Paper Airplanes

Chapter ThirtySeven; Date Night

*Dacota's POV*

On the car ride to wherever we were going, Harry told me of all the stupid little stories he had to tell about the tour so far. The time he "trashed" the emo's room, how hard Niall, Liam and he laughed at Zayn and Louis' faces as they left management's office after the whole weed video, riding around the stadiums in Segways. I laughed so hard I cried at times. Soon, we just rode in silence with hands clasped in between us.

Eventually, I had to ask, "Where are we going?"

I saw him smile out of the corner of my eye, and heard him say, "You don't know me at all, Ms. Cody Lancaster. Don't you understand from previous dates that I will never ever tell you where we're going, nor what is in store for tonight?" I had to let out a laugh at that, 'cause it was completely true. I nodded my head in agreement.

"Alright, well, any hints?" I asked eventually.

"No."

"Okay then," I giggled. I looked over to him to see him smirking, but trying not to.

Soon, however, we pulled into a really fancy-looking restaurant. I gasped at its size and decor. I almost asked Harry if he could afford it, even being as rich and famous as he is. Harry looked over to me and laughed.

"What?" I asked him.

"You're cute," he said, stepping out of the car.

"I try," I say as I step out as well. We walk into the building, my arm wrapped around his. Harry gives the hostess his reservation information, but I couldn't help but see how her eyes skirted up and down his body and smirking to herself, then rolling her eyes at me. I looked to the ground and wallowed in my low self esteem, but Harry soon lead me to our table.

The restaurant was actually pretty small, filled with maybe five, small, circular, white-clothed tables that sat two people. The room was darkly lit, but felt warm with all the candles and tea lights sitting on the tables. The carpet was a deep red, and silenced my huge heels. The walls were covered with decals of marble columns and Greek statue paintings. Apparently, Harry had reserved the entire restaurant, because it was completely empty.

We sat at a table against the wall. A vase with a red rose was leaning at the edge of the table, and fancy silverware bordered where our plates will eventually be.

"I don't think I've ever learned what the difference between the forks and spoons are," I muttered when the snooty hostess left. Harry laughed and nodded.

Soon, a waiter with a tiny mustache poured us glasses of champagne in equally tiny glasses and Harry ordered for us, since I had never been here.

"So," Harry says, folding his hands together on the table. "How have you been?"

"Honestly?" Harry nods at the break. "I've been terrible. I missed you so much, you have no idea. I don't think I left my room, except to pee and eat. I told the school I was going to therapy for my parents' death, and they graduated me anyways. I don't care, though, really. I missed you so bad, I couldn't fathom." I took a breath, then said, "Sorry if I sound like an overattached girlfriend, but seeing you with female celebrities that are so much prettier than me sucked."

He sighed, and for a second I thought he was disappointed at my reaction. But then, he looked back at me, and his eyes were so sad. I furrowed my eyebrows together.

"Please, don't ever say you're not beautiful. Nobody is prettier, cuter, more beautiful, and more gorgeous than you. If I thought they were better than you, I would have done something about it, but I don't, and I won't." I shook my head with a smile on my face and tears in my eyes.

"Nobody's ever said that to me before," I whisper.

"I know, and it's wrong. You should hear that everyday of your life, and I'm going to make sure you do," Harry says. Right after he finished the sentence, Tiny Mustache Waiter Man brings our food out under the cliche silver dome platter. I sniff and wipe under my eyes, and I catch a smile from Harry as the waiter scuttles away.

Our food is very extravagant and fancy, covered in sauces that slice across the white, ceramic plate like a work of art. I truthfully have no idea what it is. The name probably has 25 french words in it. I took a deep breath and dug in.

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"I never thought a portion that small could fill me up, but I guess I was wrong," I laughed as we exited the establishment. Harry laughed with me, then held the door open for me, again. However, when we both settle into the car, Harry doesn't start it for awhile. "Why aren't you starting the car?" I ask him eventually. He was just staring out the front window, hand hovering over the ignition.

"I don't know," he says. He sounds flustered, but excited. I'm completely confused, so I just keep watching him. "I have no idea. I had this whole thing about taking you out to the downtown area and go clubbing or something." He turns to me. "I have a new idea, and it involves going home. Are you okay with that?" I nod slowly, which makes him smile from ear to ear.

He bursts into high speed mode, shoving the key into the ignition and turning the wheel like he was playing Mario Kart. I'm pretty sure if a cop was around, we'd have a ticket by now.

Soon, we were in my driveway, and nearly as soon as the key was out, Harry was at my door and swinging it open. I slowly unbuckled my seat and took his hand, but he dragged me to our front door and waited for me to unlock it.

"Harry, you're acting weird, what are we going to-" I began to say, but was cut off by Harry pressing his lips to mine and slamming me against the wall. I mean, I was still confused, but I wasn't arguing against this. I threaded my fingers through his hair. Harry's hands run down my sides and under my thighs, lifting me up. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

I think I understand what he wanted to do.

~~~~~

Wow.

I'm cry.

~Emily~