Out of the Ordinary

Chapter 12

The game was long and grueling, and Will dove in front of me one too many times, slamming the beach ball to the other side of the net with a large whack of his hand. Mark talked smack the entire time, criticizing everything our team was doing, trying to psych us out, and I would've given it back to him any other year, but I wasn't focused enough. It was like I had blinders on, my vision stream-lined so that I could only see Harry. The swift lift of his arm, muscle rippling as he brought it down against the ball, the way he kept tossing his hair back, and the way it kept swinging into his face again when he jumped. There was a quiet intensity about him, about the way he eyed everyone as they played, jumping in when necessary. And too many times, he caught me staring, smiled, and shifted his attention back to the game, which I seemed unable to do.

Will was getting frustrated with me, but I didn't care. I hadn't wanted to play anyway. Even the prospect of losing didn't seem that bad after a while - as long as Harry was still around to distract me after the loss.

"Alright kids, time to eat!" a voice called some time later.

"Yes!" Mark whooped, "Eat my shit, dude," he yelled to Will, and I didn't resist the urge to roll my eyes as I swam toward the stairs.

"Language, Mark!" came my mother's voice, and Will snickered.

"Sorry, Ma!"

"Twenty to eighteen," Will announced, "to be continued."

"That's what you think," I said, grabbing a towel and spinning around.

"You're playing," Will assured me as he walked past, following Mark to the spread of food, "I'm not going to argue about it."

"Well I'm not either!" I called after him, wrapping the towel around my waist.

"Hey," came Harry's voice, and I spun towards him, flustered by his nearness, and my senseless giggles were cut short when I watched beads of water travel from his neck down.

"Um," I gulped, watching one such bead circumvent his belly button, "Towel?"

"If I'm not mistaken," Harry started, his mouth quirking up at the corner as he took the towel from me, "we are in the lead."

It was hard to even feel upset about it when he looked so delectable running the towel over his hair, but I had to save face, "The game isn't over."

He wrapped the towel around his neck, "So, we are playing later, then?"

"Just don't tell my brothers. Otherwise it's all we'll talk about over dinner."

"I can keep a secret," His dimples were showing again, "Can't say the same for you."

My jaw dropped, "I can hold back." I said defensively, then considered for a moment, "Sometimes."

He leaned forward, looking sideways each way, as if what he was about to say was a well-kept secret, one he was about to share with only me, "I prefer it when you don't."

Searching his eyes, the glimmer of amusement I expected to see was absent, replaced instead by a clear, straightforward sincerity that made my heart stumble. With a quick glance in the direction of my nosey family, I stood on my tip-toes, meaning to press a kiss to his cheek, and gasped when I felt the crease of his lips at the corner of mine.

I'd underestimated the distance (clearly) and rocked back, touching a hand to my tingling mouth, thoroughly embarrassed by my presumptuous move. But I wanted to do it again, too. Wanted it more than anything as I stared at his lips, parted and pink, mere inches from mine. Only when he pressed them together, his Adam's apple moving as he swallowed, did I look up, finding his eyes wide and beautifully, impossibly dark, the green only a hint of color around his pupil as they bore into mine.