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regular occurrence. 
    I observed as one of Ellie’s friends, a
girl called Sara, tried to gain Nate’s attention, but he politely shut down her
continual efforts to engage him in conversation.  He wasn’t rude, but it
was plain, as a woman, he wasn’t interested.  I ignored the fluttering in
my abdomen at this information; I am not having a fling with Nathan Austin, I
remind myself.
    When I visit the bathroom, or restroom as
it’s called in America, I am stopped by a good-looking guy sat at the
bar.  He was blonde and blue-eyed, not Nate blue-eyed, but blue-eyed and
stocky built as if he lifted weights on a regular basis.  As it
transpired, he, in fact, owned the local gym, and his name was Steve
Goodman.  He invited me for a drink at the bar, but I politely declined
expressing I was with a crowd and should return to them.  I shook his hand,
which he grasped a little longer than necessary, as he passed on his sympathies
for my loss. 
    When I turn to return to the group,
Nate’s eyes followed me across the length of the floor.  Again, they lacked
the warmth that he usually provided me with his stare.
    Walking directly over to him, I stop and
scowl up, ‘what is your problem, mister?’ I push my finger into his chest,
lightly. ‘I can feel your attitude from across the room,’ alcohol has evidently
eliminated any filters I may have previously used when addressing him.
    He looks visibly surprised by my brashness,
although it immediately clears the frost from his gaze.  He grasps my
finger at his chest and brings it down to his side, which urges me forward, and
I topple against him.  My other hand lands on his hard chest, and I have
to refrain from pushing myself provocatively against him.
    ‘Oopsy-daisy,’ I purr up, playfully.
    He grins down, his eyes dancing, ‘you are
absolutely fucking adorable,’ he hums, as his free hand grips my hip and
encourages me up flush against his toned form. All playfulness leaves my body
as desire courses through me.  As if he senses it, his hand moves to the
top of my backside and his eyes darken. My eyes drop to his lips, wistfully.
    ‘You are so very pretty,’ I sigh,
longingly.
    His eyebrow arches, ‘pretty! Fuck me, London;
you can’t find a manlier expression?’ he scoffs.
    ‘But, you are a man-whore,’ I sigh, my
face exposing my disappointment at this knowledge.
    ‘I guess it’s a manlier expression,’ he
mutters.  ‘You know nothing about me, how can you label me?’ He asks a
little too casually.
    ‘What can I say, your reputation precedes
you,’ I lift my hazy alcohol-fuelled lips to a full beam smile.
    He glances over to his sister with a look
that informs me he knows precisely where the information originated, before
pulling me hard against his body. 
    ‘Want to find out if it’s true?’ He flirts,
outrageously.
    ‘Do women ever say yes to that cheesy
pick up line?’ I grin. He flashes me his dimple and I almost swoon, ‘I guess
so,’ I mumble, my eyes falling to his lips.
    ‘Sophie!’ Ellie calls, loudly,
interrupting the intimate moment. 
    Begrudgingly, I turn in the direction of
her voice and regretfully push myself away from the comfort of Nate’s chest.
    ‘I’m leaving, come in tomorrow for a catch-up,’
the slur in her voice is heavy, and I wonder how on earth she is going to be in
the Diner at six a.m. tomorrow.
    ‘I thought you were my ride back to
Marnie’s?’ I shock.
    ‘Nate is staying there, he can take you,’
she grins, as Eli pulls her away providing Nate and I a chin lift goodnight.
    ‘Your chariot awaits, milady,’ Nate calls
in a terrible English accent.
    ‘That is awful,’ I mock.
    ‘You don’t like my English accent?’ He tests,
light-heartedly.
    ‘Why do Americans presume we all speak
identically to the characters from Downton Abbey?’ I state, laughing.
    He pulls me back against him, both of his
hands on my lower back, ‘your face becomes even more striking when you smile,’
he purrs down to