Drawn To You

•20•

The plane lands, and we walk off the steps and into the much warmer than London air. It only feels like it's maybe in the mid seventies, but it's still much warmer than London in December.
A black Range Rover pulls up, and a man gets out and starts loading our bags. I turn to Tom, but he walks straight past me with a less than happy expression on his face. Guess he's in one of his moods again.
We get in the car, and I roll down the window to watch as we drive by all the large buildings. Things are so different in America, it's insane. And it's so weird that's it's only two pm, I already know my jet lag is going to suck.
We pull up to a gigantic hotel, that looks fancier than anything I've ever stayed in before.  The driver opens the door for us, and we get out of the car.
"Mr. Osterfield, it's a pleasure." An older man smiles at him.  "Please, allow Gary to take your things to your room, and I will personally get you checked in."
He must own the hotel.
We walk inside, and it's even more beautiful in here than it was on the outside. I feel very out of place in my sweats but standing next to Haz, who is also in sweats yet is seen as the most important person here makes me feel better.
"Alright we have two suites, one for Mr. Osterfield, and one for Mr. Holland and Ms. Gray." The man says.
"Actually-" I start.
"Huh. Weird. Oh well." Haz interrupts me and I give him a weird look, but know I'm not the famous one, I can't make a fuss.
"Did he seriously just do that?" Tom mutters as we walk towards the elevator.
"Yep. He did." I nod.
"Oh my god, Harrison Osterfield!" A small group of girls exclaim and he smiles.
"I'll catch up with ya in a bit!" He calls over to us.
We get on the elevator, and click the button for the top floor. I lean against the wall, watching as Tom stares at the ground. I want to ask him if he's okay, but either way he will say he's fine.
The elevator doors open and we walk down the hallway, looking for our room.
"Found it!" I call to Tom, sticking the key in the door and unlocking it. I open the door, and both of our jaws drop.
"You've got to be kidding." I mutter.
The room is huge, white, and is one hundred percent a honeymoon suite. Rose petals on the bed, chocolates on the pillows, a bouquet of roses on the table, wine- everything.
Soon I'm being swept off my feet, Tom carrying me bridal style.
"What are you doing?!" I laugh loudly.
"Well it's only fitting." He giggles, and throws me onto the bed, making all the rose petals fly into the air. We both laugh, and I see a sudden change in his mood.
"So you're not mad at me?" I question.
"Why do you think I'd be mad at you?" He asks with genuine confusion.
"You seemed grumpy." I state.
"With Haz, not you." He assures me. "Never grumpy with you, princess."
I smile, and look around at the beauty of the room.
"I do have to say, this room makes me feel like a princess." I say.
My phone dings, and Tom tosses it onto the sofa across the room.
"And you did that because?..." I trail off.
"Because right now, I'd much rather sit in bed with a pretty girl and eat the overpriced snacks and drinks." He says, laying on the bed next to me.
"Oh so you think I'm pretty." I tease.
"Very." He nods with a smirk.
"Mhmm." I hum and he presses his finger underneath my chin, making me look at him.
"You are." He says. "And I don't know how you don't see it."
"Alright stop being cheesy." I giggle and his brows knit together.
"Why can't you take a compliment?" He asks.
"Because they make me uncomfortable." I shrug.
"You're pretty. Own it." He states and stands up from the bed.
He grabs my suitcase, and pulls out my bikini, throwing it over to me.
"Get dressed, let's go down to the beach. Haz can meet us there." He says.
I look out the window, my face falling with disappointment.
"I don't think we're going to the beach." I mutter.
"What why-" he looks out the window, his face falling now too. "Since when does it rain in LA?!"
"Apparently since we arrived." I sigh.
He looks me up and down, then back outside.
"You look warm enough, come on." He says.
"What?"
"We're going to the beach." He states.
"Tom it's literally raining." I giggle.
"Come on, let's make a memory." He encourages, and holds out his hand.
I take it, and stand from the bed. We walk out of the hotel, pulling our hoods over our heads and run across the street to the beach. No one is here, probably because they're not dumb like us going out in the rain. Although the sun is still shining, and it's not nearly as cold as it is in London when it rains.
The waves are big, and they crash towards us quickly. Tom wraps his hands around my waist, lifting me quickly so the water doesn't hit my feet. I giggle, wrapping my arms around his neck and my cheek presses to his.
"You saved me!" I over dramatically say.
He sets me down, but doesn't remove his arms from around my waist. I feel raindrops hit my skin as I look up to him, appreciating the smile that rests on his face. His hand moves up to cradle my face, his thumb gliding over my cheek.
"Oh my god!" I squeal, jumping away as a wave crashes into our legs, ruining the moment.
We run away from the water, and the rain starts to pour even harder.
"We should go back." He says.
"No wait!" I say. "How many people can say they went to the beach in LA while it was raining? Come on. We're making memories remember?"
"Can't we make memories in our warm dry hotel room?" He asks, and I cave.
"Yeah fine let's go!" I say, grabbing his hand and running off the beach.
We make our way back to the hotel as quickly as possible, and get a few dirty looks for walking inside all wet. I don't care though, and I really doubt Tom cares either.
We go up to our room, and I go to grab the bottle of champagne to take a drink before getting in the shower.
Tom takes the bottle from my hand, setting it down.
"You don't need more alcohol." He says.
"You can't tell me what to do." I mutter in annoyance.
"Don't you ever just obey?" He asks.
"It's not in my nature." I state.
He grabs my face with one hand, his grip making my cheeks squish together. He tilts my head up to meet his gaze.
"Please don't drink anything. Okay?" He says.
"Okay." I say.
"Well would you look at that." He smirks. "She does listen. Good girl."
The way he called me good girl makes butterflies erupt in my stomach. I don't know why his approval affects me so much, but his approval is something I unconsciously look for.
"I like that." I say quietly.
I notice his whole demeanor change, and he leans his face down, getting closer to mine.
"Well maybe if you behaved more often you'd be called a good girl more." He says lowly, then let's go of my face to walk away.
I didn't want that moment to end, but I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't.