Haven • H.S.

6. Make a Deal

Haven- 06

"...you were sittin' in the corner with the coats all piled high, and i thought you might be mine..."

Ella.

        "Oh my God," I breathed.

        The entire ride to where we were stood currently had been filled to the rim with, "So... where are we going?" and Harry replying, ever so stereotypically, "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?" to which I laughed at because that was all my nervous system had allowed.

        I had to admit, I was starting to get anxious. He had been driving for a good half an hour away from campus, and I didn't know my way around Boston all that well to know what direction we were headed. The incessant traffic was that of completely frustrating, and when we would stop every two minutes, then start again, I took that time to study his profile. I knew he noticed me doing so, but he was enough of a gentleman to not pay any mind. His gaze was set on the road ahead, and he had seemed so determined. And I thought I spotted a little bit of nervousness peaking out which acted as my own sliver of reassurance. Reassuring me that no, despite earlier speculation, Harry Styles was not perfect. He was just like the rest of us, except maybe exceptionally endowed in the looks department. Not all of us were that lucky. He hadn't acted like this was a regular occurrence for him-- to take a girl out on a date. (And I was still trying to figure out why I liked the sounds of that).

        But now, as we stood gazing at the stadium, otherwise known as Fenway Park, home of the fucking Red Sox, my excitement wasn't even in the running for containment. Okay, so maybe he was perfect.

        And then he spoke, "I saw your Yankees bag the other day, and I know you came from New York. They're playing against the Sox tonight, so..." he stopped himself from saying more, looking uncertain.

        "You... oh my God." How fucking embarressing is it that I can't seem to concoct a good enough sentence in front of a Greek God?

        Pull yourself together, Ella. Where's your first-date etiquette hiding?

        He sent a smile over my way, the intensity and beauty of it liquefying my insides on the spot. He had done this. He remembered seeing my bag. He noticed something so small, something I doubted not many people even cared to pay attention to. And he managed to get tickets? How does one even do that?

        "Holy hell," I finally sputtered. "You're, like, amazing you know?" No longer able to stop myself, I turned to wrap my arms around his neck, squeezing tight. His body language openly admitted his shock, but just as quickly as I hugged him, he pieced himself together and brought his hands around my middle. I tried, without avail, to ignore how fucking soft and firm his body felt at the same time. I kind of wondered how he could be both.

        "I hope you don't mind hot dogs and peanuts for dinner," he joked, his chin resting on the top of my head. He still hadn't showed signs of wanting to let go which was (seriously) okay with me.

        I laughed, a real laugh that started from the bottom of my gut and traveled far just to make an appearance, "Not at all."

__________________

        "I honestly can't decide what team I want to win more."

        I turned my head to Harry, chuckling. "Totally agree. But," I held a finger up, smirking, "I feel like it's only right if we root for the Sox, being in Boston and all. I mean, what kind of injustice would it be if they lost in their own hometown?"