I Can Box

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"What're you checking on your phone?" Harry asks me, leaning over the table to get a good look at my phone's screen.
"Oh, nothing," I murmur. Hastily, I scroll through the notifications and shut off my phone. I look up at Harry to find him staring at me with a scrutinizing expression.
"Texting another boyfriend?" Harry narrows his eyes and I shake my head.
"Of course not! I'm finding it hard enough to handle one boyfriend, how the heck will I manage two?" I laugh at my own pathetic joke.
"Then what were you doing?" God, why can't he just let it go.
"I was checking my Wattpad notifications," I murmur.
"What?" Harry says, leaning forward to hear me better.
"I was checking my Wattpad notifications." I reply in the same tone and volume. Harry still hasn't heard me. Heck, who would when I'm speaking in such a low tone? "I was checking my bloody Wattpad notifications!" This time he's heard me and I've never seen Harry look this confused.
"Isn't that some fan fiction writing app?" Realization suddenly dawns on Harry's face and I can see the gears clicking into place in his brain. "Wait, Mus, do you write fan fictions?" I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly.
"Maybe," I whisper. The waiter comes over and places our drinks in front of us. Harry and I ordered sweet teas. "Thanks." Once he leaves, Harry's focus shifts back to me.
"Who do you write about?" Harry asks, folding his elbows on the table and leaning toward me. I glance around the fancy restaurant that Harry insisted we eat in. It's lunch time and people are here in dresses, and necklaces that cost more than my college fees.
"You," I whisper. I don't want to meet Harry's gaze because I'm sure he'll make fun of me. A few seconds pass by and no laughter fills my ears, so I gather up the courage to turn my head and look Harry in the eye. He's just looking at me with soft, green eyes that have the power to turns my insides into liquid. "Why aren't you laughing?"
"Why would I?" Harry asks me. He reaches across the table and takes my hands in his. "Bumper, that's very sweet and I would love to read all of them." I'm speechless. I don't know what to say. Harry should make fun of me, that's the only possible reaction. However, he's not. He's actually liking the idea that I write fan fictions about him. This is totally wrong. We've entered a parallel universe.
"Y-You...am I understanding the situation correctly?" I ask Harry skeptically. He nods his head, smiling.
"If you're thinking that I like the idea of you writing stories about me, and me wanting to read them, then yeah. You're understanding the situation perfectly." Harry says, rubbing his thumb across the back of my palm. I can feel the cold metal of the ring that he's wearing on his thumb.
"Okay." I take a sip of my drink.
"Wattpad you said, right?" Harry's phone is in his hand and he's typing something.
"Yeah," I murmur. I'm happy that he wants to read my fan fictions, but I'm also embarrassed. Hence, I don't want him read them. Harry will read them, think I'm a psycho who dreams about marrying him and having children and then leave me. No calls, or messages. "I-I don't think that reading my stories would be such a great idea." Harry furrows his brows, his eyes never leaving the phone's screen.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Harry asks, shrugging his shoulders. "I want to see what your fantasies are regarding me." He looks up at me and wiggles his eyebrows.
"Oh, you better not!" I groan, placing my face in my hands. Right then, the waiter comes over and places our dishes in front of us. Harry puts down his phone and digs right in. Nobody here is eating like Harry is. Honestly, on any other day I would eat like him, but people are looking. The majority of them have already recognized Harry and they're staring at him. Some of them have their phones angled toward us. I have a feeling that they feel they're being subtle. However, they're not. Being the lady that I'm not, I take small forkfuls of the steaming hot pasta that's sitting on my plate.
"Tell me something about yourself. Something that not everyone knows." Harry says, after a while. I ponder over his question for a minute, or so. My life's an open book. I'm an open book, but not everyone knows about one secret that I like to keep to myself.
"I know how to box." I say it casually, as if I'm talking about the weather. I don't meet Harry's gaze until I hear the fork that he's holding clatter against the plate. I look up to find Harry staring at me, his mouth open. "Are you okay?"
"Y-Yeah," Harry says. He picks up the fork and takes a sip of his drink. "You're pulling my leg, aren't you?"
"No," I shake my head. "I know how to box." Harry narrows his eyes and stares at me with that scrutinizing expression that makes me feel like he can view my soul and dig out my deepest, darkest secret.
"Like, punch like a butterfly?"
"That's sexist!" I exclaim.
"No! I didn't mean it in that way...I don't know girls who can box. Hell, I don't even know one girl who can box." Harry says hastily. "Um...how good are you?"
"Good enough to kick your butt." Harry chuckles.
"You're on, Bumper. If I win, I want to spend the rest of the time that we're here at your house. If you win, well go ahead, tell me what you want."
"That's a tough decision." I place my index finger over my lips, and tap it against them. "Give me a night to think it through."
"Okay, Bump, whatever you say." Harry takes my hand in his again and lifts it to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back of my hand. "Let's head back to your house from here and let's spend the rest of the day together."
"Let's," I agree.

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