less than lovers (h.s.)

ten

The next morning, I naively expected Harry's hostility to be nothing more than a mere memory from the night before. Unfortunately, he woke up even more on edge, and as far away from me as he possibly could without falling off the bed. I figured me pressing him about Hannah, on top of how I had pretty much ruined the whole weekend, was the reason behind his mood, and guilt prompted me to suggest driving us back instead. He didn't complain; instead, he spent the majority of the ride texting and responding to me with short, one-word answers.

An unwanted voice in the back of my head reminded me that he was most likely texting Hannah, who I still knew nothing about. I had no idea why he was being so secretive about this girl to the point where he wouldn't so much as even show me a photo of her. Had I never caught a glimpse of his phone, I probably wouldn't have even known that she existed.

I glanced at Harry out of the corner of my eye. The corner of his mouth was tilted up slightly as he eagerly texted away, and I tried to keep my expression casual. I couldn't help but wonder how he could go from being ready to have a baby with me to texting another girl in the span of twenty-four hours, but that was men, I guess. Not that it mattered to me, but still. It was rude.

The music switched to a Glee cover, and I waited for him to make a comment about it. To my surprise, however, he didn't seem to have anything to say about it. That only fueled my frustration, so, unable to help myself, I asked, "Are you mad at me?"

He didn't even spare me so much as a glance. "Why would I be mad at you, Jonesy?"

I pressed my lips together tightly, hoping my face wouldn't give me away. Maybe because you're answering a question with a question. "You seemed upset last night." I paused for a moment before adding, "I'm sorry if I invaded your privacy. I wasn't trying to look at your phone, I promise. I didn't know that bringing up Hannah would be that big of a deal."

Well, that certainly got his attention. He looked at me sharply before saying, "It's not a big deal."

"Because you were just asking me about George beforehand, and—"

"Jonesy, I literally just said it wasn't a big deal," he interjected.

I huffed and tried to pass it off as a cough, but it definitely wasn't believable, because now he just looked more annoyed. "See, you're clearly pissed. Harry, you can't even look at me."

His mouth tightened before he swung his eyes to me, staring at me expectantly. "I'm looking at you right now. Happy?"

Now it was my turn to glare at him. "What the hell is your problem? Are you going to tell me or do you want me to keep guessing?"

He shook his head before saying, "I told you, I'm not mad. Just drop it, okay?" Then he returned to texting on his phone, as if our conversation had never happened. I was met with the sudden urge to chuck that stupid phone out of the window.

"You know, you shouldn't be texting while someone else is driving," I snapped.

"I thought that was when I was driving."

I obviously hadn't meant it like that, and he knew it. "I'm not your fucking chauffeur," I muttered under my breath. "Why bother sitting in the front if you're not even going to speak to me?"

His expression softened slightly. "I'm sorry," he said after a minute. "I'm being a dick, aren't I?"

I shrugged. "You can be a dick if you want, I don't care." Well, that wasn't exactly true. "I just wanted to know why you were being a dick, that's all."

Harry sighed. "I've just...there's a lot going on in my mind right now. I'm sorry for taking it out on you."

As far as guys went, Harry was one of the least stubborn ones I'd ever met. I mean, he at least knew how to apologize when he was wrong, which was something my brothers—or me—had never really been able to master. "It's okay. It's not like I've been the easiest person to be around either lately. I'm sorry for ruining the weekend."