Lights (2013)

38

"Blair! Harry's here!" My father yells.

My heart flutters and I smooth lip gloss over my lips, tainting them a pretty light pink. I look at myself in the mirror. Harry told me not to dress up tonight, we're only going out to dinner. Of course, I didn't listen.

I wear my jeans, per usual, with a silver sweater I found at the back of my closet. It's casual enough, but it's also pretty enough to piss off Harry just a little bit.

I grab my purse and make my way down the stairs. I hear Harry and my father talking out on the porch. Even though I know it's wrong, I lean against the door, pressing my ear to it so I can hear what they're saying.

"Where are you two going tonight?" My father asks.

"Just out to dinner," Harry answers. "Nothing fancy."

"Ah." They're silent for a bit. "Where is she? I called her down."

"She'll be down soon," Harry says.

"So," my father says. "You and Blair, huh?"

Harry clears his throat uncomfortably. I hold my breath, waiting for his response. "Uh...yeah. Yes."

"I trust you, Harry, you know that?"

I imagine Harry shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I should hope."

"Blair trusts you, too, she's always trusted you...she's very defensive over you, you know that."

"Brutally defensive." Harry laughs nervously.

"As her father, I have to ask you," my father goes on. I freeze. "What are your intentions with my daughter?"

I widen my eyes. I throw open the door, plastering a smile onto my face. "Hello," I say a little too quickly.

Harry's eyes seem to thank me as I shut the door behind me and nod to my dad.

"Shall we?" I say to Harry. He holds out his hand for me, and I take it. I can still feel my heart beating wildly in my chest. I wave goodbye to my dad as Harry and I walk to his car. He opens the door for me, shooting me a small smile, and I slide into the car. I look to see my dad is still watching us from the porch, a tiny smile etched into his features. 

Harry starts the engine and then looks over to me. "Alright, how long were you listening?" He asks. He knows me too well. 

"I wasn’t listening," I lie, brushing hair out of my eyes.

Harry snorts. "I saw you come down through the front window," he says. "I'm not as stupid as I look." He smirks, backing out of the driveway.

"It's not that you look stupid," I say. "It's that you flunked four classes in the last year of school." 

"I didn't flunk," he says. "I just didn't try my hardest." He sniffs.

"Oh, of course," I say. "It's not like I had to tutor you in maths three years in a row."

"I hated maths and you know it," he retorts. "I'm not naturally smart, like you."

I laugh. "Unless you count art," I smirk. "I couldn't do art for my life." I look over at Harry. "Which is why you're a tattoo artist and I'm not," I say. He knows I'm making fun of him and he rolls his eyes.

"It is an art," Harry says. "You have to draw!"

"On people's skin!"

"Exactly! It's art they carry for the rest of their lives!"

"Yeah, and what about when they're eighty years old and...saggy?" I try to suppress my smile.

"Saggy? What the fuck?" Harry's eyes dance.