Heartbreaker [h.s.]

Chapter Twelve

Shots glasses full of warm tequila are raised in the air above our heads. I'm squished between Stephen and Harry, Niall and Louis facing me from the other direction of the huddle we're in. I can feel the burn of Harry's eyes as his sideways glance down to me penetrates through, down to my bones. My face flushes with color, even as I try to ignore it.

"Harry, you wanna take it from here?" Stephen asks after droning on for five minutes about how proud he is of us and how we're going to kick ass on that stage out tonight.

"Uh, yeah," he grumbles, removing his gaze from me. Clearing his throat and pushing some hair back, he says, "To a fucking fantastic first show and many more to come!"

The clinking of glasses echoes throughout the dressing room, followed by a few gags or two from the shot (one of them being me). The liquid slips down my throat, lukewarm and god-awful. Not even a slice of lime to chase it down with, just straight, shitty tequila that Louis picked up on his way over here. Not that I expected anything else from him.

Once the burning of my throat has traveled down to my chest, I bring my eyes up. "Poor Charlotte, was that not to your liking?" Harry says to me, a fake pout on his lips.

"If by my 'liking'," I mimic his voice, "you mean, something chilled and costing more than $20, then yeah, it was not up to my liking."

He smirks, which has me readying myself for whatever remark he's about to spew out of his perfect pink lips. I know him well enough by now to know it's coming. "If you want me to stop calling you princess, then maybe stop saying shit like that. It's not helping your case at all."

"Sorry I have standards," I state over my shoulder as I saunter over to the leather couch that my tote bag is thrown on, looking for the red lipstick that I know I threw in there on my way out the door.

He moves behind me, a shadow that hovers over my left side. His voice low so that only I can hear, "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

I roll my eyes, not sure if he can even see it, but it's practically involuntary now whenever he opens his mouth. "You are a slip in those standards, okay?" I whisper.

"I am a slip in your standards? As in present tense?" He huffs out a small laugh. "I thought we were done after round two. But, if you wanna go again, I wouldn't be opposed, as long as I get a taste this time."

His proximity has my body fluttering as the intrusive thought of what his tongue could do to me whirls around my head. Fuck. My body and my brain need to get on the same page—that Harry is a bad idea. "You were a slip in my standards. Because there will not be a next time," I tell him with as much conviction I can muster, my voice remaining hushed.

"Whatever you say, princess," he replies, grabbing the joint from behind his ear and fishing through his pocket for a lighter, but coming up short. My hand already digging through my bag, I grab mine and present it to him with a tight-lipped smile.