Ninas London (One Direction fanfic)

Chapter 37

Extra long chapter for my extra special readers (; MWAH!

-Nina

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Our pinkies stay wrapped until a tri-tone beep comes from Harry's back pocket. He sighs and pulls away, taking out a black iPhone with a bulky case.

"Wait," I say. "I thought-"

"It's Paul's," Harry tells me quickly. "He let me borrow his while I'm up here. He's texting from Preston's phone in the lobby. And apparently..." he checks the screen. "He wants me down in two. Meeting tonight at nine."

I sigh and hop off the bed, stretching out my legs. Harry slides off too and heads toward the door, me close behind. "I'll take you down," I tell him as he reaches for the knob. He smiles his godly smile at me and swings the door open, but a hunched Caitlin falls at his legs.

"I, uh," Caitlin stutters as she scrambles up. She adjusts her shirt and fixes her hair, pretending to yawn. "Dropped a quarter."

Harry stifles laughter. "Did you find it?" he asks cheekily.

"Yes Harry it is in my pocket."

I roll my eyes and usher Caitlin into the bedroom. "I'm taking Harry back to the lobby," I tell her. "Get some ice on that ear, it's a little red from being pressed against the door." She flips me up on my way out and I just laugh.

"So. Meeting," I say casually once we're alone in the hallway. The first step in forgiveness is ignorance of the past, so I immediately start my baby steps towards forgetting what happened. "About the tour, I'm guessing?"

Harry nods, groaning. "We don't even talk in them that much," he complains. "Louis and I just play noughts and crosses the whole time. And sometimes we slingshot stuff or take pictures of people making weird faces." He flashes an impressive derp face and I crack up.

"Yes because I'm sure that's how the management guys look," I say, laughing. Paul's phone beeps again and Harry ignores it. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbles, hitting the elevator button. We both step in and wait for the lobby.

Harry and I. Alone. In a six-by-six foot enclosure.

That's hot.

"Sorry again about your phone," I say, wiping my sweaty palms on my butt. Harry is leaning against the back wall and I'm on a side one, a few feet away but not too repulsively far. He makes the stupid mistake of shaking out his hair and sweeping it to the side, causing my cheeks to warm up and tingles to rush down my spine again.

"No big deal," he smiles, swatting the air. "I still have my computer. I'll live for a week."

"That's good," I reply casually, swatting the air back. Except by accident my fingers brush against his arm, and l rapidly pull away. Dear god, that's literally the creepiest thing you can do. Now I'm forever diagnosed as an arm stroker and our mended friendship is surely to be wounded.

Then Harry swats me back, a little harder, pulling at my cardigan. I gape my mouth in mock offense and swat him, except it's more of a slap.

"Hey!" he cries, rubbing his arm but smiling. "You struck me."

"You struck me first!" I giggle. "And that so did not hurt."

Harry immediately drops his arm and stuffs his hands in his pockets. Doing that always makes his torso look thirty feet long. "Course it didn't," he replies, his voice a little deeper. "You hit like a girl anyways."