Page 37 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘You nailed it,’ Fraser says.

I lean in to Eliza, grazing my fingers gently over her spine. ‘He let him win.’

‘Obviously,’ she says.

Two carers arrive shortly after the arm wrestle, both good-naturedly escorting Marco out of the pub. And with that excitement, the night draws to a close.

We head for the door, but the minute we make it outside, Fraser groans.

‘I need a slash.’ Fraser turns around and heads back inside.

Cold air pinches at my cheeks, and Eliza looks up at me. The wind ruffles her red tresses, and I reach out to tuck a strand behind her ear.

I know it’s risky, but I can’t help but thread my fingers into her hair and pull her close. Her breath is hot and tainted with red wine, her tongue wet heat as it slides against mine. We’re both tipsy enough for me to throw caution to the wind, and for Eliza to let her walls lower a touch.

‘God, I’ve wanted to do that all night,’ I admit.

She pulls back.

‘There are far too many people in there who know who we are,’ she says.

‘I don’t care. Let them know. I’ll climb up on the fucking roof and shout it to the world myself,’ I say.

‘James—’

I kiss her again. Pressing her back against the wall and pouring myself into her.

‘It hurts to stay away from you. To pretend we aren’t⁠—’

Eliza places a hand on my chest and makes space between us. ‘The only person pretending about what we are is you. If you can’t keep this casual, then we need to stop.’

The pub door opens.

Eliza steps out from the wall and strides a few paces ahead. Coffin sweeps out of the pub and lands on her shoulder, fixing one beady eye on me.

Fraser’s brow knits.

‘Cold, huh,’ he says.

‘Sure is.’

More so from Eliza’s determination not to admit to her feelings than from the wind.

13

ELIZA

The coffee barely touches my grogginess. My head aches, and I’ve barely slept. I definitely shouldn’t have joined Fraser for the three nightcaps we had after we got back from the pub. But between seeing Dad so ill and James wanting more than I feel like I can give, I needed to let off some steam.

Which I’m royally regretting in the cold light of day.

Priscilla comes into the dining room, looking as pristinely polished as ever. Only the faint pink corners of her eyes give away the truth about how she’s really coping.

Taking her seat, she pours herself a cup of tea.

‘Good night?’ she asks.

Fraser shrugs. As talkative as always.