Siren

Chapter Thirty-Four

I WAKE UP TO MY RINGTONE AT 2:45 AM. I roll over, growling at whoever has decided it was impertinent to talk to me at this hour. I grab the annoying device and answer without thinking about checking caller ID, I'm too groggy and annoyed.

"Hello?" I say at the same time he says "Come let me in." I sit up in bed, realizing that it's Harry on the other line. And then my heart sinks. I'm not at Tammy's flat. Tammy is at her flat.

"Harry, I told you I'm at my mums."

"I know," he says, almost giggling. What the hell? "Just, come let me in. Please?"

I climb out of bed, holding the phone to my ear using my shoulder, and pull on a pair of sweats quickly. I open my bedroom door silently and pad across the living room. Sure enough, the porch light has been turned on, and Harry's lovely face is staring at me through the frosted glass to the right of the burgundy doorway.

I unlock the series of locks and hang the phone up as the door swing open.

"Surprise!" He says, a a huge dimpled grin on his soft face. He stumbles, tripping over his own feet as he reaches for me. His arms wrap around me and suddenly I'm supporting him, nearly falling over myself.

"Are you drunk?" I whisper, laughing. I've seen Harry drink. I thought I had seen him drunk. Turns out, I was so very wrong.

"Maybe a little," he says, letting me go and walking into my mums house. I shut the door and follow him, trying and failing to keep him quiet and direct him to my bedroom.

I can't believe he's here. In my childhood home. And he's drunk. How the hell did he even get here? Better question, how did he find my mums house?

He walks into the kitchen, which is right next to mums room, completely ignoring my pleas to go to my bedroom.

"Where are your glasses?" He asks after opening half of the cabinets in the small space. I open one of the two he hadn't yet reached and hand him an plastic glass, one reserved for if and when any young children enter the home. He walks over to the refrigerator and stares at it a moment before placing his glass beneath the sensor and filling it halfway with water.

He does this four times before finally placing the cup in the sink, the first think he does without making more noise than necessary, and then turns to me.

"Come here." He opens his arms wide, banging his hand against the refrigerator and letting out a tiny screech in pain. I dart over, trying not to laugh as I grab his hand in mine and apply as much pressure as I can.

"That hurt like hell," he whines and I giggle again. "Whats s-so fun, funny?" He asks, stumbling over each word. I look up at him and the small gleam in his now dark green eyes.

"You are." I giggle, holding his soon to be bruised hand in mine.

"Am not." He pouts. I roll my eyes and pull him away from the counter and somehow manage to get him to my bedroom.

"You need to be quiet, mums asleep." I say as I shut the door behind us, amazed she didn't wake up yet. When I then around, Harry has removed his jacket, shirt and pants and is crawling underneath my quilt in only tight black boxers that leave little to the imagination.

Even inebriated he's hot. It is r fair.

"Come here." He says, patting the small space next to him. My twin bed is nothing like the king we've been sharing at his place but as I climb into bed next to him, my entire body pressing against his, I am partial to the smaller bed.

He grabs the hem of my sweats and smiles.

"Are you going to take these off?" He whispers.

"Are you going to behave?" I ask, knowing that his response is going to be far from appropriate.

"Never." He grins and flips me over, pushing me into the mattress as he holds himself up in a plank position. His curls fall into my face, tickling my cheeks. He laughs and leans in to kiss me, in an unusually playful mood.

"Have I told you lately that you're beautiful," he says when he pulls away a few breathless moment. I shake my head, blushing through the dark, and he presses his lips to mine once again. He grabs my wrists, holding them at either side of my face and presses his long lean, toned, frame against me.

Even drunk, the boy takes me breath away.