The Object of My Affection: My Band Mate's Sister

She's Not a Girl who Misses Much...

The pair walked slowly in the direction of their hotel. They were in no rush to get anywhere so they decided to soak up the sun and the memory that they’d just created. Paul and Brona were so at ease after their long and wonderful talk. They had a weight lifted off of their shoulders and now they felt lighter because of it.

Brona, feeling grateful, broke the contented silence. “Thanks, Paul,” she spoke softly. He turned his head to the side to face her. “I’m sure you had more important things to do this mornin’ and comfortin’ me probably wasn’t on your list.”

A smile sprung instantly upon Paul’s lips. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close to his side, which he couldn’t help but notice that the brunette fitted comfortably into his side like her head perfectly fitted into shoulder and neck. But Paul couldn’t be sure if his measurements were one hundred per cent accurate. It was wishful thinking.

“I’ll always comfort you,” Paul said in a soft and gentle tone, equal to hers. “Whenever you need me to.”

Her lips twitched upwards. “You are just . . .” she paused, pondering over the perfect word to sum up his kindness and her gratitude into one. Finding it, something caught her eye causing her to discard the word. “Christ!”

“Never got that before, actually.”

Brona rolled her eyes and gestured out in front of her. “No, not you. Look!”

Paul pursued his lips tightly and, with narrowed eyes, followed her direction. His eyes widened in shock. He muttered curse words under his breath and brought his hand through his mop top.

Outside their hotel was a mob; a mob of fans trying to storm their way into the hotel. A row of policemen lined the entrance in order to contain the girls, who were a lot stronger than they looked. They’d do anything.

“Can you believe it?” Paul asked, blinking at the sight.

“No . . .” she replied quietly. Her blue eyes grew and she took hold of Paul by the shoulders, bringing him face to face with her. “Do you think someone famous is inside?!”

Paul furrowed his “perfect” brows and narrowed his eyes at her, not releasing she was joking. Seeing his scrunched up face, Brona reassured him she was joking and added that it must have been his moustache that had made her forgot that he was Paul McCartney.

Paul brought his fingers to his moustache. “It’s kinda itchy.”

The brunette titled her head to the side. “It’s kinda cute.”

Paul perked an eyebrow as a smirk sprawled across his lips. “Really? Well maybe I should grow a real one then, if it’s catching your attention.”

She shoved him playfully in response, making him chuckle, and scolding him to behave. “I don’t want to have to tell Jane any tales,” she teased, looking him straight in the eyes. It was a soft stare, mirrored by Paul. She felt contempt and warm by staring into his soft gazing, hazel gems. But she didn’t detect it as well as Paul did.

Paul unwillingly tore his eyes away from studying her face to look at the rowdy mob. He noted everything he could about the scene in order to produce a plan and keep Brona safe. She watched dotingly. She loved watching the clogs of Paul’s mind turning from the outside. He seemed so focused as he rubbed his chin, deep in thought. The brunette loved that side of him. He was more than just a pretty face.

All of a sudden, a light bulb popped over his head. Swiftly, the black haired man slipped his arm around her petite waist bringing her towards the hotel in a brisk walk. He held her closer and tighter as they came nearer to the disorderly of girls. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she got hurt.