I swear my heart rate didn't drop for an hour after Nate's smarta.r.s.e move earlier today. And the worrying thing is it wasn't due to anger. Why can a man who infuriates me this much pull me to him at the same time? In Paris, I let him in, then called his bluff, and I'm a hair's breadth away from doing that again. This time, I'm not sure I'd stop.

Weirdly, when Nate changes out of his snow-covered clothes, he doesn't put his jeans and T-shirt on and appears in a different pair of joggers and shirt. Nate covered beneath the oversized clothes helps keep my mind off him. Parts of rock star Nate remain though; his tattooed forearms rest next to me on the table when we eat.

He's quieter this afternoon; thankfully, because the constant push pull and not knowing what he'll say next is hurting my head. Val taught me a few culinary tricks while we made the roast, and she showed me how to make Yorkshire puddings. Cooking is not my usual or favourite pastime, but I'm happy to find something to occupy my time and push Josh from my mind.

After a lunch, which stretched into an afternoon of story sharing where Nate had the most interesting of course, I return to work-mode Riley. Or I try to. My laptop battery is flat and the charger cord missing. I scout around the bedroom. What did I do with it? I'm sure the cable was plugged in earlier. I'd intended to spend the evening away from Nate's inevitable drunk self. Our merry band has been together most of the day and I crave alone time.

I bet b.l.o.o.d.y Nate hid my charger to p.i.s.s me off.

Downstairs, Nate's alone at the table nearest the window. He eats salted peanuts from an open packet and stares across the room in a world of his own. The vulnerability on his face reminds me of the night Nate told me a secret, I can't for the life of me remember.

Marching over and demanding my charger seems inappropriate. "Are you okay, Nate?"

"Bored. n.o.body else is here."

"Where are they? They can't be far."

"Jason and Becca are up there, s.h.a.gging probably." He points at the ceiling. "George and Val are in the lounge. I think they want some s.p.a.ce."

"Not enough people for Monopoly, then," I say with a smile.

Nate's mouth twitches. "True. How about Scrabble?"

He points at the stack of board games on a shelf behind the bar.

"Nate Campbell plays Scrabble?"

"Not recently, but I'm f.u.c.king bored, and drinking alone isn't fun." He pauses. "You can always leave me to a game of Solitaire, but I can't remember how to play that."

Life in the pub becomes weirder with each pa.s.sing moment. The claustrophobic reality we're in strips away layers of behaviour and social norms, where there's no escape from where we are, who we really are, or each other.

"Or are you worried you'll lose?" Nate raises a challenging brow but there's no malice in his voice.

Another evening of board games with Nate? "I'll play for an hour," I say. Because I'll wipe the floor with him. No way will this guy be a good Scrabble player.

Board set up, pieces in place, and ready to go. I look expectantly at Nate.

He focuses on arranging his tiles on the holder. "This time, if I win I am getting the bed."

"Fine." As if he will win.

He looks up. "I mean it, Riley."

"I said, fine." I point at the board. "Let's go. Foreign words and swearing don't count."

"Yes, miss."

I throw one of the peanuts at his head and he ducks before taking another from the packet and chewing. Nate rubs his hands together, and a slow smile crosses his face.

Halfway through the game, the reason for Nate's knowing smirk becomes clear as his score doubles mine.

"My letters are c.r.a.p!" I complain.

"Or maybe you're just not a very good player."

"How are you good at Scrabble?"

"Implying I'm stupid? You're playing a person who's studied English, Riley." To prove a point, Nate clicks tiles across a triple word score. "Ninety-three."

"You did? And how the h.e.l.l can you get a score that high with one word?"

"Don't you pay attention to your clients' backgrounds? What were Will and me doing when Ruby pressed pause on the band?"

"I knew you were in London, not what you were doing. I was working with other clients."

"Avoiding us?" He takes the score sheet from me.

"Yes. I was."

"We went back to uni; it's where Will met Fleur." He points at the paper I'm keeping score on. "Ninety-three. Write it down."

"Unfair! You had Q and Z."

He laughs softly. "Luck and skill. Can I see the score?"

"I don't think you need to, do you, Mr. Smug?"

"True. You gave me a run for my money though. A worthy opponent."

"As always."

Nate tips his head and the look he gives me p.r.i.c.kles my neck. The last time we challenged each other was his request for a kiss, and I've spent the day pushing aside the fact I almost put my mouth on his.

Our ceasefire is precarious and any line crossing could spin us back into greater antagonism than before.

"As always." Nate breaks the moment and picks up the empty velvet bag to drop tiles in. "Did you study at uni?"

"No."

"That surprises me."

"I went straight into PR, at the bottom of the ladder after my A levels. I needed to work."

"Needed to?"

"Wanted to." c.r.a.p. I take a long drink of my vodka tonic.

Nate frowns. "I never noticed before. You're hiding something too, aren't you? I thought you were just a snarky cow."

"Charming, Nate. I'm a private person, that's all. I keep things professional; my life outside my job is my business." I fold the board and wait for him to poke further.

"Fair enough. Will you stay for another drink while you wait for the sofa?" Nate holds out his empty gla.s.s. "As I won, I get the bed."

With a sigh, I stand and take his gla.s.s. "Do you ever have a night when you don't drink, Nate?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm a rock star."

"You're not a rock star here."

"I'm a bored rock star, but I'm still him."

"No, you're not."

"I think you'll find I am."

I shake my head and walk over to the bar to pour myself another vodka, and Nate a whisky. "Is George okay with you using his bar as if it's your own?"

"I'm paying for it all."

"But still..."

Something catches my eye, half-hidden amongst the menus stored on a shelf beneath the bar. A white cord. I grab it. "How did this get here, Nate?"

He pulls an innocent face. "What is it?"

"My laptop charger! Did you hide it?"

"Why would I do that?"

"You tell me."

I clutch the cord as he stands and approaches. "Are there any crisps back there?"

"Yes." I point at a half-empty box. "Nate. Did you take it?"

Nate leans over the bar and grabs a packet of crisps from the nearby box. "Okay. I took the charger. I wanted you to talk to me."

"What about?"

"Anything you wanted."

"Paris?"

"Apart from that."

"Why you're a mess?"

"And that."

"So you're admitting you're a mess."

"Takes one to know one, Riley." Our batting of words stops and we both retreat. I look away and Nate shoves crisps into his mouth.

"There's not much else to talk about outside of our working relationship, is there?" I point at his whiskey. "Stay here and have a drink. I'm going upstairs, now I have my charger. When George and Val are done watching TV, let me know and I'll move onto the sofa."

"Not staying to talk to me?"

"I don't feel like a Nate and Riley fight, no."

"What if I promise to be nice?" He offers me a crisp.

I waver but the peace of the bedroom beckons. "Sorry, Nate. I want some s.p.a.ce." And to call Josh.

Nate huffs and rests his elbows on the bar. "Sore loser, huh?"

"I am not, I just want some alone time."

"Fair enough." Grabbing his whisky gla.s.s, Nate returns to his position at the table under the window. The light above the table highlights his deep frown and pursed lips. "Solitaire it is, then."

I step out of the small bathroom and straight into Nate.

"Jesus Christ!" I half-shout, relieved I'm in pyjamas and not wandering around in a towel.

Nate sweeps a gaze over my ensemble. "Do you have kittens on your pyjamas?" I pout at his obvious question. "Pink kittens and rainbows. That is so cute!"

I bristle. Josh chose these; how dare Nate tease me. "What did you want?"

"Sofa's free."

"Oh. Right." I search the room for the blanket Nate used the last two nights, and gather it in my arms. Not looking at him, I walk to the open door. "Night, then."

Nate closes the door and stands with his hand on the wood. "Don't be stubborn. You can share the bed."

"No, thank you."

"Riley. The bed is big enough for both of us. I didn't touch you last time you told me to stop, and without an invite, I won't."

Our eyes meet; the intensity I can never understand raw in them again. "I can't, Nate."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm fed up with you teasing me and the pa.s.sive-aggressive rude behaviour. Why would I want to get into bed with you?"