❝You drive me fucking wild,❞ he says, pulling at his hair. He moves closer again--this time grabbing me by the waist. I let out a groan as he kisses my neck.
❝Shut the fuck up, baby.❞
#1 ON FANFICTION 04/28/17
"So... are you free tonight?" I ask, as I open the car door for her.
She wants to start over, and I'm glad she does. But the week I spent without her felt like a year, and I want her to get back to us as fast as possible. So the first chance I get to start over, I'm taking it. She turns to me, and nods.
"Can I take you out to dinner?" My heart unexpectedly skips a beat when the question hangs in the air.
I have never been this nervous and uncertain before. I'm so careful with what I say, and I'm fighting every need to touch her, grab her hand, kiss her...
She got upset when I threw out Niall the other day, and I should know better than doing it so visibly. Even before she forgot everything, she hated that I didn't want Niall around her. But I think she got it on some level, since he was in love with her.
I don't really know if he still is. But I think he is, because of the way he reacted when he thought she died. He was absolutely destroyed, almost as distraught as me.
"I'd love that," she finally says, and I feel my chest lighten. I exhale with relief and close the door as she gets in.
But I still have a unnerving feeling because of the conversation I had with the therapist. He kept asking me questions about Claire, about my feelings for her, and a ton of questions of what happened back in California.
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CLAIRE
"Are you nervous?" Michael asks me, his eyes squinting as he applies my eyeliner carefully. We're in the bathroom, and he's helping me get ready for the date. I'm going on a date with a 22 year old man. With my brothers best friend. With Harry Styles.
"Not really," I say as a matter-of-factly, as I look up at the ceiling as Michael positions my head.
"Good! You look totally hot anyways," he says, and I scoff. I'm wearing a robe and my hair is up in a bun. I don't know what to wear, but I have to find the perfect dress.
"Ok, I'm done!" He says proudly, brushing a final stroke of eyeshadow onto my lid. He hands me a mirror, and I almost scare myself when I see the result.
"Michael, I look like a prostitute!" I say, horrified by the raccoon-like makeup.
"You're welcome," he says brightly, already packing away the makeup.
