Chapter Thirteen

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Harry

The minute we're greeted by the bouncer at L'Arc, I know that things between Jet and I are going to get even weirder. We're in this awkward wasteland between friends and enemies, the slightest change in circumstance pushing us over the boundary to the other side in the blink of an eye, only for us to be swung back to the other side in the next breath. It's like a Newton's cradle, teetering back and forth, and following the events in the bathroom, we're just narrowly over the boundary to acquaintances. Witnessing Jet's reaction to the bouncer, and the uneasiness I feel about his attitude towards her, may just shove us back over to square one.

He's a tall guy, well over six foot with a chiselled jawline, broad shoulders and ashy blonde hair, with stubble in the same shade scattered over the lower half of his face. He nods at me, already knowing who I am but I can't help but notice the way he licks his bottom lip as Jet approaches him and he lets her through the red, velvet rope to the VIP section. She thanks him with a giggle, a blush creeping into her cheeks as he winks at her. I follow the trail of his gaze to her arse as she walks into the club, unaware that he's still watching her as Niall hooks an arm through hers and leads her to the bar. I give him a hard stare, my body stiffening until Hazel appears next to me and threads her fingers through mine possessively. She's hot, but she's becoming overly clingy and I don't do commitment. I'm going to have to shake her off.

The rest of the party slip through the rope and begin to head towards the bar. The older ones have sloped off to bed, leaving the rest of us to let loose before the real hard work begins in the morning. It's just gone eleven, and I'm not looking forward to the early start, but I don't care about that right now. All I care about is getting as drunk as possible and making sure Jet stays well away from that creep on the door. Preston will slaughter me otherwise.

The club is luxurious, with wooden booths laid out all over the room, each seat adorned with a leather exterior, a marble topped table situated in the middle of the circular seating arrangements. The rest of the band have spread out across two tables, with Zayn and Liam on one table with Lou, and Louis and Niall on another with Jet and a few more of the entourage. Hazel slides herself into the booth next to Jet, deciding that she will speak to her tonight after all. It's been clear all evening that she's got an issue with Jet, and I'm cautious that the sudden change in mood means trouble. 

I lean over to Hazel and ask what she'd like to drink, unable to hear over the loud music. She leans up to me, wrapping her arm around my neck as she whispers "dirty martini please baby," in my ear before crashing her lips to mine and shoving her tongue down my throat. I'm taken aback and stumble slightly as the team cheers around us. Jet looks away immediately, keeping her eyes fixated on the table in front of her as I desperately but discreetly attempt to push Hazel off. What kind of game is she playing?

Eventually, she lets go and I swiftly make my way to the bar, ordering two neat, double whiskeys, a dirty martini and a double fireball and diet coke. I pay the bartender and leave my card behind the bar. I polish off a double whiskey before carrying the other three drinks over to the booth. I slide them onto the table, giving Hazel hers first which she grabs immediately.

"For you," I state as I slide the cinnamon liquor over to Jet and looks puzzled.

"For me?"

"For you," I repeat with a smile.

"Thanks Harry."

I shrug and settle into place in the booth, my drink in my left hand and my right arm stretched out along the top of the both behind Hazel, who nuzzles into me.

"Are we going out tomorrow then Jet?"

"I will be, I'm not sure you'll make it, you're hammered."

"I'll be fine. I need you to take my picture in front of the Eiffel Tower."

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