The Love Club

For someone who plays cupid, I find couples nauseating.

I guess I’m lucky that I’m so focused on getting people together in the first place that I don’t have to stick around for the aftermath. Watching the way Zayn plays with Perrie’s hair as they softly whisper in each other’s ear is actually taking a toll on my health, not to mention mental stability. Thank God it’s only a four hour flight. I can’t imagine crossing an ocean with these two.

She flew in this morning to join us for a few days in Brazil. It’s something like their anniversary, but that hasn’t been directly stated to me. Something I’ve inferred from overheard conversations between the boys.

For the most part, I’ve inferred that the boys like Perrie about as much as they like anyone else, just not when she’s around Zayn. They have a habit of floating off into their own little universe, in which no one else exists and their lips periodically find each other’s.

I’m biting back bile.

Occasionally, my eyes meet Liam’s and he makes a disgusted face, though I’ve heard through the grapevine he tends to be this way with Sophia. I guess it’s always worse when you’re the one looking on at someone else.

I’m watching the topography of the rainforest as I try to block out their hushed murmurs. My head leans lightly against the window and I’m wondering how on earth I managed to forget my earbuds in my flat in London. I had everything on a list, but somehow earbuds must have missed that second check mark. I suppose I should just be grateful that Gatsby is on Harry’s lap in the front of the cabin, rather than chewing the electrical wires into sections in our flat in London.

After about an hour of this, my back begins to ache and I sigh, afraid of what my eyes might meet when they return back to the confines of this plane. I’m relieved to see the two of them have fallen asleep, albeit in each other’s arms, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Niall is beside me, pretending to be doing a crossword on his phone, but I know his eyes have been flickering to Zayn and Perrie, then back to me, as if studying a roadmap on how to get from point A to point B. I’ve been doing my best not to be annoyed by this, but it’s just been a rough morning. After waking to a screeching alarm clock, an unhappy cat, and a SUV full of exhausted but excited boys, I’m more than ready to get the hell off this plane.

In my pocket, my phone vibrates.

At first, I’m startled. I’ve forgotten that I connected to the on-flight wifi when we first boarded, which allows me to recieve iMessages. Confused, I pull my phone from my pocket and swipe my thumb across the screen. I don’t recognize the number, but that’s not what is confusing me most about this message.

”Come here”

Brows furrowed, I type my response.

”Who is this?”

Almost immediately, I’m met with the unamused smiley face emoji. I’m staring at my phone, dumbfounded, but am slightly relieved to see the ellipses which signals whoever it is is typing another text.

”Well it isn’t Niall or Zayn, so that leaves you with three candidates”

I roll my eyes as I lock my phone and push myself up from the seat I’ve been occupying. Niall looks over to me, but I don’t bother to tell him where I’m going as I make my way to the front of the cabin, flopping down into the seat opposite Harry, who is petting Gatsby and watching me confusedly.

“I don’t believe I ever gave you my number,” I say.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t text you,” he responds immediately.

I almost believe him. He sounds convincing enough, but I can tell by the twitch on the left side of his mouth that he’s fighting a smile. So I narrow my eyes at him and wait for him to crack, which he does only a few moments later.

“I know Niall’s passcode,” he tells me. I shake my head in disappointment.

“And here I was, hoping to hear a tale of exotic adventure and danger endured to get my number, if only to annoy me not only in person, but electronically as well.”

He only smirks and scratches behind Gatsby’s ear. I cross my arms and lean back.

“What are you doing today?” he asks.

“Sleeping,” I answer, truthfully. He laughs.

“What a thrilling life you lead, Mina. You’re on an all-expense paid vacation in South America with the world’s most popular boy band and the only sights you’re seeing is the back of your eyelids.”

“I believe you, of all people, should understand the task at hand when it comes to setting up Niall Horan.”

Harry cringes, probably remembering one of the many times he’s been asked to play wing man in the past. I nod to myself, pleased to have gotten my point across.

“Unfortunately, I think I’ll have to put off the sleeping until after I’ve bought a completely new wardrobe,” I sigh, leaning onto the table between us and massaging my temple.

“That whole sexy secretary thing you have going on definitely doesn’t look comfortable,” he agrees, absently petting down Gatsby’s back.

I keep my head down, if only to hide the blush rising to my cheeks.

Sexy secretary. As if.

“So where are we going shopping?” he asks. I can’t help the scoff that escapes me.

“I missed the part where, ‘Harry, please go shopping with me’ left my mouth,” I frown.

“It was implied.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive,” he grins.

I’m still frowning, so he sucks in a deep breath and prepares to do battle.

“Look, Zayn and Perrie are spending the day together sight seeing. Louis is going to lock himself up in his hotel room and Skype Eleanor about how much he misses her, and Liam has been roped into hitting the bars with Niall. I promise you don’t want to see me day-drunk, Mina. It’s not pretty.”

I’m trying really hard not to laugh at the idea of day-drunk Harry, but I’m unsuccessful in my endeavors. He smiles, too, sensing victory.

“Fine,” I mutter. “But you don’t get to complain about how much time I spend in any given place. You signed yourself up for this.”

He crosses his heart with his right hand.

“Scout’s honor.”

–

“What the hell is this?” I ask as I step out of the SUV that picked us up from the hotel. Harry glances to me innocently as he shuts the door behind me, giving the window a pat to let the driver know he’s good to go.

“This?” he gestures to the never-ending alley in front of us. “This is Rio’s fashion district. C’mon.”

With that, he’s heading straight into the trenches. I stand a moment behind him in disbelief before a crowd of Brazilian boys pass me, looking me up and down. Self-conscious and intimidated, I rush after him.

“This is not what I had in mind when I said shopping, Harry,” I hiss at him, side-stepping a group of teenagers too engaged with their phones to notice where they’re walking.

“It’s cultural emersion, Mina. It’ll be good for you. Where should we start?” he asks as he pauses, lifting his sunglasses to eye the area immediately adjacent to us.

There are thousands of stalls here, filled with everything from phone cases to suitcases, purses to shoes, running shorts to party dresses, and everything in between.

“Where did you even find this?” I ask, crossing my arms as I glance around me. Girls half my age file around us in shorts that leave nothing to the imagination and shirts so tight I can see the muscles beneath them move as they walk.

“Lou suggested it. She’s worked with some of the fashion students around here, this is where they sell a lot of their stuff.”

“And of course you couldn’t just go to a mall, like everybody else,” I roll my eyes.

He settles his sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose and looks over at me. I can’t see his eyes, but I’m sure they’re large in disbelief.

“And what would be the fun in that?”

I open my mouth to make a comment, but he’s already walking away in the direction of one of the stalls filled with various band tee shirts. As another hoard of people surges toward me, I find myself following him.

“Are you a Beatle or a Stone?” he asks, not bothering to glance in my direction as he eyes a shelf of poorly-printed tee shirts.

“Beatle,” I answer flatly. The left side of his mouth twitches as he digs through a pile with the Rubber Soul album cover on it.

“I’m more of a Stone myself, but who doesn’t like to listen to Across The Universe on a rainy morning?”

I don’t bother to respond, sending him my most unamused look as he holds it up to me to guess a size. Satisfied, he throws it over his shoulder and moves on to a pile of Elvis shirts that have caught his eye. I follow slowly.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to loosen up a little bit,” he comments.

“We can’t all be as easy-going as you, Styles,” I mutter back.

He throws the second shirt over his shoulder and stands to his full height to face me. I take a few steps back, too aware of the sudden proximity.

“I know you’re not having the easiest time adjusting, Mina, but you have to appreciate the opportunity you’ve been given. You’re standing in a stall in Rio de Janeiro’s fashion district. Last week, you had never left the UK. You have to start looking on the bright side, or you’ll just end up miserable.”

I swallow as he raises his eyebrows at me, as if to emphasize his point. When he turns and heads to the back register to hand money over to the cashier, I feel like a child who has been scolded for having a poor attitude.

He’s right, and I know it, but I’m not ready to admit it just yet. I’m still so far out of my league, but I also know a distraction would be welcomed at this point. So when he returns, I try to muster up a smile. He pats my back appreciatively before heading back into the crowded alleyway. I suck in a deep breath and catch up to him.

“Where to?” he asks.

Instead of giving a verbal response, I lead us further down until I find a shop that looks like it fits my style. The high-waisted cotton trousers that catch my eye are cream with a floral pattern. I pair it with a crop top edged with lace and nod approvingly to myself.

“A compromise of style and comfort. I like it,” Harry comments. I shoot him a smile over my shoulder and tuck the clothes beneath my arm as I move further into the stall. He trails behind me absently while I scan the rest of the stall. My eyes fall on a turqouise scarf and I move toward it, satisfied with how soft it feels in my hand when I reach for it.

“It’s like, a million degrees out.”

“Says the boy who refuses to cut his hair,” I snap back at him as I take the scarf under my arm. I feel as if he’s insulted my new best friend. I will go to my grave defending this scarf.

When I turn to face him, he looks unamused. I grin at him, bumping him playfully with my hip as I make my way to a a black flowy top I’m dying to pair with white denim shorts.

True to his word, Harry doesn’t complain when I pick up a few more items in the next fifteen minutes. When I’m contented that I’ve gone through every rack, I take what I have to the register to pay. The total is far more reasonable than it would have been if I bought them in an actual mall, and I’m pleasantly surprised. With a black plastic bag filled with comfortable, yet trendy clothes, I’m in a much better mood when we step back out onto the main path.

I’m about to ask if he sees anywhere he wants to go, when I notice a group of girls gawking at him. They approach timidly, though Harry has already spotted them and smiles at them with ease. They’re asking for photos and he agrees without hesitation. When he glances over to me quickly, I simply point in the direction of a stall I want to visit and he nods in acknowledgment.

I take my time when I reach it, letting my fingers run over the material hanging in rows on the racks. I find a navy romper with crochet detailing and pick it up. Rompers tend to fit me weird, but this one feels so soft and I’m unable to pass it up.

“Do you speak English?” I ask a passing sales clerk. She looks at me and blinks before calling in Portuguese to the back of the stall. I turn to follow her gaze and another woman is heading in our direction. She smiles at me warmly, asking in English what she can help me with.

“Do you have a fitting room?” I ask. She nods and leads me back, where a curtain is hiding a few boxes of merchandise stacked in the corner of a small closet-like space. The mirror on the wall is the only indicator that this is intended for changing.

I thank her and head in, pulling the curtain closed behind me. I have trouble reaching the zipper of my dress, but find it after a few minutes of tugging. After that, I slip easily into the navy fabric and examine my reflection in the mirror. Running a hand through my hair to flatten out the mess I’ve made of it, I bite down on my lip. Maybe I should have gone with the coral one.

I throw open the curtain with the intent to grab the other romper, but instead find myself at eye-level with a pair of swallow tattoos. Without thought, I try to take a step back to avoid collision, but somehow trip on the curtain behind me. Harry’s hands find their way to my back, steadying me before I have time to make my embarrassing fall.

“Well, hi,” I mutter, flustered.

Harry’s concerned eyes are on my face, brows furrowed. I can practically feel how worried he is radiating from his body in waves. This partially has to do with the way his hands tremble against me.

“I couldn’t find you,” he explains, his voice sounding more like a breath. “You nearly gave me a heart attack until the lady up front told me you were back here. I thought for sure you’d been kidnapped by Brazilian drug lords and sold into the sex trade.”

My first instinct is to push him away and tell him he’s overreacting, but I know by the look on his face that that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. He looks panicked, and for a moment, I feel awful for him, but then his words catch up to me and I find myself throwing my head back and laughing.

He loosens his grip on me and steps back, a frown gracing his features.

“What?” he asks.

When I catch my breath, I try to explain.

“When you couldn’t find me, your immediate conclusion was drug lords and sex trafficking?”

His right hand lifts to rub the back of his neck as he breaks into a smile.

“It’s not that ridiculous,” he defends. I just shake my head. A moment later, he asks, “Are you buying that?”

I look down, having completely forgotten momentarily about the romper situation.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I was going to try it in coral. I’m not sold on the color.”

“Get the navy. Brings out your eyes.”

I fight the sudden heat I feel rushing to my face.

“Harry, I have brown eyes.”

“The blue makes them look deeper. Trust me.”

I run my hand through my hair and artfully avoid his gaze as I stumble back into the fitting room. I think he must get off on embarrassing me, or something.

When I’m back in my dress, I fold the romper over my arm and pull the curtain aside. Harry is waiting with his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes downcast. When I walk out, he looks over to me.

I gesture to the register and he nods, following a few steps behind as I pay for the lone item I’ve found. All in all, I’ve found quite a bit to suppliment my wardrobe for tour.

I let Harry choose our next stop, finding a few racer back tanks and printed shirts that seem comfy enough. Harry tosses a baseball tee in my direction, the sleeves of which are dotted with white hearts. I roll my eyes at his obvious attempt at a joke, but add it to my pile.

At the end of the day, I have three plastic bags filled to the brim and a whole lot more money left over than I imagined I would when we first started out.

“I think I’m starting to pick up some Spanish,” Harry tells me when we settle into the back seat of the same SUV that dropped us off. I snort.

“Weird, considering they’re all speaking Portuguese,” I inform him. He frowns.

“It all sounds the same to me.”

I smile, my head hitting the warm tinted glass of the window. The drive back to the hotel isn’t long, but Harry has to shake me awake when we arrive.

It’s only three in the afternoon, but I’m still bone tired from the night before, so I tell Harry to warn the others they probably won’t see me at dinner. He nods understandingly and bades me farewell as I pull the key card out of my pocket and slip it into the door.

Gatsby is waiting for me on the bed, and I scoot her over to begin unloading my bags. I pause, finding the Beatles shirt Harry bought me mixed in among some of my other things. He must have put it in there while I was asleep on the way home.

Setting everything down in a pile on top of my suitcase, I slip on the shirt and pull back the covers. When Gatsby slides into my arms and begins to purr, I don’t fight the sleep that overtakes me.