roses so red [harry lewis]

roots run deep

CHAPTER 11: roots run deep

"Rosalie, what's up?" Harry asked, lifting his phone to his ear and sitting back in his gaming chair. He kicked both legs up, resting them on the crossbar at the foot of his desk, reclining his free arm to rest behind his head.

"You free? I've just gotten off work and have a major hankering for a pint. Thought you'd be disappointed if you missed an invite." Rose was breathing into the phone, the sounds of traffic and people humming in the background and her hair tickling the speaker.

Harry tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk for a moment before sitting up straight. "Sounds good, just text me the pub and I'll meet you there." He compromised, glancing out the window at the inclimate weather and deciding if he had to switch his shorts out for long pants.

"Sounds ace, see you in a bit." Rose chimed, the line going dead as soon as the words left her mouth. She picked up her pace a bit, wanting to get to the pub before Harry did and make herself comfortable and poised before he joined her.

She felt silly as she sent him the location, her heart rate picking up and sweat forming on the nape of her neck and under her arms as she was walking so quickly to navigate the busy London foot traffic. It was just Harry - they were newly friends, barely friends, and yet for whatever reason she felt that she had to arrive before he could, get herself a drink to loosen up and find the perfect chair so she could feel comfortable and confident, check her hair in the loo and make sure she didn't look a mess after a long day at work.

But she also had to reaffirm herself - today had been the day she'd told her boss she was quitting and wouldn't be signing on for the extended hours they'd tried to compromise at. For the first time in years, Rosalie was looking at being unemployed, and for the first time, Rosalie had to figure out how to handle that on her own. 

As easy as calling her parents to ask for some help with funds would be, it wouldn't be easy for her to forgive herself for living up to the expectations others had of her to just be a pretty little girl with her daddy's money to boost her up. She had felt this intense need to prove herself since she was a little girl, when everyone had called her pretty or lucky. Nobody had ever called her hardworking or smart or kind. Rosie had to prove she was all of those things.

"Hey," She turned on her bar stool, smiling brightly at Harry instead of letting her nerves show through the thin layer of work-appropriate makeup she donned. He held out an arm to pull her into a sideways hug, and Rose slid her arm around his back. Her skin slipped across the smooth, soft athletic fabric of the Chelsea footy top he was wearing.

"You're a bit dressed up for a football match at a pub, you know." Harry noted, perching up on the stool next to her and yanking on the bottom of his top to straighten it out.

Rosalie glanced around, indeed noticing the number of bright blue and white-clad men and women (although mostly the former) slowly beginning to fill up the empty seats in the pub. Her eyes slid across the televisions, and every screen seemed to tell the same story.

"Well, shit." Rosalie laughed, looking down at her clothes from work. Crisp, pressed navy pants that cut at her ankles, black pointed heels, hardly comfortable for standing or cheering. On top, a white button up with a black cardigan buttoned over it, and her long bright hair curled and hanging around her shoulders.

Sweat prickled hotly on the back of her neck. Harry was saying something about it being the second leg of the Europa Cup semis, the bartender sliding a pint across the bar top towards him. He was totally butchering the name of the other team, his tongue tripping over the team sloppily as he finally lifted his glass to his lips and gave up on it.