Page 58 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron
Doesn't mean she liked it.
Later, in the car, they didn't speak for a while. Byron drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, jaw tense. The radio played soft instrumental.
Ana looked at him warily.
His profile in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. That pink scar near his eyebrow is from rugby. The slight crook of his nose from an old break. His mouth was tight now, but still her favourite thing to kiss. Maybe one of her favourite things.
"You, okay?" she asked, threading carefully.
He didn't answer at first. Just exhaled through his nose.
"I couldn't stop starin' at your mouth all night."
His voice was gravelly.
"You were sat there, bein' all clever and smug, throwin' that smile around like it's not a bloody weapon. And I had to sit there, next to you, pretendin' I didn't want to finger you under that table."
Ana felt her pulse jump.
He kept talking, like the words had been bottled up.
"Couldn't even look at you, proper. Gray ain’t stupid. Neither's Cadi. And I-I just wanted to grab you. Kiss ya. Make you sit on my lap where you bloody well belong."
She turned in her seat, heart thudding.
"You could've held my hand under the table."
He glanced at her, just for a moment.
"No, I bloody well couldn't," he gritted out. "Not when I wanted to pull your panties off."
Ana reached across the console, took his free hand.
"Wanna have car sex?" she murmured in his ear as she pulled her panties off.
Byron got distracted and nearly drove into the back of a truck.
"Flipping heck, woman, let me find a place to park."
***
1 more year later.
It was supposed to be a routine post-match interview, a bit of fluff, a few laughs. Until a tabloid journalist pulled out a glossy photo. Byron and Ana. Her head on his shoulder, both of them smiling, lazy and sitting on a park bench.
"Bit cosy, eh?," the reporter said. "Girlfriend?"
Byron blinked with no expression on his face.
"She's a friend," he said stiffly.
The reporter raised an eyebrow. Byron coughed and said, "I don't talk about private stuff. You know that, Greg.".
That night, he came home later than usual that day. Tossed his keys in the dish by the door.
Ana was curled up on the sofa, laptop on her knees.
He just stood there in front of her, hands on his hips, his eyes intent on her.
