Hot for Harry

May I? (A New Year's Eve Story)

New Year's Eve, and for the third year in a row, you aren't going to be kissed at midnight.

"Come to the party with me," your best friend Harry had pleaded, "No reason to sit home alone moping."

So here you are. You might as well have spent the evening watching television and going to bed before ten-thirty. Shortly after arriving, Harry had been dragged into conversation with a variety of industry individuals, leaving you to fend for yourself.

As you stand alone, trying to blend into the wallpaper, a man approaches. Your eyes sweep over him, examining his expensive clothing. He's a handsome one too. Maybe your luck is picking up?

"I'm Frank," the gorgeous specimen says, "Might I freshen your drink?"

"Champagne, please," you purr, watching him head for the indoor bar, admiring the shape of his ass outlined by his trousers. As though they are long lost friends, Harry approaches Frank while he's in line. It appears your friend is striking up a conversation of some sort with your potential midnight kisser. You don't even know where Harry has been since you ran into him briefly at the canapé table nearly a half hour ago. But now he's chatting with Frank, who is shaking his head at something Harry is saying. You watch as Frank nods to your bestie and relinquishes your glass before heading off into the crowd, not even bothering to glance at you.

What the fuck?! If you didn't know better, you could swear that Harry just scared off Frank. And he was hot. Tonight could have been the New Year's Eve when you finally got a kiss at midnight! When Harry approaches with your bubbly, you snatch it from his hand and stomp away. How dare he chase off your very handsome, very worthy prospect!

Angrily, you stalk down the hallway of the penthouse, looking for a room where you can be alone for a minute to calm down. The third room down is devoid of people, and you plop on the bed, taking a deep pull on your drink as you kick off your shoes. As expected, Harry has followed you, and you're glad. It's important to air this out. Maybe you will still have time to go find Frank and convince him that whatever Harry said was a lie.

Harry closes the door gently, and you watch him flick the lock. Turning towards you, he pushes back the ends of his suit coat, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"I know you're angry," he starts.

"Don't even! That guy was my last chance to get kissed at midnight! It's already 11:30! What the fuck did you tell him?" You're pissed, and you take another swig of your drink.

"That you were here with me."

"Here with you?" You're livid, and you stand, pacing the carpeted floor. "Here with you?! Of course I'm here with you! As your friend! And I really, really wanted to meet Mr. Right tonight, Harry. It's been a long dry spell for me."

Harry continues to stand at the door, leaning back, warily watching, waiting for you to calm.

The ranting continues, as you wear a path with your pacing. "Dammit, Harry! I haven't been kissed or touched or FUCKED in months! Why would you interfere like that?"

"You finished yet, love?"

"NO! I'm not even remotely finished. I do not understand how you could get in the way of what could have been, at a minimum, a midnight kiss. Or more. A lifetime. Or maybe just a good orgasm! Don't I deserve that, Harry? Shit, I thought you were my friend."

"Am your friend," he mumbles.

"Then why?" you stomp over to where he continues to recline nonchalantly. Standing toe to toe, you place your hands on your hips and repeat your demand, "Why would you screw this up for me?"