The Love Club

Twenty-Four

I haven’t been asleep for quite a while when a knocking sounds at my door. Rolled up in covers, hair all over the place, I’ve been missing Gatsby’s cuddles and going through a mental checklist of things I need to remember to pack in my bag before we head to Cheshire this afternoon. Thoughtlessly, I mutter a come in, which only strikes me as possibly a bad idea when it’s Harry who pokes his head in, hair pulled up in a bun and clad in a form-fitting tee shirt and running shorts. I sort of want to die. 

I pull the blankets over my head and mumble something incoherently at the sight of him. He chuckles good naturedly and crosses the room to sit at the foot of my bed and tug at the duvet. I hold steadfast.

“Minaaaaa,” he whines, and I wonder how someone with such a fantastic voice can have such an annoying tone when he really wants it. “Come on a run with me.”

I snort, which should be answer enough. He finally gets impatient with my hiding and gives the comforter a hearty jerk, unveiling my face and hair in all its un-make-up-ed, static-y glory. I think the noise I make sounds akin to a dying bear as I scramble for a pillow to throw over myself.

“Minaaaaa,” he drawls, his voice rich as he moves further up on the bed, leaning on one arm as he uses the other to try to wrestle the pillow from my grasp. 

“Go away,” I reply. 

“Come with me,” he retorts.

“You literally could not pay me.”

I’m not sure if he hears me at all because my words are muffled by the pillowcase. Eventually his strenth wins out and he chucks the pillow across the room before casually resting his head on his hand, peering down at me like a GQ model. Now that the pillow is gone, I’m at a loss as to what I can use to suffocate myself with now. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask earnestly.

His brows draw together in confusion. “Doing what?”

“I look like a skinned cat. I’m not ready for viewing yet.”

Harry throws his head back and laughs that crinkle-eyed laugh I love so much. When he’s done cackling, he looks down at me with that wicked grin of his, all dimple-y and bright. I wonder what sharp objects I have laying around. 

“Sweetie,” he says softly in a gesture that has my heart fluttering until I realize he’s actually being an ass on purpose. “Darling, sugarplum,” he continues to list off. I scowl and he tries to supress his laughter. “Babycakes, I never wear make-up around you,” he reasons. 

“Get out,” I tell him, reaching out to give him a firm shove on the shoulder. He doesn’t move an inch. “Get the fuck out.”

He’s still so pleased with himself as he settles into the bed beside me, laughing and wiping at his eyes. It’s early even for him, but he’s still here trying to pull me up with him. There’s no way in hell I’m allowing myself to be persuaded into a run. I’m probably the least athletic human on this planet, and furthermore one of the clumsiest. I don’t know where he’s got the notion that he can just talk me into whatever he wants me to do.

Oh, wait. It’s probably because he’s so good at talking me into doing whatever it is he wants me to do. 

I should maybe work on that. Starting now.

“You can show me your town,” he reasons, looking over at me with those sleepy green eyes. 

“I already did,” I respond.

“Not all of it,” he frowns.

“The important bits.”

“It’s not even that warm out today. It’s really breezy and there are clouds.”