skinny love | shyland

ten

ryland's pov

"so what's this event you're going to?" conor asked from across the room, laid vertically along the bed with a perplexed countenance.

the week had passed quickly as the first and having gotten over my quarrel with shane over my wrist, i'd agreed to accompanying him to the MTA awards. sharing a cigarette, i sat in the freezing cold with a mug warming my hands as he explained that this would he his first year attending the event having ducked out of the last two. he was about to tell me how it was similar to the grammys except on a far smaller scale when my cigarette went out. in the harsh wind, he brought the lighter to my lips and shielded the flame with his free hand, nudging his foot against mine once he'd pulled away. suddenly i was awfully aware of how close we were. we'd both sat on the metal fence, and after he'd inched closer so i could hear him over the raging traffic and beeping horns outside, he didn't move away. part of me urged my mouth to open and to speak, to tell him that i could hear in perfectly when we were sat a foot apart. the other part, a small yet somehow raging flame that spread to a new part of my body each day, overrode this. my lips only parted to smoke his cigarette and somehow i liked it that way.

i frowned in concentration as i styled my hair in the closet mirror, observing his body language through the reflection. "it's an awards show for both producer and directors, rather than artists and actors – i know that much. it's going on quite late, too, apparently it doesn't even finish till midnight."

conor hummed and his eyes flitted to the tuxedo hugging my figure. it had arrived in expensive packaging the night before through courier shipping, consisting of a crisply pressed white shirt, a pair of smooth toned trousers and a matching jacket in pastel blue fabric, so soft it looked nearly white. the tie was a little darker, and the shoes tied the whole outfit together.

"where did you get the suit?" he asked, standing up from the bed and stretching enthusiastically, glancing down at our daughter. she was curled up at the edge of the bed like a cat, having collapsed in exhaustion as soon as she'd gotten home from school.

"work paid for it." i replied nonchalantly, cautious in leaving shane's name well out of the picture. for some reason i had played off tonight as a massive work function rather than an event the two of us were going to. "do you like it?"

his eyes hung on me for a few seconds before he turned back to his phone, and in an underwhelming manner he responded, "it's a bit... girly."

a wave of self consciousness washed over me and i began to analyse the baby blue material clinging to my skin. before i could even respond, i heard the crunching of gravel under tyres, and i caught sight of the large clock above our bed, reading 9:03pm. i chucked the hair product onto the bed and grabbed my phone from the side, muttering goodbye with a standoffish demeanour and not even waiting to hear his response. my feet patted down the stairs and suddenly i felt the whirl of butterflies in my stomach reappear. this was a big thing. i'd never had to attend events in my previous job, yet alone be the plus one to my boss. i swallowed thickly and tried to stir my thoughts in another direction, which would be apparently easy once i opened the door and stepped into the cool air.

i'm not sure how long i hovered in the doorway, but it was at least a few seconds too long. he was leant against his jeep in an all white tuxedo — shirt, jacket and pants portraying an image far from reality — with a contrasting black tie and pair of dress shoes. the sun was setting behind him and undeniably had obscured his views, perhaps giving explanation to the dark shades that sat on the bridge of his nose. whatever the reason was, i could not tear my eyes away. this was new. this was different.

slowly, an unrecognisable look had crawled onto his face, and he nodded in amusement as he took his sunglasses off. his gaze fell to my shoes before dropping back up to my mouth, having scanned my whole body in an unashamed act of voyeurism, like a predator might eye up its prey. the cleanliness of the fabric had turned the green in his eyes sharper than usual, irises so striking and new and intangible that i felt myself being taunted, being drawn in. almost as though their was a line and hook between us, tantalisingly mocking my reluctance and overriding any sense of rationality.