When we arrive at our destination, I am surprised to see that it's not a club at all. I almost think that he has driven to the wrong location. We're still downtown, but the only places that seem to be here are banks, law firms, and fancy restaurants. I don't see how we're going to be able to dance here. Despite my confusion, I follow him without question into one of the fancy restaurants and assume that maybe he wants dinner first? This theory is quickly proven wrong as we walk to the back of the restaurant and go through a door near the kitchen. Behind the door is a dark staircase that leads into the basement of the restaurant. Okay, I don't think so. That's where people go to get murdered.
Harry notices my hesitation and holds out his hand to me, an enchantingly soft smile on his lips, "Don't worry. It's one of those speakeasy-type places. Listen, you can hear the Dean Martin impersonator."
Dean Martin? I guess I do kind of hear something down there. Biting the inside of my cheek, I take his hand and he grins contentedly. He holds my hand so gently in his own that I can't help but feel the butterflies in my stomach. I've seen a different side to this boy tonight. Before, I don't think I would've called him sweet, but now, he's tiptoeing his way there. I mean, what college guy thinks to take a girl to a speakeasy? Most guys think that taking a girl to Chipotle or some kind of bar will sweep her off her feet, so this unique destination is undoubtedly giving Harry some creativity points.
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Harry knocks on the door, his other hand still lightly grasping mine. I expect him to let go of it, but he doesn't. I am shook. The door opens and I am hit with a wall of sound that I did not expect. Harry shows the security guard a small card and we are ushered into probably one of the coolest, swankiest places I have ever seen. The lights are dim and there is a throng of well-dressed people of all ages, some of them dancing on the floor and some chattering away at high-top tables. Red velvet curtains line the stage on which a sharply dressed man is belting out the words of a Dean Martin song. The brick walls are covered in black and white photographs from throughout the decades and there is a very 50s-looking bar against the back wall. This place really is straight from a movie.
Several moments pass before I realize that my mouth is hanging open in shock at the scene before me. I close my mouth, embarrassed at my reaction, and Harry laughs beside me.
"Do you like it?" he leans in to ask me.
Finding myself at a loss for words, all I can manage is a question: "What is this place?"
"It's called Vault 89, but it's a speakeasy that my step-dad owns. He owns the restaurant upstairs, too," Harry tells me and I can't help but pat myself on the back for my initial musing that Harry owned a bar. Granted, we're not at the same bar where we met and Harry doesn't own it himself, but I'm close enough for my guess to count. My inner thoughts are interrupted by Harry as he releases my hand and slips it to rest on the small of my back, the feeling of which sends literal shivers up my spine, "Let's get a drink, yeah?"
I nod and he guides me towards the bar, the heat and pressure from his hand remaining steady against my back. I can't explain why, but when he keeps his arm around me like this, I can't help but feel a little special. With some guys, such a gesture might feel like a trap or like there's some pressure to do something with him, but the way Harry does it doesn't seem like that at all. It feels comfortable, like it's supposed to be this way. When we reach the bar, he lets his hand fall down to his side, and I find myself missing his touch. Camryn, you need to chill.
"Do you like wine?" he asks me, his face relaxed yet hopeful. I've never been a huge wine fan, but I'm sure if I had the right wine, I would like it. That's terrible logic, but given the look on his face, I don't want to disappoint him. So, I nod and tell him I do. Harry tells me that he'll be right back before walking through the door behind the bar. He returns shortly, a glass bottle in hand. Slipping behind the bar, he opens the bottle then grabs two long-stemmed wine glasses before returning to my side.
During all this, I can't help but watch the way he moves. The way his pants hug his hips only draws more attention to his wonderfully-shaped ass. The way his lilac-colored silk shirt just hangs on him seems like it could just fall off him with the slightest gust of wind. The way his hair seems to be a mess but manages to never look out of place gives him this look of put-togetherness that drives me crazy. All this, coupled with his melodiously deep voice, makes it impossible to be focused on anything or anyone but him. It's because of this, that I know whatever it is we're doing here is going to be short-lived. Someone this enchanting couldn't possibly be interested in me for more than a week, so I try to cherish this moment and every moment I'm with him. Excessive, I know, but I want to be able to remember this week for a long time because honestly, it sounds like it's straight out of a movie.
Harry returns to my side and places the glasses on the counter. After pouring a dark red liquid into each glass, he hands one to me and looks at me expectantly. With his soft green eyes fixed on me, I take a sip of the rich wine, praying to God that I don't make a fool of myself. When the smooth liquid hits my tongue, I know immediately that this is undoubtedly the best wine I have ever had. Granted, I haven't had very much wine in my lifetime, but still, it's delicious.
"That's really good," I tell him, dabbing at the corners of my mouth with my pinky and trying to keep from messing up my lipstick.
"I'm glad you like it," Harry smiles contentedly and takes a sip himself. "We can sit somewhere if you'd like. There's a couch over there that my stepfather left open for us." At this, I can't help but wonder if he told his parents about me. I mean, he must have at least mentioned it if he's reserving the couch for us. I don't know how to feel about that, honestly. The overwhelming majority of me is kind of freaked out about it, but the other, more hopeful, part of myself sees it as a very good sign. A sign of what, though? I honestly don't know, and I remind myself that I shouldn't be thinking about a future with him anyway.
I swallow another sip of the wine and nod, "That would be nice."
Harry smiles playfully and takes the bottle of wine from the counter, "Follow me."
We walk through the small basement to the front corner of the room where there is a sheer black curtain. When the security guard standing there sees Harry and I approaching, he pulls the cloth back to reveal a tiny, dimly lit room with a circular couch and a low table. Harry nods at the man then places both his glass and the wine bottle on the table.
To my surprise, he turns suddenly around to face me and says, "On second thought, would you like to dance first? I love this song." I giggle at his enthusiasm for this old music and nod in agreement. I take one last sip of wine before handing my glass to Harry. He puts it on the table next to his and then holds his hand out to me. I feel the heat accumulating in my cheeks as I place my hand in his and he leads me to the front. I tell myself it's just the wine to make myself feel better, but in reality, I know that my blushing is entirely the effect Harry has on me. Denial is wonderful place though, and I decide to stay there.
I hadn't been paying attention to the song prior to Harry's sudden desire to dance, but now that I'm here on the dance floor with the Dean Martin impersonator singing "Sway," it seems to be the only thing I can focus on. Why? Well, "Sway" is a fairly upbeat song, so I know that there is no way on earth that I will be able to keep up with any of Harry's moves, because I'm sure he has them. When we reach an open section of the dance floor, Harry stops and stands directly in front of me. He steps closer and slides his hand to the small of my back for the second time this evening, to which I respond by placing my hand on his upper back. I think I saw that in a movie once. When Harry smiles at me, I get the feeling that that was the right move.
Taking my hand with his other hand, Harry leans in and says what will probably be the sexiest thing a man will ever say to me: "Keep your eyes on mine, trust me to lead, and the rest will come naturally." The words themselves aren't that sexy, I know, but it was the way he said it. His mouth was just so damn close to my neck that I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin. It was that heat paired with the light brush of his curls against my cheek that nearly made my knees go weak.
I mean, just imagine that for a second. Imagine that that he's holding you so tightly to his chest that no matter how weak your knees get, he will keep you from falling. Imagine that his hot breath is fanning your neck as he asks you to submit to him, even if it is just a dance. Imagine his soft curls prickling at the corner of your mouth while his hand in yours feels like the most secure thing in the world. Imagine that, bitches. It's pretty damn sexy.
With a shaky breath, I nod and obey, my eyes fixed on his. He takes a step, and to be honest, I couldn't tell you whether it was forward or backward. All I know is that wherever he moves, I'm going to move with him. After a minute or so, I think I am getting the hang of it when Harry tells me that he's going to spin me. Okay, surely, it won't be that hard... Okay, nope, it is.
Harry tries to spin me but I end up awkwardly rotating much like a broken music box dancer that turns thirty degrees then stops... thirty degrees then stops... thirty degrees then stops. When I finally make it all the way around, Harry stares at me with an eyebrow lifted and an upturned grin on his lips. He looks simultaneously disturbed and amused. Laughing nervously, I attempt to salvage some of my dignity by explaining the serious disability I seem to have in the dancing department, but Harry doesn't seem to care.
He pulls me close to himself again, a soft laugh falling from his beautifully pink lips, "Maybe 'naturally' was not the right word to use when describing your dancing."
"Hey," I huff, turning with him as he guides me to the beat of the music, "Don't be mean. I never claimed to be good at this."
Harry nods, his soft curls bouncing ever so slightly, "Valid point. Okay, I'll just have to tell you what we're gonna do. I'm going to spin you out and you're going to keep holding on to my right hand, okay? Ready?"
This time, I am much more successful. I think his guidance coupled with the fact that I wasn't having to duck under his arm is what contributed to it. Well, once I'm spun out, apparently, I have to spin back in. He tells me to turn until he catches me, so I do just that. Let me just say, it's one thing to think about such a move, but to actually do it is much more exhilarating. When I turn into him, he catches me against his chest, his other hand pressing against my shoulder to hold me as his dips me ever so slightly.
Harry holds me against his firm chest and I can't but help cherish the feeling of it. This whole thing really is a dream– the wine, his eyes, his body, even my terrible dancing– all of it seems too good to be true. I feel his warmth through the silk of his purple shirt against my skin, and the sensation makes me never want to leave his arms.
I look up at him and find that his eyes are fixed on me. His green irises are catching all the lights from the stage to make them seem like glowing lily pads in a pond. Stupid description, I know, but the way his eyes are taking in the light makes them brighter with a bit of gold in them. So, naturally, I think of The Princess and the Frog when Naveen and Tianna are dancing on a little golden lily pad as Ray the lightning bug sings to them. Ah, what a great film. Anyways, back to Harry and his lily pad eyes.
His eyes search my face and his mouth parts slightly, his warm breath blowing gently across the top of my nose. When he does this, everything around us seems to stop– the people around us, the music, everything. Nothing seems to matter but him and I standing pressed against each other on the dance floor. My heart is racing as he keeps his attention on me, and only me. I almost think he is about to kiss me when some idiot bumps into Harry and he forces me to stand upright.
Harry gives the guy who shoved him a nasty glare before returning his attention to me. He is flustered and irritated now, his soft and gentle demeanor from a few moments ago completely gone. I can't say I'm surprised, but it's nonetheless disconcerting. I don't know Harry that well, so I don't know whether it's my place to say something to him or not. This is why dating sucks; you don't know the person and how they react to things so everything that happens is going to be a surprise. There's just so much uncertainty that arises with dating, it honestly stresses me out so much.
I am pulled from my inner rant about dating as I realize what song the Dean Martin impersonator is singing now. Though, I must admit, that I'm confused since "Stardust" is not a Dean Martin song, it's Nat King Cole.
"Let's–" Harry begins, but he stops himself as he looks at me. I must have made some kind of face at the song change because he amends whatever he was going to say and asks me, "Do you like this song?"
I nod shyly, "Yes, but if you want to go sit, we can. I don't care."
Harry shakes his head and a small smile creeps onto his mouth, putting a crack of pleasantry in his frustrated expression, "No, don't be silly." I expect him to put his hands in the same place as before, but he doesn't. He gently grips my waist and pulls me to him. I guess we're doing a prom-style slow dance then. I hesitantly bring my hands up to his shoulders and slide them to behind his neck. The silk of his shirt feels like cool liquid against my skin, and I am starting to understand why he wears such a statement piece, it feels amazing.
"So, how are your classes so far? I'm assuming this is your first year?" Harry asks me, turning us both in slow circles.
"Yeah, I'm a freshman, and they're going well, though I must say I was surprised to see you in my history class," I reply with a nervous laugh.
Harry chuckles, "I wasn't expecting to see you either, but I'm glad I did."
"Why?" My voice ends up sounding completely confused and rather aggressive, and I internally hit myself in the boob for being such an idiot. He expresses that he liked seeing me and I respond with a sneer. I'm really doing great at flirting so far. Ten points to Slytherin.
"I dunno, really," he admits candidly. "I guess I just like that I was able to see the real you, like, you wearing normal clothes as opposed to–"
"A skank dress," I interrupt with a knowing smirk to which he responds with a nervous laugh.
"I wasn't going to say that, but if you're going to, then I won't disagree. Don't get me wrong, you looked fucking amazing in it, but... I'm going to stop there before I say something stupid."
I can't help but giggle at the contrast between the confidence of his demeanor and the uncertainty in his voice, "No, it's okay. I looked like a bonafide slut and I'm not afraid to admit it. However, I will say that I'm not actually a slut."
Harry nods skeptically, "We'll just have to see about that."
I scoff, feigning offense, "What is that supposed to mean?"
A teasing smirk crosses his lips and he suddenly pulls me even closer to himself so that my body is entirely molded against his, "Well, we'll have to see how you act around a bunch of horny freshman boys."
"Oh?" I raise my brow, confused as ever and hopeful that he isn't suggesting what I think he is.
"We're throwing a party next weekend, and I think you should come." There it is.
•••
Wahooo dancing and such! I would actually die if I got to dance to Dean Martin with a beautiful man in a silk shirt
Thanks for reading and happy Mother's Day!! :)
-kate🖤