Strawberries at Wimbledon. Nikki Moore

me old tea? Because of the fear of getting caught?’

      ‘Yes. That’s the only reason.’ His eyes met hers then fell away, and he sat down in the flimsy black chair on wheels that sat in front of her desk. ‘I guess you haven’t got any coasters,’ grabbing a spare piece of paper, he put his tea on it beside her laptop. ‘Great job unpacking by the way,’ he arched an eyebrow, looking at the two boxes with clothes, make-up and other stuff spilling out of them stacked up against the bare wall. It made the room feel impossibly cramped. There was a restrained energy about the way he studied her belongings that made her think he was itching to get up and start sorting it all out, but was too polite to.

      She shrugged one shoulder, setting her mug down on the floor. ‘It’ll get done when it gets done. And you’re wrong, you know,’ she said, sinking down on the edge of her messy bed, loose vest top riding up her stomach as she stretched. She’d not long woken up. Her first lecture didn’t start until after lunchtime.

      ‘About what?’ his gaze flickered over her legs in the tiny pyjama shorts she wore, her knees no more than six inches from his.

      ‘You’re not the only one I’ve spoken to. Lily and I have been hanging out quite a lot.’

      ‘Lily?’

      She rolled her eyes at his puzzled look. ‘Come on, don’t act as if you haven’t noticed her. The daintily gorgeous blonde three doors up.’

      ‘Oh, her.’ He grinned. ‘She’s very pretty and seems sweet, but she’s not my type.’

      ‘Is that so?’ she drawled, scooting back across the covers so she could lean against the wall. The plaster was cool against her back, but it felt good to have something solid to lean against. For too long she’d felt like she was falling through air.

      ‘She’s too much like some of the girls back home,’ he replied solemnly. ‘Wholesome. Well-bred.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘It would be like fancying my little sister, Belinda.’

      She laughed, ‘I see. But still, what’s wrong with wholesome and well-bred?’ She paused, ‘God, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard someone use that phrase in real life. Who are you, the Lord of the Manor or something?’

      A shadow chased its way across his face but he shook his head and smiled easily. ‘Not quite. You can blame my mum. She’s very well spoken. Likes to host lots of social events, work tirelessly for deserving causes and generally hold everyone around her up to very high standards.’

      ‘Sounds like a heap of fun,’ she mused, matching his determinedly light tone. ‘So where are you from?’ she asked curiously, leaning forward over the edge of the bed to grab her tea, aware as she sat up and his eyes flickered from her top back to her face she’d flashed him accidentally. She suppressed a smile, fighting to keep a straight face. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. Or maybe he thought she was hot too. That would be interesting. Even though she’d decided the other day she should stay away, there was something about him she found endearing and attractive. The flutters in her belly made it feel like she was starting an exciting, new game. ‘And what is your type?’

      ‘Buckinghamshire. And I’ll let you know when I find it.’

      ‘Right.’ Not her, then. She took a mouthful of scalding tea, his last comment not just taking a few points off her but throwing her out of the whole match.

      ‘So,’ he stretched his arms behind his head, muscles bunching under his jumper, ‘now that you’ve decided I’m not trying to poison you,’ he nodded at the mug as she took another warming gulp, ‘and you’ve let me sit in your room, do I get to know your name?’

      She let out a long suffering sigh, shaking her head in pretend sorrow. ‘It’s all take, take, take with you men isn’t it? You bring me tea and immediately want something in return. You want to know all my secrets.’

      ‘I’m starting to think your name’s a national secret,’ he retorted, ‘what’s the matter, are you ashamed of it or something?’ Dropping his arms he sat forward in the chair, eyes sparkling. ‘Is it really embarrassing? What is it? Come on, it can’t be that bad, as long as it’s not…Griselda?’ he guessed.

      She shook her head solemnly. ‘Nope.’

      ‘Gertrude? Ermintrude? No, I’m not sure that’s even a name.’

      ‘Neither of those, and actually, I think she was the talking cow off The Magic Roundabout,’ she laughed.

      ‘Oh, that was a bit before my time.’

      ‘My parents still had a video recorder when I was growing up, and that was one of the box sets.’

      ‘Right.’ He frowned. ‘I give up then. Quasimodo?’

      She spluttered tea over her quilt, setting the mug down on the carpet and clutching her side as she giggled. When she recovered, she wiped her eyes. ‘Oh, thanks a lot! So, that’s what you think of me!’