PULSE [H.S]

090

"Flirting is the art of keeping intimacy at a safe distance." — Alan Rickman

The world was built for tall people.

I've been convinced of that fact since I was little. It's not short-person friendly. Grocery stores have shelves that are too high, and chairs are made so that short legs can't reach the ground. I want to be a tall person.

I'm struggling to reach the cereal box in the cabinet above the fridge. I'm not sure why Harry would even put it there since he doesn't eat it, and it's the hardest cabinet to get to. Even on my tippy toes, it's just out of reach.

I feel a hand on my waist as Harry appears next to me and grabs the cereal box for me with ease. His hand paralyzes me, and the feeling of his touch on my body makes my knees weak.

It was an innocent action, done solely out of habit on Harry's part, but it takes me by surprise. I haven't felt his touch in a long time, and he is so close to me as he reaches up and gets the box. It sends butterflies shooting through my stomach.

"Here," his deep voice says, close to my ear. He pauses, and his body stiffens immediately after his hand leaves my body and he realizes he was touching me. He takes a few steps away from me and says, "Sorry."

I look over at him as I hold the cereal box in my hand. His face is full of worry, like he's scared I'm about to flip out on him or something.

I grab the milk from the fridge and say, "It's okay, thanks."

He nods, staring at me for a moment. The last week has been full of moments like that, as we are both trying our best to tiptoe around each other. It's a little awkward, like when I first started staying here and didn't know how to act around him.

The other day, I accidentally walked into his room out of habit, and he was changing his pants at the time. He yelled at me for being a peeping tom. We both laughed about it, but it's little things like that that remind me of how easy it was to fall for him.

I make myself a bowl of cereal and sit at the island to eat it. Harry starts making some eggs for himself on the stove, and I silently watch him cook.

He asks me, "I have to go somewhere three hours away today to do something. Do you want to go on a road trip?"

He's asking me to spend over six hours alone in a car with him today. It sounds like a terrible idea, considering I could barely handle driving to the gym with him last week.

I say, "Sure."

He smiles and says we should leave in around thirty minutes. I start to get a little nervous as I think about the amount of time we are about to spend together. What are we even going to talk about?

Thirty minutes later, I'm sitting in the passenger's seat of his car as we speed down the freeway. I love being a passenger. It's so peaceful to be able to just take in the views without having to focus on the road.

Harry once told me that he hates being a passenger because he has no control. I remember telling him that he's a control freak and that he needs to learn how to loosen up. It's still true.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, loosely gripping the top of it. His other hand is resting on the center console, with his hand hanging off the end of it. His arm tattoos are on full display as he wears just a plain black t-shirt. I look at the veins on his forearms that slightly protrude from his skin.

What never fails to impress me are his hands and how attractive they are. His smooth skin, calloused knuckles, and metal rings just make me melt. It doesn't help that I know just what those hands are capable of doing, and how they make me feel.