Yours - Larry

5

Thursday and Friday are gone in a moment. Harry promised he'd paint me, but we haven't gotten around to it yet. We've moved on from our conversation on Wednesday evening, words blanked out and emotions pushed away. But now he's watching me get into my suit, black on black as I match his in every way, except my ankles are showing—Harry seems very interested in that part.

"You're gonna need to wear your vans."

"Figured as much since we never bought proper ones."

He grins, crossing his arms as he gives me a once-over. "Are you ready?"

"Almost," I say. "Do you suppose I can bend over and not rip my pants?"

"Are you planning on bending over?"

I suppress a grin as well as a cheeky comment. "Do you want me in my vans or not?"

"Sit," he says, picking up my vans as I comply. "Your pants are not gonna rip."

"They're not very easy to move in."

"You've only been wearing them a minute," he says, loosening my laces so he can bring my bare foot into my shoe. "They're good on you in case that helps."

"Surely," I say, noticing his lingering hand on my ankle. "Aren't you gonna tell me how you want me to act?"

"No," he says, tying my laces so he can continue onto my right one. "You're only gonna pretend we're getting married. You're not gonna pretend you're someone you're not."

"I assume you're not gonna want me to parade around my work as an escort?"

"Well, no. That'd ruin our cover."

"When did we meet? How did we meet?"

"I'm gonna improvise."

"You're gonna improvise? What am I gonna say in case we get separated and someone questions me?"

He ties my laces and moves his hand up my calf. "We're not gonna get separated."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

I stand up again, cheeks warming as Harry remains crouched. He tugs on my pants, ensuring they're straight so he can stand up as well. There's barely an inch between us when I look up.

"Are we going?"

"Yes," he says, stepping away. "Any car preference?"

"I enjoy your topless ones."

"Topless ones," he repeats. "You're so sweet."

I ignore my blushing as I'm led away so we can head out. My eyes are on his hands once we're on our way, rings nice as my mind wanders again. I've never paid much attention to anyone's hands, but Harry's... I want his fingers in my mouth.

"I was wondering," I say, pausing as he momentarily glances at me. "When are you gonna kiss me? Just so I'm not surprised?"

"I'm not."

"You're not?"

"No. If you wanna kiss me, you can and you may."

"I see."

"Anyway," he continues, "Liam and Zayn agreed to pretend you've met previously. Most of my coworkers are married—hence everyone's urge to come at me because I'm not—but everyone is very sweet. Except Noel. Even my boss is nice, though I eventually want my own business."

"Your own business?" 

"Yes. Not yet, but... at some point."

"I can imagine that," I say, pondering a moment. "Do you suppose we've merely met in England? I assume you're not gonna pretend I'm American."