Reckless {HS}

seventeen

Delilah's Pov

It was pointless. No matter what I did, I couldn't get him out of my head. Those green eyes, the way he said my name... it was like he'd taken up residence in my mind, refusing to leave. I hated it. I hated that someone like him, who I barely knew—no, someone I shouldn't know—was haunting my thoughts.

I needed a distraction, something—someone—to get my mind off of Harry. Maybe if I drowned myself in music, in alcohol, in some guy's charming smile, I'd finally forget about him, at least for tonight. I texted a few of my friends, hoping someone would be up for going out, but one by one, they all flaked. Too busy, too tired, whatever.

Fine. I didn't need anyone else. I could go out on my own.

So, I went. I didn't even know where I was headed until I found myself at some random club, but it didn't matter. I was here to forget. The music was pounding, the lights flashing, and soon enough, the drinks were flowing. I drank more than I should've—definitely more than I should've—but I didn't care. I let the buzz wash over me, numbing my mind, making everything blur.

It felt good to be reckless for once, to stop thinking and just move. My body swayed with the rhythm, my mind shutting off, my hips moving to the beat. I didn't care who was watching or what they thought. For the first time in days, I wasn't thinking about him.

Until someone's hands slid around my waist from behind.

I froze for a second, startled by the unexpected contact, but when I turned to look, I saw some guy standing there, smiling down at me. He wasn't Harry—thank God—but he was kind of cute. Dark hair, nice smile, not too bad. And more importantly, he wasn't the one haunting my thoughts. Maybe he'd be the distraction I needed.

So, I let myself lean into him, feeling the warmth of his hands on my hips, and we kept dancing. It was innocent enough—just a little fun, right? The music was loud, my head was spinning from the drinks, and for a few moments, I managed to lose myself in it all.

But then, out of nowhere, I felt someone yank me back, and suddenly the warmth of the stranger's hands was replaced by a firm grip on my wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" a low voice growled.

I turned, half-drunk and confused, to see Harry standing there, his eyes dark and stormy as he glared at the guy I'd been dancing with.

"Get your hands off of her," he said through clenched teeth.

The guy took one look at Harry—tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly pissed—and backed off without another word. My head was spinning, partly from the alcohol and partly from the shock of seeing him here.

"What the hell, Harry?" I slurred, yanking my arm out of his grip as he started dragging me back across the dance floor. "I was fine."

"You were not fine," he said sharply, pulling me along despite my protests. "You're way too intoxicated to be with strange men right now."

"Oh, really?" I shot back, stumbling as I tried to keep up with his long strides. "Well, you're a strange man, so according to you, I shouldn't be with you right now either."

He stopped in his tracks, turning to look at me with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I'm not that kind of stranger."

I glared at him, but the alcohol must've hit me harder than I realized, because instead of being mad, I found myself distracted by his stupid dimples. They deepened when he smiled like that, and before I could stop myself, I reached up and poked one of his cheeks.

"Aww, you have dimples," I said, my words slurring together as I poked him again.

He quickly wiped the smile off his face, but I saw it—the brief flash of amusement in his eyes, the way his lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh.

"You're drunk," he muttered, half-smiling despite himself.

"Nooo," I protested, though my head was spinning and I wasn't entirely sure what was happening anymore. "You're just mad 'cause you know I'm right."

By the time we reached the booth, I could barely keep myself standing. Harry had one arm around my waist, half carrying me as I fought to stay upright. When we got to the round booth in the corner, I finally saw them—the rest of the boys, all sitting there with wide, confused eyes, watching as Harry practically dropped me into the seat beside him.

"What's going on?" Niall asked, looking between us like he'd missed an entire chapter.

Liam raised an eyebrow. "Who's this?"

"None of your business," Harry snapped, shooting them both a warning look. I couldn't help but notice the way his grip tightened on my arm, like he was afraid I'd bolt if he let go.

I crossed my arms, glaring at him, still annoyed that he'd dragged me away from the cute guy on the dance floor. "You didn't have to do that, you know," I muttered, still half-drunk, but feeling stubborn. "I was fine."

Harry turned to me, his eyes serious. "You weren't fine. Trust me."

I scoffed, turning away from him, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting. Part of me wanted to fight him, to argue, to tell him he had no right to interfere with my life like that. But another part of me—the part that was still trying to figure him out—wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was right.