Delicate

Chapter 9

HAVEN MCQUEEN

"I feel like you're lying if you're not just a little nervous," I glance at Harry over my shoulder as I continue steaming his suit in his dressing room.

"I'm not," he's smiling as he scrolls on his phone, slouching against the couch. "I'm used to it."

"Yeah, but what if you trip? What if no one sings along or claps and it's just silent? Crickets. What if you hear crickets?"

Smirking still, he asks, "You've really never been to one of my shows before, have you?"

I roll my eyes at him and shut the steamer off before I stand upright. "Okay, it's ready for you to put on."

"Alright," he sets his phone to the side and comes over to take the suit into the large ensuite on the other side of the room. Meanwhile, I steal a bit of fruit from the assortment he asked for, waiting for him to come back out and show me the fit.

"Uh...Haven?"

My eyes widen as I bite into a strawberry. "What? What's wrong? Is it ripped or something? What is it?"

Smirking, he opens the door to show me that the suit is fine and he was only joking. I almost fall to the floor in relief with the strawberry still pinched between my fingers, making him crack up laughing as he comes out of the bathroom.

"You scared the shit out of me," I finish the strawberry and quickly sanitize my hands before I touch the shirt to pop open a couple of the buttons for him.

"You're very persistent about leaving these buttons open," he keeps his little charming half-smile but narrows his eyes at me in a skeptical way.

"It's sexy," I shrug with all the genuine casualty in the world. "I'm doing it for the fans, not for you."

"Hm," he looks down at himself, then mutters, "I'm not sure you're supposed to call your boss 'sexy'. Not to his face anyway."

Even though he's joking, I hate that I can feel my cheeks set fire as my jaw drops. "I didn't! I said the unbuttoned shirt is sexy!"

"Oh, so I'm not sexy?"

"Oh my God," I shake my head and turn away from him to get my mini lint roller, and he's still laughing to himself as I refuse to look up into his eyes.

In all honesty, though, he does look incredibly, ridiculously sexy. I mean, fuck. His hairstylist trimmed his ends earlier so that it's a bit shorter like it was when he did all the Dunkirk promotion, and his jaw is freshly shaven to show off just how sharp it is. I swear, his bone structure is mesmerizing and I can never stop staring—especially when he's chewing gum the way he is now. Every time his jaw flexes, I'm more and more tempted to just attach my lips to the corner of it and suck until I feel the muscle go slack.

"So, if you're not nervous, you must be excited, then," I change the subject.

"Really excited," he confirms. "I've missed doing this."

For some reason, it makes me sad to see him fixing his hair in the mirror and looking himself over once more. I just wonder if he misses being in One Direction and having a dressing room full of his best friends rather than having one to himself, but I don't dare ask him in case I'm right. He looks happy right now, as he should be.

"Are you gonna watch me?" He asks, and I blush again.

"Probably," I force a yawn to sound more nonchalant. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Right," he chuckles. "Where are you going to be?"

Why does he care?

"Um...I'm not sure, but probably in the middle of the floor and toward the back by the sound booth."