Anyone But You: A BRAND NEW feel-good celebrity, second chance romance (Love is in the Air Book 2)

Chapter Seven

Dylan wanted to call Scarlett, he really did. The whisky had lent him a false bravado and if he didn’t do it right there and then he probably never would.

Sliding into a doorway, he pulled out the pink mobile and called her. To his amazement and fear she actually answered the phone. ‘Hi, Scarlett, it’s Dylan. The busker, Dylan,’ he added, in case she knew lots of Dylans, or couldn’t remember the Dylan she did know. He jerked his thumb pointlessly over his shoulder, to where his guitar lay across his back, like she could see it.

‘Oh . . . hello.’

He sighed with relief that she didn’t end the call, although she sounded decidedly cool towards him. Even so, he had to try. ‘I’d really like to talk to you.’

‘I thought you never wanted to see me again.’

‘I’m sorry. I was jealous and a bit drunk. I’ll admit it now, and hope that will be enough for you to forgive my childish behaviour.’

Silence.

‘I’d really like to see you.’

‘It’s ten o’clock at night, Dylan.’

‘I know, but I have some great news, and I need to tell someone. I need to tell you,in fact.’ He held his breath, listening for an irritated sigh at Scarlett’s end.

‘What, I’m the only friend you have?’

At least she hadn’t told him to piss off. ‘I just want to apologise. Could we meet up for a drink?’ Dylan uttered the bravest sentence in the world, waiting for her to come back with the cruellest reply in the world. Something like,I’d love to, but I’mwashing my hair.

Amazingly, what he heard was, ‘Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be in a fit state to talk.’ There was a pause, before she added, ‘Why don’t you come over to mine. I’ve just changed into my comfy clothes and could really do without getting all tarted up again. I was given some Cristal the other day — it’s chilling down in the fridge. We can celebrate with that, if it’s really good news.’

His heart skipped a beat but he found himself saying, ‘Okay, but I don’t know if I like Cristal.’

‘Then, you don’t have to drink it.’

If it was a fizzy wine like he thought it was, he would rather give it a swivel, but realised too late that he sounded ungrateful. He definitely heard a note of irritation in her voice. Considering he’d drink sulphuric acid out of Stanley’s trainers if she asked him to, why was he being so picky? ‘I’m sure I’ll acquire a taste for it,’ he added quickly.

‘That’s good to know.’ She sounded amused now, and he knew he’d be fine. She’d forgive him, so long as he kept his cool and didn’t quiz her about the obnoxious pilot.

‘Brilliant. What’s your address?’ He wrote it on his wrist, using the pen he always had to hand in case inspiration hit him, and promised to be there soon.

He beamed as he pushed the mobile deep into his pocket. He was going to visit Scarlett and drink Cristal with her, whether he liked it or not. Who cared? Not him. He was on his way to seeing the Vision once more, in his new capacity of Rock Star, and nothing would stop him.

* * *

Scarlett tipped her head upside down, to tousle-dry her hair. She had five minutes to go before Dylan showed up.

She wasn’t sure why she’d been so ready with the invite. It wasn’t as if she wanted the company, although she had thought about Dylan more than she should have, and she was upset that their tentative friendship had ended so badly. Even though there was no place for him in her life, he knew her sister and was kind to Elsa, so for that reason alone, she would try to accommodate him.

There was also a small spark of relief that he’d been in touch, but she ignored that, probably because she was ready to apologise herself for what had happened. She knew he had good news to impart and she wanted to see his face light up with excitement. That’s what it would be.

She clipped the foil off the champagne bottle and settled it into an ice bucket. It was only polite to offer her guest a drink, after all.

She buzzed Dylan in, when he pressed the intercom. She was unused to entertaining without smart clothes and make-up, but then she thought of Dylan’s ripped jeans and casual t-shirts and knew she was being silly.

She needn’t have worried.

* * *

Reaching her open doorway, Dylan looked her up and down with a grin. ‘Wow, you look amazing,’ he said as he stepped inside the apartment and shrugged off his guitar.

‘I do?’ She looked down at the denim cut-offs and the huge stripy sweatshirt she wore.

‘Yeah, you don’t look like you’re an air stewardess, at all. No, that’s good — I think,’ he added, when Scarlett gave him a hard stare. ‘You look like a softer version of yourself. I feel as if I’ve been allowed into your inner sanctum.’

‘Okay, now you’re spooking me. Maybe you’d better shut up, before I change my mind about this. Come in and bring your best friend.’ She nodded towards his guitar.

‘Sorry, I thought I might get bored, so I lugged this with me, in case I wanted to practise a bit. You know, relieve the monotony.’ He grinned again.

‘Such a charmer,’ she said, but smiled, taking the edge off her words.

Dylan was so relieved he could have kissed her right there and then.

He followed her into her apartment. ‘This is nice.’ He stepped into the sitting room and gazed around the flat, taking in the softly polished walnut furniture, retro egg chair in brown leather, an elegant pale grey sofa and modern cream chaise longue, positioned underneath the window. It was so tidy and minimalistic he was momentarily afraid to touch anything. If he thought his scruffy presence might offend her, he’d cheerfully sit on the floor. Hell, he’d do the tango on a bed of nails, if it made her happy.

From studying the apartment, he switched to absorbing the woman herself. Her creamy skin was dotted with freckles, and her full lips were so, so kissable. Baby soft hair fanned around her face, and he wanted to scoop it up and hold it to his nose, breathing her in. She was truly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he was totally besotted with her.

She frowned at him. ‘Dylan?’

He quickly rearranged the dopey expression on his face. ‘Yes, please?’

She giggled. ‘I didn’t offer you anything. Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.’ She indicated the grey sofa, and Dylan sat and stared as she lifted the chilled bottle from a silver wine bucket, picked two crystal flutes from a glass shelf, and poured sparkling wine into them.

Dylan watched the bubbles escaping to the top, still not quite believing that he was drinking champagne with the girl of his dreams. ‘Is this the Cristal you mentioned?’

‘Yes.’ She placed her hands on her hips and her tone was slightly aggressive, as if she was waiting for a putdown, or sarcastic comment.

‘Do you always have champagne in your apartment?’ he asked, wondering why she was so spiky.

‘Yes.’ She picked up the bottle examining the label as if looking for an answer. She sighed as if the question was tedious. ‘I suppose I do. This particular one is from a passenger who couldn’t be bothered to carry it into London. It was a promo gift, but champagne is probably as plentiful as water to her.’ She raised her glass. ‘Here’s to rich passengers.’

Dylan toasted the unknown passenger and took a sip. ‘Wow, that’s actually pretty good.’ He lifted his glass up to the light and examined the pale gold liquid, not that he was a connoisseur in any way, but it seemed the right thing to do.

Scarlett sipped her wine. ‘It’s about ten pounds a mouthful, so it should be good.’

Dylan raised his eyebrows and tried out another sip. ‘Who was your passenger?’

‘To be honest, I’m not supposed to talk about them. Someone once got the sack because they blabbed in the pub about taking the Prime Minister to Germany. But you won’t have heard of my passenger, anyway. She’s a young model, mostly famous for sleeping with someone from The X Factor, and for falling out of her dress in public. She said her name was Coco, but whenever her phone rang, she answered with, Hiya, Stacey speaking, so the odds on her really being a Coco are pretty slim. She drank a bottle of water and ate some nuts, so I’m hardly a frazzled wreck, unlike some flights where I run up and down the cabin the whole time as if I’m some kind of sprinter on speed.’ She raised her glass one more time. ‘So, cheers to Coco, a.k.a. Stacey.’

They chinked glasses. ‘This is perfect timing for my news,’ Dylan said, taking the opportunity to share. ‘News which, if not for you inviting me over, I’d be celebrating with Mac down at the Dog and Duck, getting trashed and learning how to pronounce swear words in a Scottish accent.’

‘Who’s Mac?’ she asked.

‘The pub landlord.’

‘Ah.’ Her face softened, and she sank down on the egg chair and swung her legs up, holding her glass precariously as she tucked her feet neatly under her bottom. ‘Okay, I’m ready to hear it. Go.’

Dylan stored all of her movements in his mind, noting the lithe way she moved, the tiny sips of wine she took, and the way she tilted her head as she threw her hair over her shoulder. He found it hard to concentrate on anything apart from Scarlett, but shook himself reluctantly, back to the reason he’d called her. ‘Right, then, drum roll, I think.’ He bashed out a syncopated rhythm on the arm of the chair. ‘Get this. A music producer heard me play at Mac’s, and he loves my music. He wants me to send him a demo tape, and I’m meeting him next week for coffee. I’ve checked the company out on Google and they look legit. How’s that for news?’ He picked up his guitar and twanged it for extra effect, before standing up and taking a bow. He then ran his hands through his hair. ‘Oh, my God, I can’t believe I just said that so casually. Do you know what this means?’

Scarlett inclined her head. ‘That you’re going to be a star?’

‘Yes, I’m going to be a star! Hopefully.’ Dylan tried to inject enthusiasm into his voice but he was slightly deflated by Scarlett’s lukewarm response.

‘Congratulations, I’m happy for you, if being a star is what you want.’ She raised her glass in a toast before glancing at the level of wine left in it. ‘That went quickly. I’m so comfy, would you mind?’

‘No. Of course not.’ She wasn’t pleased for him, that much was clear. He picked up the bottle and tilted it, checking how much was left, deciding that a change of conversation was in order. ‘That’s about fifty quid’s worth gone already.’ He glanced at the bottle again. ‘I don’t mean to be cheeky, but I’m famished. Do you have any crisps to mop this up? I’ve already had whisky poured down my throat, despite my best efforts to escape Mac.’

‘I can probably find you something. I never have much fresh food in, I’m called out at short notice so often, but I’m sure I have something edible. I have another bottle of champagne in the fridge, too, if we fancy it. Although I’m not trying to get you drunk. Obviously.’

‘Obviously. Though I could understand it, if you did, what with me being a famous rock star, and all. You probably can’t wait to get me into bed.’ He winked.

‘Don’t push it, Dylan.’ Scarlett laughed, but the laugh didn’t reach her eyes and he thought that once again he spotted sadness clouding them. He wondered what had happened to putit there and determined, one day, to find out.

* * *

‘I’ve met all sorts of stars, and believe me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’ Scarlett, sensing that Dylan didn’t want to hear her thoughts on the downside of stardom, smiled to soften her words. ‘I’ll get some food and the bottle of boring old Moet, shall I?’ She unfurled her legs and stood up.

‘Yeah, Moet is cool, but just so you know, we superstars prefer to spray it over the furniture, rather than drink it. That more than makes up for any deficiency on the taste front.’

‘Fine, I’ll mark you down for the cava next time.’ Scarlett threw him a mock look of disdain before heading for the kitchen.

She suppressed a shiver, as another old memory kicked in. She focused on Dylan, determined to be more upbeat, as he picked out a tune, flicking his hair out of his eyes as a stubborn curl flopped down into them.

She liked him, she decided, even though she hadn’t expected to. She liked his artlessness and his enthusiasm for his music. He couldn’t help but pick up his guitar at every opportunity as if an invisible thread connected him to it. She sensed that, even when he was stationary, his mind was on the move, struggling to match the poetic words in his head to the chords on his guitar.

He certainly knew how to produce sweet music, and once a team of designers had finished with him, he’d look every inch the star they wanted him to be. He’d be breaking adoring fans’ hearts in no time.

And that was the deal breaker. She really didn’t need more drama in her life, and Dylan could shape up to be exactly that.

She bit her lip, wondering if she should ask him to leave before she started to like him too much. He would think her crazy. Being there with her was exactly what he wanted — he’d made that quite obvious.

She glanced at him again, as he quietly hummed a tune, stopping occasionally to gaze into space, only to start again seconds later. He was the first man to visit her flat since Sky, and she was surprised to find that she was enjoying herself, until a sudden, unwelcome emotion welled up inside causing her throat to constrict as she fought back threatening tears. She was used to these sudden outbursts of emotion when memories of Sky surfaced and she pushed them away, determinedly. Spending time with Dylan was not like before and she would not allow her previous life to taint the evening. Dylan was guilt-free and a good person.

As she went into her kitchen she felt something akin to pride that she’d handled the change in her emotions so positively: another small turning point.

On opening the fridge door she spotted the smoked salmon and caviar leftovers she’d brought home from the flight earlier that day, along with the paraphernalia that went with it. The passenger hadn’t wanted it, and neither had the ground staff, and she hated waste. She would often bring home good food only to have it lurking around in her fridge for days before she threw it out.

Deciding it might be a fun idea to serve it to Dylan, she smiled, stopping short at the thought of putting her uniform on to do it. She dismissed the idea: that would just be weird, but she had warmed to the thought of entertaining Dylan in style.

She popped the blinis in the toaster and found a packet of crostini and a jar of olives in her cupboard. There was also some feta cheese hanging around — quite a triumph in a fridge mostly devoid of food and awash with wine. She added the feta to her tray, upended ice cubes and smashed them up with a rolling pin and put the crushed ice in a small bowl and added the caviar and curls of smoked salmon. She loaded up a tray and placed it into the coffee table in the sitting room, returning briefly to grab the fresh bottle of champagne.

‘Were you beating the crisps into submission?’ Dylan laid his guitar down on the carpet and grinned up at her. Sliding off the sofa, he settled himself on the carpet, his long legs crossed in front of him.

When he patted the carpet it seemed like he was inviting her into a safe haven of comfort and trust, and her heart did a strange flutter. Sitting next to him on the carpet seemed so much more intimate than the sofa, and she wasn’t sure she wanted that. Nevertheless, she eased herself down next to him. ‘Just preparing some caviar.’ She shrugged, as if it was something she offered all her guests.

Grimacing, he picked up his guitar once more. ‘Great.’

His response made her smile.

‘Great with a small g?’ She would be surprised if he was a caviar kind of guy but she’d wait and see.

‘So, where did you fly to today, then?’ He twisted the pegs at the top of his guitar, his ear close to the frets.

He concentrated so completely on what he was doing, Scarlett wondered if it was worth answering. She also wondered if she’d been relegated: Dylan trying to keep her happy with polite conversation while he occupied himself with a more worthwhile pastime.

‘Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, Dylan, but you phoned me, remember?’

He stopped tuning the guitar. ‘Sorry, yes, of course. I just get carried away, sometimes.’

‘That’s okay.’ And it really was. She enjoyed watching him. ‘What were you playing earlier?’

‘It’s a song about friendship — not finished, by any means.’ He started strumming the strings again, as if he’d been given permission.

‘Dylan?’ But she was smiling, laughing almost. His ability to block out the world while he composed was fascinating.

‘Sorry, God, I’m so sorry. It’s just, the last few lines are really bugging me.’ He came out of his music-induced trance, placed the guitar firmly out of his reach, and sat down again.

‘Do you know why you want to be a star, Dylan? In my line of work I’ve met more screwed-up people, whose heads have been turned by the fame thing, than I’ve met normal people.’

‘Are you crazy? I can’t wait to be one of those people, coked up out of my head, with cheap women falling at my feet, brushing my teeth with—’ he glanced at the label on the now empty champagne bottle —‘Cristal, and being adored wherever I go. What’s not to like?’

Scarlett set her glass on the table. ‘Right. It was lovely to catch up, and I’m really pleased for you, but I think it’s time you left. I’m quite tired.’

Dylan blinked and raised his hands. ‘Wait, I was joking. God, what kind of a man do you think I am?’

‘I have no idea, Dylan. I don’t know you, at all.’

His eyes twinkled. ‘Well, maybe you should stick around. Because I’m totally cool.’

She nodded slowly, pursed her lips and picked up her drink. ‘Maybe I will. I’m just saying be careful, that’s all.’

‘Listen, whatever you may think of me I’m not going to go into this dream of mine without having a plan in place. I’ve been working towards it for years. Why do you think I live in a shitty shared house where my fellow lodgers don’t know that rubbish doesn’t magically take itself to the bins, and if someone leaves the heating on full throttle for four weeks, we are all going to fall out over the bill?’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t know that you did live in . . .’

‘Sorry, of course you don’t.’ He held up a hand, apologetically. ‘I don’t come from London but I knew this was where I needed to be. I hope it pays off, ’cos I don’t think I can do it for much longer.’

‘I’m sorry too. I guess I’m labelling you unfairly due to my own experiences. I just . . .’ She trailed off realising that she wanted to say a bit about Sky, wanting to explain to Dylan that fame can bring unwanted attention alongside adoration. And maybe she wanted to explain why she was so cold; that she’d trained herself not to get close to anyone again. But it was too soon.

‘I don’t need a pep talk on how not to wreck my career before it’s even started,’ Dylan advised, but not unkindly.

‘I’m sorry. I am pleased for you, truly I am.’ She paused and took a sip of her drink. ‘So, tell me about your life, then. When you’re not singing, or filching drinks from Mac’s bar, what do you do?’

Dylan laughed. ‘Mac thinks that payment should only be in the form of drinks and crisps so I basically keep him happy by drinking the cheap whisky that he buys from a supermarket and decants into the Jameson’s bottles.’ He threw a longing look at his guitar but didn’t reach for it. ‘I suppose I’m a life in waiting, waiting for my destiny. Without music and fame, I am nothing.’ He shook his head sadly as he stared at the carpet. A heartbeat passed, before he said, ‘Apart from being a pretentious prick, of course.’

She laughed in relief. ‘You nearly had me there.’ She wiped imaginary sweat from her forehead. ‘And on that note before we both get completely plastered, let’s eat.’ She picked up the tray from the coffee table and set it on the floor between them. ‘Food fit for the god you clearly are.’

Dylan smiled at this but made no comment, merely watched her as she set about organising this feast of hers. ‘You like to do things properly, don’t you?’ Dylan watched with interest as she arranged napkins, knives and plates.

‘It’s part of my job, attention to detail, and all that.’ She passed Dylan a plate and then handed him a small pearl spoon. ‘Help yourself.’

He stared at the spoon, looking confused and then eyed the caviar. ‘Do I have to?’

She almost snorted at his pained expression. ‘A man after my own heart, I can take it or leave it, really. I’m more a fish and chips kind of girl.’

Dylan looked momentarily relieved, but she went on. ‘Saying that, it would be rude to turn down a hostess’s food.’ Grinning, she angled her head towards the food, letting Dylan know he had no choice but to eat.

‘Come on, it’s top quality.’ She led the way, placing cream cheese on top of a blini, then a little smoked salmon and a dribble of caviar.

‘Righto.’ He followed Scarlett’s moves, and she smiled, noting that he set his glass close beside him, like he might need to swig from it quickly, He popped the loaded blini into his mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed quickly. He nodded slowly. ‘Hmm, not too bad.’ He reached for another blini and plopped a wedge of feta on top of it. ‘Do you always have food like this in your fridge?’ He spooned the tiniest bit of caviar on top of the feta and looked at it warily.

‘No, this was from the flight I did earlier, although I am supposed to throw it away, in theory. Health and Safety and all that. I once bought a whole picnic basket home that the passengers’ handling agents in Japan had requested. The passengers didn’t eat a thing out of it, just nibbled on some weird little green nuts they’d bought with them. In fact the lead passenger gave the basket a disparaging glance and shook his head vehemently which should have been a red flag.’

‘So what was in it?’ Dylan asked.

‘Well, I lugged it all the way home before looking inside as there was a sealed cool box in there.’ She pulled a distasteful face.

Dylan leaned in closer transfixed.

‘The smell hit me before anything else, but honestly none of it looked like food that I have seen in this world. Balut, that gross delicacy of a half-fertilised bird in an egg shell was only part of the grossness. Fermented soybeans — fermented in fish oil for a minimum of eight weeks, the label said. Not a scotch egg or sausage roll in sight.’ She laughed. ‘Apparently, the agency always gave them a luxury hamper — and I guess the clients knew what was coming. I nearly threw up after reading the menu and googling it all. Couldn’t even put it in my bin at home, it smelled so bad.’

‘No cheese and onion crisps, even? What were they thinking?’

‘I know!’ They laughed and their shoulders touched.

The zing of his closeness caught her by surprise and clearly Dylan felt it too, as he asked, ‘So, what was all that about, with that pilot, at my gig?’ He put his plate to one side and gave up any pretence of enjoying the food.

She stared at him surprised by his directness, and by the tempo of her beating heart as his blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on hers. ‘I told you, he’s a colleague.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘No.’

Dylan sat up straight. ‘What, then?’

‘He’s also my boss.’

‘And that means?’

Scarlett sighed. She wasn’t going to get away with fobbing him off. ‘He wants more from me, I think.’

‘And you don’t? Want more, that is?’

‘No! Never.’

Dylan let out a sigh. ‘Good. That’s good. So, why did you let him stroke your arm, the way he did?’

‘He touched me, Dylan. It’shardly groundsfor harassment and I’m not in a position to slap his hand away.’

‘There areways of touching people,and he knew the difference. You know the difference. Everyone knows the difference.’ His eyes were still fixed on hers, unnerving her, demanding the truth.

She swallowed. How could she explain to Dylan how difficult it was to keep Todd at bay, trying not to upset him, so he wouldn’t make her life hell? It made her sound pathetic — especially in this day and age when no-self-respecting woman should have to put up with such stuff. ‘Private airlines are not big on unions, you know. If they want you out, they can literally sling you out the door. Hopefully not while the aircraft is in the air.’ She smiled hollowly. Just surviving as a hostie in the private airline industry could be so hard. How could Dylan, a free spirit pursuing his dream at his own pace, have an inkling of how it was?

She turned away, busying herself with plates and glasses on the coffee table. She jumped when Dylan placed his hand on her arm.

‘Will you come out with me, Scarlett, on a date?’ His voice was gentle and enticing. ‘You’re far too serious, and I’m convinced that you need some fun in your life.’

She blinked at the change in conversation again, and her pulse rate quickened. She thought of a glib retort: him not exactly being a barrel of laughs, but instead she said, ‘I truly don’t date, at the moment. I’m sorry.’ She was used to parroting the same phrase whenever a man tried to break through her barriers. But this time it didn’t come quite as easy.

‘Why not?’ He removed his hand, picking up another blini, although he didn’t eat it, simply put it on his plate.

She glanced down at her arm, still warm from Dylan’s touch. She felt sad for him, for herself, too. ‘It always ends in failure. It’s a boring story.’

‘Forgive me for saying this, but that is such a dumb statement. How can you know something will end in failure if you haven’t even tried it yet?’

Scarlett nodded. ‘I see your point.’

Dylan waited for more but nothing came. ‘So, it’s your emotions stopping you, not the fact that I’m a handsome dude about to become a household name. Because if that’s the reason, I have to tell you, your judgement is seriously flawed.’ He shook his head as he spoke as if to emphasise the point.

Scarlett smiled. ‘Yep and thanks for clarifying that. I was obviously confused.’ Her heart still thumped with something akin to excitement, and she touched her cheek, surprised to find it hot — she wasn’t one of the world’s natural blushers.

‘And if your boring story is really boring, we’ll have all evening to talk it through. We can then go on another date and it won’t be as boring as the first date, because we’ll have got all the tedious stuff out of the way.’

She laughed. ‘Are you always this charming?’

He leaned over and kissed her very briefly on the lips. ‘I don’t often try this hard, but for some reason . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Please, say yes, I need an excuse to wash some clothes.’

She giggled self-consciously, touching her lips with the tips of her fingers, unsure how she felt about his kiss. On the whole she thought she liked it.

She nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, then, if it stops you from being antisocial. I’m away for a few days from tomorrow, but I have at least four days off after that.’

‘I can wait.’ He beamed at her, and she grinned back.

He had no idea what a momentous occasion it was for her, and Scarlett wasn’t about to enlighten him.

‘I’ll call you next week, then.’ He drained his glass, stood up and slung his guitar over his shoulder. ‘Can’t promise champagne though, I’m afraid.’

‘No worries, Cristal is so yesterday, anyway.’ She walked him to the door, butterflies fluttering unexpectedly in her stomach, as he leaned towards her again and placed his hands on her waist. She liked the feel of his fingers on her hips and instinctively put her hands over his, enjoying the warmth from his skin.

He smiled at her kindly, as if they shared a secret, but then his smile grew rueful, his eyes burning bright. He didn’t move.

She cleared her throat.

‘Sorry, am I outstaying my welcome?’ he asked, blinking in an exaggerated way.

‘Not at all. I’m just wondering if you are, actually, at some point of the evening, going to leave.’

Dylan sighed. ‘I guess that isn’t a question.’

She shook her head. ‘And not an invitation,’ she said firmly, although she guessed he was teasing.

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, casually, his hands still circling her waist. She reached up to meet him halfway and kissed him on the lips. He returned the kiss with no hint of hesitation, gentle and slow. It felt good, the hit of desire taking her by surprise.

‘Until next week, then,’ Dylan said, finally pulling away to leave.

She swallowed and nodded, a warm glow spreading through her body, surprised at how breathless she felt.

Walking quickly into her kitchen to peer out of the window, she put her fingers up to her lips, reliving the sensation of Dylan’s lips on hers. Dylan could soon be famous and she prayed her life would not be about to repeat itself. No, she wouldn’t let it — Dylan wasn’t Sky. The orange glow of the streetlight lit up Dylan’s guitar, making it look like an alien clinging to his back and she smiled softly. ‘Until next week, Dylan, the almost-famous rock star.’