Weird World [H.S]

77.

"Are you going to talk to me sometime today or are you going to continue staring mindlessly at Harry while he trains?"

I turned, my shoulders hunching backwards as I straightened myself out and took a glance at Phoebe, who was now looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

The sound of Harry's fists punching at the punch bag was echoing around the gym loudly, and I couldn't help but glue my eyes onto his every movement and motion as he bounced around the inside of the ring with Mark, the boys' personal trainer.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't the sporty type of girl, but, when it came to boxing and rugby, that was something that I did love- and the fact that my previous boyfriend was a rugby player and my current one loved to box in order to keep fit, I was utterly perplexed with myself.

I was watching Harry intently, feeling the rush of adrenaline every time his fist smacked the bag and I was heavily reminded of the night where I saw him really lose it with Dan, back at my flat that night.

Harry's eyes never faltered from the bag, and the incessant knocking from his clenched, protected fists had me wondering exactly how much damage he could cause if he really lost his cool one day.

I felt nothing but a tiny bit of fear, but also protectiveness, as each swing of his arms forced him to breathe in and out excessively, the collision of his knuckles hitting the bag harder than the one before.

I knew, deep down, that if push came to shove, he would protect me if needed.

There was something extremely fascinating watching somebody box, I had always loved it since I was a child, but with it being Harry- I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

I wasn't sure if it was the fact that his long curls was up in a tight bun and out of his face, showing me every frown and angst that he could muster, or if it was the fact that his fists were so tightly clenched and were shooting smacks left, right and centre at the bag.

I wasn't sure if it was because he had a routine in the ring and it was something that he had perfected over the course of his training programme, or if it was because of the fact that even as he trained, and was sweaty and had muscles protruding from every corner of his body, he still looked absolutely fucking beautiful- and my hormones were running wild.

"Oi, quit watching Rambo for a second and glue your eyes on me, dickhead."

I frowned, "Do you mean Rocky? Rocky was the boxer, not Rambo you twat."

"Same thing." Phoebe shrugged, before she giggled helplessly; "Hey, at least I tried. You can't knock me for trying."

I rolled my eyes, "Why are we friends again? Your lack of movie knowledge is embarrassing."

"Because you love me."

"Whoever told you that is lying to you."

"So now that you've plugged your eyeballs back into their sockets and you've stopped ogling Harry for a minute, are you going to tell me what was up with you last night or what?"

I internally groaned.

I'd had enough of hearing about last night, seriously.

It was bad enough that I had it off Harry as soon as we reached the suite, with him telling me how obnoxiously rude I had been to Sam and that she didn't deserve to be treated the way that I had treated her.

It didn't take a genius to work out that he was exceptionally pissed off with me, but having said that, his words cut through me when he replied that I had embarrassed him and everyone knew it.