hand, and rubbing bubbles into her hair with the other. Sky squeals and when I loosen my grip, she attempts to move away but I wind my arms around her waist, holding her tightly from behind. Sky wriggles and drags at my fingers. This, and her stomach exposed by her t-shirt riding up, warm skin beneath my hands, and pushes my intentions in the opposite direction of playful.

“Keep still!” I tell her.

“No more bubbles! Sorry!”

I guide Sky to the sink, still holding her from behind. She thinks I'm going to dunk her, but my ideas for the rest of the evening don't include pissing her off.

“No, please!” she gasps.

I press into Sky, pinning her against the counter. “What if I don't want to let you go?” I whisper, smoothing my hands along her soft belly. “What if I want to apologise for before?”

“I don't know...”

Maybe I shouldn't have read her book
. I run my tongue from Sky's neck to her shoulder and pull her close.

“Oh...”

The noise of surprise is hopefully a good surprised and I turn Sky back to face me. One arm wrapped around her waist, I look back into Sky’s darkening eyes as I shove the discarded saucepans on the kitchen counter out of the way.

“I stopped because the selfish, spoilt Dylan wanted you.” Sky doesn’t protest as I lift her onto the counter, and look down at her. “But if I make this about you instead, that’s not selfish, right?”

“Oh...”

Still not entirely sure if her breathy responses mean this is going to go well or badly, I stroke a strand of Sky’s hair behind an ear. “Can I kiss you again?”

She drags her gaze away and to the floor. “I think you're right; you do need to find a new way to relate to women.”