Out of the Ordinary

Chapter 33

"Here you go." Harry's hand came into view, holding another drink out to me. I took it, and smiled up at him.

"Thanks babe," I said, the words making sense in my head, but sounding funny and drawn out and whiny as they made their way out of my mouth.

I lost count of how much I'd already had, which wasn't good considering I'd agreed to this night out on the basis that I'd promised myself not to get too drunk. That was several hours ago, back in Harry's London "flat," when the thought of spending New Year's Eve at a party with his friends was both completely appealing and completely terrifying.

"It's just an option," Harry had said, putting his phone facedown on the dark granite countertop in his immaculately clean kitchen. I sat at the counter drinking a cup of coffee. "I'd be just as happy to stay home, and celebrate in other ways." He smirked at me, and leaned on the counter, both palms spread wide on its surface. "One other way, really."

We'd made it. We'd gotten through nearly a week together without succumbing to our primal desires, despite Harry's best efforts. His presence was always a welcome comfort, but the last few days, his body near mine was nothing but a constant reminder of what I couldn't let myself have. He was no help in the matter. He'd made several attempts to disarm me—yanking me around corners, out of sight so that he could press his lips to my neck before I could utter a word, or wrapping himself around me at night, the firm length of him rubbing against my leg as he kissed me so thoroughly, my whole body trembled beneath him.

And then there were the things he didn't do on purpose—or at least I didn't think he did—like licking his lips before speaking, or tugging my body to his by the belt loops on my jeans, only to press a chaste kiss to my forehead, and worst of all, just being his usual goofy, thoughtful, sweet self. Chuckling adorably at me, bringing me coffee in bed in the morning, staring at me when he thought I wasn't looking, only to smile shyly my way when I caught him.

Anne and Robin either didn't notice any of it, or pretended not to. But regardless there was no way they could've known or understood all the things he constantly made me feel, too often all at the same time. His hand on my leg beneath the dinner table made me feel loved, comforted, and aroused all at once. The slow, precise way his pink lips moved and curled into a smile when he spoke made my heart thump offbeat, sent my blood searing a path through my vessels. And when he looked at me, even just for a second, it was like waking up to a sunny day, smiling into the warmth of the light again and again and again.

Anne may've seen more than she let on, because I noticed her watching us—the way we interacted with each other—more than once. And I could only hope she was pleased. Could only hope she knew how happy her son made me, and how I wanted nothing more than to make him just as happy.

"Or," Harry said, pulling me back from my thoughts, grounding me in his kitchen once more. "We could go for a little while. At least until midnight. Then just come back home." He took a sip of his coffee as I considered it. "But don't feel pressured. Whatever you want to do is fine with me."

It was a New Year's Eve party hosted by his friend Nick Grimshaw at some swanky downtown restaurant. I knew it would be a big production. Harry had said he'd rented out the space for twelve hours. I also knew there would be lots of Harry's friends there, celebrities and plain old people like me alike. But even knowing all that ahead of time couldn't prepare me for how overwhelming it actually was.

Hence, the too many drinks.

I took a sip from the fresh glass Harry handed me, no longer tasting the alcohol, and smiled over at him as he sat beside me, sinking into the plush sofa with his own drink in hand.

He'd already introduced me to Nick, Rita Ora, and several other people whose names I didn't remember, but were apparently really well-known people this side of the pond. I was having a hard time keeping calm.