Matrimony Homies

34: The Stripper (Harry)

As soon as she opens the door to me, I cup her cheeks in my hands and lower my clean-shaven face to hers, pressing my lips to hers and begging for entry immediately. She obliges, but only enough that I can taste the wine on her tongue before she closes her lips to me and backs away.

"Lor?" I blink, worried that something has changed since we've seen each other in person.

"Get in here," she whispers, wrapping her hand in my shirt and yanking me inside her flat. Before she closes the door, she glances both ways in the hall.

"What?" I ask.

"I think someone has been following me."

Loren's never been prone to paranoia, so I freeze, tilting my head to examine her. "Since when?"

She shuffles her bare feet on the carpet. "It started at your mum's house last weekend when we went to visit for Chloe's birthday. When I left, I thought someone drove behind me most of the way back to Manchester, but the traffic was busy, so I might have imagined it."

"Except..."

"I've seen the same car and the same guy way too frequently for my comfort."

My jaw clenches, and I can feel my teeth grinding. "A reporter? Or worse?"

Her eyes widen. "There's something worse than a reporter?"

Fair point. "Why didn't you say something? I mean, we've talked on the phone and FaceTime every night since then."

"The best late night talking," she grins before she crosses her arms and pops her hip to glare at me. "And are you saying you wouldn't have jumped in the car and driven up here immediately to check on me?"

"Well, yeah. Of course I would have!"

"Which would have just confirmed what this creep already suspects."

I pace off a rectangle in her flat, my feet carrying me back and forth over the same ground multiple times as I wear a path on the wood floors. "I don't like this."

Cautiously, as though I'm a crocodile about to bite Captain Hook, she places her hand on my arm. "Dork? It's fine. We've had paps follow us before – Gemma and I, I mean. He's not approached me. It's more that I didn't think we wanted photos of us being affectionate before we talked to Gems and Anne.

She's wrong. It's not 'fine'. I want to smash something. Why can't I have any private moments in my life?

"Hey." Her voice is soft, as though she's trying to calm an enraged tiger – and maybe she is. Placing her hand tenderly on my arm, she reassures me. "Listen, we don't have to change anything. We're planning your sister's wedding. It's just that – in public – we can't express any intimacy."

Contemplating her words, I take a deep breath. She's right. It's not anything out of the norm. But the fact that he's followed her all week — it just sucks. And I tell her so.

A deep sigh escapes her lips. "I know it does, H. But I also have known it's part of being in your life since your jump to fame. We just have to be careful, that's all." She tugs on my sleeve. "Come help me make dinner. That will calm you."

"Humph." My lower lip protrudes. "I don't even get to treat my girlfriend to dinner out?"

She pauses, one foot lifted until she sets it down gingerly. "Girlfriend?" Her head tilts in my direction as she tries on the word, and I instantly feel anxious. We haven't discussed this in our phone conversations during our physical separation. Instead, we've talked about the best toppings for pizza and how many pennies it would take to fill Mum's living room or even deep conversations about our spiritual and religious beliefs. But neither of us brought up this particular topic.