Fratboy Harry and Other Stories

Fratboy Harry - Part 10

"Shit," you cursed, tossing your legs over the side of the bed.

You pulled on your jeans and shuffled to the bathroom, hoping to find whatever pills Harry had given you earlier. Washing them down with water, you poked around for a spare toothbrush of some kind, but came up empty handed, resolving to putting toothpaste on your finger. It was better than nothing.

When you opened the bathroom door, you nearly bumped into Harry who was standing there holding a mug in his hand.

"Made this for you," he said.

You shook your head. "I don't think I can handle coffee."

"It's not coffee. It's a hangover cure."

You stared at him incredulously before taking the mug from him. You sniffed it, immediately wanting to gag. Harry chuckled.

"I know it doesn't smell great, but I promise it works. Old family recipe."

You reluctantly took a sip. It actually didn't taste too bad. Sort of like a spiced tea. Harry smirked, waving you toward the kitchen. You followed him, taking a seat at the small table. You watched as he slid an omelet onto a plate and poured himself a glass of juice. Then he came and sat down beside you.

"If I didn't feel like utter shit," you mumbled, your head in your hand, "I would say that looks pretty damn good."

Harry smiled as he dug his fork into his eggs.

"I'd be happy to make you one later if you're feeling up for it."

You sighed and sat back in your chair. "Thanks. But I'll stick with this for now."

You sat in silence sans for the sounds of Harry chewing for a few minutes until you decided to speak.

"So are you gonna tell me why you're being so nice to me?" you asked.

Harry cocked a brow, side-eyeing you.

"Not until you tell me why you did what you did last night."

"What do you mean?" you shrugged. "I was drunk. I do stupid things when I drink."

"Really? Like follow some guy you just met to the bedroom?"

You leaned forward, placing your mug on the table, your eyes focused on him.

"Yes," you stated. "Apparently."

Harry gave you a look that was a cross between a scowl and hurt. Shifting his gaze to his plate, he picked up another forkful of eggs.

"I see," he muttered.

Sitting back again, you crossed your arms over your chest with a huff. "You're one to talk."

"You're right," he agreed, mid-chew. "I am."

You narrowed your eyes, feeling perturbed. You didn't like this nonchalant side of Harry. You'd expected him to argue, to be defensive. But he just continued to eat his God damn omelet like nothing was wrong. It irked you to no end.

"So are you going to tell me the truth?" he asked over his glass of juice before taking a sip.

"What truth?" you practically shouted.

"Why you made that little scene in the kitchen with the tequila shot. And why you allowed that wanker to drag you upstairs."

Your jaw dropped as you considered his accusation. To say you were embarrassed and ashamed would be an understatement.

"I don't know," you managed to say, looking down at your lap.

"Yes you do."

Lifting your head, ready to yell at him for being a know-it-all, you noticed his face shown no signs of a cocky asshole. His eyes were kind, almost pleading you to tell him the truth.