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On a groggy exhale, he climbs off the mattress to gather his clothes.
“To be clear, we’re on speaking terms again,” he says as he gets dressed, eyeing me over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Definitely yes.” I push him toward the door with a hurried kiss. “I’ll text you later.”
Looking endearingly dejected, he pulls on his shoes while I peek my head into the hallway to make sure the coast is clear. I don’t hear anyone moving around, so I wave him on to make a dash for the stairs.
But just as he reaches the end of the hall, a creak breaks the silence. A door opens and Nate comes face-to-face with Jack.
They stop, both startled to encounter the other. Jack looks at him with confusion for a moment before his eyes slide past Nate to find me standing in my doorway. I watch as his expression morphs to understanding. His shoulders fall.
“All right, mate?” Jack says with a nod to Nate.
“All right, yeah.”
Jack doesn’t meet my eyes again as he goes into his bathroom and shuts the door. Nate shoots an uncertain glance back at me before he takes the stairs.
Fucking brilliant.
DECEMBER
31
FOR THE PAST COUPLE WEEKS, OUR ENCOUNTERS HAVE BEENconfined to Netflix and Nate’s sofa. Which suits me fine, because Jack is still giving me the cold shoulder at home, and I have no intention of advertising my situation with Nate to the rest of the house. Better it stays uncomfortably between the three of us for now.
But tonight, after we’ve ordered Thai food, eaten it in bed, and then burned off the calories thanks to another bed activity, I’m finally starting to feel a little stir-crazy.
“Shall we go for a ride?” Nate suggests as he pulls a T-shirt over his bare chest. Clearly I’m not the only one with ants in my pants.
“Now?” I glance at the clock on his nightstand. It’s late. 12:25 a.m. But I’m feeling energized after our naked time. “You know what? Sure.”
“That’s my girl.”
I know he doesn’t mean anything serious by that, but the wordsmy girlleaving Nate’s sexy mouth send a thrill skittering up my spine.
He shrugs into his jacket and shoves a black wool hat over his messy hair while I put on my coat, scarf, and gloves.
Outside Nate’s three-story building, the street is teeming with Saturday night pedestrians leaving the bars and pubs, most of which stop pouring between eleven and midnight. But there’s a club at the end of Nate’s block that stays open till 3:00 a.m., so his neck of the woods tends to be more lively past midnight.
Nate hands me a helmet as he throws his leg over his motorcycle and starts the engine.
Climbing on the bike behind him, I lock my arms tight around his waist and brace for the frigid wind as he pulls out onto the street. With no destination in mind, we cruise the lit London streets until the colors recede and the way grows inky black. I feel like I’m in a nineties teen drama. The hour grows later and later as the motorcycle flies through the city streets. At some point, shiny condos give way to warehouses and boarded-up buildings, and as Nate slows at an approaching intersection, the faint sound of drum and bass greets my ears.
“Where’s that music coming from?” I demand.
“No idea,” he calls back. “Shall we find out?”
“Absolutely.”
And that’s how we find ourselves chasing a drumbeat, straining our ears and keeping our eyes out for the source of the music. It’s two thirty in the morning, and I’m wide awake, riding on a motorcycle with my own personal British bad boy. It’s surreal. Unforgettable.
At a corner with no street sign, the bass line is practically vibrating in the pavement below the bike. Or maybe that’s the bike vibrating. But Nate seems to think he’s found our music venue. He turns into a gravel industrial park, drives past broken windows and shipping containers, behind one of the buildings, and then the warehouse comes into view. The lot in front of it is packed with parked cars, scooters, and motorcycles.
“What is this place? A club?”
Nate shuts off the engine, then sets the bike on its kickstand. “You’re in luck. I do believe we’ve stumbled upon a rave.”
“Holy shit. Really?”
