This Love

Prologue

SCARLETT PARKER

Two Years Ago

"Just one more, I swear, just one," I hold my finger up to Harry's lips, which only makes him laugh as he pushes my hand away.

"You said that like six shots ago," he hiccups. "We're both fuckin' wasted, Scar."

"I know, but it's so fun this way," I wrap my arms tight around his neck, standing on my toes so that the tips of our noses are almost touching.

As he debates his answer, he just barely cocks his head to the side to kiss me, and it's my favorite kind of kiss from him. It's sloppy and wet, and he's drunk enough that he doesn't care who's watching when he laps his tongue over mine and holds the back of my head to keep me in place. All I taste is whiskey on him, and I feel like I can't get enough of it even as I practically shove my tongue down his throat in return.

"One more," he agrees, speaking over my lips before I kiss him again.

"I think we should have sex here," I start dragging my hand down his chest in the middle of the crowded club, feeling his throat bob under my lips as he swallows and catches my wrist with a more forced laugh.

"I think you need to have your one last shot so that we can leave and do that at my place, in private," he counters, and although it's not as fun of an offer, I agree and let him start guiding me back to the bar with his hands on my hips in my denim shorts.

"Two more tequila shots, please," I sweetly ask the bartender, grinning like an idiot as Harry presses himself up against me from behind. He's always the most needy when he's drunk, and that's exactly how I prefer him.

"What are we toasting to this time?" He holds his glass up to mine.

"Crazy drunk sex," I clink my little glass to his to make him spill, which forces both of us to start laughing as we swallow the liquor that we most certainly didn't need.

"Let's go," he drops his glass on the bar. "Now."

After I quickly close our tab, he once again herds me toward the exit despite my attempt to keep dancing to the nauseating club music. I keep tripping over my own feet as a result, making Harry laugh as he stumbles to catch me every time. But then we make it out to the sidewalk, and I can feel the cool summer breeze start to dry the sweat on the back of my neck.

While Harry tries to hail us an Uber, my lips are glued to his neck and my hand keeps trying to fight its way down into his jeans. He tries to remind me that there are people everywhere, and I try to remind him that I don't care as I force his hand into the back pocket of my shorts. He squeezes all on his own, bringing a smirk to my lips as I inspect the purple mark on his throat.

We quite literally fall into the backseat of the car together, and Harry has to put on my seatbelt for me while we start on our way back to his flat. Even then, I can't sit still, and I hate the restriction of the belt across my chest every time I try to turn and climb into his lap.

"Scarlett, stop," he laughs in my ear as I grunt and try to straddle him somehow.

"You're no fun," I huff and give up on trying to fight the seatbelt, passively thinking that I could use some water when I swallow with a dry throat and sandpaper tongue.

I think our driver is fed up with all my giggling and loud talking by the time he drops us off outside of the flat, seeing as he doesn't even say goodnight to us while Harry helps me out of the backseat.

"What a fucking asshole," I give the back of the car my middle finger as it speeds away. "Don't be a fucking Uber driver in London at 2 AM on a Saturday if you don't wanna deal with fucking drunk people, idiot."