The Love Club

I wake to the sound of an alarm nearby and roll over slowly to turn it off. The time reads 6 a.m. and I sigh before throwing off the covers and turning on a lamp.

In a flurry of movement, I throw things into my bag, brush my teeth, and comb through my hair. I contemplate make-up and clothing, but decide against it when I glance at the clock again. It’s a two and a half hour drive to Manchester, and I’m grateful to have time to sleep. I’m not grateful for the time to reflect on what has conspired in the last twelve hours, however.

Methodically, I zip up my toiletries bag and toss it in with the rest of my things. Ushering Gatsby into her carrier, I ignore her disapproving glare as I secure it shut and take it up in my arms, my duffle thrown over my shoulder. With one last sweep of the room, I nod to myself and head out the door.

I maneuver around other members of the crew, weaving my way toward the elevator. Gatsby hisses at the close contact of so many strangers, so I find myself in a corner in the lift to try to placate her. When we arrive in the lobby, I feel grateful when someone relieves me of my bag. With nothing else to do, I adjust Gatsby’s carrier in my hand and prepare to stand around until someone tells me where I’m supposed to go.

“Mina!”

My head turns at the sound of my name. It’s distinctly feminine and familiar, but I’m unable to place my finger on who it is until I peek out the front doors to see a group of three standing on the sidewalk, suitcases in hand. Gemma wears a half-smile reminiscent of her brother’s, and I suck in a deep breath before beginning in their direction.

“Harry’s left, so we’re on our way out as well,” Anne explains after I awkwardly greet the family of a boy whose taste still lingers in my mouth, even after a vigorous brushing of my teeth. I wonder vaguely if I’ll ever forget it.

“You’re not going to Manchester?” I ask, setting Gatsby’s carrier lightly on the ground to relieve the weight.

“I’m heading back to the city to get back to work,” Gemma explians. “Mum and Robin are heading out on holiday.”

I nod along dumbly to this information before pausing.

“Wait, Harry left?”

I’m unsure on how to feel about the look Anne gives Robin. Gemma only widens her smile.

“Yeah, the band has a few interviews to do when they get there, so they left early. They should be there by now.”

I feel a mix of relief and disappointment. Despite the heavy drowsiness I still feel, I know I’ll be unable to fall asleep again when I find myself in whatever car is taking me up to Manchester. I’ll be too busy overanalyzing and trying to figure out where I go from here.

A cab pulls up beside the curb, and Robin gets busy taking luggage from Anne and Gemma, loading it into the car. Anne reaches forward to engulf me in a hug, and I let her, even though I’ve only known her for two days. She whispers a “see you soon” in my ear, and I try not to flush scarlett at the idea that I’ll be spending any amount of time in the future with Harry’s family. As Anne and Robin slide into the cab, Gemma lingers. I shift my weight uncomfortably, certain she’s about to say something that won’t aid the overthinking I’m about to do in this two hour car ride.

“Harry would kill me if he knew what I’m about to say to you,” she admits, and I bite my lip, avoiding eye contact. She sucks in a breath before continuing. “I think it still needs to be said, though. I don’t know what’s going on between you guys, but I do know my brother. He’s hopeful, he gives away his trust too easily, and I don’t like watching him hurt. You seem like a genuine person, Mina, and it’s easy to see why you two get on so well. I just...”

She trails off and I try to muster up the courage to look her in the eye. A moment later, I do.

Gemma’s eyes are soft as they shift ever so slightly from my left eye back to my right, and so on. Her brows are furrowed as she tries to collect her thoughts, but my attention is diverted to a burst of crew members making their way out the front door to an abundance of idling cars and busses nearby. Mitchie motions to me in the distance, and I give her a nod to let her know I’ll join her in a moment. When she realizes who I’m talking to, her eyes widen and she indiscreetly slows her pace, casually trying to lean against one of the cars.

She misses. I try to suppress a snort.

“I guess I’m just trying to step into that big sister role. I wish I was able to look out for him better, and he’s stubborn and thinks he’s got it all under control, but the truth is he’s terrified. And I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, but I’ve seen him fall so easily for all these superficial girls and I don’t want that to happen to him again. I guess all I can ask of you is to be honest with him.”

“Gemma, there’s–“ I begin, but I don’t know how to finish that sentence. Am I about to tell her there’s nothing going on between us? Because if last night proved anything, it’s that I’m lying to myself on that one. Should I tell her there’s nothing to worry about? Because there’s one secret I’m hiding from everyone, especially Harry, and no pact of honesty will convince me to come out about whatever the hell is wrong with me. Luckily, she cuts me off.

“I’ve said all I’ve wanted to say, Mina. I don’t know you too well, but I think you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’re different than the others, and I trust you.”

She moves her satchel strap from her right shoulder and crosses it over her chest, ducking beneath the leather band. A moment later, I find myself in yet another hug dispensed by a member of the Styles clan. I wrap my arms around Gemma’s thin torso and manage to rest my chin on her shoulder while she squeezes.

“I really do hope to see you soon,” she tells me just before pulling open the back door of the cab and sliding in. I stand with my arms at my sides, watching as the car pulls away seconds after.

“Schmoozing with the in-laws, I see,” Mitchie jokes, and I turn to find her standing behind me, arms crossed over her chest.

“Go fuck yourself,” I answer humorlessly as I shove Gatsby’s carrier into her hands.

“That was so exceptionally uncalled for,” she complains, and I’m unsure if she’s talking to be or Gatsby. A white paw is reaching out from the cage, swiping at her arm in the hopes of a good dig, but Mitchie’s gaze is settled on me.

“Sorry,” I apologize a moment later, reaching out to take Gatsby’s carrier. “I just... Fuck.” My hands are shaking slightly, and I completely miss the handle as Mitchie tries to hand my pet back to me. Luckily, she hasn’t let go yet. Her eyes narrow.

“What’s up with you?” she demands, cradling the carrier to her chest. Gatsby hisses, but she ignores it.

“Nothing,” I answer, but she opens her mouth to retort. Instead, I go for, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She sighs, running a hand through her long wavy hair. We begin to trudge in the direction of one of the black vans, and she opens the back door to set Gatsby down beside a stack of amps and other musical equipment. Slamming it shut, she sets her gaze on me again.

“Does this have to do with Harry’s date last night? Because I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’re his matchmaker and that was totally your doing.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” I tell her, wishing for a change in subject. I pull open the side door and scoot in. She takes the seat beside me, pulling her seatbelt across her lap before glancing up to the front seat. I immediately recognize the boy from the South American club and I give her a look. She shakes her head and I decline comment. It seems we’re both avoiding the subject of any men in our life.

Ty chooses the music, some chillwave electronic pop mix. I settle further into my seat, my arms crossed tightly over my chest as I lean my head on the window and shut my eyes. Behind my eyelids is the image of Harry moving closer to me on my bed, his lips so impossibly close. It’s seared into my mind, and I force my lids open when I realize trying to shake the memory is impossible. I absentmindedly lick my lips and adjust my position in the seat. Mitchie watches me from the corner of her eye, but doesn’t comment.

So this is where I’ve found myself. In a van on the way to Manchester where I’ll meet up with five members of the hottest boyband on the planet, one of which I’ve kissed despite the fact that he’s paying me to set him up with a girl I think is his soulmate.

Fantastic. What an ace situation to put yourself in, Mina. Great work.

I wonder where Victoria is now, what she’s doing. What did Harry say to her when they parted ways? Is it damage I can’t undo?

Do I even want to undo it?

Keeping Harry is selfish beyond belief. It’s stupid and reckless and pointless because even if he thinks he might be interested in me now, I’m the one who has to live with the guilt of knowing someone else is meant for him. And how long do I let this go on for? I can’t lead him on this way, feeling how I feel and knowing what I know. I have to end it.

There’s still a tugging feeling, though. There’s a part of me that sings a siren’s song, beckoning me toward the rocks. It’s a part of myself left undiscovered until I met Harry, the boy who found himself entranced by the loner girl, the one with the OCD and a penchant for flow charts. It’s the part of me screaming out that I don’t care, because I want this. I want him. Soulmates be damned, I can’t let him go.

I’ve spent my life this way, doing everything for everyone else. I’m the one who sits on the sidelines, pairing lovers and never partaking in the act of it. I’m the one destined to spend her life alone, living with the blessing of creating happiness in others but cursed with never feeling it for herself. I ache for it, and with the memory of Harry’s slightly chapped lips moving against mine, I feel slightly more whole.

Just this once, I want to be selfish. Just this once, I want to keep him for myself.

Just this once, I’d trade my gift for the chance to feel the swipe of his tongue on my skin again.

We pull over for petrol and I realize suddenly that we’re nearly there. The sun has risen in the distance, which gives me no way to hide the fact that at some point in the last hour and a half I’ve started silently crying. I throw open the door of the van and hop out, throwing the hood of my zip-up over my head and stalking in the direction of the station with the excuse of needing the loo.

I think I’m in the clear when I feel a tug on my hand and glance back to see a concerned look on Mitchie’s face. It’s then that I crumble.

Her arms wrap around me as she guides me to the side of the building, which faces the countryside, opposite the motorway and gas pumps where Ty and another crew member are stretching their legs as they fuel the van. There’s a curb that wraps around the building, and she sits down with her feet planted in the grass, letting me lean on her as I try to choke back sobs.

“Talk to me, Mina. What’s going on?” she implores, giving me a few moments to compose myself enough to answer. I hiccup and wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie, trying desperately to pull myself together. How can I even vocalize to her what’s wrong? Would she even believe me? One look in her concerned deep, brown eyes tells me she would.

“I like him,” I finally blurt out.

The fact that I’ve said it out loud, let alone to someone else, is almost completely unfathomable to me. Mitchie, however, is nonplussed. With a roll of her eyes, she offers me a slight smile and gives me a reassuring squeeze.

“And the sky is blue, Mina. We don’t cry over things that are so blatantly obvious.”

Despite myself, I let out a small chuckle. Shaking my head, I collect a large breath and let it out through my nose. With my voice slightly less cracked, I mumble, “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right,” she agrees. “I don’t understand. It’s so obvious to me that he cares about you, and yet you’re setting him up on dates with other girls? Why would you intentionally hurt yourself like that?”

“Because he’s meant for her,” I answer quietly, wiping at a stray tear as it falls from my eye. Traitor.

“Are we being a little overdramatic here, Mina? You can’t possibly know that,” she replies.

“I do, though.”

“How?”

She eyes me dubiously, leaning back a bit to get a good look at me. I lick my lips and open my mouth to respond, but am cut short by a male’s voice. When I turn to look who is calling out Mitchie’s name, I realize it’s Ty. He stops short when he catches sight of the two of us; me a crying mess and Mitchie with her brows pulled tightly together.

“Este cabrón,” she mutters to herself. In the same breath, she says, “We’re a little busy, Ty. Go entertain yourself for a bit, we’ll catch up.”

He looks terrified by the sight he sees before him, and I wonder just how awful I look. It must be pretty bad, because he turns and leaves without a word. I sigh, my head falling to my knees as I cradle them to my chest.

“You were saying?” Mitchie prompts.

“It doesn’t matter,” I dismiss with a wipe of my finger on my cheek. It comes away from my face wet.

“No, no, no, no. We’re not dropping this. You were about to tell me something real for once. You can’t stop there.”

I glance over at her warily. Her eyes are bright, yet scrutinizing. I realize suddenly how secretive I must seem to her. She’s been such a kind friend to me, despite her never-ending impatience for me to divulge something personal to her for once. With an expression like that, I can’t help but give in.

“I’m a matchmaker because I have this thing,” I begin, and Mitchie cocks her head to one side as she listens. It reminds me vaguely of a puppy and I smile a little. “It’s this feeling I get when I find a match for someone and it’s their soulmate. It’s always right. And when I met Victoria, I got that feeling.”

Mitchie blinks slowly, processing what I’ve just told her. I sit silently beside her, patiently giving her a moment while I glance out at the vast field before us. In the distance is a herd of cows, grazing in the grass and making noise at one another. I focus on that to calm my wildly beating heart, to force away the migrane that’s forming from my crying. My eyes burn, and I let them fall shut for reprieve.

“So you have like a superpower?” she asks finally.

I roll my eyes.

“Not nearly as much fun, I promise you,” I answer flatly.

“But essentially.”

“Essentially, yes.”

“And this superpower is telling you that Harry is fated to end up with Victoria.”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”

“It’s not that specific, but yes. That’s what the feeling is hinting at.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” she asks.

I turn to her curiously. “What do you think?”

“Fuck fate.”

I cock an eyebrow. Her eyes are wide as she speaks frantically.

“No, seriously. Fuck that. If you like him and it’s obvious that he likes you, screw it. How many chances are you going to get like this again? He’s Harry Styles. He’s every girl’s dream, and he wants you. Bask in it. Live it up. Don’t worry about the rest.”

I smile, nodding along with what she’s saying. When she offers me a hand, I accept it and follow her to the car while she goes on about how stupid it is to listen to a feeling in my gut.

The fact of the matter is that she doesn’t fully understand. And while I nod along while she tells me not to worry about the future, all I can think about is how I’m not the worry-free type.

I spend the rest of the ride to Manchester slightly more relaxed. This has much more to do with my emotional outburst than anything, because I know my problem is far from solved, but after downing two paracetamol to drive away my headache I’m feeling more relieved than anything as we pull up to the next hotel. I unload Gatsby and walk with Mitchie into the lobby where a manager is handing out room keys. My eyes sweep the lobby nervously, but no members of One Direction are present. For now, I’m safe.

Mitchie rides the elevator with me up to my room, where my luggage is waiting. I let Gatsby out of her crate and set her up with food and water. She glares at me as I give her a few quick pets on the back before disappearing again. Breakfast is being served in the ballroom, and I’m starving.

“You know, this superpower thing you have going on actually explains a lot. It’s like your secret identity or something,” Mitchie says casually in the elevator.

“Please don’t make a huge deal out of this,” I beg. “It’s not a big deal. Some people feel queasy when they look at needles. Others get dizzy when they think about heights. I just feel sort of restless around certain people and it translates into my matchmaking ability.”

Mitchie gives me a dirty look as the elevator dings announcing our arrival. I lead the way to the ballroom, ignoring Mitchie’s obvious disappointment at my downplaying.

“Wait, so can you do anything else with it?” she asks as we stroll into the crowded room. My eyes immediately land on a breakfast buffet and my mouth is watering. Almost absently, I respond, “I can will people together if I really try at it, but it’s not a permanent thing.”

I’m half-way to the buffet when I realize Mitchie has stopped in her tracks behind me. Her mouth is slack, and I crinkle my nose in distaste for her dramatics. “It requires more attention and care than it’s worth,” I continue, taking hold of her wrist and pulling her into the room further. With my eyes trained on Mitchie, who I am coaxing toward a tower of breakfast burritos, I bump into someone, tripping over my own feet and falling flat on my arse.

“Shit, Mina. My bad. Are you okay?”

I look up at Louis in a daze. He seems concerned that this has to do with my fall, but I’m too busy scanning the rest of the room in a panic to notice. Mitchie, sensing this, assures Louis I’m fine and reaches to help me up. He grabs my other arm to assist the effort and gives my back a firm pat.

“Sorry again,” he apologizes, and I send him a smile and repeat Mitchie’s assurance that I’m totally okay, despite the fact that my eyes roam the room in search for a head of long, curly hair and a tall, lanky frame. When they don’t settle on one, I breathe a small sigh of relief.

“I thought we talked through this,” Mitchie whines. I return my attention to her and offer the politest smile possible.

“It’s not quite that simple,” I shrug in response. She makes no comment as we finish our journey to the breakfast bar. I tune everything she’s saying out as I fill my plate with a variety of breakfast foods. It’s hard to tell if Mitchie’s disapproving tone has to do with my obvious anxiety toward seeing Harry or the fact that I have both a breakfast burrito and french toast on my plate, a mixture that’s sort of far-fetched even for me.

I follow her blindly to a table and begin to dig into my food. My empty stomach growls in appreciation. I’d been so worried about what was going on with Harry and I that I hadn’t realized just how hungry I had been. I’m mid-bite with a piece of my french toast when I hear a scraping of chairs.

Slowly, I look up to see Ty taking a seat beside Mitchie, who is eyeing him with hesitance. Beside him is Zayn, who is completely ignoring Niall in favor of an argument with Harry.

Harry, who is pulling out the chair beside me as he hears Zayn out on whatever topic is up for debate this morning. He’s focused on Zayn completely, but I still feel overcome with nerves and nausea. Mitchie sends me an encouraging smile, which only increases my anxiety.

In the meantime, Niall is reaching across the table toward my plate. I know what he intends to do, his fingers coming dangerously close to a piece of syrup-soaked sausage, but just as I make a move to slap his hand away, Harry does so for me. I blink in response, glancing over at him before I can think any better of it. He grins at me, and I am momentarily stunned. It’s enough time for him to stuff the exact same piece he just defended from Niall into his own mouth.

Under normal circumstances, this would call for a smack in the arm. I’d demand he replace it with a new piece of sausage, and he’d make a huge deal out of it but bring me back a plate full anyway, even though he knows he’ll end up eating most of it. Under any other circumstances, I would have kicked his shin under the table and laughed while he pretended to be hurt.

But these aren’t normal circumstances. This is unmarked terrain, a new territory in our relationship. When I look at him all I can think about is how his lips were slightly chapped last night, but he clearly has been using Chapstick this morning. As he wipes his hands on a napkin, all I can remember is the feel of those calloused digits as they settled on my lower back, urging me down onto my bed. And when he looks at me, all I can do is imagine the way his green eyes bore into mine just before falling shut when he pressed his mouth to mine.

So I do what any normal girl would do: I chicken out and avoid eye contact. From across the table, Mitchie frowns.

“Mina?”

Niall’s voice beckons me back to reality. I realize I’ve been staring intently at my orange juice, and my head snaps in his direction as he calls for my attention. I ignore Harry studying me from the corner of my eye. He wears a peculiar, curious expression, which is a terrifying thing for any boy to wear, let alone Harry. Still, I do my best to focus on Niall.

“Hmm?”

“I asked what you thought about that idea for a date with Tinley?”

I blink, trying to recover. I haven’t heard a word he’s just said, but maybe if I reply casually enough, he won’t notice.

“You should definitely give it a go,” I answer. Niall narrows his blue eyes at me.

“Repeat back to me what I just said.”

I flinch. Busted.

“I can’t,” I admit with a sigh. Harry shifts his weight beside me.

“What’s going on with you today?” he asks.

I shrug.

“No flow charts to make? No lists to highlight?”

I glare at him, but make no move to inflict physical damage. It must be what gives me away. I’m about to attempt to come up with something witty or change the subject when Harry interrupts me.

“Is this because I kissed you last night?”

Silence.

Mitchie lets her head fall to the table in sheer disappointment just as I glance around the table to gauge reactions. Zayn’s brows are raised high on his head, but there’s a slight smile on his face. Louis, who had been rounding the corner near our table, freezes mid-step to let his eyes flicker between Harry and myself. Niall simply bursts into a fit of laughter.

“No,” I hiss, embarrassed beyond belief.

Harry only smirks. Louis taps Niall on the shoulder, giving the blonde a moment to breathe between guffaws. “You owe me 40 quid,” Louis says.

Tomato red and completely overwhelmed, I push up from the table and storm from the room. Mitchie calls after me, but my blood is hot and my tunnel vision ends at the lift. I punch the button and the doors open. I step in, turning just in time to watch Harry squeeze through the shutting doors. He’s slightly out of breath as he leans a hand against the wall and runs his other through his chaotic hair. I glare straight ahead, arms crossed over my chest.

“Mina...”

“No.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

I don’t respond to him. He’s right.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he explains patiently. I glare up at the numbers on the lift as each one lights up in turn. Damn managment for putting me on the twelfth floor. “I was trying to make light of it. I wanted you to relax, but I went about it in the wrong way. I’m sorry.”

“Why is it that you find so much pleasure in putting me in awkward situations?” I spit at him. He raises his brows, surprised I’ve chosen to speak to him.

A few beats of silence, then, “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

I scoff. He takes a step closer.

“No, really. Your cheeks get red and I can almost literally see your mind working to correct the situation. It’s fascinating.”

I turn to glare at him, something awful on the tip of my tongue. I expect him to be smirking, but he’s watching me carefully instead. He’s much closer than I expect and I almost trip over my feet, startled at the proximity. His hands reach out to steady me at my waist, always there to catch me when I fall. I expect him to let me go once he realizes I’m on steady footing, but he doesn’t. I don’t want him to.

We’ve arrived at my floor, but the door has already opened and closed up again. We stay where we are, the lift not moving, and I swallow thickly as I try to put distance between us, thinking of Victoria, the punch to my gut it is to know he’s not mine to have. I’m met with a grin as Harry’s hold on me tightens, and I can’t help the nervous bubble of laughter that escapes from my lips. Harry’s dimples deepen and he leans in.

My breath hitches in my throat. This is wrong, so impossibly wrong, but I can’t think clearly when he’s this close, his lips so soft and red and inviting. Last minute, I turn my face away, but it’s all the same to him. He has no problem pressing his lips to the hollow beneath my ear, tracking his way down. Thoughtlessly, I pull him closer to me, pinned beneath his weight against the wall of the elevator. He hums his contentedness, a deep sound reverberating in his chest, which is pressed against mine.

So maybe I’m completely stupid. Maybe this is a dangerous game. But with his hands on my waist and his lips on my neck, I’m more than willing to put on my poker face and play.