Right Down The Line

5

Harry's POV:

Waking up to the familiar pounding in my head and hot dryness in my throat, I pinched my closed eyes tighter together and buried the side of my head into the pillow I rested on.

After a couple of slow breaths in and out, the quiet lavender scent made its way to my brain and I blinked my eyes open to a blurry image of the many trinkets on Bee's wall. Blinking a couple more times, I focused on the colorful pieces that adorned the wall, taking in the familiarity of this room that I hadn't seen in so long.

I stayed where I was, my hangover willing me not to move a muscle, and looked around the room as I tried to piece together how I got here and all that had happened.

I inhaled sharply when I saw Bee's polka dotted skirt lying on the floor, and I held my breath when my eyes then found the black shirt she'd worn at her office. And just a couple feet away, a bra was sprawled over the railing of her narrow staircase.

Feeling sweat accumulate on my upper lip and starting to panic, I whipped off the warm blanket and felt some relief when I saw my hoodie and jeans still on my body. Kicking the blanket off my legs with my feet, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. Bee's LED lights were still there, lining the perimeter of the ceiling. 

I ran my hands through my hair and felt my elbow touch something. Reaching blindly behind my head on the arm rest of the couch, I picked up Bee's notebook. Her handwriting filled the page that it was open to. I held it up for a moment with eyebrows raised, staying completely still and listening for any sign of Bee before I bent my legs and brought the notebook to rest on my thighs. I reached my arm behind myself again, trying to find the light switch on the lamp that I knew was there. My tongue poked out between my teeth as I managed to find it and switch the light on, brightening up the dim room.

My eyes scanned over the page, then I flipped through several other pages, seeing loads of scribbled notes all about me. I was tempted to read it all, but every time I'd let myself read two words, I'd stop and go to a different note. It felt wrong to invade her space.

The faint sound of a key in a lock snapped my eyes toward the kitchen, and I quickly put the notebook back on the armrest where I found it. Noticing the glass of water on the table next to me, I reached for it and then placed a hand on the back of my head, taking a deep breath to appear composed as I rested the glass in my hand on top of my jeans.

A few seconds later, I heard the door open and some movement on the floor, and then Bee appeared with a brown paper bag in her hand. 

Her hair was down and wavy, tucked behind her ears. She wore a blue sweater dress with a high neckline. The cotton fabric ended just above the knee, comfortably resting on her body without accentuating any part of her figure besides her exposed calves, and when she turned to place the bag on the counter, her dress shifted so the very bottoms of her thighs made a fleeting appearance. She wore thick purple socks that went up over her ankles.

"You're awake," she said absentmindedly as she emptied the contents of the bag. She turned toward me. "You still like fish tacos?"

My stomach turned immediately at the mention of food, let alone fish. I took a gulp of water before I answered, "Generally, yes. Not so much now." I looked past her and nodded toward the counter. "That bourbon looks good, though."

She looked at me and I prepared myself for whatever backhanded comment she was very obviously thinking, but instead she pursed her lips and turned on her heel to the cabinet. She reached up to grab two glasses, her dress rising a couple of inches. Then she grabbed the bottle of bourbon and walked toward me.

I raised my brows. "Nothing to say?"

She just smiled softly as she placed it all down on the table and said, "Nope. It's 3 o'clock on a Friday, I'm ready for a drink."