heart tattoo (harry styles)

one

A brisk breeze whips my hair into a cascading wave behind my back, as my hands struggle to tie the frazzled rope into a secure knot.

A groan of frustration slips out of my mouth and I forcefully fling the rope down to the bottom of the boat. My sore fingers aggressively rake through my hair that is now extremely tangled from the brisk summer breeze.

"This is impossible!"

"Calm down. It will work eventually," comes the deep, raspy English accent from behind me on the far too cramped sail boat.

I whip around and flash him an angry expression. "Then do it yourself!" My hands shove the tangle of rope towards his body, causing him to jump in surprise

The messy-haired boy reluctantly rises from his comfortable position at the back of the boat and tugs at the rope. His large hands knot it with ease and attach the end securely to the large bar supporting the sail.

He lays his slender body down onto the creaky plastic seat, allowing his arms to rest behind his thick head of curls. A smirk plays of his lips as his tongue casually clicks against the roof of his mouth.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I groan. "How did you possibly do that?"

He shrugs his broad shoulders and grins deviously.

This irritating boy is trying to show me up. Sure, sailing isn't exactly my thing, but I was confident that I would be capable of succeeding in it. Of course I had to be paired with this ignorant fool of a counselor, with too many tattoos, as my partner for sailing. He is completely throwing me off, just laying there, soaking up the rays of the sun. He should instead be focusing on the fact that we are out in the middle of this massive lake, still struggling to raise our sail, while successful boaters surround us. I most definitely didn't choose to be a role model for this activity. I would rather be instructing the archery class, teaching the kids how to shoot arrows at the target. That's what I'm actually good at. Not this sailing crap. I was sent out on this boat to encourage the campers that counselors love to sail too, but am instead showing them that I am a complete failure in the craft.

I glare at the boy through slitted crystal blue eyes, crossing my arms firmly across my chest.

He lifts his head to look at me. "Will you calm down? I got the rope untangled. Now just raise the sail."

"It's not that easy," I snap a bit more harshly than I would have liked.

"Try."

"I am!" I grab the stubborn fabric of the sail and tear it from the thick rope, attempting to unroll it.

Thankfully, it comes undone, spreading out across a thin, metal bar.

I sigh in relief, tightening a few extra knots to ensure it won't loosen from the harsh wind.

"Happy?" The boy's lips curve up.

"Sure." I grind my teeth together, beginning to cool down from my earlier rage.

"Then calm down and enjoy the water." He motions out with his arm to the vast span of rolling waves surrounding us.

"I can't. I have to control the boat, make sure is doesn't go too far towards shore, turn it when it picks up speed, control the beam-"

The wind suddenly changes dramatically and the large bar, which was peacefully suspended at the center of the boat, swings, colliding with the back of the head.

The tattooed boy bursts into fits of laughter, as I rub the sensitive spot on my head.

"You deserved that!" He exclaims, clutching his stomach.