Anne never came back to our room that night, and honestly, I didn't expect her to—not after I heard the giggles in the corridor. I just hoped she knew what she was doing.

But my mind wasn't on Anne. It was on my conversation with Harry.

It was 2:30 AM, and I was still awake, tossing and turning as his words replayed in my head. What the hell had gotten into him? I wasn't pulling things out of thin air. It was a fact that both he and Jimmy took full advantage of their looks and their positions behind the bar. I didn't judge them for it, but I did think it was unfair when they blurred the lines with people who weren't playing the same game.

Anne wasn't like the other girls throwing themselves at him. She was our friend. And when this... whatever this was ended, she'd have to watch him move on to the next girl, and the next, and the next.

That wasn't fair.

By 3:30 AM, I gave up on sleep. I threw on an oversized jumper over my pyjama shorts and pulled on my ridiculously pink socks with little hearts on them—because warmth trumped fashion at this hour.

Creeping toward the kitchen, I nearly jumped when I noticed a figure crouched in front of the fireplace, adding wood to the dimming flames.

"Harry?" I whispered.

He turned slightly, the firelight flickering against his sharp features. Damn. He looked like he belonged in a painting, the warm glow highlighting every perfect angle.

"Hey." His voice was low, rough. Unsettlingly attractive. "Why are you up?"

"Why are you up?" I countered, stepping closer.

His lips quirked. "Always fighting me, huh?"

Before I could retort, he lifted his chin, gesturing to the window.

I turned—and my breath caught.

Outside, a fresh layer of snow blanketed the ground, glowing under the pale moonlight. The world was quiet, untouched, like something out of a dream.

"Wow," I murmured.

"Yeah." His voice was softer this time. "Beautiful."

I turned back, only to find his green eyes locked on me—not the snow.

My stomach flipped. I stepped toward the fireplace, pretending to warm my hands.

"Cute socks." His smirk was pure amusement.

"Thanks," I said, wiggling my toes teasingly.

"I'll buy you a pair next time I'm at Debenhams. What size?"

"Nine and a half."

He raised a brow. "Tiny feet."

"Insulting my feet? Wow. No wonder you're single."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Tea?"

I nodded, and we moved to the kitchen, slipping into an easy silence as we prepared our mugs. It felt... natural.

Like we had done this a thousand times before.

"So what do you say about that poker game, El?" His voice was smooth as he leaned against the counter, sipping his tea.

I grinned. "You're on. I have around a hundred euros in winnings, sir... and I'm about to raise that."

His dimple appeared as he studied me. "Care to make it more fun?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Meaning?"

"Let's play strip poker."

"What? No!" I whisper-shouted.

"Why?" He leaned in, eyes twinkling. "Afraid you'll lose?"

"Of course not."

"Or maybe..." His smirk widened. "You just don't want to see me naked?"

I huffed. "Please. I just don't want to see you parading around the living room naked catching a cold."

"Or maybe... you're chicken." He made an actual chicken noise.

The audacity.

"Oh, you smug little—fine! You're on!" I slammed my palm on the table.

His grin stretched wide. "Excellent."

I sprinted to my room and layered up. Jeans over my pyjama shorts. Jacket. Gloves. If I was going down, I was going down prepared.

When I returned, Harry took one look at me and nearly spat out his tea.

"You've got to be kidding me," he choked out.

I folded my arms smugly. "What? I'm just making the game last."

"Not only are you going down, Cameron, but I'm not putting anything extra on."

"And why's that?"

He leaned back lazily. "Because I won't need to. I'm going to beat you even if you wear your whole damn closet."

I scoffed. "Deal, you cocky bastard."

He shuffled. He dealt.

🔹 Round One 🔹

Ella: Queen♠️ Queen♦️ Six♣️ Ace♠️ Jack♥️
Harry: Straight (5-6-7-8-9)

"Three queens." I grinned.

Harry exhaled dramatically. "Straight, darling."

My face fell. Shit.

I peeled off my gloves and threw them onto the table.

🔹 Round Two 🔹

Ella: Two♥️ Two♠️ Five♣️ Five♦️ Ace♠️
Harry: Three Eights (8-8-8)

"That was close..." Harry chuckled. "But I still win. Jacket, please."

I gritted my teeth as I shrugged off my jacket.

🔹 Round Three 🔹

Ella: Straight (9-10-J-Q-K)
Harry: Pair of fives.

"No cards for me." I smirked.

Harry's brows furrowed. He drew two.

His face dropped slightly, and I knew I had him.

"Straight," I said, revealing my cards.

"Fuck!" He slammed his cards down.

I smirked. "Shirt off, Styles."

His cocky expression flickered—just for a moment. Then, with an unfair amount of confidence, he stood, grabbed the hem of his sweater, and peeled it off slowly.

My mouth went dry.

Holy. Shit.

I was fully aware that Harry was a model, but nothing had prepared me for this.

"Like what you see?" His voice was teasing, but his eyes watched me carefully.

I willed myself to look unimpressed. Failed miserably.

"Damn," I muttered, quoting Crazy, Stupid, Love. "It's like you're photoshopped."

He laughed—full, rich, and beautiful.

"Oh, I love that movie. Guess this is the part where I lift you up like Dirty Dancing then?"

"Yeah, right!" I rolled my eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck.

"Sit your ass down, mister. I have more clothes to strip you from."

But then he moved.

Around the table.

Toward me.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" he whispered seductively.

I stilled as he sat beside me, close enough to feel his warmth. My heart pounded as his fingers traced a slow path behind my ear, down my neck—stopping at the hollow of my throat.

I couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

"Wouldn't you?" He repeated.

"Wouldn't I what?"

"Like that."

His gaze dropped to my lips.

I swallowed hard. This was dangerous.

"It doesn't matter what I want."

"And why's that?" His fingers lingered, his breath warm against my skin.

I inhaled sharply.

"Because, Harry..." I looked up, forcing my voice steady. "This game we're playing—"

"Yeah?"

"I've played it before. And I'm not interested."

I cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

His eyes darkened, but he didn't pull away.

"What did he do to you?" His voice was almost too soft to hear.

I shook my head. "Maybe some other cold night, ha?"

Neither of us won this game.

And yet, somehow, we both lost.