Road Trip (H.S.)

Chapter 20

Felicity

"You're shivering. Put your jacket back on."

"It's cold, Harry. Of course I'm shivering. Just give me a second to fix my sleeves."

"I don't like to see you cold. You're going to get sick."

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Take your jacket."

I roll my eyes at Harry and grab my coat from his hand. "Fine. You're like my mom ... Ow! What was that for?"

"I'm not your mom," he pouts his bottom lip after he pinches me, continuing to walk down the street.

"You're acting like it. Asswipe."

"Shut up, pickle juice."

I instantly stop walking as the realization of his words hit me. Staring at him with a brow raised, I do my best to hold in the laughter that is dying to come out. Harry stops walking a few steps ahead of me, turning around to look back with a confused expression.

"Pickle juice?" I hiccup a giggle as he rolls his eyes at me. "What kind of insult is that?"

"A brilliant one," Harry folds his arms over his chest and cocks his hip out to the side. The sight in front of me is just too funny not to laugh. "Pickle juice is disgusting and no one likes it. I've compared you to pickle juice."

"What if I actually like pickle juice? That's a pretty crappy insult now, isn't it?"

He draws his brows together and frowns, as if he didn't realize that could most certainly be a possibility. "All that matters is that I don't like pickle juice."

"Okay ... douche nozzle," I start walking again, brushing right past him as I continue down the street.

Harry bursts out in laughter, throwing his head back and closing his eyes in pure amusement. He takes a few quick steps to catch up to me. "What on earth is a douche nozzle? That sounds ridiculous."

"I don't know. A friend of mine used to say it all the time. I guess I picked it up from him."

I adjust the green beanie on my head before Harry wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. He's still chuckling to himself, shaking his head and repeating the words douche nozzle in every possible way, imitating as many people as he can think of. I have to admit it's kind of funny but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me laugh.

The two of us just finished our breakfast at some tiny diner down the street from our hotel. The concierge in the lobby recommended it to us, and even though it might not have been the most amazing place to eat, it was actually pretty delicious. At least, my french toast was delicious. Harry's omelet on the other hand ... not so much. He felt the same way as he picked off my plate rather than eating off his own.

The diner was small and cute and had to have been fifty years old. Wallpaper was peeling on nearly every square foot of space on the walls, the seats in the booths were a little torn up, and the linoleum flooring was a hideous pattern from the 1970s. The way everything looked so worn out, mixed with the truly ugly decor, surprisingly made the whole place feel very cozy. The atmosphere was great. I'm sure all the staff have been working there together for years, if not since the diner opened up.

Harry and I had been seated in a booth at the back of the dining floor. At first I felt isolated from everyone else in the diner, but it turned out to be a good thing because the two of us were very loud and annoying with all of our laughter and friendly banter. The other customers around us kept staring and there was a little old lady that scowled in our direction every time Harry laughed too loud. Even our waitress seemed irritated to have to deal with us, which I wasn't sure why. We were never rude to her, but I suppose she found us obnoxious. I almost felt bad for everyone around us but I was having too much fun to actually care.