The Thrill Is Gone

Their laughter rang through the busy street, garnering questioning looks from a few people that were sober enough to not think the pair just another drunken couple on their way to the football match. They’d been walking around for a little less than an hour, having had no precise destination to spend the four hours before the match began, in mind. Not that they minded the walking about. The company was enjoyable and the conversation was not only lively, but it flowed with great ease. Everything one said seemed to make them both erupt in a fit of giggles. Some of the things said were childish, a few even bordered on the vulgar, but that was alright by them, they weren’t trying to hold a conversation worthy of being held in front of the Queen, they were trying to make each other laugh, to have a good time, and they were doing one hell of a job of it.

“Still can’t believe that bloke was daft enough to do that sober.” Harry laughed as they walked further into the metropolitan borough of Trafford. “Honestly, think I’d have to get proper smashed before I started hurling cans at my forehead.”

“Same here, but since Graham can’t turn down a dare and Callum’s always giving him ones, there’s always a mess to clean up,” she said. “I remember this one time, Callum bet Graham like fifty quid that he couldn’t bike off the roof and land normally. “

“That’s not much for how dangerous it is.”

“I know, but Graham didn’t care about the money, he just . . . he just wanted to show that he could do it. So he grabbed his bike and we went to this cottage that we’d stumbled across one day and he climbed on top, then Callum handed off the bike, and Graham got on it and peddled.”

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed an astonished Harry. “What happened then?”

“Well, he was really lucky. He only ended up spraining his left ankle and wrist, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, his bike ate shit though, and we had to take him to the hospital because he was bleeding a little, but it wasn’t anything serious.”

“I can’t believe a Rhodes Scholar did that.”

Paulina chuckled. “I told you, we’re not always on it. Sometimes we do really dumb stuff just to remember that we’re capable of doing dumb things and that we’re not these clones that do nothing but study and charity work and act amiable as fuck so that the Trustees will like us.”

“And what questionable things have you done?”

“Me? Oh. Well, hmm, they’re not as dumb as the things the guys have done. Wait. Scratch that. The last one I did was pretty dumb, but I was drunk so, yeah.”

“And what’d you do?”

“I went ghost riding.”

“Ghost riding?” his nose wrinkled in confusion. “Sorry, not familiar with that term.”

“It’s, uh, when you’re driving a car and you put it in neutral so its still going and you climb on the hood or the roof, I climbed on the hood, and then you sort of just dance.”

“No! You’re joking. Aren’t you?”

Paulina shook her head. “Wish I was, but I'm not. I really did do that.”

“That’s mental!”

“I know,” she laughed. “But I had to do it. We saw the video on YouTube and they were all being chickens about it. They kept saying it was too risky. So me, being me, volunteered and went for it. It worked out though. Didn’t get hurt, well, not really,” she muttered. “I ended getting a few scratches because I fell off, but I landed in some bushes so I was fine.”

Harry tilted his head slightly to the right, unable to believe that the brunette walking beside him had done such a ludicrous stunt. That was sort of thing that a drunken lad might do, not a bird. Birds were meant to be more sensible. Especially her, but no, she’d done it.

“You’re mad.” Harry blurted out. “Absolutely mad, you are.”

“Everyone’s a little mad. Some people are just better at hiding it than others.”

“Nothing wrong with being a bit mad, but it’s when ya start dancing on moving cars that it gets worrying.” He shot her a grin, the sort that made her legs feel wobbly and left her stomach doing flips. “So, there’s about three hours until the match begins. Fancy getting some lunch?” he asked. “Haven’t dined in this area before, but I'm quite certain we can find an agreeable restaurant or diner.”

“How about a pub?” she proposed.

“A pub?” he repeated, shooting her a questionable look.

“Yes, a pub. We can have a proper match day lunch and a pint.” Paulina paused briefly before adding. “Or are you afraid of walking into a Red Army infested pub?”

“Me? Afraid?” he scoffed, puffing out his chest. “Why would I be afraid of a few hooligans?”

“Really want me to answer that?”

“Hmm, no, I suppose not. But you will tell me. Won’t you?”

Paulina fought back a smile, trying her best to keep a serious look on her face. “I am capable of not being cheeky, you know.”

“I know you’re capable of it, though I'm not sure you’d go that route. You seem very fond of teasing me.”

“And is teasing not allowed, Henry?” she questioned, her dark brown eyes sparkling mischievously as she looked up at him.

He smiled, liking the way his name sounded when she uttered it. “It’s allowed.”

“I’ll make a mental note of that.” And with that, she returned her gaze to the front, her eyes scanning over the street that was busting with Manchester and Arsenal fans.

“You know you didn’t answer my question. I still don’t know why I ought to be afraid of a few hooligans.”

“Because Red Army hooligans are the rowdiest bunch,” she said, very matter-of-factly.

“I could take them on.”

Paulina laughed in response.

“Really, I can!”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Just feel this.” Harry flexed his right arm. “Come on, give it a feel. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve not gone mad.”

“Oh okay.” Paulina stopped walking and turned towards him, his 6’2” frame towering above her 5’6” frame. “Would you look at that? You really could take on a hooligan or two.”

“I could take on more.”

Paulina giggled, her hand still on his bicep, “You’re buff, but not that buff.”

“Don’t you know I'm a deadly weapon? Been trained by the military, I have.”

“Unless you’re like Captain America or something, I don’t think you’d be able to take out the entire Red Army.” She removed her hand from his bicep.

“I’d make Captain America by bitch.”

It was then that her eyes widened in a mixture of shock and delight, her lips parted and a terribly unladylike laugh rushed forth from them. Harry stared at her in amusement, the laugh lines on the sides of her mouth had become visible and her eyes had shrunk as she laughed heartily. She looked like she was having such a good time and his chest swelled with pride, because he was the one that had made her laugh, he was the one entertaining her. Usually it was the other way around, people bent over backwards to make sure he was enjoying himself, but he didn’t mind that it was him putting on the show, not when it was for her. Her laugh might’ve been booming and better suited for a drunken lad in a pub, but there was something pleasant about it, something that filled him with a sense of satisfaction and made him want to make her laugh even harder, just to see if her laugh would change or if she’d snort like he remembered his mother doing when she’d laughed to hard.

“Captain America, your bitch,” she mumbled to herself, her laughter dying into light giggles. “Of course a Brit would want to make an American icon their bitch.”

“Not like I can help it if I'm stronger than him.” Harry said, nonchalantly. “Or more charming and intelligent, ah, can’t forget handsome.”

“Anything else you’re better at him than?” she questioned, playfully.

“Have a very long list actually.”

“Why don’t you jot it down and then hand it over? It’ll be a light read for when I'm trying to procrastinate, which will be as soon as term starts.”

“When does term start?” he asked.

“Officially, April 27, but since that’s a Sunday, it won’t start until the 28th.”

“So two weeks.”

Paulina nodded and they began to walk. “It felt like just yesterday that Hilary term ended and now Trinity term is rearing its head. I need to catch up on sleeping before I'm deprived of it for three months.”

“Sounds awful,” he commented as they turned onto a main street. “Can’t imagine myself losing sleep over readings, seems like an awfully tedious way to spend ones time.”

“It is, but strange as it sounds, I do enjoy the adrenaline that comes with doing last minute readings and writing papers. The not sleeping enough sucks, but I get to be a Rhodes Scholar so I can’t – well, I shouldn’t complain, I do, but I shouldn’t,” she said.

“If I were you, I’d never stop complaining. Be walking around places just muttering, ‘Fucking aye! Don’t these bloody papers ever end?’” he really could picture himself mumbling that. “Suppose that’s why I skipped university. Studying was never truly my strong suit.”

“Studying isn’t for everyone. Every so often, I consider dropping out to pursue a career as a singer.”

“But you sing horribly.”

“And that’s why I’ve never gone through with it.”

He smiled inwardly and watched as her nose scrunched. “Anything the matter?” he asked.

“No. I just caught a whiff of something.”

Harry took in a deep breath, analyzing the air he’d just taken in; he determined that she’d smelled fish and chips. “That’s fish and chips. Would ya fancy some fish and chips for lunch?”

“Me?” she shook her head. “No, no thanks. Don’t like fish and chips.”

“Maybe ya had them at a bad shop. Remember I had some in London that left much to be desired, but the smell coming from this shop seems fair. Want to give it a try?”

“Thing is, I haven’t eaten fish and chips, at all.”

“You mean to say you’ve been in England all these months, and you’ve not had fish and chips?” he was shocked that anyone could’ve gone that long without trying one of the most popular dishes in Britain.

“That’s exactly what I'm saying.”

“But how’ve you not tried it? Fish and chips are . . . well, they’re delicious. I devour them whenever they’re put in front of me. They’re just so inviting.”

“Inviting for you, repulsive to me,” she said.

“Do ya not like potatoes?”

“What kind of a question is that? Who doesn’t like potatoes? They’re delicious! It’s the fish part that doesn’t agree with me.” Paulina cringed. “Fish and shrimp and anything seafood related just makes, me want to gag.”

“So ya tried it before and didn’t care for it?”

“No. I just –”

“Then how do ya know ya don’t like it?”

“Because it smells gross,” she stated. “And if something smells gross, I'm not gonna try it.”

Harry shot her an incredulous look.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Is it really that weird for me not to like seafood? I mean, it’s not for me. I love chicken, oh, I can seriously just eat chicken for the rest of my life and I’ll be fine. That’s a lie. I’d like to have some beef sprinkled in there from time to time. Beef’s delicious. Pork, not so much, only eat it when my dad prepares it like they do in Mexico, but I still like it way more than fish,” she spoke.

“I just can’t believe you’re not keen on seafood. Never met anyone that’s not keen on it,” he stated. “Ah. I’ve got an idea!”

“Whatever it is, the answer’s no. I'm not trying fish.”

“Don’t be so quick to say no. I think you might actually agree to this.”

“What is it then?”

“How about we take our lunch at one of the Red Army pubs in front of Old Trafford, like you wanted to, and you try Fish and Chips? Don’t even have to eat it all if ya don’t like it. Just have to try it.”

“Hmm,” she pursed her lips together, pretending to be deep in thought. “Well, I guess since you’re gonna risk life and limb by being in a Red Army pub, I can have some fish and chips. And don’t worry, if things get out of hand, I’ll protect you from the mean hooligans.”

“Always so protective of your Snow White,” he smiled affectionately.

She felt her heartbeat pick up. She swore she could hear it pounding away, threatening to leap from her chest as he smiled at her with such fondness that she had to beg her knees not to give out. It was ridiculous how she was acting. She’d told herself a million times that it wasn’t a date, that the hopeless romantic had to be reigned in, but there she was, walking along the sidewalk with Harry at her side and all she could think about was how handsome he looked with the light illuminating his features.

“I have to be.” Paulina said as nonchalantly as she could. “If I didn’t keep my Snow safe, some fiend might do some damage,” they turned right at the corner.

“Your, Snow?” he asked, grinning inwardly.

She nodded. “It sounds radder than Snow White. And we’ve gotta keep things rad.”

“Rad,” he repeated. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s like cool and awesome, but like a billion times better.”

“A billion?” he cocked his brow.

“Would’ve said a trillion, but that’d be a gross exaggeration.”

“I would’ve believed a trillion.”

Paulina smiled but said nothing, instead opting to return her attention to the street ahead, her eyes darting from street vendor to the crowds, then to the shops that lined the block. She wanted to take everything in, to remember exactly what it was like to be walking down the streets of Trafford. She was going to have to give her brother a detailed account of the area and the match, so she needed to remember everything as best she could.

When she’d told him that she was going to a match, the water that had inhabited his mouth, shot out, drenching the carpet and his freshly washed clothes, that he’d only just folded as they chatted. He couldn’t believe that she’d gotten tickets, especially when only a week earlier, she’d said that she and Alfred hadn’t been able to get a hold of any. But his shock gave way to curiosity and he began asking how she’d gotten the tickets, and who it was that she was going with. Not feeling the need to lie, she said it was a friend, some guy named Harry. Her brother didn’t think anything of it. And why would he? There were loads of Harry’s in England. It was a common name, so she didn’t feel like giving Harry an alias for when she spoke to her brother. It wasn’t like he’d figure out that she was hanging out with a Prince. No. That thought would never cross his mind.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry glanced over at Paulina. She was smiling. No surprise there. It seemed to him that she was perpetually smiling, sometimes the smile got bigger, other times it shrunk, but a smile seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face. He wondered if she always smiled that much, if that was her thing, what people knew her by. A part of him didn’t think – correction, didn’t want to believe it was. His vanity whispered to him, telling him that the only reason she was in a state of perpetual smiles, was because of him. That she was enjoying his company so much that her lips couldn’t help but remain in that position. And that, absurd as it sounded, made his chest swell with joy. Their outing was, after all, a date. He hadn’t referred to it as one when he asked her out, having thought it best to play it cool, to have her think that it was nothing more than a friendly outing, when in reality it was a date.

The reason he’d wanted her to think of it as nothing more than a friendly outing was because he was, admittedly, scared that she wouldn’t want to go with him if she’d thought it was a date. That she’d be intimidated by his title and what came with it. Had he been her, he would’ve been weary about going out with a Prince, out of fear of being pursued by the cameras, that was why he’d made it sound like it was just two friends hanging out, that was why he’d gone through the trouble of getting a wig and sideburns. He wanted it to just be them. He wanted to be able to get to know her, to see if the woman that had been plaguing his thoughts for quite some time, was as amazing as he’d imagine her to be. And, so far, she was even more brilliant than he’d expected.

She was weird. He wasn’t going to say that she wasn’t, but it was a good sort of odd, an endearing kind that made him smile and laugh. Most of the women that he surrounded himself with, were always so bent on catching his fancy that they never really spoke much, out of fear of offending him or perhaps because they were just to nervous, but Paulina didn’t have a filter. She was prone to rambling, often times about things he hadn’t a clue about, but he liked the way her face lit up when she rambled, the way her eyes scrunched and hands flailed about in the air as she acted out gestures. He liked the fact that she felt comfortable enough around him to be herself, and in her company, he to felt that same comfort. He wasn’t worried that she’d run off to The Daily Mail or News of the World to tell them about what spending time with a Prince was like, which had indeed happened a few times in the past. It had been embarrassing, earning him a proper telling off by the adults in his life, but at the present, that didn’t concern him, what concerned him was the fact that he was strolling down the street on a particularly warm spring day, with a beautiful woman he was quite keen on.

He wondered if she was as keen on him as he was on her, if her cheeks were naturally that rosy or if that blush was meant for him. There was one way to find that out, a simple way, and that was by making a move. So he took in a breath, closing the gap between them as they walked on down the street, and then, when the back of his hand bumped into his, he decided to go for it, he sought out her hand, smoothly slipping his calloused one into hers, which was surprisingly, even more calloused than his. It must’ve been the rugby, he thought to himself. He waited for a moment, seeing if she’d pull away, if she’d turn and shoot him a disapproving look, but instead her hand nestled into his, giving him leave to interlace his fingers with hers and to pull her hand closer until their palms completely touched.

If ever there was a moment that Paulina just wanted to yell at the top of her lungs, it was then. She’d always been a fan of holding hands. It was this incredibly romanticized gesture in her mind. It was pure, sincere. It was the sort of thing that made her grin like an idiot. She knew that her contemporaries thought holding hands childish. That having a proper snog and shagging were much more enjoyable, but having grown up a massive fan of period films and romantic novels, she viewed holding hands as a gesture of tender intimacy.

They walked on in a comfortable silence, each, content to not utter a word, for words were superfluous. They didn’t speak until they reached the area in front of Old Trafford, and Harry asked her which pub she wanted to have lunch at. She looked around the area, hand still firmly in his, and when her eyes landed upon a pub named, The Trafford, she decided that it was there that she wanted to eat. Harry was nervous about her choice in pub. The line outside was filled only with Manchester United fans, there wasn’t a single Arsenal jersey in sight and he thought about telling her that maybe they’d ought to go to another one, to one where there was a mix in the crowd, but then she looked up at him, the she bloody smiled and he agreed to go wait in line to see if they’d be let in, but they weren’t. No. The lad standing in the front made it perfectly clear that that was strictly a Red Army pub.

“Sorry mate, no visiting colours allowed in on match day. There’s a pub a few blocks down, The Bishop Blaize, it is. There’s a fair variety in there, think it might be better suited to accommodate.”

Harry reddened in the face. He’d never been denied entrance. Even when the rules said that there was a specific dress code or invite only, he was allowed in, because he was a bloody royal and there was no door in all of England or Europe closed to him, but there stood the burly doorman, telling him that he couldn’t go in and that there was another pub that’d let him in. Harry had half a mind to snatch the wig off his head and demand to be let in, but before his pride got the better of him, Paulina swept in on his behalf.

“He’s no a Red Devil, but me? Yes.” Paulina spoke in a thick Spanish accent that was modeled after her mother’s. She knew that one thing that always worked with men were accents. Just like accents worked well with woman, because back in America, whenever she heard a British accent or French accent or any accent, she’d swoon.

“Well, I’ll let you in, love, but not him.” he smiled at her. “It’s for safety, it is. Hooligans get proper smashed and start picking brawls, they see a Gunner in there, they’ll wail on him.”

“But what if . . . ah . . . how you say? What if he covers?” she did the gesture for zipping up his jacket.

“Have to keep it zipped up the entire time he’s in there, reckon that’d be uncomfortable on account of how hot it gets in there.”

“He, be okay.” Paulina said, smiling brightly as she zipped up Harry’s jacket. “Can he go in?”

“Uh, well, yeah, yeah you can go on in mate. Keep it zipped up. I won’t be held accountable if ya get a fist to the face.” And with that, he stepped to the side, letting them in.

“Thank you.” Paulina touched his arm and smiled in thanks.

“Thanks mate.” Harry followed her into the club and snaked his hand into hers, again.

The doorman wasn’t lying. The pub was packed with United fans and most of them were either already drunk or well on their way into being it. It was then that he realized that the doorman wasn’t exaggerating, if any of them saw his jersey, the alcohol would cloud their judgment and he’d end up with a bruised face to remember the match by. It’d be horrible. Explaining it to his grandmother would be even worse, so he’d just have to keep his jacket zipped up.

“What’ll ya have, love?” asked the bartender, a woman with chestnut brown hair and warm grey eyes.

“A pint of Guinness, two orders of fish and chips, a Sunday roast, and . . .” she looked back at Harry. “What do you want to drink?”

“Guinness is fine.”

“And another Guinness,” she reached into her pocket to pull out her money, but before she could, Harry had already paid. “Take it back. I wanted to get this.”

“You’re not paying for this.”

“Is this a macho thing? Because it shouldn’t be,” she said. “You covered the tickets. I should cover lunch. It’s only right.”

“I asked you out. Not gonna be paying the tab, if I asked ya out.”

I asked you out. Did that mean it was a date? Were they on a date? No. Well . . . no, he was just saying that he’d invited her, but then why didn’t he just say that he’d been the one that invited her to the match? Why’d he say that he’d asked her out? In a fraction of a second, her mind went wild with all those questions. It was amazing how quickly it could think sometimes, and how terribly slow it worked when she had to study. She thought about asking him if they were on a date. A small voice in the back of her head told her that it’d be fine, not weird in the least bit, but just as she was parting her lips to ask, the more sensible part of her (the part that always seemed to be taking a nap) came out and took control.

“In that case, thank you.”

“Don’t have to thank me. Just glad you could come out for this.”

“So am I. It’s been great. The atmosphere’s just amazing and I can’t even imagine how epic the match is going to be. Ah! I'm getting goose bumps just thinking about it.”

They moved off to the side as they waited for their order to be completed and when it was, they decided to go upstairs to the second floor of the pub. It was less noisy than the downstairs, though just as crowded. They found a table off to the side, tucked away behind a massive potted plant that blocked the view of the closest television that was mounted onto the wall. It was for that reason that the table had remained uninhabited, it was for that reason that they were so keen on claiming it. Harry pulled out her chair before walking over to the other side to take a seat of his own. They laid out the food on the table, Harry having carried both orders of fish and chips so that she wouldn’t spill the Sunday roast. He placed her order in front of her, careful to place the tartar sauce and ketchup right beside it, and then opened his own condiment containers to swirl them about. He loved tartar sauce mixed with ketchup. It went brilliantly with fish and chips.

Paulina’s brow furrowed as she stared at the fish and chips. She didn’t want to try it. It looked disgusting, it was probably going to taste disgusting and she was probably end up wanting to hurl, but he’d wandered into an unfriendly Red Army pub and now it was her turn to just taste the fish. She didn’t have to finish it all, just taste it. So with a sigh, she dipped the fish in tartar sauce and hesitantly lifted it to her lips. The smell of the tartar sauce was already making her stomach churn, and when she bit into the deep fried fish, she felt herself gag. She instinctively reached out for a napkin so that she could spit the fish into it but deeming that revolting, she forced the fish down and then eagerly grabbed her pint.

“Take it ya didn’t like it.” Harry commented.

“Not even a little.”

Harry laughed and dipped the strip of fish that he’d taken a bite out of, back into the tartar/ketchup sauce that he’d created. He cupped his free hand under the fish and leant forwards.

“Want to give this a bite? Tastes loads better with the ketchup mixed in and I even put a bit of lemon there.”

She didn’t want to try it. The ketchup and lemon weren’t going to make it taste any better, but he was leaning forward, his hand was outstretched and he had this look on his face that made her want to throw herself across the table so she could just snog him, but since that was out of the question, she smiled and parted her lips enough to bite where his lips had already treaded. Sure enough, it was gross. It was gross and she made her sentiments known to him. She was never going to let him talk her into trying fish or anything seafood related again. Harry laughed, claiming he’d find a way to trick her into it.

The pair remained inside the pub until forty minutes before the match started. It was going to take awhile to get through security, as well as to move through the massive crowds, and sure enough, they spent well over half an hour waiting to get into the stadium and to be seated in their assigned seating. Not that she minded. She enjoyed taking in the sights, marveling at the magnificence and joking around with Harry. The match proved to be everything she’d always dreamt a match in the Theatre of Dreams would be like. The hooligans sang at the top of their lungs, she screamed out wanker more times than she could remember, and in the end, Manchester United won in a 2-1 victory.

It was just a brilliant day and a part of her was afraid that she was dreaming. That she was going to wake up in the morning and realize that Harry had never asked her out and that she’d never stepped foot inside Old Trafford. But regardless of whether or not it proved to be a dream, she was determined to enjoy it and talked animatedly about the match, teased him during their ride back to Oxford, and even then, as they walked up the steps to her apartment complex, she was still brimming with joy, still talking about the fact that she couldn’t believe that she’d seen Cristiano Ronaldo score a goal.

“I wish it would’ve been a proper goal, but the penalty shot was good enough.” Paulina commented as they walked up the steps.

“Good enough? You jumped on your seat and started high fiving everyone around us, if that’s how you celebrate a goal that’s good enough, then I'm, genuinely intrigued to see how you celebrate a proper goal.”

“I bust out some dance moves. Start shimmying around like this.” And she began to shimmy, her once straightened hair now a frizzy mess that was held up in a messy bun. “And it’s not like you’re one to talk. When Adebayor scored the goal, you literally picked me up.”

“In my defense, you were the only person around that I could celebrate with. I couldn’t very well have picked up one of the Red Devils that enclosed us.”

“You couldn’t have, but you whooped, picked me up and got beer thrown all over us.”

“Hah. I do regret them throwing beer at us, but I suppose that’s all a part of the experience.”

“I guess so, but we do stink.” Paulina stopped when they reached the door.

“We don’t smell that bad.”

“We do, actually, but that’s alright, I’ve gotten used to it.” She stuffed her hands into her pocket. “I should probably head in now. Gotta wash the booze from my hair before it seeps in and gets me drunk,” she mentally scolded herself for having said that.

“Right, right,” he paused, wondering what to do next. “I –”

“Yeah?” she looked up at him, thinking there’d be a kiss, she felt like there ought to be a kiss. The day had just been so great that it deserved to end with a kiss.

“I had a great time.”

Her smile remained intact, despite the fact that she was beginning to think that she’d had a better time than he had, that she’d read into things.

“I think we’ve established that a bunch of times.” She made light of it, laughed it off.

“Yeah, we have.”

She waited for him to say something. When he didn’t she opted to speak, “Goodnight then, get home safe.”

Harry muttered some parting words and walked away. He’d only gotten halfway back to the car when he’d realized how much of a ninny he’d been. That was no way to say goodbye to her after the day they’d had. He’d spent half of lunch wondering what her lips tasted like, the other half thinking about how well her smaller hand fit inside his, and to leave, without even trying to get a kiss was just unacceptable. And so he spun around on his heel, determined to do things right by his standards.

“Wait!” he bellowed.

Paulina took her key from the lock and turned to face him. “Huh?”

He walked swiftly towards her, taking long strides until finally reaching her. His gaze burned into hers, sending a wave of heat shooting through her body and then, just as she was going to ask what was wrong, he crashed his lips upon hers. She stumbled back until she was pressed up against the door, the cool of the glass contrasting with her warm flesh. His hands made their home on her shapely hips, holding onto them with everything he had as their lips began to move against one another. Her hands shot up to his hair, her right hand making its way underneath the wig and clutching his fiery red hair tightly. His hands eventually grew restless, abandoning her hips in search of her waist. They trailed up the thin fabric that composed her jersey, causing her to shudder involuntarily under his touch.

Paulina moaned softly as his calloused hands explored her body. The jersey she was wearing suddenly became too thick. It was a bloody parka that kept them apart and wanting to taste him more, wanting to feel him more, she nibbled on his bottom lip, earning a low, muffled groan from him. His hips bucked forwards, his lips parted and the tongue that had been restless to become acquainted with hers, eagerly slipped from its cave and into hers. Her hands dropped from his face, instead finding their place on his chest. She could feel his toned muscles, the Arsenal jersey he wore took away none of their grandeur, and her hands slid over them as her lips hungrily devoured his.

“Harry . . .” his name left her lips softly, in the form of a pleasured moan.

He pulled his lips away from hers, eyes burning with hunger and something else, something she couldn’t exactly pin point.

“Not Harry.” He whispered, breathlessly. “Henry, always Henry,” and then, without warning, he once again crashed his lips upon hers.

How much longer they stood their, lost in their little world, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that when they finally pulled apart, their lips were swollen and lunges were struggling to fill themselves with air. Her back was still pressed against the door. His hands had found their way back to her hips, where they remained as they looked at each other, wearing matching grins.

“I take it this was a date.” Paulina whispered.

Harry’s grin widened. “Yeah, it was.”

“Well,” her fingertips lingered on his chest. “Since this was our first date, I think the snogging we did was a good enough way to say goodnight.”

“Can’t I have another one? A parting snog to last me the drive?”

“You’re such a silly ginger.” Her hands grasped the fabric of his shirt and pulled him into her, she gently pressed her lips against his. “Goodnight Henry.”