The Love Club

The thing is, Harry’s ass is really cute.

This is at the top of things I shouldn’t be thinking about, but I can’t really help myself as he leans down with his tiny putter to take a swing at a neon yellow golf ball. With his tongue held between his teeth and one eye squinted, he hits it with enough force to make it up the small hill on the pirate-themed mini-golf course. I watch in half-amusement, half-awe as he triumphantly pumps his fist in the air and turns to me with a “did-you-see-that?!” expression on his face.

With a slight smile, I begin a slow clap. He grins back at me as he hops down from the hole to allow me space.

I actually suck at mini golf, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. My tactic so far has been to blindly swing my way through, and while Harry occasionally looks like he wants to make a comment, he continues to politely refrain.

As to be expected on a week day mid-afternoon, the course is completely deserted. This works to both our advantages, as Harry isn’t being pestered by fans and I’m not looking like an idiot in front of a horde of girls who are wondering what the hell Harry is doing here with someone like me anyway. Really, it’s a win-win.

We’ve somehow made it to the sixth hole, and I’ve been making a fool of myself the entire time. It’s all the same to Harry, who seems to enjoy the banter about as much as he enjoys the game itself. It’s a nice turnaround from the heavy moment we’ve just passed in his car.

I line myself up with the hole, trying my best to align my body just right. I think I’ve mentally calculated the amount of force I’ll need to use to get the ball up the hill, but not too far past the hole and into the sand trap behind it. Sucking in a breath and holding it, I swing, missing the ball completely. Harry lets out a chuckle, and when I turn to glare at him, he’s shaking his head in amusement.

“Your form is poor,” he says.

“Your... mouth is poor,” I shoot back definatly.

This statement is a blatant lie. I like his mouth almost as much as I like his butt, but I can’t tell him either of these things. Instead I watch him roll his eyes before heading over to me, lightly shoving me out of the way. I let out a huff of frustration, watching him as he demonstrates.

“Feet shoulder width apart. Relax your shoulders, and bend your knees instead of leaning forward.”

“We’re playing mini-golf, Harry. On a pirate themed course.”

“Would you just shut up and try it?” he asks. I sigh, trudging over to where he stands. He moves out of the way just enough to allow me room to try to replicate his position.

“You’re still leaning into it,” he says.

“Harry,” I snap in warning, but it’s too late. His hands are on my shoulders, urging me backward. I allow him to re-position me, glaring at a treasure chest in the distance. His hands slide down my shoulders, brushing my arms, and my breath hitches.

“You’re going to want to give it a decent swing, but not too hard or you’ll miss the hole,” he says quietly, and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to focus on where the hole even is at this point.

I dare to glance over my shoulder at him, and his eyes are focused downward at where his hands are resting on my arms, gently gripping me at the elbows. A moment later, his eyes catch mine, and he steps back as if I’ve shocked him.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’ve been holding.

“Give that a try,” he says, clearing his throat as he steps backward. Something slips out of his back pocket in the process, a white envelope, and I watch it fall.

He turns to look at it, then picks it up. When he turns back around to face me, he looks sheepish. After a moment, he offers me the white envelope, which I accept hesitantly.

“What is it?” I ask, eyeing it warily.

“Well it’s not going to bite, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he tells me sarcastically. I ignore him, flipping the envelope in my hands while he runs a hand through his hair uncomfortably.

“It’s your money,” he explains. At my confused expression, he averts his eyes and says, “For your... services.”

I realize then what he’s talking about. I haven’t even begun to look for a match for Harry, haven’t been able to focus any energy on it, but in all honesty I know that might just be an excuse. The truth is that I like having Harry to myself, and getting a girl involved will undoubtedly complicate our friendship.

“Niall told me your salary. I know he’s paying you double for joining us on tour, I wasn’t sure if you’d want the same for me, but it’s no problem if you do,” Harry blurts, mistaking my silence for dismay.

“No! That’s not...,” I try, but then start again. “I’m not...”

Harry shifts his weight from one foot to the other while I try to figure out what to say. How exactly is one expected to handle a situation in which someone they consider to be a friend hands them an exorbitant amount of money? I settle for, “I’m sure this is more than adequate. Thanks.”

An awkward tension is prominent in the space between us. He’s still rubbing the back of his neck and I’m still staring dumbly at the piece of paper held in my fingers. After a few moments of this, I finally fold it up and stick it in the pocket of my own jeans, deciding that is enough of that.

I turn back to the hole, trying to relax my shoulders and bend my knees like Harry has just told me. Mostly, I’m trying to go back to the way things were previous to our extremely uncomfortable encounter.

“So like this, right?” I ask as I give a practice swing, the club coming to a final rest over my shoulder like I’ve seen my father do so many times.

I hear a yelp behind me and turn to find Harry clutching at the right side of his face. He’s stumbled backward and comes to a halt on the floor, landing on his adorable ass. I drop the putter, eyes widening.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” I say, the words rushing together in one breath. In a moment, I’m by his side, kneeling over him as his entire body collapses on the floor in pain, his hands clutching the right side of his face.

A string of curses is falling from his mouth and I’m completely at a loss of what to do. From the reverberation I felt in the club, I know I’ve hit him pretty hard. His face is quickly turning crimson and he winces whenever I try to pry his hands away to look at the damage. In a moment of half-panic, half-annoyance, I give up and stand.

“I’ll grab an ice pack,” I declare before darting off the course and toward the main lobby. He grunts in reponse.

The girl behind the front desk is lounging with a book in front of her face and her legs propped up on the counter. In the slowness of the day, the most excitement she’s had was when Harry and I strolled in and I took a photo of the two under an apologetic green-eyed stare. He asked her not to post the photo until after we’ve left, and it seems like she’s kept her word since the place isn’t crawling with fans or paparazzi. Instead, she’s taken to annotating Jane Eyre, no doubt a class assignment.

“Hi,” I breathe, and she looks up as I approach her. In a moment, she has dog-eared her page and set down her book, the look of panic on my face startling her. “Do you have an ice pack by any chance?” Her brows furrow.

“We have a first aid kit, but I don’t think any ice packs...” she says slowly before crouching down to search through the contents of various drawers at the desk. A few seconds later, her head pops up and she offers me a smile.

“Actually, I think I have one in my lunch. It might be slightly melted...”

“I’m open for anything at this point,” I answer immediately, and she turns to pick up a lunchbox and zip it open. I run a hand through my hair, knowing Harry is still probably rolling around on the course in pain and it’s totally my fault. My fingernails tap an erratic beat while I wait for the ice pack to be handed over to me.

Once the girl locates it, she gives it to me. I immediately begin to jog back to the course, calling a thank you over my shoulder.

Just as suspected, Harry is still laying on the ground. He seems to have stopped writhing, which is a good sign. At least the dramatics have gone away, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He raises a hand in greeting and I try to hold back a small chuckle as I make my way over to his side.

“How are you holding up, buttercup?” I ask.

He gives me a pointed stare, then lets his hands fall from his eye to accept the ice pack I am offering him. I wince and he manages a tight laugh.

“That bad, huh?” he asks me, and I bite my lip as I lay down beside him, my head lined up with his but our bodies lying in opposite directions.

“I’ve just given the most recognized face in the United Kingdom a shiner,” I sigh, throwing an arm over my face in sheer embarrassment, despite the fact that he can’t even see me. Beside me, I hear him snort.

“Did you run into the Queen in the lobby and punch her in the face, too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I roll my eyes. He only laughs again, turning to look at me.

“Don’t start that famous pop star shit with me. Not you, too.”

“What do you mean ‘not me, too’?” I ask, my defensiveness getting the better of me.

Harry only lets out a sigh, running his free hand through his ever-growing hair. “Let’s not get into it right now,” he says.

“Oh, no. Nope. Don’t bring up a topic if you don’t want to talk about it,” I answer, my head turning to face him. He grimaces, turns his own face to look at me, and then points at his eye, covered with the ice pack.

“Since you were the one who hit me, I think you owe it to me to drop it.”

“I think you’re being absurd.”

“I think you’re being stubborn.”

“I think you talk too much.”

“I think you like it.”

He’s got me trapped, and I find myself incapable of arguing this further. I promptly upturn my face back to the ceiling in the hopes that he doesn’t press the issue.

We lay beside one another in silence, Harry’s quiet breathing the only sound in the otherwise empty room. After a few moments, he asks quietly, “Did I just upset you?”

“No,” I answer immediately.

It’s no good. When I dare to let my eyes dart in his direction, he’s facing me full on, his head propped up on one arm and his other firmly holding the ice to his face. I frown and reach forward to untuck a trapped piece of hair, caught beneath the ice and his eye socket. He doesn’t move, either unperturbed by this action or too shocked to respond.

There’s no use in trying to hide with Harry. He’s always seen through it. So I sigh and let my back hit the ground again, a small huff of air escaping me as my shoulderblades make contact with the astroturf.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to be around you,” I admit.

“Be yourself,” comes his immediate response, and I can’t help the smile. Still, I shake my head.

“No, not that. I don’t even know how to put it in words. I guess...” I trail off, trying to decide on what I want to say. “I think there’s a part of you that you try to hide around me. Like you don’t want to talk about serious things, because you think it might scare me away or I won’t like it or something. And I don’t know whether to just go along with it because you don’t want to talk about it, or to call you out on it because I want you to know it’s okay to not be okay sometimes.”

I let this marinate in the space between us, trying not to wince because I feel as if I’m lighting a match that might ignite something. Just what that something is, I have yet to find out.

After a few minutes of this, I glance over to him again. He’s watching me thoughtfully with one sparkling green eye, something resembling a smile on his lips, but it isn’t fully formed quite yet. I furrow my brows at him, the way he’s looking at me.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, but then he elaborates. “There’s just something different about you, that’s all. I haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

I let out a breathy laugh, but choose not to comment. He has no clue as to what extent something is <i>off</i> about me, and I have no plans to tell him. He clears his throat and I close my eyes, if only to get away from his stare and prevent the blush I can feel creeping up my neck, to my face.

“I just have this thing,” he says then, and I slowly let my eyes flutter open again to meet his gaze. “It’s hard to find people who treat me like a human, and you do. It’s probably why I like spending so much time with you. So it’s hard for me to hear you mention something about that other side of my life, because it’s just easier for me to disassociate the two. Does that make sense?”

I nod.

“But,” I start, and he groans. I smile, knowing he’s just being dramatic. This is only confirmed when he flashes me an encouraging grin.

“But, that part of your life is also a huge part of who you are. It’s formed you into the person you are today, so occasionally, it has to be referenced. Does that make sense?”

“Eh,” he shrugs, batting a hand in the air. It’s clear he’s done with this discussion arleady, and I know there’s not much hope of getting him to say any more. I take pride in the small victory instead, of this little piece of information and seroius discussion he’s offered me. A compromise of sorts.

“I’m hungry,” he declares. “Let’s meet Niall for lunch.”

“How convenient,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes. “Almost as if it was pre-arranged.”

“I’ll try to keep him away from the business talk, I promise,” Harry tells me, crossing his heart with his free hand. I don’t respond as I slowly push myself up from the astroturf. Offering him my hand, I try to haul him up so he can keep ice on that eye. I practically grasp at his hand and pull backward, which eventually works, but I strongly suspect the whole ordeal would have been much easier if he would stop laughing.

“So tiny,” he comments with a shake of his head before leaning down to pick up the golf clubs to return. I cross my arms over my chest and bite my tongue. Harry offers me a glance over his shoulder and tilts his head toward the door. I follow without argument.

After returning the clubs and apologizing for stealing an ice pack to the girl at the front desk, Harry hands over his keys. I take them hesitantly before giving him a long, leveled stare. He returns it, a serious look on his face.

“I’m putting my life in your hands, you know,” he tells me. I snort and toss the keys in the air with the intent of looking nonchalant about driving his over-the-top Range Rover. Instead, I drop the keys and offer a sheepish grin while he frowns in my direction.

The thing is huge, much different from the compact I usually drive to and from Oxford. It collects dust in the parking garage to my flat in the meantime because I’m usually too afraid to try to brave traffic in downtown London. I choose not to mention this to him as I manuever us out onto the street, Harry quietly offering directions while eyeing me suspiciously.

I think I’m getting by fine, the radio playing softly in the background. I’m humming along to an Olly Murs tune when Harry says, “You’re terrified right now, aren’t you?”

It’s not accusatory, simply observant. I’ve been tapping my fingers on the wheel, but I’ve also been trying to keep it in time with the beat in the hopes that he won’t notice it’s actually a nervous tick. Apparently, this has been to no avail.

“I’m not terrified,” I reply. “Just slightly uncomfortable driving this gargantuan vehicle in traffic like this.”

“Mina, there’s hardly a soul on the road.”

“You’re distracting me,” I snap, and he sighs, adjusting the ice pack on his face. For the next several minutes, he keeps his mouth shut unless he’s telling me where to turn next.

It only takes us a few more minutes to reach the café, but it feels like hours. Harry instructs me to pull up to valet, which makes me feel slightly less anxious now that I won’t have to worry about trying to parallel park. I hand over the keys to the teenager at the stand, grateful to have made it here alive. Harry seems to be thinking the same thing as he sends me one last judgmental look before leading the way inside.

This must be somewhere he frequents often, because he knows exactly where he’s going once we’re in. He holds the door for me, and I quietly thank him before stopping in my tracks as I try to figure out where to go now. Harry moves past me, placing a hand on my lower back as he moves in a reassuring gesture. I follow him blindly through the nearly empty dining area to a back door. He holds it open for me yet again, and when I hit the fresh air, I immediately find Niall lounging at a table for three in the corner of the outdoor patio, his phone in his hand as he scrolls through e-mails.

Niall senses movement from the corner of his eye and upturns his head to look at us. He offers a smile, which I return, but he then frowns when his eyes set upon Harry.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks.

Harry doesn’t even look at me as he points his finger. Niall’s eyes shift to me.

“Mini-golf accident,” I shrug.

Niall ignores me as he reaches across the table we’ve just sat down at and pries the ice pack from Harry’s face. He seems somewhat taken aback by Niall’s action, swatting at his hands in an attempt to stop him, but Niall remains undeterred. Once he’s succeeded, he winces at the sight of Harry’s purple eye. I cant help but cringe at the swollen socket, too.

“Brilliant,” Harry mutters, snatching the ice back and placing it firmly to his face. He begins to scan through the menu, something I strongly suspect he’s only doing to control his temper. His patience with Niall seems to be wearing thin. Niall rolls his eyes in my direction and I nod in agreement before taking a sip of the water that has been placed at our table.

The back patio is set in a garden, a tall wooden fence spanning the perimeter. It’s easy to see why the boys chose this place; the fence allows privacy, but the setting is gorgeous. Interspersed with the trees and flowers are a few fountains and bird baths. The outdoor tables are glass with large black umbrellas shading them from the sun.

A waiter appears at our table and Niall and Harry order drinks. When his eyes land on me, I hurriedly glance at the menu and order a freckled lemonade. He disappears, and I return to the menu, desperate not to look like a fool when he returns for our food orders.

“I’m beginning to think you ignore calls that come from anyone except Harry,” Niall tells me, sparing me a sassy glance over his menu.

I open my mouth to apologize, but Harry cuts me off.

“Not true. I had to show up on her doorstep before she gave me the time of day. She only answers now because I think she’s scared I’ll keep showing up if she doesn’t.” He takes a sip of his water, then turns his good eye on me. “And she’s right.”

I huff in annoyance, crossing my arms over my chest.

“So what is it, then? You two get a week’s break and time at home, but I don’t?”

“I truly hope you don’t think of our friendship as work,” Harry says, his voice low and unamused as he continues to scan through the menu.

“Not necessarily yours,” I answer quietly, just as pointedly focused on my menu. Harry’s bad mood is apparently rubbing off on me.

From the corner of my eye, I see Harry send Niall a look. I don’t bother to check for Niall’s reaction. It’s unneccesary, because he begins to speak.

“I’ve been trying!” he defends. “If she ever answered her bloody phone, she’d know that.”

I’m really not feeling up to the challenge of a three-way argument, and luckily the server arrives again to take our orders to save me the grief. He collects our menus, and I take a drawn-out sip of my freckled lemonade while Niall shifts uncomfortably in his seat like he wants to say more. I also suspect Harry might have just kicked his shin beneath the table, but I’m sure I’m not supposed to have noticed that so I refrain from comment.

“Mina, I’m sorry for exclusively talking about business with you and I’d like to work harder on developing a personal friendship with you,” he says, and I almost snort at how rehearsed it sounds. I turn to side-eye Harry with a ‘get a load of this’ expression on my face. He seems pleased with what Niall has just said, and turns to me, an encouraging look on his face. I sigh.

“I appreciate the apology, Niall. I will try to accept your calls when at all possible.”

Harry smacks a hand on the table. “Thank you! That wasn’t so hard!”

I only shake my head at his antics, but he seems much more relaxed now as he takes a sip of water and allows Niall to tell him nonsense about some football team they both seem to be interested in. Sports have never been my forte, so I zone out while they converse lightly, taking interest instead in studying the garden around us.

“So football seems to be off the table. Mina, what are you interested in?” Niall asks.

I snap my head in his direction, slightly startled to be directly addressed again so soon. I hadn’t realized I’d been so blatantly bored by the conversation. They’d realized it far too soon and I felt suddenly self-conscious about being rude. Studying each of them in turn, they didn’t seem offended.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I usually spend my week dealing with work. I visit my family on Wednesday nights, and Sundays I drink a bottle of wine and watch Netflix with my cat. I’m truly not a very exciting person.”

“We’re working on that,” Harry adds matter-of-factly, like this is an ongoing process we’ve both agreed to actively be a part of. I don’t comment.

“Well, you’ll just have to try a bunch of different stuff until you find something that sticks,” Niall shrugs.

I’m not sure how to reply to that, but I’m saved from thinking of a response when our food arrives. The conversation dies as we dig into our plates. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now, a plate of lobster ravioli laid down in front of me.

Harry and Niall eat in silence, which is all the same to me. It gives me more time to reflect on how just a few months ago, I was completely engrossed in my business, no time to have fun or make friends. Now I’m sitting at a table with the two unlikeliest candidates for friendship, and for some reason, I feel better off for it.