no strings // h.s a.u

1. no poison

Mum thinks she's real slick by sending me Rightmove links after I introduced her to online real estate, but the joke is now on me as I am—very badly—attempting to multitask shots of tequila, actively praying my ex doesn't make an appearance in the living room, and trying to keep up with all of Mum's texts. Honestly, it's a wonder she even remembers it's New Year's Eve with the way she's rattling on.

I like the bathroom in this one, I reply to one of her messages after taking a quick gander at the house. It has a nice bathroom with some very desirable grey tiles, but it's the last thing on my mind tonight. House hunting will still exist in the new year, after all.

"Still going?" Gemma asks, peering over my shoulder.

I jump back, taken by surprise. "Oh, yeah," I say with a sigh. "She says I can't live with Josie forever, and while that may be true, I think I'm allowed a night off."

"Unless you want to be awake all hours of the night with your new baby nephew, I very much agree," she replies with a laugh, then gestures over to the kitchen. "Come help me put together another platter?"

"As long as you've got those pickled onions I like."

Gemma scrunches up her nose, but still nods. "I feel like the only two people who like them are you and my brother."

From what I've heard, Gemma's brother, Harry, has always had a peculiar taste bud. But hey, if he likes the same pickled onions I do, then I may just have found my new best friend. Plus, let's be real, the guy is absolute eye candy, so I don't think it would hurt to befriend him regardless of the reason why.

Nodding, I say, "Always."

Gemma Styles always makes excellent platters, and even though her title of Charcuterie Queen may be self-appointed, it's a title she has damn well earned through various cheeses and other food groups that don't matter as much as cheese. In fact, I have already declared her in charge of all the nibbles for my thirtieth later in the new year. It may be months away, but she's already created her Pinterest board.

I follow Gemma to the kitchen, finding none other than the man in question himself.

"Ah, Miss Mayfair," Harry says, raising his glass. "Pleasure to see you this evening."

"Right back at you, Mr Styles," I reply, smiling back at him. I'm not entirely sure what this greeting is, but judging by way his cheeks are flushed, I am assuming he's likely to be a few drinks deep. "Thought Gemma said you had a better offer elsewhere than your sister's annual New Year's Eve party?" As I pose the question, Harry politely greets me as he always does with a quick kiss to my cheek—always a gentleman, he is.

Harry shrugs. "I did, but they fell through," he says, leaning against the kitchen counter beside. "And apparently Niall's been eyeing off one of Gem's work mates."

Gemma scoffs from the open fridge. "He can eye her off all he likes, but I can tell you already that she's not interested."

"Probably for the best," I reply, fully aware of Niall's history with women. He has quite the habit of falling in love with any woman who smiles his way, claiming she's the girl of his dreams and he's going to marry her someday, only for it to end in heartbreak. I feel for the guy, I really do, but he needs to take a step back and wait for her to find him. It's clearly not working the other way around.

"Speaking of the devil," Harry says, checking a new message on his phone. "He's in need of some assistance apparently." He slides his phone back into his pocket and downs the rest of his drink. "See you around, Mabel. Gem, I'll have that, thanks," he says, grabbing one of the pickled onions Gemma sat on the platter.