Reprise (Ruby Riot #3) Read online

  In the snowbound pub, playing a board game, we’re at the edge of our reality and we’re suddenly speaking to each other like normal people.

  “Hmm.” Nate drops his cards on the table and stares at the board.

  “Give up?” I ask.

  “Shush, I’m thinking.”

  I eye Nate’s pile of money and mortgaged cards, then pick up mine to count.

  “Riley.”

  “Mmm.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I lose count of my money with my surprise at his words. “What do you mean? I’m pretty sure I’m winning.”

  “No. About being here.” I look up. Nate frowns into his glass, swirling the amber-coloured contents. “And about the accident. Must’ve freaked you out.”

  Wow, Nate must be drunker than he looks. “Thank you for the apology. Accepted.”

  He laughs softly and looks up at me with intense eyes. “Formal. Always formal.”

  “Around my clients, yes.”

  “Clients.” He knocks back the whisky again. “Are you like this with all your clients?”

  “Stuck in a pub on the Yorkshire Moors playing board games? No.”

  “Sometimes business and pleasure are hard to keep apart, huh?”

  “Are you referring to now or another time, Nate?”

  “Both.”

  I bite the edge of my lip, but it doesn’t prevent the next words, pushed out by my lessened inhibitions. “Are you going to apologise for that time too? About Paris and how you behaved afterwards?”

  “Me apologise? You screwed with my head.”

  “Screwed with your head? What the hell?”

  “The night I came to Hard Rock because I wanted to see you.”

  “Oh? When we had the chat in the bathrooms?” I make inverted commas with my fingers around chat. “That was a nice try.”

  “You were interested.”

  “Oh yeah, really interested until the dirty, disrespectful talk started and reminded me I was about to get used.”

  “See, that’s the other thing. I don’t remember much about the situation either. Why did you react like that even though we’d spent time together before? It wasn’t like it was another quick fuck. I respected you.”

  “Seriously, Nate? You were sleeping with other girls almost daily. I came to my senses. I didn’t want to be on your list. That’s why I stopped.”

  “No, how you reacted afterwards. The next day. You wouldn’t talk to me. For a week.” His frown deepens.

  “Might be something to do with the fact I saw a groupie with her mouth around your dick an hour later! Remember?”

  Nate stares. Blinks. “No. What the hell? Where?”

  “Outside. Classy. Saw you when I was leaving. You seriously expected me to respect and like you after you failed with me and fucked another girl instead? I had nothing to say to you.”

  “Shit.” Nate drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t remember that girl. I was wasted that night. Honestly.”

  My mouth thins. “Wow, this gets better,” I say sarcastically. “I knew you weren’t listening to me when I told you about her when we spoke a few days later!”

  “Spoke? Are you kidding? You yelled at me, Riley. All I heard was ‘blah blah groupies, you’re a bastard, leave me alone, bitch, bitch’. I kinda switched off when you were shouting at me. I thought you meant the chick I was with a couple of days later.”

  “No, Nate. The same night. I guess your pride took a dent and you needed your ego and dick rubbing.”

  I keep my low, matter of fact tone but at the time I saw him, I almost threw up. In that moment, Nate proved my point that I meant nothing. The problem was, he already had a grip on my heart I denied.

  “Man, that’s fucked up. Sorry, Riley.”

  I blink at him. “A bit late, but thanks.”

  Nate rubs an eyebrow but doesn’t look at me.

  “Yeah.”

  Yeah. Nate and his bloody ‘yeah’.

  “Obviously we’ve spent the last couple of years with different views on what happened.”

  “Looks like it.” He picks up green plastic houses and slings them into the box.

  “And there’s what you said about me,” I continue.

  Nate looks up from the box. “Said what? To who?”

  “Jax. Will. I don’t know what you told them, but the whispering and sniggering didn’t go unnoticed. I bet you embellished the story.” I snatch the playing pieces from the board and throw them into the box on top of the houses.

  “I’ve never told anybody what happened between us!”

  “What didn’t happen, you mean. Scared I’d ruin your reputation?”

  “No, scared I’d ruin yours!” Nate snaps back.

  “What?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He picks up his empty glass. “You win.”

  I stare at the board covered in Monopoly money as Nate walks to the bar. I win? The game? Or the long game we’ve played?

  “Do you know how fucking awesome it is being locked in a pub for a couple of days?” he calls. Nate fills his glass from a half-empty bottle. “George is a top bloke. He gave me open access to anything, rocks to be rich, huh?”

  I recognise his tactic, one I use myself. Change the subject and lead someone elsewhere. “What do you mean, Nate?”

  “That I won’t run out of something to drink.”

  “No. About Paris.”

  “Screw it, you have the bed. I’ll sit here and have a drink.” He rests his elbows on the bar. “Then when the lovebirds head to bed, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  I walk over and put my drink on the bar opposite. “You have one too, then?”

  “Yeah. Cheers.” Nate lifts up his glass.

  “Not a drink; a switch.” He tugs his brows together. “In your head. I have one. Flick it the right way and you don’t need to think or talk about what you don’t want.”

  “They’re useful.”

  “Are they? Recently, I’ve started to wonder.”

  Nate rubs his fingers across his lips and in our exchanged look, I see more of Nate than I ever have since that day he laid himself bare. “So have I, Riley.”

  Our time in Paris I struggle to forget wasn’t filled with lies. Hurt, immaturity and misunderstanding, but no lies.

  12

  RILEY

  I sleep fitfully, awake at every creak, on alert for Nate carrying out his threat and climbing into bed with me. I wouldn’t put it past him to annoy me out of bed by climbing in and teasing me.

  He doesn’t.

  The last conversation we had cycles in my head as I drift to sleep. Nate apologised. Nate Campbell never apologises because Nate Campbell is never wrong. I’m not big on admitting when I’m wrong either; this is a big deal for Nate.

  His comment about my reputation came out of the blue and I almost shot back that he’s lying, but something in the way he looked at me told me he wasn’t. His following sudden switch in topic is a tactic I also share. Underlying all this, we understand each other, and that vulnerability doesn’t help.

  His explanation about Paris confuses me. I honestly thought he knew what he’d done with the girl that night I refused him sex and Nate behaved like that to punish me somehow. Does the truth change my mind about him? A little, but not enough. All the hurtful things said and done can’t be wiped out by one conversation even if it did include an apology. Whatever he says, a big part of the crap that happened between us is because I refused to screw him that night. Why else would he have thrown himself back into other girls? What did I expect? We’d never have worked out back then. We were different people; immature and coping with the world in our own ways. A way that doesn’t include the maturity for proper communication, obviously.

  Josh is more demanding when I speak to him this morning, asking when I’ll be home. Outside, the sun shines and the grey clouds have shifted, but the snow hasn’t. Josh doesn’t accept “I don’t know” from me because the times I usually use that excuse are the times I need to
lie about where I am.

  Josh hates when I’m away, and the guilt I carry at those times eats at me. Is this why he’s difficult? Because I left him alone too much as a baby? I promised Josh I wouldn’t go away longer than overnight again, and two days in Newcastle was already too long. The absence has stretched into a fourth day now, including the original trip. Mum, as always, takes the situation in her stride. Without her, I’d be a mess.

  A bigger mess.

  George and Val are downstairs when I head down for something to eat, and I hear them arguing. As I walk into the kitchen, they stop and Val immediately offers me a cup of tea from the pot stewing on the table between them.

  “Any news?” I ask as I sit at the round table.

  “George spoke to Peter in the village. They’re hoping the ploughs can get through to them today, but it’s unlikely they’ll reach us.”

  I lower myself onto a dining chair, frustrated tears gathering. “Okay.”

  “Now the snow’s stopped, we can dig out a bit further, love,” says George, “Get some fresh air.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “Nah, us lads will organise that. You can help Val with dinner and clear up a bit.”

  I blink at his sexism; normally I’d retort, but this man has been good to me. “Right. I’m not a great cook though.”

  The door to the lounge opens and Nate stands with a blanket scrunched in his arms, the same as yesterday morning. “If you’re looking for something to do, Riley, I need my clothes washed.”

  “What?”

  “I only have one set. Spilled beer on myself last night.”

  I scowl. “How are you supposed to dig snow naked?”

  “I have the clothes George lent me. Probably warmer than these anyway.” He pulls at his thin black T-shirt. “I’d do it myself but I have no idea how to use a washing machine.” He pulls a sad puppy dog look on Val who smiles up at him.

  I have choice words for Nate but swallow them.

  “Sure, love. Don’t worry, Riley, I’ll organise some laundry. I need to roast some meat today before it goes off. You can help me make a big meal for when the lads are finished up.”

  My planned day of work evaporates and so does my patience at the wide grin on Nate’s face. “I’ll look forward to Riley cooking for me. She owes me.”

  “What for?”

  “Another shit night’s sleep.” He catches Val’s eyes. “Sorry, Val.”

  “I’ve asked you to watch your language.”

  Twenty years working in pubs and she’s offended by bad language? And what’s with Nate’s sudden ability to apologise?

  Nate heads past and pauses when he reaches me. “Fuck this. Tonight I’m in the bed. Up to you whether you’re in there with me,” he says in a low voice.

  I stare ahead and don’t answer. If only he knew, my traitorous body already imagined him in there with me last night.

  NATE

  Digging snow is bloody hard work but makes up for the lack of workouts over the last few days. Doesn’t help I had another crap night’s sleep on the sofa.

  I meant what I told Riley. I am not sleeping on that shitty velour, too-short sofa again. I tried the floor at one point and that was worse. Funny, because I spent a lot of nights crashed on people’s sofas and floors. Yeah, part of this is me pissed off Riley has taken the superior route again and won.

  Riley’s face every time I tell her I’m climbing into bed with her is fucking priceless — haughty offence with a hint of something else. A secret desire to screw me that’s less secret every day? Does she still look the same? I never saw her totally naked, but enough. If I could persuade Riley out of her clothes that would be the ultimate victory. Hell, I bet sex would be intense; no way would she be a lie back and take it girl. Not with me anyway; I’ve had an indication of that in the past even if we never finished.

  With my head full of sex with Riley, I dig snow all morning. Between George, Jason, and me, we cut a path in the direction of the road. In need of a break, I push snow from George’s car bonnet and sit, wiping perspiration from my face with the back of one hand. As a kid, I loved snowy winters, but I hate this quiet, white landscape that traps me. George reckons we’ll be out tomorrow and I bloody hope so. Thankfully phone reception isn’t affected; I’ve chatted to Will a couple of times, and he thinks the whole situation is hilarious, voicing envy over where I’m locked in.

  The novelty of the pub situation wears thin, there’s fuck all to do here apart from talk, drink, and play board games. This isn’t an activity I indulge in anymore, but I remember how to play.

  I wish I’d kept my drunk mouth shut around Riley. What the hell was I thinking blabbering about the past again?

  Becca appears outside, enthusing about the fresh air as she crosses to Jason and greets him with a beer and a kiss that quickly switches from friendly to passionate. Jason spills his beer and I smile to myself. Uh huh. Totally saw that coming.

  Riley stands in the pub doorway. When she has her mouth shut, this girl is a world away from the one I know. Dressed down again, there’s something seriously sexy about her natural look. I don’t see most chicks I date without make-up on; Sophia was so insecure about herself, she’d climb out of bed and layer her face before I woke up.

  The last couple of days are the first I’ve seen Riley out of professional mode and dress. She isn’t Smiley Riley in this persona; she’s out of her comfort zone and so am I.

  “Where’s mine?” I call to her.

  “Your what?”

  I beckon Riley with one finger and she doesn’t move. “Come here.”

  “What do you want, Nate?”

  “Same as him.” I point at Jason who rests on the other car with Becca sitting next to him. Jason holds his glass up in salute. “I’ve slaved all morning, least you could do.”

  I’m surprised when a couple of minutes later, Riley reappears with a pint glass in her hand. I take it, and her warm fingers brush mine.

  “And a kiss,” I say in a loud voice.

  “Nate,” she warns in a lower one.

  I take several gulps from the beer. “What? He got one from Becca.”

  “I don’t think Jason would be happy if Becca kisses you,” she retorts.

  Are her pink cheeks from the cold or is she having the same memory as me?

  “I didn’t mean Becca, and you know it.” I jump down. Riley steps back and glances at the glass in my hand.

  “The beer is all you’re getting.”

  I pucker my lips and Riley’s eyes narrow as Becca giggles. “Dare you,” I whisper.

  “Really?”

  Riley moves closer and our bodies almost touch. Unreadable eyes meet mine for a second, and then her breath brushes my lips. In the passing moment, I’m engulfed by a sudden need to put my mouth on hers, but I hold back.

  “Do it.” My lips are a whisper from touching hers.

  Her coat rustles as she shifts. Her breath against my ear, she whispers, “Screw you, Nate Campbell.”

  Riley steps away and turns back to the pub. I laugh and pull my backside onto the car again. Jason and Becca look between us.

  “You’re welcome to do that anytime you like, Riley,” I call after her.

  My response is her middle finger.

  Every time she says no, my determination to hear yes increases.

  The worrying part of this is I don’t want just to screw her. I want to kiss her.

  13

  RILEY

  I swear my heart rate didn’t drop for an hour after Nate’s smartarse 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 ke
ep 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 bloody Nate hid my charger to piss 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. Nobody else is here.”

  “Where are they? They can’t be far.”

  “Jason and Becca are up there, shagging probably.” He points at the ceiling. “George and Val are in the lounge. I think they want some space.”

  “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 fucking 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 passing 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.