We'll Be a Dream

I nearly slip in my haste to get to the phone. Leo catches me by my elbow and hoists me back onto my feet, looking concerned.

"Where's the fire?" He asks, eyes seeking out mine. "You're all flushed and your eyes are really bright. Are you drunk?" I roll my eyes and push his hand off of me.

"Yes, Leo, in the five minutes since you last saw me I've held up a liquor store and drank my weight in Cuervo. Listen, can you clean up for me?" I hear the desperation, the near begging, in my own voice. Leo sighs, his entire body hunching under the weight of disappointment.

"There's a boy outside, isn't there?" I grit my teeth and push past the judgment in his voice, and force a half smile at him.

"It's raining, Leo. Don't make him wait outside for me in the rain." It's as easy as that to get Leo to agree, although I can tell that he doesn't want to. I'm so excited, so full of adrenaline, that I don't care. I give him a side hug and greedily pull the phone toward me. My mother doesn't pick up, so I hang up and call again. I'm greeted with the busy signal, so I hang up and find my patience. When I dial her number for a third time she finally picks up. I am assaulted by a barrage of noise--laughter, clinking glass, loud music, slurred speech.

"Mom, you said you might be bringing your date home. Do you know for sure if you're going to? Because I definitely want to bring someone home with me." I have to repeat myself three times before she hears the entire sentence. She only has to repeat herself twice.

"He ended up getting his kids tonight, so he has to get back and relieve the babysitter in an hour." That's enough for me, with a rushed goodbye I'm speed walking to where Harry is still waiting for me. I open the door enough to stick my head out.

"How did you get here?" I could ask for the keys to the van, but then I'd have to decide to either a) lie to Papa Franceschi or b) see this knowing, disapproving expression on his face and lower his opinion of me. Harry quirks a brow and lifts one corner of his mouth in a sort of half smile, half smirk gesture.

"I drove. Why?" I grin and step out into the rain, reaching for his hand. His rings are cool against the heat of my palm. Our hands move until our palms are pressed together, fingers sliding into spaces and curling into a gentle grip.

"No reason. Let's go," I am giddy with excitement. Anticipation is humming under my skin. There is a fire where Harry's skin meets mine and it is spreading through my body, slowly spreading up and out, curling my toes and tensing my muscles. Harry tugs me gently to the left, towards a car that is dark in colour, nearly blending into the shadows. He let's go of my hand to open my car door. I am uneasy in the moments where I am alone in an expensive car. Buckling my seatbelt provides a two second respite from the nerves, but thankfully the thrill from a night of possibilities returns full force when Harry slides into the driver's seat.

I twist in my seat, leaning my back against the car door, and lean my temple against the seat. The radio barely hums in the background as he drives. I give Harry block by block directions to my building, but mostly I just watch him. His mouth is taut with concentration, eyes focused on the road spanning in front of him. I am distracted when his tongue appears and glides across his bottom lip and we nearly miss a turn. Sometimes I watch the way his muscles move under his shirt when he turns the wheel or reaches to flick the turn signal on or off. I don't hide the fact that I'm staring, and he doesn't ask me to stop. Sometimes he glances at me and gives me that half smile and half self-satisfied smirk.

We are lucky enough to get a parking spot on the street in front of my building. It's inevitable that someone will curse at Harry's rental for being there, but that's New York for you. I wait for Harry in front of his car and hold my hand out to him. When his hand touches mine and our fingers intertwine I feel my body begin to buzz with energy. There is no doubt in my mind that I will sleep with him tonight, and I make him aware of what is to come with a self-satisfied smirk of my own.

I practically run to the front door of my building, my free hand fumbling for my keys in the pocket of my shorts, Harry stumbling behind me until he manages to match my stride. I pull open the front door and guide Harry in first, pulling him forward by our joined hands, while I wiggle my key out of the lock. We smile at each other and I can't resist pushing up against his body and planting my lips softly under his jaw. His fingers squeeze my hand in response and a soft sigh makes my loose stands of hair whisper against my skin. I pull back with an eager grin and pull him after me to the stairwell, knowing that temptation would get the best of me in the elevator.

At the first landing Harry grips my waist tightly in one hand, spinning me around so that my back is pressed into the wall. I'm held in place by his body, the hand joined with his is held above my head and his lips lower onto mine. My eyes flutter closed and I roll my hips up into his, tilting my head back and kissing him with a fiery desperation. I nibble his lower lip before I pull back and slip out from under him, pulling him up the stairs after me.

The flames burn low when we reach my apartment. When I turn around from bolting the door closed I find Harry glancing around. I am not ashamed of this small apartment. I get the sense that Harry isn't the type of person to care that the hallway is so narrow that if my arms aren't flat against my sides my elbows will push against the wall. He probably won't care that our kitchen is so small that I can touch every wall if I spin in the middle of the floor with my arms straight out. It's unlikely that he'll notice that the tiles in the bathroom are warped with age or that the carpeting in the living room is so thin in spots that our toes scrap against concrete.

He reaches out and grips my bike rack and looks back at me. He looks too good to be standing in my shoebox apartment. The rain has disturbed his hair, making it more chaotic and effortlessly gorgeous. It has also made the white t-shirt he wears under his blazer cling to his skin, the moisture making the fabric partially translucent so that I can make out the dark markings on his skin.

I move past him, my hand brushing his shoulder, across his back and pause at his hip. His eyes follow my every movement until I disappear into my room. When Harry follows me I am leaning casually against the wall.

"Could you shut the door, please?" I ask. I lick my lip and bite gently at the fleshiest part of my lip, hoping the sharpness of my teeth will prevent me from jumping him. Harry complies, closing the door quietly.

"You live alone?" He asks, voice low in case of prying ears. I shake my head.

"I live with my mom. She's not home." I stretch my arms over my head, my damp shirt raising to reveal my midriff. I make sure to elongate my neck in the action and that my back is arched in a way that showcases what passes for my womanly curves. I catch a glimpse of his Adam's apple bobbing. I cross my arms just under my breasts, using them to my advantage by pushing them up. I one shoulder against my bedroom wall and jut a hip, showing off the gentle slope where my neck meets my shoulder.

"Will she be okay with me being here?" I push off from the wall and in one short step I am standing in front of him.

"It's fine," I say. Then my fingers are curled around damp locks of his hair, my mouth soft and inviting against his. Harry's hands reach around to press against my back, reaching down to the curve of my ass. I nip at his lower lip and he boldly squeezes, the force of which presses my hips tightly to his. My lips fall from his, my low groan filling the room. My mouth finds his again, my hands pushing the fabric of his blazer off his shoulders. Harry helps shed this layer by rolling his shoulders back and pulling his arms free. They return to wrap around my waist tightly. Instinctively my fingers reach under the hem of his shirt, sliding up so that my palms are flat against his taut muscles. I move to massage his sides, gently dragging my nails along his skin. My thumbs boldly dip under the hem of his boxer briefs and circle teasingly.

His own breathy moan makes me shake against him in pleasure. I step away to put some distance between our bodies and watch his eyes carefully as my hands cross in front of me, fingers curling under the hem of my Nonna's Pizzeria t-shirt. I lose sight of him momentarily as the fabric slides over my head, catching on the hair piled on top of my head. I pull the band free, bringing one hand up to shake the curls out to the best of my ability. To his credit, Harry keeps his eyes on my face rather than my turquoise bra with white lace decorating the cups. I bring my hand to my neck, and his eyes follow it as it descends. I gently brush against the side of my breast, gently trail my fingers down my stomach and stop at the button of my shorts.

It's possible by the way Harry stays pressed against the wall that he may be reluctant. That maybe he doesn't want this, but he says nothing and so I unbutton my jean shorts and use one finger to push down the zipper. I shimmy out of my shorts and smirk at Harry, as if to challenge him to strip.

After a moment, he reaches behind his head and yanks his shirt over his head. He balls the fabric in his hand and then drops it to the floor. I sit on the edge of my bed, folding on leg over the other and leaning back on my arms. I jiggle my foot impatiently and raise a brow.

Getting in or out of tight jeans that are wet (or if your legs are wet) is a challenge. So I try not to laugh too much when Harry gets caught up in the fabric and falls over. He scowls at me and, when he frees himself, launches at me so that I fall against the bed with his full weight on top of me. He pushes himself up and stares down at me, he is so close that the chain he wears around his neck is pooling against my sternum.

I break our eye contact by lifting my head to kiss him. I hook one leg over his hip and open my mouth to taste him. Even though we are alone in the apartment we keep as quiet as possible. When he lifts his sweaty head from where it had fallen on my shoulder I can see the regret written on his face. He squeezes his eyes shut as if looking at me causes him pain. After a beat he sighs, his breath fanning my face. He leans forward and places a lingering kiss on my forehead. He presses his forehead to mine for a moment before he rolls onto the side.

My mind wants to analyze everything that has happened, but I don't let it. I bite my lip and decidedly throw the sheet off of myself, slipping my legs over the edge of my mattress. I stand, not a shred of clothing to cover my naked body, reaching for the ceiling and arching my back. After my muscles are sufficiently stretched I search the floor for a shirt long enough to cover my bare ass. I find a t-shirt that used to belong to one of my mother's ex-boyfriend's. He did some work for a rock band, personal security or something, and had the logo for the band's tour on the shirt. I quite liked the comic book looking picture of a dinosaur wearing a cape, so I kept the shirt. It fit me like a dress, resting just past my thighs. I bend down, feeling the fabric riding up my backside, and grab a fistful of damp clothing.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"I'm going to put my clothes in the dryer. I can throw yours in if you want."

"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks." After I put our clothes in the dryer (one of those washer/dryer stacked whatsits another one of my mom's ex's installed for us when my mom complained about having to go to the laundromat in the rain), which is in our hall storage closet, I decide to take a hot shower. I scrub the scent of sex off of my skin. I open the bathroom door to air the steam out of the room and take my time brushing my hair and putting it up in a bun. I pull the dinosaur t-shirt back on and catch my reflection in the mirror.

With my hair up I can see an angry looking red mark at the side of my neck. I lean closer to the mirror, pressing my fingers under the mark and sigh. Prior experiences tell me that this mark will be a delicate shade of purple when I wake up in the morning. I hear the dryer quit and flick the bathroom light off with more force than necessary. I quickly fold Harry's clothes, leaving mine in the dryer, and step lightly into my bedroom. I close the door as soundlessly as possible and place Harry's clothes at the end of my bed before I crawl next to him under the sheet.

I hear his breathing hitch as I try to settle into a comfortable position. I freeze and listen hard, but his heavy breathing doesn't start up again. I hear him shifting and my body relaxes, until his arm wraps around me from behind. I am pulled flush against him, his hand fumbling to get under my t-shirt. His breath stirs strands of my hair. I relax against him and shut my eyes.

When I wake up I half expect Harry to be gone, but he's sitting up in my bed, back resting against my wall. I watch him as his eyes travel around my room. I reach out a hand to touch his butterfly tattoo. He jumps under my touch and I retract my hand. He smiles down at me, it isn't self-satisfied. It's unsure. He clears his throat.

"How long have you lived here?" His voice is raspy from sleep. My toes involuntarily curl, my thighs pressing together tightly.

"Since I was nine." He is surprised by this answer. My room could belong to anyone. My bed is tucked into the corner under the window. There are no curtains, nothing decorating the walls. There is a banged up wooden bedside table with loose change, a lamp with a missing shade and some other knick knacks on it. This morning it also happens to have Harry's cell phone, wallet and car keys on it. The only other furniture is a scratched, flimsy particleboard dresser. In front of it, wide open and spilling its contents, is my plain black suitcase for my trips to Chicago.

It looks like I'm still in the process of moving in. Harry reaches over and pushes a loose strand of hair out of my face.

"Did you sleep well?" He asks. I nod and yawn, just barely covering my mouth in time.

"You?" I ask.

"Quite well, thank you. Could you pass me my mobile?" I twist around and reach for his cell, only touching the edge with the tips of my fingers. On the third try I manage to drag it closer to myself and hand it over to Harry. With one had he fiddles with his phone, the other searching across the sheet for my own. My hands meets his and I am distracted by how they press flat against each other and he blindly manoeuvres his hand so that his fingers slide between mine.

Harry sighs. "I've got to get going."

"Okay," I smile and throw the sheet off of myself. I leave Harry to get dressed and head to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee is in the air, so it's no surprise to see my mom already up and clacking away at her laptop. I make myself a cup of coffee and lean against the wall behind the unoccupied chair at what passes for a desk and a dining table in our home.

"Is your friend still here?" My mother asks without looking up for her screen.

"Yeah," I take a sip of my coffee, even though it's still too hot to drink. I try not to wince as I swallow. I can already feel a tender spot forming on my tongue.

"Well, there are some Eggos in the freezer if he's hungry. Or we might have some granola bars." I open my mouth to tell her that he has to go when my bedroom door opens and Harry steps into the hall in one of my mom's ex-boyfriend's t-shirts.

"Hey, do you mind if I borrow this?" He plucks at the fabric against his chest. It fits him well, a black shirt, with a deep v-neck so that some of his tattoos are visible. I believe the shirt belonged to the same guy who installed my bike rack, but I can't be sure.

"No, I don't mind. It looks good on you." I smile at him easily, either because he reached for my hand this morning or because I have some coffee in my system. My mother, without looking up from her laptop, ignores Harry completely.

"Does your friend want some coffee?" I glance at Harry over the rim of my coffee mug and watch his reaction carefully.

"Erm, no thank you. I can't stay." Harry reaches across my stomach and gently massages my hip with the tips of his fingers. His other hand rests gently between my lower back and the wall. He brings his face close to mine, his breath warming the shell of my ear. "But listen, when do you get off work tonight? I'd like to do something with you."

I hide my smile by taking a sip of coffee. I clear my throat and turn to face him, placing my back to my mother to give myself the illusion of privacy.

"Technically I'm not working tonight, so I can leave whenever you want."

"But you'll be there?" Harry asks, his tone low and desperate. I don't hide my smile this time.

"Yeah, I'll be there." He relaxes, rubbing his fingers in tight circles against my skin.

"Good. I'll pick you up around seven or eight, depending on how much work needs to be done today." Harry glances over my shoulder and raises his voice to a normal volume. "It was nice to meet you, um." He turns wide, panicked eyes to me. I shake my head and wave him off with one hand.

"Same," my mom mutters. Harry looks perplexed, but doesn't have long to dwell. He squeezes my hip and pulls away from me, wriggling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. Harry instantly becomes distracted. He leans forward and places a chaste kiss to my cheek, operating his phone with one hand, and murmurs a soft goodbye into my ear. He struggles momentarily with all the locks and then the door is shut behind him.

"Good work, kid. Your new friend is really handsome. And European to boot. I hope this one sticks around for a bit. I really enjoyed the view." My mother is smirking over the top of her computer, peering at me over the top of her glasses. I roll my eyes, but can't fend off a proud smirk of my own. I like to think that my mother's approval doesn't matter to me, but I feel elated any time she shows an interest in my life outside of a survey.

"Thanks, I guess." I occupy myself by taking a sip of my coffee. I don't know why I'm still standing here. Maybe I'm waiting for the conversation to continue, but her gaze is already being drawn back to her computer screen. I am about to turn to leave when she speaks again.

"Oh, Giovanna called your cell. I found it under the couch." She shifts some papers over on the table and slides my outdated flip phone towards me.

"I thought it was stolen on the subway. I told you to cancel it." My mom gives a half-shrug.

"I don't remember that." That's because you were too busy typing to listen.

I call Giovanna back and shut my bedroom door with more force than necessary.

"Do you know how many times I've covered for you?" Is how she answers the phone. "It's time to return the fucking favour. I'm five minutes away from your apartment. I need to borrow some clothes and you're buying me breakfast." And then the call gets dropped.

Giovanna takes more than five minutes to walk to my building. She takes her time walking to my apartment, too. I finish my coffee while I wait for her outside of my apartment door. It's immediately clear why she took so long getting here. Her injured foot drags slightly behind her in a slow limp, her face pinched with every step. She's in last night's wrinkled clothing and her hair is noticeably ruffled. I say nothing as I hold open the door for her.

"Hi Elena," she gives a small wave in the general direction of my mother and continues to limp toward my room. If my mother says or does anything to acknowledge Giovanna then I have missed it completely. By the time I join Giovanna in my room she has shed last night's clothes and is pulling clothes from my dresser and dropping the shirts that disinterest her onto the floor.

I sit back on my bed and watch her. She bends forward with some difficulty to move onto the next drawer, her hair shifting to reveal a large bruise where her shoulder and neck meet. My eyes dart quickly over every inch of exposed skin in search of other injuries, but for the most part she looks fine. It's only when she turns around with one an old, faded Nonna's Pizzeria t-shirt that I notice the other markings on her chest and collarbone.

My face must say it all, because Giovanna turns her back to me quickly and pulls the shirt over her head, visibly wincing in front of me. She pulls on a pair of shorts that she left here last summer and I can hear her gasp as if she were in pain. With a stubborn glance at me she gestures to the front door with her head.

Giovanna and I are risk takers in the sense that we look for the hidden gems of New York. We're looking for something close to what Nonna's Pizzeria is for other people. That's where we discovered Sixth on Sixth, a 24-diner that caters to the forty and up age group. Unless the grandkids are tagging along, Giovanna and I are usually the youngest people in the building.

Our waitress seats us in our "regular" booth and we order right away--coffee and an egg white omelet with brown toast and shredded hashbrowns for G; coke and a bacon egg breakfast sandwich on sourdough with Mexican hashbrowns (potato cubes, cheddar cheese, sour cream, salsa and green onions).

I lean back and cross my arms, Giovanna mimics my pose. "Don't think I haven't noticed your hickey," she tells me stubbornly.

"First time trumps celebrity sex." I decree. Giovanna scoffs.

"On what planet?" But she starts to piece together the story. The party sucked so they went back to his room to watch a movie (okay, G, how naive can you be?) and ended up talking. Apparently Firefighter Zack isn't a true New Yorker. He hails from Ohio and is the oldest of four kids. He's really close to his roommate and his roommate's family. He majors in business and takes drama courses for fun. He wants a big family.

"That's all very interesting G, but how was... you know?" Giovanna's cheeks glow and her lips press together tightly.

"Well it's not like I have anything to compare it to." She says irately, crossing her arms over her chest, her face puckered in a sour expression.

"But did he make you... you know." I cast a glance around the diner and smile innocently at the elderly woman sitting across from us. She pointedly looks away and scowls at the wall. Nosy old bat. Giovanna blushes harder, her whole face pink with embarrassment.

"I don't know..." she finally mumbles to the table.

"Haven't you ever masturbated?" I blurt. Giovanna fidgets in her seat and gives me a look that clearly says I already know the answer. In a house as full as Giovanna's it's hard to come by any personal space or alone time. Which is a strange concept to me. It seems like most of my time at home is spent alone in my own space.

"You were... like... safe and stuff, right? I mean your mom gave you the talk and you're not like at risk of pregnancy or diseases right? You used a condom?" It feels awkward to be parenting my best friend.

"My mom's talk was pretty much like that scene from Mean Girls. 'If you have sex, you will get pregnant and die.' Which I always interpreted to mean that she will fucking kill me if I get pregnant before I get a college degree." I bite back my words.

On my fourteenth birthday my mom gave me three gifts. The first was a very in depth and open discussion about safe sex, respecting my body and the female orgasm. She told me things like going to a gynecologist when I start being sexually active and gave me statistics about different birth control methods. She emphasized that my body belongs to me and that I should love my body as much as I want to. She also told me about the health benefits that come with having an orgasm.

She followed this up by giving me my first sex toy and a questionnaire for me to fill out about our talk. The questionnaire was kind of a regular thing growing up. The sex toy thing was new. After that she gave me the bike I had initially asked for, which I used immediately to go to Giovanna's house. It took a few weeks but eventually a combination of boredom and curiosity, plus a steamy scene on TV, enticed me into experimenting with the other birthday gift my mother gave me. I now have a very shameless relationship with sex toys and the female orgasm.

Giovanna, sadly, does not.

Of course I never told Giovanna about my fourteenth birthday. As far as she knows all I got was a bike.

"You know Elena would be more than happy to give you a sample if you fill out a questionnaire," I tease. "She'd probably even let you use our apartment." Giovanna rolls her eyes.

"I'm still not over the fact that companies send your mom sex toys to review for her blog."

The conversation halts when the waitress drops off our breakfast. Giovanna lets me get through half my sandwich before she turns her steely gaze on me. I shift in my seat and quickly take a bite of my hashbrowns.

"Okay, we've covered the first time. Now celebrity sex, celebrity sex." I shrug, not knowing what she wants to hear. "Well? How big was his--"

"--Jesus, Giovanna!" I cut her off, face heating. I cast a sidelong look at the woman across from us and bask in her dirty look for a moment. "I don't know how you do it, but I don't usually ask them to wait while I get my ruler out."

"Ha ha, Bixby, stop stalling. How was it?" I let my head fall back in defeat and sigh, preparing to answer all of her questions.

"It was good. Unlike most guys he seems to know what he's doing. I'm pretty sure he regretted it as soon as it ended." I bite my lip. I hadn't meant to say that last bit aloud. But now it's out there between us and Giovanna is looking at me with both sympathy and curiosity.

"Why do you say that?" I stab moodily at my hashbrowns.

"Just the way he looked at me. But he held my hand this morning and he's coming to get me later tonight. So I don't know. It's not a big deal, I'll figure it out. Speaking of, are you going to be seeing Firefighter Zack again?" Giovanna smiles timidly and nods. It takes her two bites of her omelet before she turns on the I-Love-Zack station. I tune out.

I tune back in after I pay and we catch split a cab to Nonna's Pizzeria. Mrs. Franceschi and Leo are both in the front. Leo glances from his sister, to me and then to his mother. He hastily retreats to the kitchen where he can hide from a potential explosion. Mrs. Franceschi fixes her daughter with a hard gaze, which slides over to me easily. It's then that I remember my hickey.

I lift my chin in challenge. I will not be ashamed of last night. I will not be ashamed. I will not. I will not. I will not.

Mrs. Franceschi looks back to her daughter.

"How was your night?" She asks Giovanna stiffly.

"It was fine. You were right, I probably should have rescheduled with him. My foot is in agony."

"Maybe you should go upstairs and lay down for a while, then." Mrs. Franceschi suggests, not without warmth. She pulls out a dish towel and begins to wipe down the counter, staring at it intently when she speaks again. "And how was your night, Bixby?"

"Amazing," I reply coolly.

"Yeah? What did you do?"

Exactly what you think I did. Only he didn't pay me.

"Oh just some laundry. I got a really good night's sleep." Mrs. Franceschi looks up and raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"Really? From what you've told me in the past, Giovanna isn't the easiest person to share a bed with." She's trying to catch me in a lie, to blow Giovanna's cover, to get me to admit to being what she thinks I am. I smile sweetly.

"I made her sleep on the couch."

"Why?" Her response is too quick, too sharp, too obvious.

"Because, like you said, G's not the easiest person to sleep next to."

"Mama, what's with you?" Giovanna interjects. "You're acting like Bixby's a criminal!"

Mrs. Franceschi's eyes zero in on my neck where I'm sure a small purple bruise is visible. Giovanna gets my attention and I help her get up the stairs in one piece. I know that G wants to lecture me about what's going on with me and her mother, but she can tell that I'm not in the mood. Instead she tries to talk to me about what Harry and I are doing tonight. That conversation goes nowhere fast and so she hands me a couple of magazines and announces that she is taking a nap.

I take the magazines and go recline on Izzy's bed. I wake Giovanna up in time for her shift and when we walk down together I can see Niall, in his ridiculous disguise, sitting at one of the small tables for two with someone else. I smile widely and make my way over to him.

"Hey!" I lean down and embrace him. "Did you already order?"

"Nah, I was waiting for my favourite lass to arrive and recommend something good t' me."

"I hope you weren't waiting long." I tell him with the utmost sincerity. There is something about being around Niall that drastically improves my mood.

"We haven't," a lower, gravelly voice answers. I twist my head around and catch Harry staring openly at my ass. I stand up straight and turn so that my back isn't facing either of them.

"Hi," I say rather lamely. He smiles widely, showcasing his dimples. His green eyes sparkle up at me and I give him my own special half-smile, because he looks genuinely glad to see me.

"Hello, how're you?"

"Better now." I tell him and the truth of that statement rushes over me. I feel light and giddy and, for the first time in my memory, I want nothing more than to get away from Nonna's Pizzeria. "So I could recommend you boys some pizzas. Or we could play a little game instead."

Niall peers up at me, head tilted to the side, looking like a lost child. Harry, on the other hand, is smirking and I can almost see the impure thoughts working their way through his mind.

"I definitely want to play the game," Harry answers. Niall is quick to agree.

"Okay, first things first, have either of you seen the show Chopped on the Food Network? Because we're pretty much going to play Chopped: The Homemade Pizza Edition."

"This is going to be a disaster." Niall announces.

"I think this is going to be brilliant." Harry stands abruptly, curling his arm around my waist. "When do we start?" I wrap my own arm around his shoulders and give him a sultry playful look.

"Right now."