The Love Club

Twenty-Nine

The sun is warm on my face. After a few moments of becoming accustomed to the sunlight slanting in through the windows, I force my eyes open and glance around the room. I'm facing the double glass doors of Harry's room, the curtains partially drawn. Beyond the glass is the narrow wooden walkway that runs the permiter of the house, and below that, a sparkling pool. 

The clock on his bedside table reads 7:15 a.m., so I know the sun is a new development. It's probably what startled me awake, the slow and steady beams focused on my skin. I raise a hand to my cheeks and feel the responding heat, know that it probably has a red tint to it, but I don't really care.

Waking in Harry's arms is quickly becoming one of my favorite things about this arrangement we have going here. His warmth pressed to my back, the soft grunts he lets out when I twist in his arms, not quite awake but not fully asleep either. I sling an arm over his bare torso and rest my cheek on his shoulder. His arm circles me, hand resting at my hip. I can feel the calloused pads of his fingers at the places they press to bare skin and I find myself smiling into his arm.

"Freak," he mumbles good-naturedly in response, but I don't care. I feel happy. I know he must, too, because despite how tightly his eyes are closed, and the long, drawn out inhale he takes as he shifts in the sheets, he's smirking. 

His body rolls toward me and I let out a yelp as he tugs me in his direction, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. I laugh because that's what I do when things are so good I can't wrap my mind around them. Harry matches my giggle with a chuckle of his own, and I press my mouth to the place above his heart because it's the closest to me. 

"I have a meeting," Harry sighs, dispiritedly.

"Yeah, but then you and I get to leave this god-forsaken house and have some fun," I reply, the words muffled slightly by his skin still pressed against my mouth. 

Harry sighs again in a different way and I frown. I can't help the furrow of my brows as he moves onto his back and runs a hand over his face. I prop myself up on his chest, arms folded with my chin resting on my forearms. 

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he answers. "I'm just tired. It's fine."

"What?" I demand, a bit more forcefully this time, and Harry snarls. 

"If I tell you, you'll be mad at me," he replies, and I sit up, running a hand through my hair. Harry peeks at me between his fingers and his frown deepens.

"You're still worried about going out," I say monotonously. When he doesn't respond, I throw the duvet off my body and twist so my feet find purchase on the ground. My previous good mood has been ruined by this six word realization. I didn't know anger could surge so strongly in my veins before morning coffee. Above all, I'm bitter he's taken something good and made it bitter.

"Where are you going?" Harry asks, clearly disgruntled. 

"We were having such a nice moment, you and I. Do you have to go and ruin it?" I mumble as I stand. I don't have time to even take a step before his hands clasp around my wrists and tug me back in the direction of the bed. It's probably because it's early and his muscles are still relaxed, but I find I'm able to withstand it.