"A canasta!" Louise cackled, laying down her cards. "No jokers, either."
Ophelia groaned. "You're not going out, are you?"
"You'll see."
Ophelia sighed, glancing down at her cards. All duds. Judging by the despairing look on Henry's face, he was in the same boat. She peeked at Andrew. His face was as impassive as usual; she might as well have been trying to read a book in Latin.
She wasn't sure how their Thursday card nights had become a regular occurrence, exactly; Henry had simply wandered into the Astor College kitchen one evening, plopped himself down, and declared that they were going to play Gin Rummy.
The next week, Andrew joined.
And then Louise.
Now, they were fiercely competitive about it. Well, mostly Andrew and Louise; she suspected that Henry largely came for the snacks.
He stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth. "We should raise the stakes tonight. Canasta is boring with no stakes."
"How?" Andrew discarded a black five. "Wager money, you mean?"
Ophelia's stomach dropped. She wasn't broke, exactly — her scholarship at UCL went a long way to covering the bills — but she also didn't have money to burn. Unlike the other three. Hell, Louise had just come back from her holiday home in the French Alps.
She caught Louise's eye. Thankfully, the other girl got the hint.
"No," Louise said. "That's boring."
Henry frowned. "Boring?"
"Let's make it more exciting," Louise said, placing down a few cards. "Let's play with something priceless. Secrets."
Andrew stiffened. "No."
"Fine." Louise shrugged. "You can tell a secret, or take two shots." She rearranged her hand. "Once the game ends, each player gets to ask the losing player a question. And he or she has to answer truthfully."
"I'm in," Henry said.
Andrew looked at Ophelia, who shrugged. Fine by her.
"Alright." Andrew lay down three red sevens. "But I doubt anyone's close to going out, so this could really take some—"
"Done!"
Louise lay down the remainder of her cards. Henry stared at her, glancing between his own hand and Louise's second canasta, laying proudly on the table.
"A double canasta?" He shook his head. "Madness."
Louise winked. "Count your cards."
Reluctantly, Ophelia did so; as she suspected by the sheer amount of cards still in her hand, she lost spectacularly. Andrew claimed second place, with Henry coming in third. The latter popped another handful of chips in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
"What turns you on?"
"Henry!"
"I knew it." He winked. "All you have to do is ask, angel; I'm at your beck and call." Henry must have seen the scowl on her face, because he relented. "Fine, fine. What's your most precious item?"
Ophelia let out a breath; that one was easy.
"My copy of a Tale of Two Cities."
Henry made a noise of disbelief. "A book?"
"My grandmother gave it to me." Ophelia swept the cards towards her, shuffling the deck. "Just before she died. She was the person that taught me to love books, you know? We used to read it together before bed."
Her grandmother — a highschool teacher — had also been the one to suggest Ophelia, after the heroine in "Hamlet." Which, admittedly, was a little grim considering her fate. But, hey; Ophelia had never been mixed up with any other student on the attendance list.
Small mercies.
"I'll go next," Louise announced.
Ophelia groaned. Oh, god; this would be bad.
"I know." Louise's eyes sparkled. "What does your tattoo mean?"
"You already know that."
"But the others don't."
Ophelia scowled, rubbing at the three dots on her finger idly. Louise gave her a radiant smile, clearly unconcerned. She stared down at the cards in her hand. There was no way that she was looking at Andrew right now. He would laugh his ass off.
"It's an ellipsis."
"And?" Louise prompted.
"Well, I got it because I like the idea that a story isn't over when you close the book. That it continues in some space that we can't see."
She could feel her cheeks burning. Stupid Louise. Andrew was probably doing that stupid, superior smirk, the one that he got when they talked about the Kardashians or people that bought Meal Deals at Boots.
She peeked at him. To her surprise, Andrew's blue eyes were steady. Like twin tidal pools, warm and tepid after the tide went out.
"My turn," he said softly. "Why did you spill that coffee?"
Ophelia froze. She was dimly aware of Henry and Louise exchanging a look of confusion, but she knew exactly what Andrew was referring to: Lady Windermere's café, when he had brushed the eyelash off her cheek. She felt her face grow warm.
No way was Ophelia admitting to Andrew that she was — even just for a tiny, infinitesimal moment — turned on by him.
Like hell.
"Right," Ophelia said hoarsely. "Where's the tequila?"
She took two shots, and then gagged.
"Lime! I need lime."
Louise pressed a wedge of citrus fruit into her hand, and Ophelia bit down on it, shuddering as the tequila coated her throat. Oh, god. That stuff should be criminal.
They played again; the round took longer this time, with Henry claiming victory after twenty minutes. Louise placed second, and Ophelia claimed third place by ten points. Andrew sighed, shuffling his cards.
"Let's get this over with."
"I'll go," Henry said immediately. "Why didn't you play polo last week?"
Andrew stiffened. Then he reached for the tequila bottle, taking two long tugs straight from the bottle. He wiped his mouth.
"Next."
Louise blinked. "Um. Okay." She pursed her lips, clearly thinking. "What's the deal with Eleanora? Why do you want her back so badly?"
Andrew sighed. He took another long drink from the tequila bottle, wincing slightly this time. He turned to face Ophelia.
"Go on, then," he said. "Fire away."
She nibbled her lip. "What were those papers you wouldn't show me? The ones in Lady Windermere's café?"
Andrew's mouth quirked, almost as if he was sharing a private joke with himself. He raised the bottle in a mock toast.
"Cheers."
And he took another long drink.
They wrapped up the game around midnight.
Ophelia and Andrew failed spectacularly. Between the two of them, they lost six rounds, and then staunchly refused to answer every question they were asked. As a result, the kitchen was spinning pleasantly as Ophelia put bottles in the recycling. Next to her, Andrew whistled softly, scrubbing at a cheeseboard in the sink.
Louise and Henry had begged off, claiming that they both had early classes. Which left Ophelia alone with Andrew.
Not that she minded.
Andrew Hazelton-Scott was turning out to be something of a surprise, Ophelia thought, shoving the empty tequila bottle into the bin. More...
Thoughtful?
Yes. That was it.
"What?" Andrew grunted.
"Hmm?"
"You're staring at me."
"I'm not staring," Ophelia spluttered, hopping up on the counter. "I'm supervising." She nodded to the cheeseboard. "You missed a spot."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're a bad liar?"
She kicked her feet, which were dangling over the edge. "Just leave it; I'll do it in the morning. You should call a cab."
"My car's here."
She stared at him. "Surely you're not planning to drive home?"
Andrew wasn't slurring, but he had drank enough tequila to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool. And then some. He certainly wasn't about to get behind the wheel; Ophelia would hide his keys, if she had to.
He shook his head. "I'm sleeping on Henry's floor."
She frowned. "But he's already asleep."
"What?"
"Henry went to sleep ages ago." She hopped off the counter. "I passed his room on the way to the washroom earlier, remember? All his lights were off."
Andrew let go of the cheeseboard abruptly, cursing colorfully. He snatched up a tea towel, hardly pausing to dry his hands, and then sprinted out of the room. Ophelia sighed, taking up the washing. She was drying the board by the time he returned.
"Well?"
"No luck." Andrew sat down at the table glumly. "He's ignoring his phone. I tried knocking, but the bastard can sleep through anything."
"A true talent."
"It's fine." Andrew swept an arm magnanimously across the room. "I'll sleep here."
"In the kitchen?"
Ophelia tried to picture this. It was like trying to picture Oscar Wilde volunteering to sleep in a steaming pile of trash. Her brain just couldn't get there.
"Don't be stupid," she sighed. "You can stay in my room."
"Your room?"
"Yes." She lifted her chin. "Unless there's a problem with that?"
There was a challenge in her voice. Slowly, Andrew rose from the table. There was something dangerous about his movement. Something almost calculated.
"No," he murmured. "No problem."
She swallowed. "Good."
Twenty minutes later, Ophelia was curled up in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The moonlight streaming in through the slatted window cast bars along the wall, like the black and white keys on a piano. Andrew's breathing was heavy in the darkness.
She rolled on to her side.
Andrew was lying flat on his back, his hands tucked behind his head. White-blond strands of hair fell into his face, stirring slightly as he breathed. Ophelia blinked. At least, she thought they were — or maybe that was just the tequila.
"Ophelia?"
"Hmm?"
"You're staring again."
His voice sounded slightly more slurred, now; the alcohol was catching up with him, too. Ophelia scowled.
"I'm not staring."
"And now you sound angry."
She sighed, rising to her feet. She had to stretch on her tiptoes to reach the blinds, yanking at them until the room went dark. There. Now she could sleep. She stumbled across the room, groping for her bed—
Her foot connected with something.
She let out a squeal, pitching forward. Someone groaned. Ophelia thrashed around blindly, trying to roll over, and strong hands clamped around her waist.
"Stop that!"
"Let go!"
He grunted. "You almost took out my eye, idiot."
"Well, you'd still have the other one."
Ophelia huffed, blinking hard. Hang on. She wiggled experimentally. The ground wasn't hard beneath her. Which meant—
"Am I on top of you?"
"Crushing me, actually."
"Oh."
She made no attempt to move, though. Firstly, because her head was spinning in circles. And secondly, because Andrew's warm hands were still firmly anchoring her hips to his body, and it actually felt...
Well, Ophelia didn't want to admit how it felt.
Not terrible, though.
She blinked again, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Andrew's eyes shone up at her like twin silver coins. His lip curled.
"You're not about to kiss me, are you?"
Ophelia jerked back. "No!"
"Good," he said. "You couldn't keep up with me, anyways."
He might as well have slapped her.
Ophelia stiffened. Part of her knew that Andrew was right — he had way more experience than she did when it came to hooking up with people, clearly — but still. Rude. She wanted to slap that cocky smirk right off his face.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly that."
"Fine," Ophelia snapped. "But I promise you that I'm a better kisser than you are." She wasn't sure if this was strictly true, but whatever; she tilted her chin up. "I guess you'll never know what you're missing."
"Show me, then."
Andrew's face was smug. He didn't actually expect her to do it, Ophelia realized with dawning irritation. He didn't expect her to kiss him.
Well.
Screw him, then.
She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. Andrew stiffened in surprise. Ophelia pressed down gently, deepening the kiss, and he made a noise at the back of his throat. Half-surprise, and half something else.
"Ophelia," he said breathlessly. "What are you doing?"
She smirked against his lips. "Showing you."
And she leaned down to kiss him again.
A/N: Oooh a cliffhanger! It feels almost cruel to leave it there, but hey, you only have to wait 24 hours for the next update ;)
So there's been a kiss! Feels a bit premature though, doesn't it? Considering there's another 20(ish) chapters to go, poor Ophelia isn't going to get her happily ever after just yet... how do you think Andrew's going to react to her little challenge?
Can't wait to hear your thoughts!
Affectionately,
J.K.