Coalescence ➳ H.S.

Eleven: Paris

"I should've known," she rolled her eyes. "What happened next?"

"I met Bria."

"What's up with you and her anyway?"

"She was my partner. Recruited me when I was eighteen. I don't know...I guess I liked her expensive taste and her criminal ways. It was fun, I suppose."

"You sure there wasn't something else between you two?" she grinned and poked my chest with her finger.

"We shagged a couple times, but what's a professional relationship without sex, right? Nah, someone proposed to her."

"Proposed? Who?"

"Close friend, I guess. I wouldn't know what happened; she ran away, took all of our money, left the ring on the bed and wrote a note that said 'Vancouver, BC, Canada. Convention Center. 3PM'. I woke up at four in the morning to an empty bed, so I went to go find her. They arrested me for speeding down the highway on my way to Washington; they'd never been happier to have caught someone, honestly."

"That's...wow."

"I wanted to be a famous spy when I was a kid," I admitted, trying to lighten the mood. "Conning people was the closest I got."

"I wanted to be a journalist, but my sister was the one that stole that spotlight," she replied, cuddling in closer to me. "You don't need Bria, Harry. I mean, granted, you were criminals, but nobody deserves that."

"What?"

"To be lied to. We'll get her, I'm sure of it."

A lump formed in my throat. Fucking hell.

"Hey, let's say—theoretically, of course—that...I don't know...a con artist asked a gorgeous and absolutely charming police officer out on a date. What would be his chances of getting a yes?" I asked, diverting the focus from Bria to her. Sperling blushed as I kissed her forehead, smoothing her hair out and brushing her cheek with my thumb.

"It depends on the theoretical con man, of course. And the theoretical police officer."

"Why don't I go with Harry Styles and the lovely Clarine Sperling, respectively?"

"Well, theoretically speaking, Harry Styles isn't nearly as attractive as Thomas Davis—"

"Thomas Davis? God, no, I was talking about American con artists so you can't pull Australian con men into this—"

"Why not?" she raised her eyebrow and smirked, "Isn't this theoretical? He's got a nice body, a killer accent and he's so tall—"

I kissed her to get her to stop talking, pushing the covers off and climbing on top of her. I pinned her wrists above her and broke away just long enough for a deeper blush to creep onto her cheeks.

"You watch that pretty little mouth of yours, sweetheart. Thomas Davis won't fuck you like I can, I promise."

"Yes."

"Yes he can?" I questioned. My stomach churned in the best of ways; my chest ached for her all the time.

"No, I mean yes. Theoretically speaking, Clarine would definitely let Harry take her out on a date. Out of desperation, of course," she grinned. I tried hard to stifle my laughter; she was so hot, and the way her voice practically dripped with desire turned me on so much. I felt my cock twitch at the idea of bending her over my knee and—

"Do you want me to show you what you'd be missing out on if you dated Thomas Davis?" I asked in a playfully threatening tone. Her hands ran up and down my chest, sending sparks from her fingertips to me.