Shuffle (Ruby Riot #2) (6 page)

“Why not?”

“I’m shy.”

Fleur barks a laugh. “I’ve seen pictures of you with less clothes on! Show me.”

I’m on the verge of lifting my t-shirt but stop myself.
Tattoo, Will
. “Nipples.”

In the dim of the room, Fleur’s eyes widen and she retches. “Don’t show me! I’m going to puke!”

She pushes herself off the bed and staggers out of the door. I sit back and purse my lips. Really? Is this about piercings? She asked. After a few minutes, she hasn’t returned and I head after her.

“Fleur?”

The bathroom door is open and Fleur kneels on the floor, slumped against the side of the bath. She looks at me in confusion. “Nate.”

Her dress is hitched up her long legs and hair dishevelled. “Jesus, woman. What a mess!”

“Mmm.”

Fleur closes her eyes and I crouch down. “No, you can’t stay here.”

I grab her under the arms and half drag her back to her bedroom. She grips my arms and attempts to walk.

“First time in a while I haven’t climbed into bed with a girl whose bedroom I’m in.”

She crawls onto the bed. “So I hear.”

“What?”

“Your brother might be a dickhead to me, but I know all about you and girls, Nate.”

“What? It’s their choice.”

“You don’t have to be such a manwhore though. What do you get from doing that?”
Uh. Lots of awesome, no strings sex.
“Shame, ‘cause I think I like you a bit.”

“Like me a bit?”

“You’re not my usual type, but you’re cute.”

I make a gagging noise. “Cute?”

“Well, hot in a scruffy but smells nice way.” She giggles again. “And stop repeating everything I say.”

I sit next to her on the bed and Fleur hiccups. “Will wouldn’t be happy to hear this.”

“Pfft. Not like I’m going to do anything. All I said was you were cute.”

Right. I sit in silence for a few moments fighting the voice in my head whispering ‘tell her’. She’ll be furious when she does find out; won’t the longer we leave this make things worse?

“Fleur, I should tell you something.”

“Mmm.”

“You think I’m okay, right? The guy with you now isn’t like Will when he pissed you off, y’know, the drunk dickhead.”

“S’pose. Nice of you to bring me home. And put me to bed.” She sniggers. “Rock star.”

“Right. Well. The thing is...” I pause. At least in her inebriated state she won’t be able to slap me hard. Surely, I have brownie points for helping her tonight. “About me and Nate. I’m... I mean he... Shit.” I drag a hand through my hair, not looking at her. “I’m not Nate; I’m Will.”

“Huh. Really?” she mumbles.

I stare. Why hasn’t she lost her shit at me? “So, you don’t mind?”

There’s a long pause and I tense, waiting for the explosion. “Still not happy. But you helped me. S’all good. Sort of.”

“Oh.”

Wow, well that was easy.

She sighs and pulls the duvet up to her chin. “Tell your brother to make sure he has his notes for the group tomorrow.”

Shit. “No, I mean I’m Will. Now and then.”

I wait for an answer and it doesn’t come. “Fleur?”

Her response is a not so gentle snoring from beneath the duvet.

Fucking great.

Chapter Eleven

FLEUR

Waking up the next day hurts. I bury myself in the warmth and safety of my bed until the nauseous feeling switches to shakes and a headache, and the need for painkillers and water push me out. I drag on my scruffy blue track pants and pull a university logo sweatshirt on before heading downstairs.

A Campbell twin looks up from where he sits on the sofa watching TV, feet on the table and coffee mug in hand. For a moment, my befuddled brain thinks I’m in the wrong house. No, that was definitely my bed I climbed out of.

When the stairs creak, he looks over. “Wow, you look like shit.”

“Charming! What are you doing here?”

He gestures at the TV with his mug. “Watching the football.”

I sigh. “You helped me home, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re Nate,” I say warily.

“I’m whichever one you want –”

“Right. Nate. You do know that statement is getting old now?”

“Call it my secret code.”

I pick my way across the room, close to furniture in case I need to steady myself. A blanket and pillow are rolled up on the sofa next to Nate. “Did you stay all night?”

“I was gonna leave, but your housemate said I could stay.”

“Why would you?”

Nate looks back to the TV. “It was late, couldn’t be arsed going home.”

“Okay,” I mumble and finish my confused trip to the kitchen.

Nate appears and rests against the counter as I pour a glass of water with shaking hands. “Plus, I’m waiting for payment.”

“Payment for what? The taxi?”

“No. I looked after you last night. You can thank me by buying me lunch.”

I blink. “Do I look like I’m well enough to go to lunch?” And why would I go with him?

Nate peers at me and wrinkles his nose. “You’ll be okay after a shower. You smell like a bloody brewery, though.”

“You really are a charmer, aren’t you?”

“I can be charming if I need to be. No point trying with you though; you’ll see straight through me.” Nate winks.

I sink against the counter next to him. “Thanks. For helping me.”

“No problem, I liked helping you for once. You’ve helped me. Just don’t tell everyone.”

I frown at him. “What about?”

“Your wild night of passion with a member of Ruby Riot.” He catches my paling expression. “Teasing! I’m not having sex with an unconscious girl!”

“Glad to hear it,” I mutter. “And I think I’d know if I had.”

“True, a night with me will be unforgettable.”

“Will be?”

He cocks a brow. “Could be?”

I rummage around in a cupboard and pull out a box of painkillers. Nate watches as I take them. Is he waiting for an answer to his unsubtle hint? “A night with you? Dream on. Didn’t I tell you the reason Ethan cheated on me?”

“Because you don’t like sex.”

“I never said that!”

“You do like sex?”

As the heat on my face grows, so does his smile.

Right.

Two can play this game.

“I do like sex”—I lean closer to his face and whisper in my best sexy voice, which probably isn’t all too sexy—”a lot. Do you want me to tell you my favourite position?”

“What?”

I pull back and give him a smirk to match the one he was giving me until a few moments ago. “Not that you’ll ever find out. I don’t have sex with guys until they’ve told me they love me. End of.”

Silenced. Ha. That’s new.

I shift closer to him again and reach out a finger to touch the metal skewered through his lip. “If you kiss somebody else who has one of these, do your mouths lock together?”

Nate doesn’t respond to my touch, but his darkening eyes meet mine. “Have you ever kissed a guy with a piercing?”

“No.”

“Want to try?”

Is this still a game or did we step in a different direction? I run a finger downwards from the piercing to his chin, the scruff rough against my fingertips. “Ha-ha. Very funny!”

Nate inhales and steps back. 

Ohmigod, did he just adjust his pants?

“Why’s that funny?” he asks.

“Because it is.” I aim for a light tone, but heat flares into my cheeks as my hoarse voice betrays me.

The world shifts from its axis and I grip hold, dizzied by the realisation. No, not Nate; he can’t be the man who tips my life sideways and into his arms. My attraction to him makes no sense, but I can’t deny it.

Last night at the pub, even before I saw douchebag Ethan, I wanted Nate to be with us and, as my intoxication grew, so did my memories of our time together. The natural and easygoing meetings where we shared a laugh and chatted about everything and nothing, forging what we won’t admit is more than a friendship. I told myself this desire last night was because the study group were together and Nate is part of that.

Now I know why. The indefinable and illogical intensity that hovers between us drags me toward him. His darkened eyes tell me he’s a second away from taking that step. My mouth dries, heart stuttering as Nate trains his gaze on me, locking me into the moment I need to walk away from.

I side step Nate and flee to the lounge room. What the hell is wrong with me? Less than twenty-four hours after rejection from one guy I’m prepared to throw myself at another to prove my self-worth? One who’s guaranteed to cause more hurt than Ethan ever did. 

“Totally ridiculous!” I say to myself as much as Nate as I walk away. “Plus, as you so eloquently put it, I smell like a brewery.”

“I don’t care. I like beer!” Nate calls after me.

Chapter Twelve

FLEUR

After two days, Nate’s pester power switches from flattering to irritating. I regret the day I gave this guy my phone number because I’ve had a few ‘where are you taking me?’ messages. When Nate said he wanted lunch with me the morning I found him in my house, I presumed he was teasing.

He’s serious.

I’m not in many seminar groups with Nate, but the ones I am are early morning. I chose these so I could have my lessons out of the way leaving me more time for personal study. Nate usually looks half-dead at 9 a.m. and never attempts to hide his bored or glazed look either.

A couple of days after my drunken performance, we leave the classroom and Nate catches me as I head out of the building.

“Fleur! I’m waiting for your answer!”

I stop. “You’ve woken up then? You had your eyes closed for half the class.”

He rubs an eye with the heel of his palm. “I can’t do early. It kills me.”

“Why sign up for this class, then?”

“I didn’t. I mean, I did but didn’t. Messed up.”

“Right.” I shrug my bag higher up my shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”

His eyes glint. “Lunch.”

“You really mean this don’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He clutches his chest. “Don’t want to be seen in public with me?”

“I don’t think that matters; from what I hear, you’re never seen with the same girl twice.”

Nate wrinkles his nose. “I’ve been seen with you more than once.”

“Lucky me!”

“Yep. So, where are we going?”

“Sip.”

Nate’s eyes widen. “I can’t go there!”

The trendy coffee shop is frequented by the more upmarket section of the student population, the ones who are more likely to be seen having intellectual conversations over the latest blends of coffee than tripping over there feet after too much alcohol. If Nate wants to spend time with me this much, he can go somewhere I’m comfortable.

“Why not?” I ask, feigning innocence.

He buries his hands in his pockets. “I’d be out of place.”

“You’re bothered about standing out?” I ask the semi-famous guy whose life is all about the spotlight.

“Nah, I don’t like pretentious people who hang out in places like Sip.”

“People like me?”

“What? You’re not pretentious.”

“That’s my favourite place to hang out.”

Nate brushes his hand along his scruff as he studies me in his strange way that lifts the hairs on my neck. “As it’s you, I’ll make an exception.”

“You don’t have to. I’m only telling you where I’m going, if you want the lunch I owe.”

“I don’t care what’s for lunch. I want to spend time with you.” As he strides away, I shake my head in case I misheard. This whatever we have becomes weirder every day.

The cafe buzzes with quiet conversation and we attract attention when we arrive. The smell of coffee pervades the room. They sell the beans too; and when I leave, the scent of coffee lingers on my clothes all day.

Even though Nate complains he wouldn’t fit in, he strides past and makes loud comments about the ‘pretentious shit’ chalked on the blackboard menu. I hush him. I hadn’t considered I could be the one struggling if Nate turns his obnoxious side on.

He sinks into one of the sofas positioned next to a low metal table and I sit in an upholstered chair next to him. Nate pats the leather. “Sit next to me.”

“I’m fine here.”

“Don’t be shy! I’ve already been in your bed!” he says at a volume catching attention of a nearby group. A girl at the adjacent table fails to hide the surprise on her face.

“Nate!”

“What?”

“I’m not staying if you’re going to deliberately embarrass me.”

“I’m not!” He makes a loud tsk noise then says “Women!” at a volume to elicit a whisper from the girl to her equally curious friend.

I stand and walk to the opposite end of the room.

“Where are you going?” he calls.

“The table is quieter in this corner,” I reply at a volume to match his. “It’s more intimate and I know how you like to be intimate with me!”

Nate’s back is to the group close to the table and he bites the corner of his mouth, giving a small shake of his head. As he joins me, I arch an eyebrow.

Nate sits on the chair opposite and reaches across the table. I freeze as his hand curls around mine. “Intimate?”

I’m unprepared for the spark shooting along my arm, or the desire for Nate not to take his hand away. My stomach flips as the action jolts butterflies into action. If we’d touched in the kitchen the other day, there’s no way in hell I would’ve resisted placing my mouth on his and seeing what would happen. No, he’s teasing me. This is a joke.

“Keep behaving like this and I’ll have your name linked to mine by the end of the day. Imagine how many cool points you’ll lose for that.”

“Doesn’t bother me.” His hand remains on mine.

“Nate Campbell and Fleur Roberts?” I say with a laugh.

“Shit. Yeah. Didn’t think about that.” He removes his hand with a confused frown and my stomach sinks a little. So, he’s basically telling me our names linked isn’t okay?

Nate’s joking stops as suddenly as it started, and we return to guarded conversation centring around study. “Next time, I choose where we go. Somewhere with a better menu." He points at my bowl. "I mean, what's that weird stuff?”

I poke at my meal. “Quinoa.”

“What the hell is kin...whatever?”

“It’s a grain. Makes a great tasting salad.”

Nate snorts. “Sure it does.” He repeats the word under his breath. “Can’t even pronounce it.”

“I thought you went to Europe?” I ask. “Didn’t you try any local food? This isn’t exactly exotic.”

“I don’t like salad.” He pulls open his focaccia roll and peers at the contents.  With a face of disgust worthy of a five year old, he pulls tomato and lettuce out of the sandwich and drops it on his plate. “And no, not really. Junk food is available the world over.”

“Must’ve been interesting touring with Blue Phoenix.”

“Dream come true. I’d say unforgettable, but some bits I have no memory of.”

“I bet coming back here was a shock.”

“Kinda.” Nate removes his jacket and hangs it over the chair. I’m distracted by the curve of the muscle behind his greying t-shirt and shift my look back to my bowl before he notices my over-interest. “Felt a bit on the edge of the whole Blue Phoenix train. Like, we were swallowed up by their hype and people came to see Ruby Riot as an afterthought.”

“But you were support; of course that would happen.”

“I guess what I mean is, I want to headline those places one day, and I’m impatient.” Nate takes a huge bite out of his sandwich and says something else, but I can’t hear him through his mouthful of food.

I drink my over-priced coffee as we lapse into silence. Not awkward but peaceful, like two old friends.

Nate licks sauce from his fingers and nods his head in my direction. “What about you, Fleur? What do you do when you’re not being queen of history students?”

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Tease me about my love of studying.”

“I wasn’t! Why so defensive?”

“I do other things! I don’t just study non-stop.” He nods. Oh. He wants examples. “I like the theatre, reading, arts festivals and –” Nate snorts. “What?”

“Cliché. Do you genuinely enjoy all that or are you cultivating an image?”

“Drinking, having sex with any girl who moves, covering yourself in tattoos. Do you genuinely enjoy all that or are you cultivating an image?” I retort.

“I should be careful how I answer that question.”

I stab at my meal. “You’re happy with your life and have your ambitions; I have mine.”

“Yeah? I bet you never had people telling you that you’d never achieve your dreams.”

“How do you know that? And you’re wrong. My family think my degree is a joke and that I’m being stupid trying to become an academic. They say it’s a waste of time because there’s no money in it.”

He laughs. “Doubters. Who’d’ve thought becoming a rock star and a history professor had so much in common.”

“I’ll do this. And be good at it.”

“I’ve no doubt you will. Brain the size of yours.”

“And I’m positive with your talent you’ll be the star you want to be.”

Something different crosses Nate’s face and he looks around the café, as if lost for a moment. “Yeah, I’m pretty damn sure we will, but it kinda worries me.”

“How?”

“I like life uncomplicated and in my control; and I’m having to let that go. I already became caught up in the lifestyle on tour with Phoenix, but I dunno…”

“You can be in control, Nate. Not all famous people become victims of their fame.”

“Yeah. True. As long as I can sit in pretentious cafes with a girl who’s not part of that world, I reckon I’ll do okay.”

Does he mean me? The look is there again, the one which involuntarily snatches my breath. “Stay honest. Stay true to yourself. That’s all we can do in life.”

Nate frowns and drags more salad from his roll. “That would help. Working on that one.”

“You’re an enigma, Nate.”

He laughs softly to himself and doesn’t look up again. Nate devours his meal in half the time I do and settles back in the chair, surveying the cafe. “It’s quiet.”

Many of the tables are occupied in the small room, groups talking in low voices or checking their phones. “There’re a few people here.”

“No, I mean quiet. No music.” Nate watches a group and then sniggers to himself before taking his own phone from his pocket. Positioning it above my bowl, he takes a picture.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture of lunch so I can upload it to Instagram.” He fiddles with his phone. “With filters of course.”

I can’t help but smile at him as Will plays around on his phone, mouth tipping at the corner. His long fingers swipe the screen and I study him more closely than I have before. Something odd happens, my stomach tightens as I gaze at his long lashes and the full lips I touched a couple of days ago. Something between us shifted when we stood in the kitchen. Am I falling for this guy?

Nate’s brow knits and he puts the phone down. “Maybe not. Be right back.”

He stands and heads to the back of the cafe and I poke around at my food, appetite waning. Weird.

The cafe door opens again, and I’m glad I sat far enough back to avoid the blast of cool air that comes with people walking in and out. A guy unwraps a blue scarf from around his head and pauses in the doorway to pull out his wallet. Great. Ethan.

I focus on my food I definitely don’t feel like eating anymore. He’s alone and though I’m looking downwards, I’m aware of him passing the table to reach the counter. He loves this place as much as I do, stupid, I should’ve realised he might come in after his lecture today.

I’m pissed off. Not because this is the first time I’ve seen him since the pub the other night, but because I’m reacting this way. I shouldn’t care. He’s nothing.

But I do. This guy broke my heart and disrespected me, but nobody told that to the part of me attracted to him and I fight to replace this with anger. Ethan approaches the counter and I finally notice how he carefully cultivates his sensitive and vulnerable persona. The flick of his fringe, the rueful smile and charming words draw attention from the waitress, who can’t take her eyes off him. Why am I blind to people who lie to me because I only want to see what I believe instead of the truth?

Ethan orders, his back to me, and I pray he’s ordering ‘to go’. “Don’t notice me,” I mutter under my breath.

“You want another drink?” asks Nate.

I look up at him, breaking away from the emotions swimming into my mind. “I’m okay.”

“Mind if I grab another coffee?”

“I thought you’d want to leave as soon as you could.”

“I’m thirsty.” He strides to the counter. Next to Ethan.

The two guys side by side remind me of the evening at the Union where Nate half-ignored me, and I thought I meant something to Ethan.

Nate’s as tall, but he’s resting his arms on the wooden counter, elbows edging toward Ethan who’s unaware of, or ignoring, Nate. Both men hold a confidence, and the waitress’ smile is big for both of them. They’re poles apart; but as I watch Nate, I’m struck by the warmth inside matching the anger I have toward the man next to him.

The waitress passes Ethan something and he turns, holding a takeaway cup, which he sips and catches sight of me. I pull on an impassive look as he crosses to my table.

“Hey, Fleur.”

“Ethan.”

“Listen, about the other night...”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” I pick at the edge of my paper napkin and look away. He’s trying the hurt, puppy dog eyes. Won’t work.

“Can I sit down?”