Matrimony Homies

8: Protective (Loren)

After Sheila's awkward faux pas, she seems to calm down as Harry regales us with stories from his life on the road. We order and eat and before I know it the night has disappeared.

"I don't think I've laughed that much in a very long time," Sheila says to Harry as we rise to exit the restaurant.

Me either. Not that I'm saying that to Harry. Hell, I can barely admit it to myself. Careful, girl. Don't allow his charm to soften your resolve. He's still the same guy from 2013, and his barbs will stab a person until she bleeds.

The pep talk to myself lasts all the way out of the restaurant where I remember we didn't drive. Stopping at the portico, I sheepishly glance at Sheila. "Mind taking the tube back to our flat? I forgot to get an Uber." Taking out my phone, I pull up the app. "I can order one now. Might not take too long to get here."

Harry clears his throat, and I know what's coming before he says the words. "Don't be daft, Freak. I'll take you to the flat." He waves his hand and starts walking before I can gather my thoughts or the words to accompany them.

Like a lamb to the slaughterhouse, Sheila follows him without even glancing at me. Sigh. I guess we're doing this. Despite my gut feeling that this is a bad idea. Reluctantly, I trail behind them, not at all surprised when Sheila reaches for the handle of the front passenger door. Glancing at me, Harry holds open the rear driver's side door, grasping my hand to help me into the back seat.

My fingers heat up where he touches them. Must be the result of those peppers he'd had with his dinner. I understand they can burn skin. In the car, Harry tells Sheila the same thing he'd said to me: "Passenger chooses."

With a giddy giggle, Sheila scrolls through the music. Soon enough, the latest chart topper starts playing, and my Marketing Guru cranks up the sound. Confident my ears will start bleeding from the volume, I try to pretend like this is the night I prefer. After all, I hadn't wanted to be alone with Harry anyway.

Are you sure?

Duh. Of course I'm sure.

So you brought Sheila along as a buffer?

Don't be barmy! If I had my preference, Sheila would have been in an Uber on her way to our flat well before I met up with Harry at the restaurant. After all, I hadn't told her that's who I was meeting until the very last possible moment.

At which point she'd squealed.

The 45-minute drive seems an eternity, and I practise my meditation while I maintain a soft focus through the window outside, watching the lights bounce off the water droplets on the roads and buildings. Priyanka is always telling me that the best way to meditate is in the midst of noise. "Anyone can meditate when it's quiet and all that requires silencing is your own thoughts. If you want to level up, Loren, you should meditate when it's noisy around you." Well, now I'd be able to tell her that I tried. And failed.

Not only can I not block out the music or my thoughts, I am equally unable to ignore Sheila's loud and flirty laughter. Why that should bother me, I don't know. It's because she's fangirling, and I've never been one to fangirl for Harry (although I understand many do).

When we arrive at our building, I try to escape from the vehicle as quickly as possible, but apparently Harry has engaged the child lock because my door won't open. Sheila is already sliding out of the passenger door, and I try to get her attention to come around and let me out so Harry can drive away. To his own home. Away from Sheila. I mean, away from me.

Harry says something quietly to Sheila, and the woman nods. "I've got a key!" is her loud proclamation as she holds up the chain I'd passed to her when we'd arrived in London late the previous night. It's got a Rapier Wit emblem on it as everyone who comes to London to stay in the flat receives a copy to use during their trips here.