Delicate

Chapter 12

HAVEN MCQUEEN

Not only did I wake up this morning with a small hangover and a headache delivered straight from hell, but it also took me about ten solid minutes to try and figure out if what I thought happened actually happened. There was no evidence in my room of a steamy makeout session, but God knows I spent enough time thinking about it when I was trying to fall asleep last night that it had to be real.

And now I'm all ready to go for the day, bright and early, but I'm dreading that knock on the door from Jeff to signal that they're ready to go. I'm just sitting here with my luggage propped up on the floor by my feet, bouncing my knee, and staring at the second mattress until my vision goes blurry.

When that knock comes through, I jolt out of my thoughts and stand a little too quickly, feeling the blood rush to my brain as I clear my throat and place my hand on my forehead. My eyes make one last sweep across the room to make sure I'm not forgetting anything, which is pretty much pointless; I did that twelve times this morning already.

"Hey," I lock eyes with Jeff first, admittedly ignoring Harry slightly behind him.

Jeff laughs, looking back at me with a peculiar expression. "You alright?"

"Me?"

He raises his brows.

"Yes," I force a laugh of my own. "I'm good. I'm just tired and I slept weird last night."

"Oh, alright," he chuckles. "Well, we're ready to head out if you are."

"Yup, I'm ready," I come out of the room and let the door slam shut behind me once my suitcase is out of the way. Only then do Harry and I make eye contact, and I already know by his sheepish smile that last night was very real. I don't know if the confirmation makes it better or worse.

"You like the outfit?" I ask just to strike up a conversation about literally anything. I forgot that I gave it to him yesterday to keep in his room so he could dress himself this morning.

"Oh, yeah," he looks down at the black button-down shirt tucked into black pin-stripe trousers. It's a very Tim Burton look and I'm into it regardless of who's wearing it. "It's good."

"Yeah, I like it," I try to sound objective, but after last night, I'm wondering if he thinks the compliment means more than it does. Maybe that's true. I don't know.

The car ride to the radio station where Harry will be doing his interview today is silent, but not terribly long. He'll be signing albums and doing meet and greets for the first one hundred fans that called in, which I'm actually quite interested to see. I've never watched him interact with his fans before, but he seems to be good with them just from the pictures I've seen.

"So they're just going to talk to you about the album, but you know how these things can go," Jeff reminds him. "Try to keep the topic on the music and the tour."

"Yeah, alright," Harry replies while I bite down on my thumbnail in the back row of seats, wishing I would have woken up early enough to have coffee. Maybe I can sneak out while Harry is being interviewed.

Once we arrive at the station, there's already a plethora of fans waiting for him on either side of the sidewalk leading to the entrance. There are security guards and a barricade to try and keep the girls under control, and as I see all the paparazzi ready with their cameras, I wonder if other people are going to question why the fuck his stylist is accompanying him to his press events. Surely there's no real reason for me to be here, but we're going straight to Boston after this. I guess Jeff thought it would make more sense for me to come along, and I guess he also told me that coming along to these things would be part of the job.