Eileen Mae Montgomery, better known as El has been working for the Gucci special designs team for two years now. It's her dream job, but theres one thing she hates about it. The rude, narcissist celebrities. When she is assigned to work with Harry S...
A/N: don't forget to listen to the song during or after the chapter!!!
We pull up to the bay, boats of all sizes lining the shipyard. I walk from my side, knowing he's following behind, and I move towards the small kiosk.
"Two, under Montgomery." I tell the pale lady, and she types on her small computer, printing off two vouchers.
"Here you go miss." She hands them to me through the slot on the bottom of her desk, and I take them, walking from Harry, not giving him a second glance.
"Boats? That's your grand plan?" He asks, from behind, and I look back.
"I'd be more than happy to call Anthony and have him come on this boat with me." I sass, and he raises his hands in surrender.
"I just didn't see you being the outdoor type." He jogs, that way he's standing next to me, but I continue my quick pace as soon as my feet hit the dock.
"I grew up in the south... rodeos, and cookouts, and tailgates. My dad didn't teach me how to thread a needle, and sew pants, he taught me how to shoot a gun, and bate my own fishing pole so I could catch my dinner, but it's cute you thought otherwise." I shrug my shoulders, and stop at the short man standing on the dock in front of the boat that matches the number on our tickets. He helps both Harry and I onto the small but rather decadent boat. It's so cute, but so nice and lavish. I love Norway.
"You said I was cute." He boasts, and I turn back to him, rolling my eyes.
"First of all, that's not what I said, and second of all, of course that's the only thing you'd hear out of everything I just said." I roll my eyes, and take a seat at the front of the boat, knowing it won't matter where I sit because Harry and I will be the only ones on board.
"You said it, but that's beside the point. I just want to know what exactly does a tailgate consist of?" He asks, and I feel like he's just pulling my leg until I see his face.
"You get drunk before you watch pretty much any type of sport, but mostly football, and no not soccer, I mean football." I point my finger at him, know if I hadn't said that last part he would've have tried to make a stupid joke out of it.
"If you're completely drunk then you can't even enjoy the game." He argues back, and I roll my eyes.
"In the south, there's not really any other way to have a football game." I shrug my shoulders.
"For the record, I knew what you meant by football, I'm actually a Packers fan." He tells me, and I fight the urge to gag. I hold my chest, and dramatically sigh.
"You realize I am born and raised in Georgia? A place where football is the most important thing. Don't say the P word in front of me again, the only thing you are allowed to say is Falcons, other than that, no football chat." I look up to him, and his arm is around the side of the boat, holding on tight as the wind blows through his already messy hair. His green eyes are a hint lighter as the sea reflects off of them.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
