A Prelude to Reprise (Ruby Riot)

When Riley met Nate

This meeting takes place a few weeks before the European tour in Cadence and two years before Reprise.

The moment he walks in, I panic. I edge along the bar, into the shadows, and slide my drink towards me. The tall guy with undercut, slicked back hair scans the room and I dip my head. Why the hell do I do this?

Friday night and the Observatory is filled with the exuberance of those launching their weekends with a generous helping of alcohol. The aptness of the bar's name amuses me; there's a lot of observation of each other happening beneath the dim lights. In the half hour I've waited, the popular venue filled and the queue at the bar is three deep. I sit near the end, on the edge, where my view of the door is unobscured. The weekend crowds help with my disguise; that's why I chose here. This way, I make the decision whether to talk or not.

I'm sure this is Ed. He looked like an Ed in his picture, whatever that means. Do I look like a Riley? A few months ago, I subscribed to an exclusive dating agency. Following three disastrous dates with guys whose interest in me was not matched by mine in them, I almost gave up. Ed is my last shot.

Why am I even considering a relationship again? Until recently, I enjoyed the occasional night out with friends—and the even more occasional hook-up. The precarious balance between work and family life tips me off-kilter a lot, and although I attempt to hold things together, sometimes I want attention.

Which is the whole bloody problem and always was.

Presumably-Ed approaches the bar and pushes through to a spot close to me. In our private messages, Ed told me he worked in the city but didn't elaborate. I play my guessing game: expensive suit and well groomed. No wedding ring, which sounds obvious but one guy I met forgot to take his off. Ed's confident, edging on arrogance judging by his short tone with the barmaid. Still, he doesn't leer at her backside or tits so he gets extra points for that.

Lawyer? Stockbroker? Not short of cash whatever he is. I wipe a hand across my face. Should I do this again or leave?

Presumably-Ed looks in my direction and a hint of recognition flickers across his face. Shit. No, I can't.

I turn my back on him and look straight into the face of a guy with spiked black hair. He's about to drink and stops, holding the glass in front of his mouth as our eyes meet. The light from the bar casts a shadow across his face, accentuating the sharp cheekbones and pierced brow. My heart rate ticks up a notch under his scrutiny; cheeks heating as his steady gaze continues.

We're close. Too close. If I'd stepped back any further when Ed appeared, I would've hit the guy before turning around. Tonight, I've been jostled by people, and come into contact with more than a couple of guys who pushed their way past me to the bar. I met their eyes, we exchanged apologies, and carried on our evenings. This guy? We haven't touched but the awareness of our proximity jolts me as much as any physical contact.

How strange that somebody who looks like him chooses to drink in a bar full of beautiful, professional people.

Not that he isn't hot. Jesus, this man... I'm not normally a fan of piercings but somehow he carries the look well. His mouth tips at one corner as we continue to stare at each other and, determined not to appear like I'm checking the guy out, I look down.

Unhelpful. I have a thing for muscled forearms, and a secret attraction to tattooed guys. In front of me, tattooed forearms rest on the bar. Add in the broad chest and shoulders defined by the dark shirt, and the raw sexuality radiating from him and... sold.

Total contrast to Presumably-Ed behind me. 

"Hello," he says with a hint of amusement.

"Hi." The guy shifts so he's fully facing me. "Did you want something?"