Slight Pressure

18. She's Driving Me Crazy, But I'm Into It

                     written by  styles_orama

"He said Harry is doing what?!"

Riley's voice hearkens to a witchy shriek as she grabs the huge iron handles on the double-doors to Franco's, gives a hearty shove and thrusts them inward with such force that the momentum holds them open for one, two seconds, allowing her eagle eyes to hone in on what she came for. Her man.

She stands for a brief moment silhouetted in the doorway as the heads of nearby patrons swivel in unison toward the entrance. After hearing that Harry was at Franco's sucking body shots off everyone and their mother (literally), Riley knew she couldn't let him continue to believe the things he'd said about her. Yeah, Harry'd acted like a Judge Judy, and that was one thing Riley couldn't tolerate. In fact, she was so riled up that she ran from his apartment instead of sticking around to explain that the assumptions she'd overheard him tell Louis were inaccurate. While it pissed her off to no end that Harry had jumped to some shitty conclusions, somewhere deep down, in her heart of hearts, Riley felt that with Harry, there was a chance. Hell, even if there weren't, at this point she hadn't even fucked him yet and after he'd tongued her cunt more thoroughly than a kid polishing off a chocolate pudding cup on Friday night – if they couldn't make a legitimate go of it, then she was damn sure going to take a rough ride on his disco stick before the gig was up.

Riley's eyes linger on him a fraction of a second before the disturbance in the Force causes Harry to snap to attention. His body straightens, he growls and turns away from the Bavarian beer maid whose various body parts he'd been lapping tequila from, as well as Baby Spice and a Playboy bunny who're queued up to be next. Somehow able to discern Riley's sweet yet musky scent from the other two-hundred and eighty-seven patrons in the bar, his nimble fingers glide through his hair and pull it back from his face, his nostrils flaring as their eyes meet. He curses to himself and his eyes scan her body in admiration. In the midst of all the festivities, the weariness in his eyes did not escape her.

April stands frozen in the doorway behind Riley and watches the scene unfold before her, thinking it's getting way too Edward Cullen up in this bitch. She spots Louis from the corner of her eye, his gaze questioning; the shrug of her shoulders in response barely discernible. By the time she's managed to drag her eyes away from Louis and his recycled kilt costume from last night (which by the way is no problem for her to look at twice, as his legs are something she'd love to take a bite out of, despite being a hardcore vegetarian), he's by her side.

"Thanks for comin', love." Louis greets her. Relief flickers in his stormy blue eyes before being replaced by a swirl of mischief as his gaze settles upon April's bountiful decolletage.

"Whether or not this was a good decision remains to be seen." April nods at goings-on in the distance. Louis's reluctant eyes follow her gaze, while his filthy mind continues to imagine the various sizes April's nipples might be. Thus far in his life, he's yet to complete a proper tit-fuck, but he believes April has enough milky smoothness to help him cross that one off his bucket list.

In the mad dash to leave the apartment and get to Harry, there wasn't any time to cull a new costume from the theatre department, so Riley had to work quickly and from her own wardrobe, deciding that a grand entrance was essential. She'd gone with the first idea that popped into her head, a sexy farmer's daughter Daisy Duke/Elly May combination character. Her outfit consisted of a plaid pearl-button down western shirt, twisted and tied to expose her midriff, cowboy boots, pigtails, and a pair of jean cut-offs she'd had since she was 16 which didn't fully cover her now twenty-something ass.

As soon as Harry's gaze locks with her own, she begins a slightly exaggerated strut toward him to the strains of "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC that vibrate the floorboards. Niall steps out from behind the bar as she passes, but Riley stays the course, her eyes never wavering from Harry's. Riley doesn't stop her strut until their boots are toe to toe.

Her "Hi," is but a whisper over a trembly bottom lip as her bravado crumbles beneath his heavy green-eyed gaze.

"Rye." His use of her nickname tugs at her heart.

Soft and tentative, she reaches out and grasps his pointer finger. "Can we talk?"

Harry nods, setting off a low rumble of disappointment from the women in the body-shot line he leaves behind, which they both ignore as Riley turns to exit the bar, dragging Harry behind her by his index finger.

******

On the sidewalk out front, Harry zones out gazing at Riley, partly because he's more than a bit drunk and partly because she's just so damn sexy and her pigtails are giving him a boner. He wants nothing more than to smush her up against him and fill her mouth with his tongue.  Fuck.

"Um. I think I'm about to lose circulation in my finger." Harry wiggles his finger the best he can within Riley's vise-like grip.

"Oh, fuck -- I'm sorry." Riley loosens her hold, but doesn't release him. Harry smiles.

"I'm sorry, Rye," Harry offers, pulling her a couple of steps closer.

She takes a deep breath and when she exhales a bunch of sentences tumble out in a huff. "Everything in that letter happened a long time ago Harry. I mean, yeah, he just gave me the note, but I swear, there's nothing going on between us. We're just friends." Riley rambles on while Harry's free hand reaches up to play with a pigtail.

"Why didn't you just say that instead of running away?"

"I was upset. I'm still upset, Harry. I heard you talking about me, automatically thinking the worst. I felt so judged. I want you to think the best of me, not the worst." Riley spoke with watery eyes, "I want you to trust me."

If it weren't for her tears, Harry almost could've laughed. He was so confused.

"What? You want me to trust you? What about you trusting me?" Harry's hands drop from Riley and he takes a step back.

"What are you talking about?"

"You have run away from me three times, Rye. Three times."

"I have not."

"Yes, you have. The first time was after you walked in on me in the shower and saw my penis. I had to catch you in the lobby! Talk about giving a guy a complex!"

"I was embarrassed!"

"I was the naked one, for fuck's sake! If anyone had a right to be embarrassed, it was me!"

"Well. Still. That was just once, Harry."

"What about after we messed around on the sofa at your place? You gave me the silent treatment for days! I had to hunt you down to figure out what the issue was, and then you accused me of being a professional finger fucker!"

"A professional finger fucker?!" Riley's aghast, eyes wide.

"Yes, you did! You said I made you come using some kind of gyno voo-doo bullshit. And you say I don't trust you? It's you that doesn't trust me, Miss Riley Sanders!" Harry gives a little wiggle for emphasis.

Riley stomps her boot on the sidewalk. "Motherfuck!"

"What's the matter now? Gonna run away again so it's an even four?"

Their heart rates elevate, and it's a standoff in front of a wild west saloon as they circle one another, the air around them electric.

Frustrated by her ridiculousness, a random laugh escapes Harry's lips somehow before he's even realized anything is funny. When Riley turns on her heel to head for the hills, Harry spots an approaching cab and immediately seizes the opportunity.

"Taxi!" He hails the cab loudly, signaling with his right hand while simultaneously sliding his left arm around Riley's waist, scooping her up with minimal effort.

The cab screeches to a halt as Riley kicks and bucks in Harry's grip. "Oh no you don't, Rye." He speaks in a disciplinary tone as he opens the cab door, shoves Riley inside, and climbs in after her. "We are getting these issues sorted, babe."

"Tonight."