The suite wasn't just luxurious, it was fucking impressive to an extend that even you couldn't help but whistle in admiration.

"Holy hell...", you laughed and raised your head to be able to look at the golden and white ceiling. "What is this place? Buckingham palace?"

Price snorted.

"The palace is a lot more impressive than that.", he said and walked straight to the bar that covered an entire wall of the room. "Drinks are included, she said."

Eyeing him while pouring himself a drink, you let yourself fall into the sheets.

The pillows were so soft that a gush of air made you feel like you were laying on clouds of feathers.

"Ah... this is life...", you sighed with a smile and closed your eyes. "Don't mind me. I'll take a nap."

He shrugged.

"Do whatever."

"Hm? Do I hear some bad mood? Come on, beanie, this is heaven. Cheer up."

"Piss off."

You sat up straight to gift him a sarcastic look.

"Peak Britishness.", you snarled. "Didn't get laid in a while?"

Pulling a face, he placed the glass of whiskey on the counter and glared at you.

"You're exhausting.", he just said and took a big sip.

"I know. But at least you're not alone in this big ass room. I'm here to entertain you. If you let me."

The grin on your face broadened.

But somehow he didn't seem to be embarrassed by what you had said. Instead, he let out an amused huff and took another sip.

"Trust me...", his eyes locked with yours. "If you wouldn't be here I'd find myself someone to entertain me with ease."

A smug smirk appeared on his bearded face.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Heat chased to your cheeks.

Why did this look on his face make you feel flattered?

Hell, he was one handsome bastard.

But usually looks never managed to impress you for long.

And yet.

Every time he gifted you this rare expression, cocky and a bit passive aggressive, your body couldn't help but react to it.

But he wasn't supposed to know. It would be best if he'd never find out in the first place.

"Alright.", you played it cool. "My apologies for being your second choice."

He snorted and turned back to the alcohol.

"You wouldn't even be my third. Or fourth."

"Now you're getting nasty. I mean, look at me. I'm not bad. Face excluded. That is bad."

And again he let a small sound of amusement be heard.

Your heart jumped.

From the corner of his eyes, Price glanced at you before snatching the bottle of whiskey he had opened.

"This one's mine.", he wiggled it in the air. "Treat yourself."

A sigh escaped you.

"I didn't come here for drinking."

He let himself fall on the couch and turned on the massive flat screen TV to switch through the channels.

"Then don't."

The sound of football fans cheering their lungs out filled your ears. Curious, you turned your head.

"Who's playing?", you asked.

"Manchester against Liverpool."

You pulled a face and grabbed a bottle of god knew what alcohol.

"Really can't watch that sober...", you hummed and popped the lid. "Mind my company?"

"I do."

"Funny, beanie, really."

"Ask stupid question, win stupid answers."

Groaning, you turned to the bed. But you stopped mid way and glanced at him.

"This room is mine too.", you said and jumped onto the couch to squeeze in next to him. "Roll over. I'm watching that shit."

Letting a low sound of annoyance be heard, he made enough space for you to sit.

But you didn't want to miss another opportunity to annoy him.

If he wanted to play dirty, so did you. Plus, he had to know who he was dealing with.

You wouldn't just let him be. That's not how you worked.

Sighing, you stretched your legs across the couch. While doing so, you let them slide on his lap and let them rest there.

At first he just stared at your feet, mere centimetres dangling over the edge of the couch.

But he didn't comment on it, nor did he do anything to push you away.

You could have teased him for it. But in that moment the mood seemed to soften and you didn't have the desire to end up in a fistfight with him.

If there was one thing you respected about Price then it was his muscular arms and huge hands that could choke the living hell out of you.

A few minutes of silence passed, in which both of you just watched the game, drinking.

The late day had turned into early evening, around dinner time.

A fuzzy feeling was already spreading inside your head.
Your eyes jumped to Price.

His British paleness had faded a little. Now his face was covered in a slight red blush. It was barely enough to notice.

He seemed calmer now. His posture was relaxed and less stiff.

The soldier had stepped back. Now he was just a tipsy man.

He did look a lot more desirable now. Almost like someone you'd take home from a bar.

"So this is it, huh?", you asked with a grin and had to lick your lips.

Torn from his thoughts, he glanced at you.

The look on his face wasn't as grim either.

"Hm?", he asked and gifted you a smile.

Immediately, you had to turn your gaze away to avoid gasping.

Fuck.

This fucking smile.

It was gentle, almost soft even, with this hint of cockiness. It looked like a challenge.

He wanted you to say something of your usual stupid stuff so he'd be able to throw it back.

"N-nothing...", you mumbled. "I was just... you look different then when we met first. That's just what I wanted to say."

A soft chuckle made his chest vibrate.

In a teasing manner he leaned towards you, glass of whiskey in hand, and grinned again.

His face was now so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath tickling your skin.

"You look different too.", he noted.

"Disappointed?"

"A little. The bar made me think you're face is rough."

"It is."

"Not really. Midge."

"Shut up."

"Well then. It's time for dinner. Let's see what the restaurant has to offer."