Paper Airplane

27

                Harry glanced at me, then out his windshield, then at me again.  “Well, I figured you wouldn’t want to be spotted, or…”

                And like me, he was at a loss for words.  I was mostly because I couldn’t seem to fathom why he was trying to disguise himself if this “date” was supposed to be another publicity stunt, and I assumed that he was simply because he was not expecting me to think that, which only led to my further confusion. 

                So I decided to quit thinking about it.  “Oh.  Whatever then.”

                He cleared his throat.  “Yeah.  Do you want a pair?  I think I’ve got a pair of Liam’s in the back.”

                I waved a hand.  “Nah.  So, where are we going?”

                “It’s a secret.”  And then, sensing that I was about to argue, he continued with, “Hey is that a playsuit?  It looks really nice on you.”

                My brow furrowed.  “A what?”

                “A playsuit.  Why, do you call it a jumpsuit?”

                I glanced down my ensemble for the night.  I had several rompers to my name, but most of them were more appropriate for daytime festivities if you go off of color and, I guess, style.  There were a lot of off-white, white, or cream colored ones with anything from floral patterns to crosses to anchors printed on them, and most of those were very short and either short-sleeved or in tank top form.  The one I was wearing now was black, long-sleeved (though, they were also still shorts), and had pastel, multi-colored spots all over it.  To be honest, if the pink of my hair didn’t match some of the spots, I don’t think I’d have been able to pull it off.

                I figured this outfit would accommodate for the slightly cooler breeze that usually happened to settle over LA in the evening while still allowing me to keep cool in case it remained warm.  But either way, because I wasn’t sure what a playsuit was, I decided to voice the connection I’d made in my head.

                “If you’re talking about what I’m wearing, it’s called a romper.”

                Harry shrugged.  “We call it a playsuit back home.”

                “Then where did jumpsuit come from?”

                “Well, same thing.  Playsuit, jumpsuit.”

                “Romper,” I added.

                He nodded, his lips twitching into a small smile.  “Romper.  Either way, you look nice in it.  Not everyone can pull them off.”

                I snorted.  “You say everyone like more than just girls wear them.”

                Then, to my great surprise, he reached over and pinched the exposed skin on my thigh.  “You know what I meant.”

                I swatted his hand away and then dug out my phone, pulling up the Safari app and then Google.  As I typed away and began to search for what I was wondering about, I could just barely make out Harry in my peripherals turn the music up just a little bit, nodding his head and making some kind of beat with his fingers against the steering wheel.  He was mouthing the lyrics to whatever song was playing.  I returned my attention to my phone.