The Love Club

As Harry and Niall get to work coaxing Gatsby out of her carrier, I shift my weight uncomfortably. I’m still unsure of what I’m doing here on a plane with two popstars, and I’m not above standing up and walking out, but I’m pretty sure the roaring means the engines are turning on.

“What’s her name?” Harry asks, glancing over at me.

“Catsby,” Niall answers before I get a word in.

“Gatsby,” I correct, shooting a glare.

Harry throws his head back and laughs while I try to stop myself from smiling a little at his reaction. There’s something child-like about him, and it’s easy to see why so many are charmed by it.

“This cat loved me the other day,” Niall frowns, pulling his hand out of the carrier just as she swats her paw at him.

“She thinks you’re me. It’ll pass,” I explain, letting out a soft sigh as I glance out the jet window. We’re beginning to move in the direction of the runway and I know my opportunity to flee has passed.

“Why does she hate you so much?” he asks me skeptically. I roll my eyes, turning back to them.

“I’m not abusive, Niall. She just doesn’t like the fact that I can’t dedicate my every waking moment to worshipping at her feet.”

Niall rolls his eyes, but I’m too busy watching Harry as he clicks his tongue softly in the direction of her crate. He reaches in, easily pulling Gatsby out. I can’t hear her purring, but I know she’s on her way to it as he cradles her to his body. Niall and I watch in amazement.

“I have a cat,” he explains, glancing at us briefly before returning his attention back to her.

“Yeah. So do I,” I mutter. He half-smiles, but doesn’t take his eyes off her as he scratches behind her ear. She’s closing her eyes, leaning into his touch as a loud purr begins to escape her.

I’m offended, and by the way Niall’s sulking in his seat, so is he.

My eyes scan the cabin of the jet, the luxury private plane One Direction must practically live on. There are plush reclining seats that face each other, some with tables for meals between them. We’re sitting now on couches, situated beside the toilets. There are a few other crew members on board in various states of relaxation, preparing for the nearly 12 hour flight we’re about to embark on.

I’ve never been a fan of flights, not because I’m afraid of heights or crashing, but for the simple fact that I’m easy to bore. If there’s clouds or I’m unable to find a window seat, I’m stuck counting stitching on upholstery. I’m still unsure how I’m expected to survive this flight or any others that may come after it.

“You look nervous, and I don’t blame you.”

It’s Harry talking to me, and I turn to him. For a moment, I’m embarrassed and wondering how he could tell how off-put I am by this whole ordeal, but then he gestures to Niall and continues.

“I’ve spent the better part of the last four years trying to wingman for this guy and he’s absolutely hopeless. You’re a brave person for taking him on.”

Niall is sinking lower into the couch, muttering something beneath his breath that sounds like a string of curses aimed at his bandmate. Harry’s still grinning at me, his fingers working magic behind Gatsby’s ears. I swear I’ve never heard her purr like this before.

I suddenly remember Niall telling me he doesn’t want anyone to know what I’m really doing on the tour, afraid to risk it getting out to the press. I voice this to him and he sighs, bringing a hand to run over his face, which makes his response nearly impossible to decipher.

“I’m sorry?”

“Liam snooped. The boys Googled your name. I’m never hearing the end of it.”

He sounded defeated and I tried not to laugh.

“We don’t keep secrets, Niall,” Harry chides, poking Niall in the ribs from his position on the cabin floor.

“We’re preparing for take-off,” a woman tells us, her head craning around in one of the seats. Harry pushes up from his position and walks over to the couch opposite us. He still has Gatsb,y and I consider asking for her back, but I know she’d only claw at me for taking her away from him. Instead, I buckle myself in and turn off my phone, eyes falling shut as we begin to speed down the runway.

“Do you get sick on flights?” Niall asks beside me, sensing my unease.

I choose not to verbally respond, instead shaking my head. I don’t want to make him feel bad by admitting that I know the moment our jet leaves the tarmac, I’m actually stuck fulfilling this committment I made to him. It all becomes real then.

“You don’t look good,” Harry chimes in.

“I thought you were supposed to be the charming one,” I snap back at him.

I don’t need to open my eyes to know he’s grinning as he says, “I quite like her.”

She would prefer if you didn’t speak about her in third person I think, but decide not to say anything. I haven’t made much of an impression, and I know that if I’m stuck on this tour for an indefinite amount of time, it’s probably best if I attempt to befriend this band rather than offend them.

So I sit quietly for a bit, focusing on breathing to calm myself as we take to the sky. I push away thoughts of leaving my apartment unattended for an extended amount of time. I try not to think about missing a few consecutive family dinners at my parents’ place in Oxford. I even need to distract myself from Duncan, the only semi-friend I have back in London, and how I won’t be at the grocer’s for at least a month.

After what seems like an eternity of this, I hear a chime and open my eyes to see Harry unbuckling his belt across from me. He meets my gaze and smiles before making his way over to us, seating himself directly between Niall and myself, but on the floor.

Gatsby is asleep in his arms, but he’s still petting her. Even with her eyes closed, I can tell she’s on kitty cloud nine.

“So matchmaking. That’s one hell of a profession to be in at your age,” Harry says.

“I could say the same to you,” I counter.

He only blinks slowly, his smile never fading as he follows up with, “What’s the story on that?”

I shrug, eyes flickering over to where Niall is now laying horizontally on the couch, his feet dangerously close to my lap as his breathing slows. Harry is still watching me when I return my gaze to him.

“It just sort of happened,” I shrug, but he’s already shaking his head like this isn’t a good enough answer. So I try again.

“I’ve always liked setting people up. I did it a lot in primary school, and I was good at it. Word got around, and I started making a profit. So now it’s just how I make a living.”

Its the CliffsNotes version, but he accepts it.

“And you?”

I’m taken aback. “And me what?”

He laughs. “What’s your story?” he clarifies.

“I just told you...”

“You didn’t tell me anything about yourself. You barely told me anything about what you do. I’m asking ‘Who is Mina Underhill’?”

I tilt my head to one side as I consider this. He’s referring to me in third person again, but rather than be bothered by it, I decide to go with it.

“I suppose,” I start, sucking in a breath. He watches me expectantly. “I suppose she’s a cat owner and wine lover. A bit of a loner. She’s very organized and dreadfully busy, but enjoys what she does. Up to a challenge, but uneasy about spending an undefined amount of time on tour with a boyband on another continent.”

“Why did you decide to come on tour with us, then?”

He seems curious, not at all offended. I guess no one knows better than he how daunting his job can be to an outsider.

“I dunno,” I admit truthfully. Out of habit, my hand moves to run through my thick, short hair. “I surprised myself with that one, actually. I guess it just...”

I trail off, eyes flickering around the cabin as if that will provide me with a way to finish my train of thought. Instead, Harry offers it up.

“Felt right?”

Does it? I bite my lip while I think about it. Instead of committing to an answer, I shrug. He does the same in an exaggerated, mocking way and I smile slightly.

“How does your boyfriend feel about you hitting the road with five blokes like us?”

I let out a bark of laughter at this outrageous question. Harry seems surprised, but is chuckling at my reaction.

“You’re a single matchmaker? You know how mental that is, right?”

“Why is that weird? Do surgeons perform surgery on themselves? Do barbers cut their own hair? It’s not that weird.”

I’m only slightly defensive. For the most part, it feels like explaining something to a child; use the simplest route to get your point across.

For once, Harry makes no reply. He’s shaking his head slightly as he pushes up from ground. His eyes flicker between Gatsby in his hands and a bowl of fruit someone has set out on one of the tables. He’s indecisive, so I reach forward to take her from him.

Her eyes open slowly into a glare. I’m half-expecting her hair to stand on end when she realizes it’s me that is now holding her. Harry thanks me quietly before making his way over to a bunch of bananas.

I move her to lay on my stomach as I re-position myself into a semi-laying position. Niall must not be fully asleep yet, because he moves his legs to allow mine room. I still don’t thank him verbally so as to not disturb him further.

With Gatsby curled up and warm on my stomach and Niall beginning to snore at my feet, I find myself drifting off into a state of unconsciousness.

-

When I wake, Niall is no longer on the opposite side of the couch. Gatsby, too, is missing. Slowly, I turn on my side to check the other seat, but it’s vacant.

I push myself up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before stretching. I can hear hushed voices nearby and upon further inspection, confirm that it’s Harry and Niall opposite one another across a table.

“We land in an hour,” Niall tells me, his eyes flickering over to me as I poke my head into the aisle. Harry twists around in his seat to offer me a smile.

“I can’t have slept that long,” I answer, making my way over to them.

“You were out cold. Harry had to check a few times to make sure you were still breathing.”

I fight a blush, the thought of Harry being anywhere near my sleeping form almost too embarrassing to handle. He’s too preoccupied with peeling a banana to notice, but Niall’s smirking at me like he knows exactly what is running through my mind. He’s seen the Styles charm do its work too many times to not understand its effects on women.

But I’m a professional, so I glare at him and sink into a third seat, situated between the two.

“Have you been to South America before?” Harry asks, looking up at me before taking a bite of the fruit. I simply shake my head no.

“Have you been anywhere before?” Niall chimes in.

I want to be mad at his insinuation. He says it like I don’t have a life, and I instantly want to defend myself, but realize he has a point. I spend my nights off drunkenly slurring the words to a Michelle Branch song into an empty wine bottle, so I suppose it’s founded for him to have his suspicions about my travel history.

“I grew up in the States,” I offer.

Niall raises his brows, impressed, but Harry only claps his hands together and says, “I knew there was something off about your accent.”

I shrug. It’s not something I think about much. I only lived there for the first seven years of my life. My mum had met my dad studying abroad in England, and when they married, we lived there for a while before dad coaxed her into returning with him permanently. It was such a long time ago I forget that I have another accent, one without short vowels. I’ve long since adapted to speaking in the native British one.

“Where in the States?” Niall asks.

“Nebraska.”

“Midwest. I like that,” Harry nods approvingly. I skillfully avoid looking in Niall’s general direction.

“But have you ever traveled anywhere else?” Niall repeats.

I frown at him.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Too busy.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but the flight attendant comes over to let us know we’re preparing to land. It’s only when Harry reaches for his safety belt that I realize Gatsby’s curled up on his lap like there’s no other place in the world she’d rather be.

“Hope you don’t mind. She woke up and started making a fuss. I took her so she wouldn’t wake you up,” he explains when he catches my gaze.

“Have at it,” I reply dryly, feeling slightly betrayed by my cat’s wavering allegiance. She glares at me from his lap, a warning so I won’t try to take her from him. He’s smirking like he knows he’s won her over, so I avert my eyes to the window.

There’s a cloud cover, so it’s hard to see anything under the haze. As we start to descend, greenery comes into view. I’m impressed, but try not to show it too much in my face with the knowledge that Niall’s eyes are waiting for my reaction. There’s nothing I’d love more than to pretend to be indifferent to all of this, like this is all a walk in the park and I’m not bothered at all.

I’m not sure why, but our conversation ceases as we soar lower to the ground. Harry is leaning back in his seat, his hands holding securely onto Gatsby’s body, his eyes closed. Niall’s playing some sort of game on his phone, and I’m pretending to be interested in the chip I’ve just discovered in my nail.

When the plane touches down, Niall reluctantly puts his phone away and Harry slowly forces one eye open. Gatsby scares, her head snapping in my direction as if this is all my fault. To further her annoyance with me, Harry hands her over and I set her back in her carrier. She’s no longer purring, her eyes narrowed as she stares at me through the slats in the crate.

The rest happens so quickly, It’s hard to keep track of.

I’m following blindly behind Niall and Harry as they make their way off the plane. I’m expecting to enter the airport, but instead we descend a staircase that leads to the tarmac where a black SUV is waiting.

Niall glances over his shoulder to make sure I’m still there, then wordlessly takes Gatsby’s carrier from my hands as he motions for me to get in first. I thank him, sliding into the back seat beside Harry, who busy with his phone.

As we speed through the city, my eyes follow the scenery. We’re on the outskirts of some Argentinan city, but it’s so vastly different from anywhere I’ve ever been before that I can’t help but try to take in as much as possible.

Unfortunately for me, the ride isn’t a long one. We arrive at the hotel faster than I thought would even be possible with the amount of traffic. The SUV pulls into a back lot, surpassing a large crowd of screaming girls who have already assembled outside the front gate in the hopes of catching a glimpse of their favorite boyband.

Harry and Niall don’t bat an eye.

When we’re safely parked near the back entrance, Niall hops out of the car, offering me my cat back. I take Gatsby, ignoring her hiss of disapproval.

“Where is our luggage?” I ask, holding a hand up to my eyes to shield the blinding sun.

“It usually arrives ahead,” Harry answers, eyes still focused on his mobile. I nod despite the fact that he’s not looking, and begin in the direction of the door that is being held open for us by a burly security guard.

A man in a suit whom I assume is the hotel manager is waiting for us. He looks out of place here in this dimly lit stairwell, intended more for staff usage than guests. The white paint is peeling off the metal railing that winds its way upward, following the stairs. He smiles and shakes hands with the band while a staff member hands out key cards, checking off names on a clipboard.

“Your name, Miss?” he asks me.

“Mina Underhill,” I answer, and he wordlessly writes something on the board before handing me a card.

“You’ll be across the hall from me,” Niall explains. “Personal assistant and all that.”

He winks like this is endlessly amusing to him, but I’m frowning. It suddenly dawns on me that I might actually be expected to perform personal assistant duties, which I’m definitely not down for. This is not my area of expertise and I’m nowhere near comfortable with any of this.

Before I can voice any of these concerns, Harry’s grabbing Gatsby’s carrier from my hands and gesturing with his head to follow him. Niall’s already half-way up the steps by the time I begin my ascent.

After eight flights, we finally make it to our floor. Harry and Niall have practically sprinted up them, but I’m winded and trying as hard as I can not to show it. It’s embarrassing how out of shape I am, especially in the presence of two international pop stars who work out on a daily basis.

Niall holds the door for both of us and I thank him quietly as I slide past him, glancing down at my key to make sure I’ve found the right room. When I confirm this, I push open the door and step in, not noticing Harry behind me until he expertly slides by me and sets Gatsby down on the lone queen sized bed.

“It has its perks,” he tells me, grinning over at where I stand, speechless in the doorway. He opens the carrier and Gatsby launches herself out of it, trotting around the bed to test for the best napping area.

My luggage, as predicted, is neatly stacked at the foot of my bed. Harry winks at me before making his way to the door behind me, shutting it on his way out. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding as my eyes scan the room that’s nearly as large as my apartment.

I’m suddenly acutely aware of just how far from home I am, and I’m not sure if the queasiness in my stomach is excitement or nerves, but it feels like a mixture of the two.