CAMDEN KENT
My favorite birthday to date had to have been my eighteenth. Nothing particularly special happened, but eighteen meant high school graduation, and it meant that I would no longer be living with my parents. Eighteen promised me the gift of freedom, which is exactly what I received.
I swore to Harry that I quite literally expected nothing for my birthday, just like all the years before, but that information clearly went in one ear and out the other when he threw me a massive party at his place to ring in my birthday at midnight as if it were New Year's Eve or something.
It probably should have felt like the frat birthday I had with Brandon, seeing as I didn't know any of those people, but Harry made all the difference. Rather than leaving me to go play beer pong or to yell like a moron while he helped another girl do a keg stand, he had his arm draped lazily over my shoulder to make sure we were connected at all times.
I got to be a part of his conversations, and he was a part of mine. If my glass was empty, he'd take me over to the counter to personally make me a new one. He barely even let me go to the bathroom by myself, and just about every twenty minutes he would double-check to make sure I was still having fun.
Maybe the most ironic thing about it was that Harry was never supposed to care about all of that. Brandon made me empty promises left and right like the boyfriend that he was to me, but from day one Harry was very transparent that all he wanted was sex from me, just like I wanted that from him.
And now we were here.
The very specific scent of coffee pulled me out of what had to be one of the best nights of sleep I've ever had, along with the sensation of the bed dipping down by the foot of it. I regrettably opened one eye to see Harry kneeling on the mattress with a white paper bag and coffee to-go cup plate in hand, freezing in place as we made eye contact. He was the first to laugh.
"I thought you were dead," he mumbled in his deeper morning voice.
My laugh came out just as hoarse as I cozied myself further under the duvet, watching him reach into the bag to reveal something round covered in aluminum foil. "I know that's not what I think it is because if it's what I think it is, you drove all the way down to my street for a bagel and coffee."
Happy to be found guilty, he smiled and sat as close to me as he could manage. "Yeah, but it's not just any bagel and coffee. It's your favorite bagel and coffee from your favorite shop."
I gave him a tired smile of my own as I forced myself to sit up against his side. resting my cheek on his shoulder while he unwrapped the sandwich. The cheese was still melted and oozing out over the strips of bacon, and the plain bagel was still glistening with butter.
"How's the hangover?" He asked, holding the bagel up for me to take a bite.
I shook my head. "Not bad. Just tired."
"Yeah, I guess I did wear you out, huh?"
Naturally, I rolled my eyes at his little smirk as I chewed on one side of my mouth. "You did alright."
And naturally, he scoffed in offense. "Yeah sure, if you consider three orgasms to be just alright."
I laughed as he went from so sweet to so defensive in a matter of seconds, accepting the coffee cup from him next. He remembered that I liked the salted caramel flavor with extra whipped cream. "What if I told you I was faking it with you the whole time? What would you do?"
"I wouldn't believe you," he answered confidently as he tucked my hair away behind my ear. "You already told me that you'd be damned before you gave a man the satisfaction of thinking he gave you an orgasm if he didn't really."
