Fucking love you, Michelle.
The four words that followed Harry all the way home that evening.
Four fucking words that came barreling out of his mouth without his permission. Four words that he can never take back.
And four words he's not even sure he means.
The look on her face had been clear. Scared. Like a baby deer caught in headlights.
He'd pulled out—or rather, she'd pushed him out—before they both swam to opposite ends of the pool to crawl back onto the grass.
And that was their last interaction of the evening. Perhaps their last interaction ever.
He knew he'd fucked up. After all, Michelle wasn't built for I love you's and sweet sentiments. Even if she secretly got off on the idea of him being infatuated with her, she would never reciprocate it.
She wouldn't know how.
Harry doesn't want this to be their last interaction. He doesn't want this to be his final memory of her. Not after everything good they've done this summer.
He won't let this be her impression of him.
The next day is his day off, but he returns to the Playboy Mansion anyway. He needs to see her. He has to see her and make this right.
He's only got a few more days.
He waits until Hugh has left for a meeting before slipping inside the large house.
He stops in front of the grand staircase and yells, "Michelle."
Her name echoes through the halls, the rooms, the vents. A few of the other girls stop and giggle before shooting Harry a coy wave.
He waves back but it's not them he's here to see.
It's her.
She steps up to the banister and looks down at him from the second floor, brows furrowed, and frown evident. She's intrigued, he can tell. But she's cautious.
He plans to change that.
"What?" she snaps.
Harry straightens up. "Get in the car."
"What?"
He begins to grin, hands deep in his pockets as he steps closer. "Get in the car, Michelle. We're going for a drive."
She scoffs. It's bitter and unamused as she looks away. "Don't be naive. I can't go on a drive with you."
"Yes, you can," he corrects. "Hugh's left for the afternoon. And we need to talk."
She glances back. "Maybe I don't want to talk to you."
He smiles a little bigger. "Fine. Then we won't talk."
Her arms cross over her chest defiantly. She's close to caving, he can tell, but she wants it to be on her terms. Not his.
"Come on, Michelle," he continues, a bit softer. "Know you have quite a few things you'd like to say to me."
She snorts again, but her façade is slipping. "I don't think you'd like what I have to say."
"I assumed as much."
"Might hurt your feelings."
"Good."
A beat. She studies him as though she might be able to read his intentions written all over his face.
And Harry lets her. Puts his heart on his sleeve and lets her do with it what she pleases.
Finally, she sighs. "I have to be back before he is."
