Pirouette [h.s.]

chapter 9

// eyes like sinking ships on water so inviting //

// i almost jump in //

gold rush -Taylor Swift

Harry's POV

--------

Holy shit.

I watch as Phoebe walks towards the door of her apartment complex. She isn't stumbling around like she was when we left the bar, instead, she's booking it towards the entrance.

Holy fuck.

She's been on my mind all week long. A framed picture I don't want to take out of the gallery. A reoccurring dream. Flitting around in my brain, her pretty sky eyes cloudless and branded into the back of my mind.

I feel absolutely insane thinking about her so much. But it's like she's tattooed herself deeper than my inked skin, straight into my bloodstream.

I'm not oblivious to how I feel about her. If anything, that's something I'm unwaveringly confident in. She's stunning and I want to figure her out; like a puzzle I need to solve.

I had told Tate the whole story. That I met this piece of artwork at the gas station and then I saw her again and we went out to Peking. That she's gorgeous and a dancer and I feel pulled towards her and that I sound like an absolute lunatic whenever I think about her.

Tate, being the best friend he is, told me to get dressed because we were going to go out to figure this shit out. Barry's is our go-to bar - there's usually a good crowd there, and they have a good reputation in the city. We met up after he got off of work, driving separately in case he found someone to take home. I knew I would be too enthralled by the thought of Phoebe to hook up with anyone.

The two of us sat and talked and sipped while we tried to get my head straight. He told me, with a grin on his face, that I sounded like a damn hopeless romantic when I talked about her. It was a compliment. It was him saying I should try to explore this thing with Phoebe. I was becoming a sap already, and he knew I was falling for her.

We chatted for a while, until he got a little restless and needed to blow off some steam. Tate is the most thoughtful person I know, but he can't sit still for too long. He'll gladly listen and give advice, but if the conversation starts to drag out, he needs a break to move around. I let him, because I know he needs it, and because it gives me time to quell my spiraling tornado of thoughts.

Tate and I met about six years back, when he came into the vet's office I was interning at with a puppy he had found wandering the streets. She was a little scrawny German Shepherd and her fur was all matted down. We went through all of the protocols with her, gave her a bath, and, while the doctors were checking on her health, I went to talk to Tate. He was messed up over this little puppy; pacing the room nonstop messed up.

Nobody claimed the dog, which we expected, considering she screamed 'stray' when he first brought her in. So, I called Tate a few days later and asked him if he wanted her. He started driving to the office before we were even off the phone. From there, we built up a friendship the more times he came in to get Maisie checked on and up-to-date with vaccines and medications.

And now, he's my best friend, even when he leaves me to go dance with the girl I can't stop thinking about.

I know I sound crazy. I know I do. But I can't get Phoebe out of my head. I want to understand her. I want to dig into her and find all of the diamonds hidden inside. She's an intoxicating siren woman. It's like gravity pulling me to her.