#baezen

I put my down and phone bag on the ottoman that was at the foot of his bed and looked into his walk-in closet for an outfit that would make him look decent and not look like he got dragged and passed around by people, “Well it’s way past time for you to correct your actions since people have already been talking about the stunt you pulled.”

This probably confused him as he sat up and tried to rub off the exhaustion he felt, “Can you be more clear with what you meant with that? Also, I really am curious about what time it is.” Going back from Carter’s closet — which happens to be made of glass and mirrors — and placing the down his outfit which consisted of a two piece Burberry suit that consists of a checkered maroon suit with a matching plain, maroon slacks and laying it down on the bed, “The time now is 9:28 in the morning,” I reached for my phone and shoved it to him with the website I have previously read still opened, “And this is what I meant when I implied that damage control was too late.” 

His shirtless upper body hit the back of the headboard as he began reading the content of my phone, “Spotted, Carter Baizen spending his earned wealth at various bars and clubs late last night. You may have previously known him for being the resident bad, playboy that you see in your school, but now just when it was starting to look like he was getting his act together, he reverts back to how he once was when he was a reckless teenager. I guess some old habits just die hard, don't they? You know you love me, xoxo, gossip girl.”

I laughed at the disgusted face Carter made after he finished reading what had got me annoyed earlier, “Well, at least I’m living my life well. Not compared to this jackass loser who keeps on documenting and reporting the lives of others since theirs is probably uneventful.”

I'm feeling Dazed like a magazine

Finding my own sanity

Wishing it'll all go away

Now we're smoking off the balcony

You're telling me profanities

Maybe it was never okay

“For fuck’s sake, Carter, do you not see the bigger issue here? It’s not just about how there is some loser out there talking about the life of others. But it’s about you how you are living your life! You are now a CEO, a fucking CEO! I don’t think business partners would be eager to make transactions and ventures with someone who acts as if they had just gotten their license and are now going out every chance they can to enjoy this privilege!” Carter looked at me coldly and was about to argue back but I continued to give him my two cents, “On top of that, I  think as well that the frequency of your alcohol, and possible drug intake is alarming, as well. And it's gotten to the extent that I feel like you should be seeing a professional to help you cope with this.”

I concluded my statement of concern and alarm by folding my arms together and looked at him seriously. Carter stood up and headed for the bathroom, I followed him and leaned by the door as he was washing up his face and waited for his reply. He stared at me through the mirror as he was drying his face, “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I think you’re overreacting a little bit.”

I threw my hands up and scoffed at disbelief, “Seriously, Carter? Do you not recall the various times wherein I had to pick up your drunk or high ass — and by the way, there are some instances wherein you’re both high and drunk — from whatever bar you were misspending your money on.”

He turned around to look at me and crossed his arms — in annoyance, I presume — and fought back, “So what if I get blackout drunk a few times? It happens to the best of us! Have you not enjoyed yourself completely and just passed out from exhaustion from spending a night out? Oh wait, you probably haven’t! Which explains why you’re so fucking uptight!”

With one hand massaging my temples, I managed to remind him in a calm tone, “Did you forget what happened two months ago?”

345, that's where we stayed

She told me I'm a narcissist doing it again

Took a bunch of acid and she told me, "not again"

Now I've gotta tell her that I'm lovin' her friends

345, that's where we stayed

She told me I'm a narcissist doing it again

Took a bunch of acid and she told me, "not again"

Now I've gotta tell her that I'm lovin' her friends

My dreams of riding a unicorn while eating cake was suddenly interrupted when a loud ringing woke me up. Stretching my hand and patting for my phone on the bedside table. Recognizing how I had an incoming call, I swiped to accept it even though I was not awake or aware enough to check who was calling. “Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Y/F/N?” a woman asked as soon as I greeted her, I took a second to check my phone and only then did I notice how it was an unknown number that called me, “Yes, this is she, who’s asking?” My bones had suddenly become frigid in anticipating what the girl on the other end had to tell me. “Well your information was listed on one of our customer’s wallet and we had to call and let you know that Carter Baizen has passed out from drinking which resulted in him collapsing on the floor, head first.”

I let out a grunt as I put the call in speaker mode and got off the bed to throw over a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, “Was he with anyone when he was drinking? And is he unconscious? And what address is your bar, by the way?” I was already outside my apartment and headed for my parked car by the time she had replied and given me the information I asked for.

Curse words and frustrated mumbles were leaving my lips as I was driving around the city, hoping to get to Carter faster and in time to prevent any unfortunate event from happening. Upon arriving at the bar, I was already opening my door before I had even parked my car and stormed inside the establishment.

“Hey, I was called in earlier for a patron who passed out and fell head first?” I approached a girl who was mopping floors near the entrance door, she nodded and told me that she was the one who called me and led me to where Carter was. They were kind enough to move him from the floor and lay him down on one of the booths.

I quickly took in his state — there were a few buttons of his long-sleeved polo that were unbuttoned, there were faint traces of alcohol in his shirt and face, while there was also a bit of blood residue from his head wound as a result of collapsing from the floor. “Thank you for calling me right away and for taking care of him, but I was wondering if you or another staff would be willing to help me bring him to my car?” the girl nodded and called for one of their male employees to help me bring Carter in.

That night was probably the most nervous and anxious I have ever felt; knowing that Carter could possibly be facing health problems from drinking too much and hitting his head. Seeing him this way has always affected me and has made me feel responsible for his well-being — not only because I was hired as his assistant, but because I was the only one who managed to tolerate and be with him for this long time. 

Fortunately enough, the doctor ruled that there was nothing currently wrong with his liver and kidney following his night of over intoxication. But that didn’t mean that he was completely out of the woods; I was warned of how if he spends more nights like this, it could probably lead to the failure of his organs to properly function. To add even more salt to that wound, he informed me about how Carter hitting his head was also dangerous and that it could have resulted in a serious head injury — but that wasn’t the case in this scenario. The medical official also told me that Carter was lucky for it did not lead to any complications and that he should be safe from it as long as he drinks responsibly and moderately to avoid these things from happening again.

And I've been seeing somebody

But I've not found a way to tell you

That I'm seeing somebody

There's not a nice way for me to say that

I've been seeing somebody

You know I want you to be happy

Since I'm seeing somebody

And then maybe we can get on with it

“You know, you don’t need to bring up what happened every time?” He said as he walked past me to grab his clothes and get dressed. I rolled my eyes and sat down on the ottoman as I stared at him, “I don’t need to? That’s where you’re wrong, Baizen. The only reason why I keep bringing it up is because — guess the fuck what — I’m the only person who gives a fuck about you! I’m the one you call every time your ass is too drunk to drive or when you’re high as the fucking clouds! Or if you can’t call, guess who’s name and number you have written down in your wallet? It’s mine! So yes, I bring it up every fucking time since I don’t want you to seize your night so fucking hard that you end up deceased the next day!” I angrily let out.

He was done dressing up by the time I had yelled out my grievances, “I’m sorry that I can’t stop myself from drinking or having a night out!” This unapologetic remark from him just angered me further, “Well then let me help you! Let a therapist or some other professional help you get through this! You don’t have to do it alone, Carter.” I reminded him as I stood up and put my hand on his shoulder, to show him how I was gonna guide him through this.

He pushed my hand away and walked towards his dresser and put on some cologne and began fixing his tie, “No, I don’t want your or anyone else’s help. Alcohol is the only constant in my life; it always has been and it always will be.” when these words have left his lips, I froze up in disbelief and hurt. I was there with him when he was struggling to establish himself as a businessman, saw his struggles and victories, and even outside of work I was the only who cared enough to make sure that he was fed and hydrated despite his busy schedule.

“What do you call me then?” I sadly asked him and this got him to stop his movements and turn to me. However before he could explain himself or go near me, I had already collected my things and headed to exit his room and suite, “Be at the office before 10:30 am, you have a meeting with representatives of the Eichner Enterprise at 10:30. The rest of your schedule will be emailed to you.” 

        But more often than not, any time the two of you spent together was when you were alone. He went out, often, to Nicky’s, went on walks, went out with the Sons of Ipswich, but not once did he ask you to go out, not once did he invite you, well, anywhere. You didn’t mind, at first. New relationships were fragile things. But the longer it went on, the more worried you got, and you could feel that frustration, that anger, bubbling beneath the surface. 

        And then the night of the dance. The night of the big storm. The last time you saw him. 

        The fight was bad. He hadn’t meant for you to see him, you had come by to see if he was still coming to the dance, but when you saw him trying to sneak out, you knew he wasn’t. He was, once again, going off to do something without you. And you blew up at him, in a way you weren’t sure you’d ever done with anyone, before storming back to your room and locking the door. 

        When the year was over, and you were back home, with your parents, your mom came up to see you often, wanting to be sure you were alright. 

“I got so mad at him,” you whispered, curled up around your pillow, as your mom sat down beside you. “I yelled at him, and I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have.”

“Honey, you had every right to yell,” she promised, brushing your hair off your face.

“Mom...the last thing I said to him was never come back,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “And he just...he’s gone. He’s just gone, and I’m never gonna see him again, and I’ll never get to apologize, and I shouldn’t have yelled at him.” Your mother clicked her tongue, tsk soft in as comforting a way as she could manage, her hand warm and comforting along your shoulder. You knew she didn’t like Chase, had disapproved without saying so longer than you wanted to think about, but you were grateful that she was putting that aside to try and comfort you as best she could. 

        It had only been a couple of months, time you thought would have made you feel less guilty, but instead, it just left the feeling thrumming under your skin, rising just enough as you tried to sleep to keep it from being restful. You couldn’t stop thinking about the last time you’d seen him, wondering what happened to him, where he was. You wanted so desperately for him to be okay, no matter how angry you had been. 

        The storm was harsh, violent even, rain beating against your windows, the wind nearly swinging the trees to the ground. Lightning flashed often, cradled in the sharp cracks of thunder that shook the house. It amazed you every time that your parents could sleep through it, as you made your way around the house to ensure all the windows were closed, before you headed back up to your room.

        You didn’t register the sound, the clink clink of something hitting your window disguised as part of the storm, until it was accompanied by something that sounded an awful lot like a voice. Curious, you moved to the window, peering out into the dark. In a flash of lightning, you spotted someone on the grass, head tipped back to look in your direction. Your heart was in your throat as you jerked back, letting your curtain fall away. When the voice sounded again, you were more subtle, peering out the window without yanking the curtains up. This time, within a couple of flashes, you recognized the face, and gasped, rushing downstairs to open the door. 

        Chase was soaked, his clothes clinging to him, weighed down by the rain. It dripped off his hair, down his face, as he stumbled in the back door before you shut it. 

“I’m so glad you heard me out there, I was not looking forward to ringing the doorbell,” he panted, shaking his head, as you grabbed a towel off the dryer and handed it to him. “You know the forecast called for clear skies tonight? No rain, no wind. Weatherman oughta be fired.” 

        As he grumbled, and dried what he could, you just stared at him, fighting the urge to lunge at him. You watched him, breath shaky, as he patted his face dry, and rubbed the towel over his hair, before he peered out at you, as if he thought you’d left.

“...what?”

“...I thought...I thought somethin’ terrible happened…” you replied quietly, voice trembling, but you trailed off, frown on your lips, as he chuckled. 

“Yeah...yeah, kinda did. But I’m okay, now. I’m alright. I’m sorry I didn’t come by,” Chase apologized, but he frowned as you scoffed, and shook your head. “What?”

“Didn’t come by? Chase, I th-thought you were dead. Or...or, I don’t know, setting up your life somewhere else.”

“...why would you think that?” he inquired, confused. 

“Because no one has heard from you in months! Because I yelled at you! I told you never to come back!” you replied, almost exclaimed, nearly hissing to keep your voice down. Chase chuckled, shaking his head a little, as he leaned back against the dryer.

“Sweetheart...I knew you were mad that night, didn’t really think you meant it.” 

        Sniffling, you scrunched up your face, and crossed your arms over your chest, almost desperate to put up some kind of wall, block, to stop yourself from showing him how the last few weeks had affected you. But even that movement told him what you didn’t want to, and he dropped the smirk that had curled at his lips, pushing off the dryer. 

“...baby…”

“I was so angry with you...for everything. For...for having this thing with me but not wanting anyone to see us together, for not wanting to do anything with me if it meant being around others, and I still felt so awful for telling you to never coming back only for you to fucking vanish and here you are standing in my house, acting like nothing happened, like everything is fine, and ignoring...ignoring everything? Acting like you didn’t leave that night and just fucking disappear?” you sniffled, frowning at him. Chase shook his head, seeing the shimmer in your eyes, and took a step forward, enveloping you in a tight embrace despite the thick weight of his soaked, chilled closed. You slumped against him, quickly throwing your arms around his shoulders, as he pulled you close.

“You had every right to be mad at me. But there are things I didn’t get to tell you, and a lot of shit happened that night but I had every intention of telling you.” You sniffled, shrugging, as he rubbed a hand down your back. 

“...so tell me.” 

        His sigh made your stomach clench as you pulled back, brow furrowed. 

“You don’t want to.”

“I do. But I don’t know how you’re gonna take it, so...you gotta promise you won’t scream.” You frowned, but shrugged, nodding. “Nothing had anything to do with not wanting anyone to see you. It was about protecting you. That’s it. Plain and simple.”

“How was refusing to even look at me when people were around s-”

“Because I...am not entirely who you think I am. And I don’t mean that to sound threatening. Not to you.” He studied you for a moment, before sighing, and shaking his head. “Look. I had a plan, when I got to the academy, and none of it involved you. But, shit...I just couldn’t help myself. I just had to try to protect you. You really only know part of me.”

“Chase Collins. If you do not tell me what it was that was so much more important that me, I swear to God.” 

        All arguments vanished when his eyes flashed and burned, and the pile of laundry behind him on the dryer rose up into the air. You could barely breathe, startled at the sight, before you slowly looked back at him, wide-eyed. 

“Ta-da…” he mumbled. 

“What...what the fuck?” Chase’s eyes flashed again, the laundry falling back into place, as he scratched his fingers through his hair.

“I’m a witch...I’m not the only one, either.” You almost couldn’t breathe, staring at him in that moment, until his fingers grazed your arm and you near jolted in place. “Baby?”

“What the fuck.” He chuckled, he couldn’t help it, as you snapped your eyes to meet his. 

“I tell you what...can we go to your room? You can ask me anything you want, I just...I wanna stay with you.” 

        You hesitated as you watched him, weighing your options in your head. You knew your parents would lose their minds if they found Chase showed up in the middle of the night and you brought him to your room, but on the other hand, you hadn’t seen him in months, you were finally able to shake the guilt you had been letting eat you up now that he was back. 

        Carefully, you reached out, curling your fingers around his wrist. He smiled as he followed the pull, as you led him towards the basement, towards the entertainment space your father was so proud of. You felt a rush of air as you led him to the couch, quickly flicking on the light before you looked at him, only to see that his clothes no longer sagged with water, but were, instead, dry. 

“...yeah...I can do that too,” he admitted almost sheepishly, as you huffed, fighting a smile, and sat on the couch. “Ask me anything.”

“...I don’t know where to start,” you admitted, eyes slipping shut as he reached up to brush your hair from your face. “I spent the last two months...hating myself for how I acted last time I saw you. I thought you not being here was all my fault…” Chase made a soft, sad sound, cupping your face as you finally looked up at him.

“I...had things I needed to do, that night...I always intended to come back, to see you, to make everything right, but...my plans backfired, and I just had to disappear for a little while. I should’ve reached out, and I’m sorry.” Sniffling, you let him pull you close, until his arms were around your shoulders, your body slumped against his. “Nothing that happened was your fault.”

“....will you stay now?” you whispered, slipping your arms around his waist.

Back in the Present

“Marissa’s pissed at me, so-“

“Maritza,” Harry corrected mindlessly and Nikki waved him off.

“Whatever… I’ll be over,” he looked around the open aired dance floor for a few seconds before selecting a hiding space, giant smirk on his face. “there.” Harry didn’t bother looking. “Don’t let them get too close.”

“Sure, man, just-“ Harry didn’t have to finish his sarcastic drone before the last of his friends had disappeared between writhing bodies. He was avoiding a woman he exploited and Harry had no moral obligations to help Nikki stay invisible so he could keep playing his dangerous game. Finding wealthy women and using them for sex and a comfortable place to stay as long as the sex was still good. It wasn’t the most honorable living, but the guy hadn’t fallen into the six figure modeling contract he expected when he stepped off the bus from Kansas. “Sorry, Dorothy,” Harry scoffed.

“Dorothy…” your voice had Harry scrambling to find you behind him, relieved to see your face and to see you in a good mood. “How many girls you got on the hook, Harry?” You were teasing him and he would welcome that on any holy or unholy day.

“Just enough,” he responded, taking hold of your arm and shuffling himself closer to you rather than pulling you towards him.

“I’ll bet,” you laughed and he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss you right then. He probably would have too, if Marcus with his beautiful dark skin and his velvety voice hadn’t slid in just to disrupt him. He started to introduce himself, but Harry jumped in, speaking over his friend and reclaiming the power position as he made short and meaningless introductions for you. You smiled, but took a step toward Harry and it didn’t go unnoticed by either man. Harry tossed his arm around your shoulders proudly, more than pleased with the impressed smirk on Marcus’ perfect face.

Another voice jumped into the fray, pulling your attention, as your friend Maritza came barreling through the crowd, visibly upset. She’d just seen Nikki’s ass hanging out over his jeans while pinning someone new to the side of a jacuzzi tub and was making no efforts to hide his sluttiness from the strangers around her. You shrugged and let her pull you away from the men, sympathizing as best you could, but Harry could tell you were as annoyed by the situation as he was. Like middle school, but worse. Horny Patron soaked middle schoolers.

“So,” Marcus crossed arms and nodded to where you’d disappeared, knowing smile on his face. You don’t know anything. 

“Shut up,” Harry grumbled without letting his friend speak and turned away to find the bar, unfortunately finding Nikki in the process.

“Hey, have you seen-“

“Yeah,” Marcus laughed. “And she’s pissed.”

“She’s always pissed at stupid shit,” Nikki insisted while stripping off his sweater in the middle of the party to flip it right side out again. In true Nikki fashion, he took his time doing so, pausing to wink at a couple girls caught ogling him. Classy. 

“Because that’s what you do,” Harry pointed out. “Stupid shit. I mean, this is a new record. Kicked out in a week?”

“Three,” Nikki corrected, making Marcus laugh and clap him on the back of the head.

“So who’s next, Don Juan, got yourself another pretty woman in need of her own Julia Roberts?” Marcus probed, wiggling his eyebrows while he surveyed the party scene as if looking for clues.

“I thought Julia Roberts was Pretty Woman,” Nikki tried to defend himself.

“Yeah,” Harry piped up, “but you’re the whore.” Nikki’s very fake laugh was aggressive, but not as loud as Marcus’ real one. Soon their attention was turned to Harry, whose sudden silence was easily noted.

You’d emerged from whatever corner Maritza had you in and without your friend in distress, Harry was ready to get back to you.

“Harry’s the one with a mark,” Nikki teased, clicking his tongue against the inside of his teeth and Harry wanted to punch him for it. “Hear she’s got expensive taste though.”

“It’s not like that,” Harry insisted.

“It should be,” Nikki’s hand on his shoulder, stopping him as he tried to leave. “I wouldn’t roll around with all that, but-“

“Hey, now!” Marcus was quick to smack Nikki at the base of his skull.

“Shut up,” Harry snapped, but even Marcus came to your defense and he was pleased. Not all the guys he hung out with were terrible. It made him feel less terrible too.

“I’m serious man,” Nikki urged again, rubbing the back of his head and ignoring everything else. “She could buy out Marissa-“ there was no point in correcting him again. “Like that,” Nikki snapped his fingers and laid his hand on Harry’s chest, like they were having a heart to heart. “Play your cards right,” Harry shook his head no. “Think about it. Quit the job you hate, get a nicer place, import another Bolivian tree frog or whatever you’re into-” What an ass. Harry threw his arms up to shove Nikki away, but the wannabe model persisted. “Seal the deal, man, girls like that…” he shook his head and Harry frowned at it. “She’d be lucky to have a face like this wanting her,” Harry pulled away but Nikki was quicker, shooting up a hand to cup his jaw and squeeze his cheeks.

“I’m out of here.” He pushed past his friends, ignoring the continued encouragement and annoying conversation as he slipped through the crowd. He knew where to find something better. And a much better ending to his night if everything went well. He wanted to talk to you again, hang out again. He definitely wanted to kiss you again. More if you’d allow it.

You looked happy to see him and after three random encounters that always left his chest feeling heavy and his pants feeling betrayed, it was really all he could ask for. After informing him that his friend was a tool, to which Harry emphatically agreed, you two lingered on the topic of their short lived relationship. He’d seen you at her place a couple times over the course of Nikki’s scam and despite the messy ending, he was thankful to have had those chances to get even closer to you.

Once you were stretched out on the couch, making yourself at home, when the couple in question got into a fight that led them into another room for some screaming followed by loud make up sex. Harry stumbled upon the scene accidentally, but was driven directly into your side without hesitating. You laid next to each other on the ridiculously deep modular sectional, heads meeting in the corner of the L shape with your legs tossed out perpendicular to each other. He mimicked an awkward grunting noise that made you laugh and you responded with an exaggerated sigh that was pornographic on all counts, he had the semi to prove it. Not wanting to act on it in the middle of a stranger’s giant sunken living room, Harry laughed it off. Soon both of you were moaning loudly and obnoxiously in the hopes of embarrassing your friends into finishing quickly, but it didn’t work. Your stomachs ached, full with laughter, and soon enough, you -inspired by elation and the gentle warmth of amusement- had rolled over to kiss Harry right there. Without pausing to question the gift, he grabbed at the back of your neck and tried to maneuver his body under yours, but slid off the sofa as a result of his wiggling. You giggled at him and stayed on the cushions above him, while he stayed seated on the floor, leaning back into the corner of the sectional to kiss you again. It was slower and more focused than before and soon both of you were lost in it. By the time Nikki and Maritza emerged from whatever sex closet they’d just destroyed, your hand was under his zipper, rubbing him gently over his boxers. Harry had murder in his eyes when you jumped back, pulling away your wet lips and soft hand at the sound of their vengeful moaning- returning the favor for their friends at the worst possible moment.

The next was a dinner, small and remarkably classy for a shit like Nikki to pull off. Over cheese plates and fruit bowls and wine he’d probably never get again, Harry got to know the people in your circle better. They all smelled like money and he smelled like the CK One his grandmother sent him two Christmases ago. It was cheap next to them, but again your presence pulled him out of the sense that he didn’t belong. Your dry humor and willingness to call someone out for being ridiculous was the best part of the night. At least until he found you just outside the bathroom and pushed you back in for a moment alone. He kissed you hard and eager and your fingers curled around the embroidery on the front of his best shirt. You stayed like that, hushing each other as he pushed your dress up over your thick thighs until someone knocked and Harry’s fingers froze between your legs. In a moment of teasing bravery, he pushed hard against you, hoping his fingers would land in the vicinity of something good. Mid sentence, asking whoever it was for a few more minutes, you gasped and dug your nails into the back of his neck. Found it. The interruption left, but the moment was quickly closing in around him. Are we doing this? He’d asked hopefully. Not here. You were pulled out of dinner early by a phone call and Harry kicked his tires when he finally left, the night taking a swift nosedive after you were gone.

Harry would have liked to revisit that moment or any of the ones before it. Talk about going somewhere private so as not to be interrupted like usual. But you were too annoyed at your friends’ naivety and he let you vent. It sounded like you’d seen it happen to more than one of your friends and he was just thankful they weren’t all with Nikki. He was sure it would kill his chances, just by association. A cute guy with nothing, but his smile, charms his way into a big open floor plan and a cozy bed. After a couple months of endless sex and pricey accommodations, feeling like the real California king and not having to worry for anything, he’d find some extracurricular activities and engage until he was caught. Your friends were the ones left to foot the bill, emotionally and physically. You calmed yourself down quickly and apologized for shitting on his friend. Harry said it was fine and he meant it. 

He liked you. It was simple enough. He liked talking to you, liked imagining what it would be like to get you naked again. You made him laugh and made him nervous in ways he didn’t expect. He’d really liked kissing you and while admittedly not great at reading women, he’d bet you liked kissing him too. It was sort of a risky move, but he didn’t have any others so when you didn’t turn down the friendly hug he went in for, he swallowed the minuscule amount of pride he had left. Go for broke.

“Is your house ready?”

“Ready for what?” You laughed, pulling out of the hug, but keeping on hand on his ribs. If it was an attempt to keep him at arm's length, it backfired. He loved the feeling of you touching him so freely. You looked surprised that he recalling all the work being done and he hoped it sounded sincere, not creepy.

Harry recited what he remembered. Taking you back to a hotel, not your house. Then later, the first time you reconnected post awkward morning jilting, Harry had taken you back to a friend’s place. He also learned it was because a pipe burst in your master bathroom. After fighting and winning a drawn out claim with your insurance company, you’d been staying with Sherrie while you waited for fresh plumbing and new hardwood floors. When the damage had professionals tearing into your walls anyways, you jumped at the opportunity for a fresh layout and knocked down the wall between your kitchen and the rest of the house. That old college friend, Darius, offered up his kitchen as inspiration for the redesign and that was how Harry found you again. Over an expensive meal, he realized exactly how picky you were when it came to kitchens and he listened intently to everything wrong with your friend’s. Too commercial. Too impersonal. The soul of the home shouldn’t look like that. Harry offered the only plausible conclusion. Your friend Darius was a vampire, soulless and in need of many easy to clean surfaces. For the blood, of course. You’d been frozen in the warm candlelight and the seconds you took to process his joke felt like hours, but when you finally broke out into a laugh, a big one, Harry felt like he’d won a gold medal.

You were still listening to him go on with details from your own life, but he was running out. At least you weren’t running away.

“You remember all that?” You asked and Harry nodded, more than a little proud of himself.

“I listen,” he shrugged like it was nothing, but it wasn’t nothing. He had selective hearing, especially when it came to women. A habit he’d resigned himself to never breaking and always having to play catch up in a conversation. That’s how they ended up in arguments and how he was left looking dumb, nothing to say to someone who -to his knowledge- hadn’t said anything that required memorization. But he was really trying with you. Maybe the sting of a recent break up and her cruel words about his cavalier attitude had spurred him on. Being compared to his buddy, Nikki, was the nail in the coffin. He was trying to do better, be better. You were the first person to test his new efforts on and as he shamelessly glanced down to your chest, he didn’t mind the position he was in. “You’re easy to listen to,” he added and it felt more like the truth. You had a natural way about you and it made him feel like you were close friends after only just meeting. He felt it at Taix too, where it should have been awkward and stilted platitudes, stale get to know you questions. It wasn’t like that. He didn’t even know what you did for work, but he knew it had to be good money and that he’d call you if he ever got into a fight with his landlord. You seemed able to pull the best out of people without backing down or letting them walk all over you. It was hot. And sweet. Just like you.

The party was still ongoing and somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry registered that Garrett’s accent had slipped from some heavy northern english brogue into something offensively resembling Jamaican. He wasn’t bothered at his friend’s proximity and had no desire to look for them. Not when your hand was still on his ribs, absentmindedly thumbing the space just below his nipple. Your touch was both grounding and incredibly distracting. It took a lot of effort not to sound too eager when he asked to see the changes in your home. He had no idea what it looked like before, but he was very invested in this renovation project and was dying to see the results. He’d even ask for a tour of the whole place… stay too late, maybe pour a drink like he’d been there a hundred times just to make you laugh at him again. You were visibly thinking, milling the idea around while his hands slipped to your shoulders, thumbs resting against your collarbone.

He took his time leaning in, but when your fingers dipped under the waist of his jeans to pull him in closer he lost all restraint. Kissing you was way too good and if you said no now, Harry thought he might die. It’d been years since a girls lips got to him like this. The first wasn’t enough. Not he was being driven mad by all the build up, the accidental run ins, the inside jokes. He felt like a teenager again content to make out until his lips turned blue, terrified of what came next and whether or not he would be any good at it. You’d pulled away again and looked up with him, some unreadable glance that had him on pins and needles awaiting the final blow.

“Wanna get out of here?” you smiled suggestively.

And that gold medal feeling was back.

After establishing a clean slate, it was another week or two before Harry saw you again.

Another party, this one even less exciting than the last. Same people, same trashy outfits, same annoying cement and pebble water feature on someone else’s big patio overlooking the Valley. Harry was exhausted from work, but came out anyways at the behest of a girl he used to fool around with before she landed the coveted “woman on table” role in CSI and insisted she needed a boyfriend who was more supportive of her creative endeavors. She was fun but apparently that wasn’t what the big execs were looking for because she’d called him instead of Chad Michael Murray. He didn’t care much, but now that Nikki was off his couch and staying with a new woman until he managed to screw that up too, he wanted to go out. Alone. And have fun without cleaning up someone else’s mess. The beer was expensive and the food had been sitting out on ice too long to look appealing, but no one ate at these things. They were there for something else, something primal. To perform, to cultivate a tribe that would bolster them, to find a mate. For a night. Longer if the sex was good.

His cynical spiraling stopped short when her arms found his waist from behind. Harry’s smile wasn’t entirely fake, content to have someone who wanted him there and was excited to see him. She clung to his hand then his wrist when their palms stuck with clammy sweat from the warm evening air. He took plenty of opportunities to slip his hand into her back pocket, so tight his rings caught on the lip. Harry sword in his head and spun her close to kiss her, distract from the way he pulled his fingers free before palming the entire seat of her low rise jeans. There was nothing to grab so he slid his palms over the pockets until he found thigh with little warning and climbed back up, hoping it was hot and not weird. Girls already thought he was weird, he couldn’t lose those early moments when his kisses and his cute smile was enough to keep them around. He was painfully aware of his strengths. Nikki could con a woman into needing him for months, years in some cases, he groaned every time he saw Lindsey, too sweet to still be pining after that asshole. Harry had a couple weeks, max, before getting lost in his own head, staring at a hurt face on the cusp of tears without a thing to say. He knew he couldn’t make it better, so he froze. Every. Single. Time. This girl was different. She wouldn’t make it that long and he didn’t care.

He didn’t. Until he spotted you. He watched from a distance for a while, the way you wove through a room it looked like you’d rather not be in without looking smug or self righteous. The kitchen lights bounced off the shiny material of your jacket and Harry was determined not to lose you.

“Need a drink,” he mumbled while pulling away from her grabby hands.

“No, I’m okay, I’ve- hey!”

It wasn’t a question. Harry removed her legs from his lap, tossing them onto the lounge as gently as he could before holding up his hands apologetically and ducking into the crowd.

Through the giant windows, he could see you perusing the interior. It was a beautiful night and most people were huddled around the pool or one of the many diy bar carts scattered around. Slipping inside, he realized how much quieter it was and snapped the sliding door shut behind him. He briefly considered locking it. You looked up at the sound and your eyes softened remarkably. If you were happy to see him too, he’d have hit the jackpot.

“Didn’t take you for a creep.”

The half laugh half scoff that followed was cute. “Excuse me?” Your eyebrow cocked up and Harry put on his best smirk before letting it melt away into something more innocent and befitting the tone.

“Everyone else is outside,” he pointed out, crossing the room to plant his palms flat on the black marble island between you. “But you’re in here, alone… lurking.” You shook your head at him, but you were smiling.

“I’m not a party guest.”

“So this is breaking and entering?” Harry pushed up off the counter and threw an accusatory finger in your face. 

“I haven’t broken anything!” You held your hands up in surrender.

 “Then, I can only assume you’re some sort of spy.”

It wasn’t a half laugh that time. It was real and full and even though you turned your body away from him, your eyes drifted back over the counter top to his. “I don’t think Darius is important enough to spy on,” you turned away again and started walking away. So that’s whose house we’re in. Harry shrugged it off. Most of the time he made a point to know, but he hadn’t that night and suddenly he was curious. If there was a connection between you and this Darius would he find it by following you around like a puppy? Couldn’t hurt.

Harry watched your fingers drift over certain surfaces, but your eyes were everywhere, taking in every inch of the space. Some corners received more scrutiny than others and he couldn’t make out why. You’d sent him more than one flirty smile, but he’d kept his distance in case it was just hopeful thinking. At least until you opened a sleek silver door with a wink and descended the freshly revealed stairs. The passage was dark and narrow with strips of lighting under each step to illuminate the way down and nothing else. It was a confusing combination for a house so big and bright, but at the base of the stairs, you’d stopped and turned to face him and he suddenly didn’t care. Harry took the last step down and found one of his feet sandwiched between your shoes. He shuffled forward until he could feel your thighs on either side of his. Not how he pictured the night going, but he had no objections. Reaching forward, he found one of your hands quickly and pulled you closer to him. He imagined your face just in front of his and with his free hand, reached up to find your cheek. It was fast, faster than he usually went, but why else would you have beckoned him into a dark secret room and squeezed his fingers so alluringly. He was going to kiss you, he’d already decided weeks ago, when he suddenly realized the hand he wasn’t holding had been groping the wall next to him. The large overhead light flicked on at your command and nearly blinded him in surprise. Your hand slipped from his without resistance and you laughed at him as you backed away, but it only made him want to kiss you more.

Ignoring the almost moment between you, you were already off, brushing your fingers along the dimpled glass bottoms of rows and rows of wine bottles. A cellar. A nice one too, Harry noted before looking back to you.

“I wanted to see the new addition,” you explained without being asked and gestured around above your head toward the party that continue without you two. Harry wasn’t missing it all at the moment. “I didn’t know I’d have so much company when I stopped by.”

“It’s just me now,” Harry pointed out, pulling a bottle from its resting place to peruse the label. It meant nothing to him, but he let out a mumbled ‘good year’ before slipping it back into the hollowed out groove. Just in case.

“That was a surprise,” you said.

“A good surprise?” He looked up again, hopeful. You only smirked and twirled around again, suddenly finding something that needed your attention more than him. Impossible. 

Harry stepped up behind you, close enough to hear the gasp when the curve of your butt was suddenly pressed up against him. He leaned over your shoulder to speak into your ear, both hands resting on your waist. “Is this okay?” You nodded and his body was vibrating when you leaned back against him. His hands tried to slip forward to your stomach, but you quickly caught his wrists and pulled them higher. He didn’t mind at all, especially when you released his hands just before they slid over your breasts. They were more covered than the last time he saw you, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t allowed to touch them that night, not like he had before, making this moment an instant favorite. 

Your sigh was quiet and yet it bounced around in his head lighting up memories of your night together like a cerebral pinball game as he squeezed the ample flesh and groaned himself at the feeling. He squeezed again, but let one hand travel even higher. Harry stuttered over the neckline of your tank top, briefly considering a deep dive underneath, before letting his fingers continue on their journey to your jaw. The slow turn gave him a moment to lick his lips and then they were on you. Your cheek, the corner of your mouth, then hungry for more, he was shocked to find your lips already seeking his out too. The kiss was hard, but a quick adjustment of his head and Harry was in control, moving his mouth slowly and trying every combination he could think of. His lip on top, his on bottom. When you sighed again, he tried more, liking the way his tongue felt under yours. Wet sounds and soft moans drowned out the approaching footsteps, or maybe he was choosing to ignore them, until an unfortunately familiar voice was letting his name ruin the moment with zero regard for how hot it was.

Your head turned to the stairwell quickly and Harry’s lips chased yours to no avail, landing behind your ear as she drew closer. You tried to pull away, but the blessed wine racks in front of you slowed your escape. He followed you up the stairs again, stopping for half a second to remind the rude interruption in a sparkly blue tube top that he was nothing to her. He tried to make his eyes sympathetic. Nikki wouldn’t have and he’d have Harry’s balls for wording his exit that way, when she was also nothing to him. That wasn’t his way. He could admit to himself that she was no one, someone fun from the past, but he’d always cling to the fact that she only saw the same in him. A warm lap to sit on when she was bored. Which is why he didn’t care what she thought about him practically sprinting away from her without much explanation, but as he hustled through the party crowd and out into the empty street, he knew that he didn’t want you thinking of him the same way. Or worse.