Blowing Smoke (Harry Styles)

Chapter 67

Harry and I raced down the familiarly worn trail to the beach towards where my family sat around a blazing campfire. I shoved Harry from behind just as we were about to step onto the beach, causing him to lurch forward and stumble down the last few feet of the hill, nearly falling into the sand, though he unfortunately caught himself before he did. He turned back to me with a flabbergasted expression. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Just wanted to have a little fun.” I chuckled out, my shoulder shaking as I did.

“You’re asking for it.” He warned with a stern tone, though he was smiling quite widely with his dimples indenting into his cheeks.

“Maybe I am.” I teased him, jumping down onto the sandy beach, sinking into the grains at least two inches. “And maybe you’re really weak since you let a girl push you around.”

“Maybe you aren’t a girl after all.” He teased right back as we walked towards the bonfire on the heart of the beach.

“M-maybe.” I joked, nudging him with my shoulder.

“M-maybe?” he mocked me.

“Don’t make fun of my stutter, Harold.” I whined, shoving him yet again, but with my palms this time, making him stumble slightly on his uneasy feet.

“Then don’t have a stutter, Penelope.” He teased me again, shoving me harder than I had shoved him, causing me to stumble for a few feet to the side, nearly falling right over.

We both laughed.

I buried my hands in the centre pocket on my hoodie as we laughed together, nearing the family around the fire.

Harry and I sat down in the sand, next to my dad, staring into the blazing orange fire that warmed my face to discomfort. I sat with my legs crossed, leaning back on my palms that pressed into the cold sand.

“And so my roommate once was dared to take a shot of a goldfish.” Jake continued his story, as if we hadn’t just arrived.

“This story is awesome.” I whispered to Harry, nudging him with my hand to get his attention.

I focused my attention back to Jake as he twisted his strange tale, which I had heard before, his face eerily lit by the firelight. Bonnie watched him with awe, her lips parted, and her eyes focused on him.

Jake told his many stories with his Pabst in his hand as the rest of us sipped our own, laughing at the very strange stories of vomiting live goldfish, panda bears attacking high people, and a man falling off the London Eye yet not having a single scratch, stories that had too much exaggeration in it to be real, though none of us called him out on it because we were laughing way too hard to complain.

“I want some s’mores.” Anthony suddenly announced.

My dad shuffled around through the guitar case he brought, pulling out a package of marshmallows. “Sorry, no s’more crackers.” My dad said, shaking his head.

“Whatever.” Anthony muttered, tearing open the marshmallow pack with his teeth, causing a few deliciously large marshmallows to roll in the sand.

“Anto, pass two here.” I said, holding up my hand.

Anthony threw me the marshmallows, arching them over the roaring fire, and into my palm. I caught both and handed one to Harry.

“What are we doing?” Harry whispered in my ear.

I turned to him with a look of dismay. “Roasting m-marshmallows.”

“You roast them? How?” he asked, just as surprised as me.