Burned {h.s. / n.h.}

Chapter 4

"Would this be to your liking, Mr. Horan?" I wave a bottle of my father's favorite whiskey, Bushmills; a whiskey originating from Ireland.

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" He looks at me like I offended him, but I stand my ground smirking at him the whole time. He caves, grinning widely at me.

"Bloody hell! Of course, I want some! I haven't had Bushmills since I left Ireland! And you know it's so hard to get alcohol in the states. Back home, we don't have this ridiculous age restriction. Pour me a glass, darling. I'll love you forever."

I can't help but laugh. He's got this way about him that demands attention and admiration. I also just really like the way he says "darling" in that Irish accent of his.

"You're hopeless," Harry chimes in.

"Oh, brother, I'm not hopeless; I'm just very dedicated to good whiskey. I'd be letting down my country if I didn't drink at least once a week."

Harry and I both laugh in unison, our voices mixing in a light moment of happiness. I pour a glass for Niall first, Harry second, then one for myself. Niall puts the glass to his lips, swallows, and then stares at me in astonishment.

"How old is this?" He asks, pointing at the glass of brown liquid.

"Ten years. My dad gets this stuff every time he visits Ireland. He's got a cellar full of this stuff and a lot of others."

"Your father is one hell of a man. This is incredible."

"Well, I'd tell him you said so, but I don't think he'd appreciate the fact that we were drinking his prized whiskey in the first place."

"You're probably right. Hypothetically though, I'd say thank you for having such an exquisite taste in Irish alcohol and a wonderful daughter for having given it to me."

"I'm thrilled that you feel that way," I say sarcastically, smiling at him.

A single moment of silence passes between all of us as we take a swig from our glasses. The darkness of my father's den has somehow always been comforting to me. I can practically feel his presence in the leather couch, hardwood floor, and this whiskey. I grab a remote off of his large luxury cherry wood office desk, pressing the button to turn on the fire place just to get a little light in the room. It's not really cold outside, considering it is Louisiana in the first week of October; but I don't really care. Fire has always seemed to calm and excite me, all at once.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" Niall asks. I instantly begin laughing, unable to control the warmth I feel in his presence, a constant reminder of looming happiness.

"No, loser!" I swat at his chest. "I just like having the fire place on. Plus, if I turn the light on, it'll be insanely bright in here," I reason.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure you're trying to seduce me. Harry, what do you think? Do you think she just can't resist my charm and dashing good looks?" Niall smirks at his friend, oozing with confidence while waggling one of his eyebrows.

"Yeah, sure, mate. I'm positive she wants to shag you, right here, right now. Sex in front of the fire place is impossibly romantic. She wants you, for sure." He grins widely, contributing to his friend's delinquency.

"Okay, now I hate you both," I pout and walk away to sit on the leather sofa.

Harry follows me first, sitting down next to me on the couch so that our thighs touch.

"No, you couldn't possibly hate us! We're too adorable," he smiles, only inches away from me. His dimples become more and more prevalent as his grin widens.

"You bet, we are! I mean, look at us. We are the definition of adorable." Smirking at me, Niall looks for conformation, then suddenly shifts to change his mind. "Well, we're adorable until we become complete badasses playing our guitars and shit," he shrugs.

"Oh, I'm sure," I mock him sarcastically.

"See, now you're just hurting our feelings." Harry puts a large long-fingered hand over his heart to represent my damaging effect on it. I smile at him from under my lashes, hoping once more that my attempts at flirtation don't make me look like a complete idiot. I know from Harry's smile that he is, most certainly, flirting with me.

"I'm so sorry. However shall I mend those hurt feelings?" I inquire, smiling widely for I cannot contain the ecstasy of the moment. Niall is sort of giggling in front of us, hardly being able to contain himself.

"Well, you could pour me another glass! That's for sure," Niall states loudly. He's obviously had a lot to drink tonight from the way his words have begun to slur slightly, the red to his baby cheeks, and his inability to understand how loud he is speaking.

"I'm sure we could think of something," Harry murmurs with his raspy voice so that only I can hear him. I feel as if I'm melting slightly although a shiver runs over me, chilling my scorching flesh. We look at each other for an extended moment until we're suddenly interrupted by the arrival of Charlie.

"Oh, getting busy, aren't we, Georgia?" she mocks me. The rush of blood to my face is completely obvious; not just by the color, but also by the way I immediately drop my head. Why would she even ask me that? She knows how I am. Unless, she's using this as an opportunity to exploit my innocence, sending Harry scurrying away. Did she like him? Did she find him attractive, too? Does she want him?

Her dark hair falls in a curtain around her pretty face, shielding her smug expression from my view. She moves gracefully towards the open bottle of Bushmills on our father's desk. Pouring herself a glass, she begins to say something, then stops as if she just now took a good look at the people in the room with me. Niall was being mysteriously quiet, and Harry didn't really pay her any mind. I can't say that I'm disappointed by his lack of interest.

"Holy shit. You guys were the openers for Alt-J! Georgia, why didn't you tell me you were keeping such good company?" She smiles flirtatiously at both of them, hoping to ensnare one of them in her trap. Her green-hazel eyes -- so similar to my own -- taking each one of them in, scanning for potential prospects.

"What was that like? Getting to share the stage with them, I mean," she asks Harry. He looks up suddenly, as if he hadn't realized she was speaking to him. She would just take that as a challenge and continue to try to win him over for the rest of the night. I know her. She'll go for him even if she knows that I'm doing the same thing. The saddest part of it all is that she knows she will win based solely on my lack of experiences.

Harry and Niall comment on how amazing of an experience it is to play with a band as unique and successful as Alt-J. All the while, Charlie puts on her most effortlessly seductive face, outwardly showing that she is gripped by their tale of such a wonderful night. As a means of looking even more effortlessly cool, she sits down on the armrest of the couch, placing her feet on the cushion. I think, in some weird way, she thinks she's bring attention to what lies just beneath her skirt, but neither of the boys seem to really be speaking to her. They sort of just throw it out there to an invisible audience of more than two people.

Over thirty minutes pass before I realize I haven't said a single word. Suddenly finding my courage, I interrupt Charlie mid sentence.

"Charlie, shouldn't there be someone downstairs? After all, you are throwing this party."

"Yeah, there should be someone downstairs." She looks at me like I'm expected to leave. I'm a little taken aback, seeing as how I wasn't quite expecting that response from her.

"You should go check on things, Georgie," she continues. I feel the all too familiar burn in my cheeks begin to rise once more.

"I'll go with you," Harry says, looking at me with an apologetic look.

I glance up quickly at my sister. She looks a little unhappy. I assume Harry was her first choice, but she quickly recovers, giving Niall a sly smile.

"Come on," Harry says as he stands and holds his hand out to me. I smile before placing my own hand in his, content that he decided to choose me.