𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒! | harry styles

𝐈𝐗

I have a very restless night.

Tossing and turning, I can't help but think over everything Harry and I talked about. The conversation plagues my mind, as well as images of Dr. Ellis leaning in close to whisper in his ear. I never meant to garner such an attachment to Harry, but his persistence has left little room for much else.

What is this attachment? Just a fascination? An attraction to his charm and good looks? Would giving up this time for myself be worth it in the end, when the excitement of experiencing something new has faded away?

It's frustrating. I shouldn't be feeling this way. I should be strong-willed and free-spirited, not bitter and loathing some woman I've never even met. Hell, she may actually be nice... Wait, what the hell am I saying? She's a surgeon. Surgeons are like the goddamn antichrist of the medical field. Every successful surgery is like another pump of air in their gigantic, inflated heads. Of course she isn't nice.

At least this is what I tell myself. Being a surgeon is already a big enough draw for a man like Harry. Throw in the fact that his father likes her and she's nice and well...I may be screwed. Figuratively, of course. I haven't gotten any good action in an alarmingly long time. It only took about three years before Ethan and I turned into the perfect brother/sister couple. He was more like a cockblocking roommate than a lover.

This lack of literal screwing may be a big source of my frustrations. But now I'm cockblocking myself, which really makes no sense. I just figure if I did sleep with Harry, I'd probably want to do it again and again. I'd probably become even more attached, and seeing as how I already think about him constantly, it would only be a matter of seconds before I get sucked into the deep vortex of another relationship.

I really only come to one solid conclusion during my sleepless night, and it's that I don't want to want Harry. And that's a big problem, seeing as how everything he does makes me want him a thousand times more.

What little sleep I do get doesn't really feel like sleep at all. I'm teetering on consciousness, never able to fully let go of my worries. I wake a little after seven and find myself creeping out of my bedroom, wondering if he'll still be on the couch.

He is. The blanket still covers him, one leg draped over the edge. His right arm is slung across his eyes to block the incoming light from the window. He's got stubble forming on his jaw, and I can see the darker shade against his light skin from several feet away.

I hesitate near the hallway a moment, wondering if I should just go back to my bedroom and give him more time to sleep. It's still early, and if I start rummaging around in the kitchen, I may wake him.

But I'm drawn to him. I step closer, until I'm only a foot or so away. I could easily reach down and touch him. And I want to.

Oh, how I want to.

Suddenly, Harry springs out of his supposed sleep coma and lunges, grabbing at my shirt. It scares the ever-loving shit out of me and I scream, a loud, petrified sound, and try to get away, but it's no use – with my shirt in his hand, he pulls me closer until he can reach my flailing arm and pulls me down on top of him.

He locks both arms around my body in a tight grip, refusing to let me move. My heart thunders like a jack hammer against my chest, a sporadic rhythm that pounds in my ears. And I may have peed just a little.

"What the hell was that?" I wheeze, breathless from fright. I wiggle to try and smack his chest, but my arm is bound. "You scared the hell out of me!"

Harry just chuckles calmly, the vibrations soothing against my flushed body.

"How did you know I was standing there?" I go on, aghast.

"I heard you breathing. You sounded a little asthmatic over there," is his cool reply.

"I did not!" I argue, mortified.

"How else would I have heard you?"

I bury my face into his chest, breathing him in, and rethink my decision from the night before. Yes, he just scared the piss out of me – maybe literally, though that still needs to be confirmed - but if I'm being completely honest, I'm more awake now than I would be after twenty cups of coffee. Not to mention I'm insanely comfortable lying on his chest this way. Or maybe I'm just going comatose now that my rush of adrenaline is wearing off.

Either way, I could get used to this.

"How long have you been awake?" I ask, my words muffled against him. His grip hasn't lessened, but I can't say I mind.

"I don't know. Like half an hour."

I raise my head to look at him, and then wiggle my right arm free so that I can cover my mouth with my hand. "Sorry you slept on the couch. I thought about waking you last night."

Harry smirks. "Why? Planning on inviting me to bed?" he asks coyly.

I gasp in disbelief and smack his chest. "No, perv," I say, immediately covering my mouth again. "Not even in your dreams."

His smile lingers, though he looks at me curiously. "What are you doing?"

Shifting to cover my mouth a bit better, I say, "Trying not to kill you with my morning breath."

He removes an arm from around me so that he can wave a hand in front of his face. "Might want to try a little harder," he jokes.

"So says the guy who didn't brush last night," I hastily quip, and Harry frowns briefly before attacking my side with his fingers. I squeal at his assault and wiggle on top of him, fully prepared to fling myself head-first into the coffee table if that's what it takes. But as soon as I try to get away he flips me over, all but lying on top of me as he pins me down with his body. I can barely breathe.

"Say you're sorry!" he taunts as he squishes me.

"No!" I grunt.

"Say it!"

"Ughh…I can't…breaatthhee!"

"Say it and it'll all be over, April!"

He puts even more weight on me, and it takes all the energy I have to muster out the words. "I'm sorry! I'm…uugghhh!"

He finally eases off, allowing me to greedily suck air into my lungs. "You jackass!" I pant as I shove him. "Are you trying to freakin kill me? It's not even eight a.m.!"

I'm not really mad, but he doesn't know this. Not that he cares. He just chuckles and shifts his weight to my left, pinning me between his body and the back of the couch.

"You shouldn't be so stubborn," he comments, brushing the hair back from my face. His words are simple, yet they hold so much meaning.

The claustrophobia hits me suddenly, and I feel as though I'm suffocating next to him. I scramble to get up, to put some distance between us before I go mad. He doesn't try to stop me as I crawl over his body and regain my footing on the floor.

"You want some breakfast?" I ask pleasantly, and I smooth my shirt, attempting to hide my mini-freakout over what was possibly an innocent comment. But Harry cocks an eyebrow at me, somehow never missing a thing.

"I should probably go," he says, sitting up. "I have a lot to do today. It's been a while since I was off and able to run errands."

I nod in understanding. "Okay."

"What are your plans?"

"I'm going to meet Zoey for lunch. And then I have a few errands to run too."

He looks at me, smiling halfheartedly. His clothing is rumpled, his cheeks flushed from our play. "No big dates planned?" he asks, and I feel my chest tighten uncomfortably as I frown.

"It's not like that, Harry. I'm not running around looking for other guys to go out with…"

"I know, I know," he interrupts me. He scratches the back of his head and says, "I shouldn't have said anything. Sorry."

I sit beside him on the couch, already uncomfortable with the quick turn our morning has taken. But I expected no less. "It's fine," I assure him, smiling lightly. "You already know I like you. You got that much out of me at least." He smirks, and I roll my eyes. "But I told you, Harry…I just don't think I'm ready for this right now."

He scoots in closer to me on the couch, and just his proximity sends my blood racing.

"I remember," he says softly. He leans in, running his nose lightly along my temple, and I struggle to remain coherent.

"Then what are you doing?" My voice is just a strained whisper. I can't find the strength to speak with more conviction.

His nose moves to my hairline, his breath warm against my skin. His body is close and I feel enveloped by him, even though we're barely touching.

"I'm just biding my time, April," he finally murmurs against me.

I shiver at his words.

* * *

Harry makes a quick visit to the bathroom before he leaves, and we don't make plans to see each other later. I assume he's probably giving me the space I've been insisting on. That, or he'll just blow up my phone with text messages when he's done with his errands. Or maybe he won't.

I've decided I shouldn't worry about it.

Forcing him from my mind, I meet Zoey at a small restaurant located in downtown Seattle just a little before noon. There's another girl with her, though I wasn't aware she was bringing someone. The girl is slim and pretty, with dirty blonde hair and pale blue eyes.

She smiles at me as I approach the table. Zoey catches her gaze and turns to me, grinning. "Hey April!" she greets me. "This is Irina. She used to work on our floor. She didn't have any plans for lunch so we were talking and I invited her along. Is that okay?"

I smile politely. "Yeah, of course. I'm April," I introduce myself. I take a seat beside Zoey, across from Irina.

"Zoey has been telling me all about you," Irina says, and I notice she speaks with a slight accent. But I can't peg where it's from. "She said you just moved here."

"Yeah, I did. From Florida."

"I've always wanted to go to Florida. I hear they have beautiful beaches."

"They do. Perfect, white sand," I say, smiling. I already miss the close proximity to those sandy beaches – and the sunny weather – but I don't say more on the subject.

"I ordered us appetizers. They should be here soon," Zoey supplies.

"Great."

We order and tuck into our meals, the three of us chatting as if we've known each other forever. Irina is easy to talk to. It turns out that she and Zoey have been friends for about four years, and she worked on the floor at our hospital before leaving to work in case management at a local rehab. She says she still comes through from time to time and I would likely see her around.

We're nearly finished with our meals when the dreaded subject of my love life comes up. I'm not sure why people take such an interest in it. It's quite a sad, depressing little affair – like watching a movie where everyone dies. Except in my case, it was my sex life that went down with the ship.

"She wants to stay single," Zoey is calmly explaining to Irina. "Though Harry has been all over her. You should have seen him asking me about her the other day. It was really cute."

I'm not sure what Zoey  is talking about, but I plan to figure it out whenever we're alone.

Irina raises her eyebrows at me. "You mean Dr. Styles? That Harry?"

"Yup," Zoey says smugly. "I knew they'd be a good match. She pissed him off one day and he hasn't been able to stay away since. You know how guys can be." She rolls her eyes for effect.

"Ah," says Irina. "So the one girl who isn't throwing herself at his feet is the one he wants." She looks at me. "Good job. You probably snagged yourself the cutest doc in Seattle. Well, aside from his father, I mean." She fans herself and I make a face.

"Gross. His father?"

"Do not underestimate his father," she warns me. "The Styles'age well. It's a known fact. They both get hotter every year."

"It's true," Zoey says simply, nodding.

"Yep. So you should be all on that. Good genes and all. Just pray for a boy, of course, because girls never age well the way men do, no matter how good the gene pool is."

"What?" I ask, aghast. "Are you seriously suggesting I try to go get knocked up?" I can't believe the direction our conversation has taken. I've only known Harry for what…three weeks? And we barely got along for a third of the time.

"I already told her they'd have beautiful babies," Zoey supplies.

"Oh, definitely."

I'd be embarrassed if I wasn't still in total disbelief. I can't believe how similar these two are – complete opposites in terms of looks, but their personalities are spot-on. It's kind of creepy.

Zoey is talking again. "I told her there's nothing wrong with hitting it. Didn't I, April?"

"Something like that," I say grudgingly, sipping my water. My mind reels, desperately trying to think of something to get us off this godforsaken topic.

"Nah, you can't just hit it," Irina argues, and I'm amazed they're actually disagreeing on something. "Unless that's all you want. Because having casual sex changes the way a man looks at you. He'll just see you as a sex object. And possibly a slut."

"That's not always true," says Zoey. "It depends on the man."

"I read it in Cosmo, Zoey. Of course it's true."

Zoey sighs, opening her mouth to argue further, but I quickly interrupt them. "It doesn't matter," I say. "I already decided I'm not into that. I don't think I could do casual sex."

"Good," Irina says happily. "Why do you want to stay single anyway?"

I explain the story to her, rehashing the frustrations I experienced with Ethan and the need to discover myself as my own person for a while. Irina listens carefully, commenting here and there. When it's done, she says, "So you want to date other people?"

"Not necessarily," I reply. "But I mean, if I meet someone I like, I want to be able to date them. I want to have the choice of whether or not to go out with them, because I've never really had that experience before. You know?"

Zoey rolls her eyes while Irina nods thoughtfully. Picking at a piece of leftover bread, Irina says, "In that case, my stepbrother is coming into town tomorrow. He's staying with me and I haven't had a chance to see Brady much lately." I assume she's referring to her boyfriend, and her large, pale eyes meet mine. "Double date with us?" she asks hopefully. "Keep him entertained for an hour or two?"

Zoey nearly chokes beside me. "She's not going out with him!" she exclaims angrily. "It's only a matter of time before she comes to her senses. Are you trying to scare Harry away?"

I look at Zoey in alarm, a little shocked by her outburst.

"I can make my own decisions, you know," I say irritably.

"It's just one date," Irina protests. "As a favor to me. George will be going back to Ohio next week. It's not like he's going to sweep her away." She snorts after she says this, meeting Zoey's gaze. Zoey's eyes widen imperceptibly, her mouth remaining closed.

I consider agreeing but, ironically, it suddenly doesn't seem like a desirable way to spend my evening. In fact, it almost feels like a betrayal to Harry…even though we discussed this, and agreed that we're only friends. Friends who may or may not kiss occasionally, and who may or may not fantasize about the other naked…wearing only a stethoscope. Or maybe that's just me.

Goddamn it.

"I don't really think it's a good idea," I say, trying to force an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"Oh, come on! Please?" Irina begs. "Just one date! No more, I promise. And I won't even give him your number or anything. It'll be a huge favor to me. And I'll owe you."

I remember Harry's face when we talked about dating other people and feel dreadful.

"I don't think so, Irina…" I say quietly.

She huffs, settling back into her seat. "You might as well be exclusive with Harry, then," she says, irritated. "If you're going to let him prevent you from going out with other people and all. I'm not asking you to marry the guy. I'm just asking you to talk to him for an hour so he'll leave me and Brady the hell alone."

I look to Zoey, but she's being silent for once. Suspiciously silent.

"I'll think about it," I finally say, emotionally spent, and Irina grins broadly in response.

* * *

I actually do spend a lot of time thinking about this – as well as a lot of time turning Irina down again and again – but her persistence eventually pays off, and I find myself begrudgingly agreeing to the date. Maybe it will be sufficient to get the whole 'dating' thing out of my system, and then I can finally quit over-thinking everything and relax.

I don't spend much time on clothing or makeup. My clothes are casual, my hair straight and simple. I don't really want to impress this guy; as insistent as I was on being able to date, I'm already regretting the decision. My heart just isn't in it.

I meet them at the restaurant. I feel better this way, because it means I'm free to leave at my own will. I don't want the guy to have to drive me home, or to walk me to my door where an awkward conversation is sure to follow. I've barely dated, but isn't that how it always happens? A guy walks you to your door and tries to steal a smooch? It's like an expectation, and I'm taking every precaution to avoid it.

I see Irina right away, and she's sitting beside a dark-haired man with broad shoulders. I don't see anyone else at the table. She waves me over, excited.

"Hi April," she says when I approach. "This is Brady. Brady, April."

"Hi," I say, smiling politely. I sit across from them and get comfortable. "Where's um…where's George?"

"Gone, if we're lucky," Brady chortles, and I look at him in surprise. Irina elbows him in the ribs.

"Stop it, Brady," she scolds.

"You know I'm joking, baby."

I'm confused, and frankly, a wee bit uncomfortable. Why the hell does Brady want him to be gone? I'm so wrapped up in gruesome scenarios that I barely notice when someone slides in next to me, plopping down with great gusto. I turn to see a tall man – or at least he seems tall, considering he's sitting – with short, blonde hair and green eyes. But they're not green like Harry's – they're darker, less vibrant. Nothing special. The man is thin and wears a salmon-colored polo shirt, his hair pushed back and neatened with gel. And he reeks of cologne.

"April!" he says happily. "I'm George. It's nice to meet you." He leans over and hugs me, taking me by surprise. I catch Irina trying to hide her smile. Even Brady looks on with interest.

"Hi…uhh…nice to meet you," I grunt, discreetly pushing him away. I feel like someone has tipped my head back and poured a bottle of cologne down my nose. The smell isn't bad, but the copious amount is nearly revolting.

"I've already heard so much about you," he says, winking at Irina.

"All good stuff," Irina assures me, and I force a smile while stealthily turning to my menu.

It turns out that George talks a lot. I can barely get in a word edgewise, and Brady and Irina are soon immersed in their own conversation, tuning us out and getting the relief she so obviously wanted. I study my food, hmming in all the right places as George tells me about his family, how his and Irina's parents met, about his dog that lives back in Ohio. On and on and on he goes, and I eventually begin to wonder if Irina secretly hates me.

She sneaks me sly looks occasionally, sometimes smiling, sometimes simply observing. Inwardly, I tune George out and mull over the fact that if I hadn't been such a dumbass yesterday, I could be at home kissing Harry or something much…naughtier.

I pass the time by imagining these naughty things I could do to him. George barely notices that I'm not paying attention to what he's saying. He eventually asks Irina something, and she's reluctantly pulled into his one-sided conversation.

George takes a bite of his dessert, then gets a spoonful and tries to feed it to me. I've never been so horrified at having chocolate cake fly at my face.

"I'm full," I tell him, trying to dodge his attempts.

"Just one bite, April. I just want you to taste how delicious it is."

"I'm not hungry…"

"Just one bite!"

I look to Irina for help, but she's just allowing this slow torture. I want to jump across the table and strangle her. Every time a spoonful of cake nearly gauges out my eye, I get more and more irritated. I'm insanely close to prying the spoon away and committing some sort of brother-sister violence with it.

Brady finally takes pity on me. Or else he's receiving second-hand annoyance, as palpable as my irritation must be. "Dude, she said she doesn't want the cake."

George huffs, but thankfully relents. He pops the spoon into his own mouth with a slight scowl and takes the next few bites in a surprising silence.

I'm sure we must be planning on leaving soon – George is finishing up his dessert, after all – but Irina and Brady make no plan to move, simply sipping their wine and talking. I wonder if it would be rude of me to leave before them, and then I wonder if I even care about being rude.

With no food to occupy his hands, George eventually tries to grab my hand underneath the table. His palms are slightly sweaty, and the thought of him touching me literally makes my stomach roll. I pull my hand from his and clasp my hands together in my lap.

I try to be patient, but Irina and Brady are still chatting away twenty minutes later. George is going on about a giant car wash in Ohio – apparently it's like the freakin mother ship of all other carwashes in the continental U.S. It takes all of my reserve not to order a shot or five, and I finally excuse myself to the bathroom, wondering how much time I can waste there.

Irina follows me in a few seconds later. "Hey. Are you okay?" she asks, joining me as I stand in front of the sinks.

"What do you think?" I ask irritably. "Your brother was trying to accost me with a spoonful of cake, and now he's been going on for the past half hour about an automatic carwash. For the love of everything holy, no, I am not okay."

"Hey, he's my stepbrother," she says, offended. "And you seemed to be really into the carwash story. You were leaning in...in fact, you two looked a little cozy together." She's clearly trying to hold back laughter. I'm not amused.

"Oh my God." Pretending to be sick, I put a hand up to my mouth, my eyes wide. Irina looks at me with concern, and I eventually wave off her worries. "Sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit," I tell her.

She smirks at me, obviously amused. "Okay, so he's completely lame. But hey…welcome to the dating world, April," she says happily.

I look at her through the mirror, my eyebrows furrowed with disbelief. "This is not the dating world. Your brother is a disturbing exception to everything right in the male community."

"Stepbrother," she says again. "And you'd be surprised. Not all guys are Dr. Hotties."

I roll my eyes. Is this why she wanted me to come out tonight? So I could compare Harry to the most annoying male on the planet and appreciate what I'm missing?

Seems kind of sneaky, but I wouldn't put it past her.

"Why did you set me up with him?" I ask.

"I told you, I wanted you to keep him occupied. Or Brady did, I should say. He drives us insane." She looks at me, her expression calculating. Finally, with a huff, she reveals her hidden agenda. "And fine…I figured he'd make you go running and screaming back into Harry's arms. It's insanely cute that you guys are talking," she gushes.

I knew it.

I sigh despondently, but don't say anything. Making my way to one of the stalls, I contemplate what we just discussed and actually consider what she said – the part about George making Harry look good. But it didn't work. I know George isn't like most guys – I've met plenty enough in my life to figure out that some people are just socially retarded. And Harry doesn't need someone like George to make him stand out. He doesn't need George to highlight what makes him a good guy – a guy worth giving it all up for.

Harry stands out on his own.

* * *

George asks me if I want to go to his place – or Irina's place, I should say – and hang out, but I decline. Even Brady tries to get me to come along, but I know his motives are selfish. I can just imagine him and Irina running off to their bedroom like a little Bonnie and Clyde, leaving me to die a slow, painful death with George. Irina looks at me somewhat sympathetically, and I pray she's finally feeling guilty over this horrendous affair she's put me through.

It would serve her right.

I feel exhausted by time I make it back to my apartment. It's barely eight-thirty and the sun has already set, leaving the town with a dim, pink glow.

I check my phone and see I have a missed text from Harry.

I'm bored. What are you doing?

My mood brightens considerably, and it amazes me to know how easily Harry has become the ray of light in my otherwise dark and dreary day. I check the time of the message and see that it was sent almost thirty minutes ago.

I feel a little guilty texting him after a date – as awful as said date was – but I'd feel even worse if I ignored him again, even if only for a night. I type out a response while I wait on the elevator.

I went out. Just getting home.

I get another message from him quickly. Went out where?

A steakhouse.

Sounds delish. Date?

I stare at the screen for a few moments. How does he know this? And what should I say? Be honest? Lie? But what if Zoey told him and he knows I'm lying?

A few more seconds pass. I'm on the floor of my apartment when I finally respond.

Yes. But you should be happy to know it was possibly the worst two hours of my life.

Oh? So it didn't fulfill all your single-woman dreams?

No, jackass.

Not surprising. I'd hate to be the guy who comes after me. I set the standards pretty high.

He has no idea.

Yeah. The dinner table was a lot roomier, though. Without the big head and all.

Not many girls would complain about a big head...

Oh hell-o sexual innuendo. Did he seriously just say that? And am I seriously blushing?

I breathe deeply. Yep, definitely a little flustered now. The lack of literal screwing must really be getting to me.

I plop down on the couch as we continue texting.

Do you kiss your mother with that pervy mouth?

No, just you.

More blushing. Goddamn it.

He sends me another text before I can respond. Do you kiss small-headed boys with YOUR mouth?

I think about this. The possible responses are endless, but if there's one thing I've learned tonight, it's that I don't want to be kissing other boys. But I feel like I shouldn't tease Harry. Not until I'm truly ready.

But my fingers type. They press send before I can stop them.

No, just you.

I think about those words. I've told him again and again that I'm not ready for a relationship. He said he understands and that he wouldn't rush me – so does that mean I'm not allowed to flirt if he flirts first? Flirting is harmless, right?

His response comes almost a full minute later.

Can I come over?

I contemplate this question.

You think that's a good idea? I ask, seeking his honest opinion. He knows how I feel; he knows I went out tonight. And we're still friends, if nothing else. I'm allowed to have friends over.

And I want more than anything to have him over.

His response surprises me. I'll be there in fifteen.

* * *

I change before Harry arrives, only because I'm worried George's cologne has seeped onto my clothes and stained them. It seems like I can still smell the cologne, but I'm not sure if it's on my clothes or singed onto my nose hairs.

Harry knocks on the door, and I throw it open in a rush. He's dressed casually and looks well rested. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my exuberance, a crooked smile gracing his handsome face.

"Oh my God, a normal man," I say excitedly, yanking him into the apartment by his arm. He chuckles as he stumbles inside and I shut the door behind him.

"Damn. That bad?" he asks.

"You have no idea." I look up at him, standing only about a foot away, and my smile threatens to split my face in half. It's a little alarming how happy I am to see him.

"I guess I won't give you a hard time about it. Sounds like you were tortured enough."

"Yeah, well. My pride thanks you."

Harry's eyes drop to my lips, which in turn causes me to look at his lips. All I want to do is kiss him again, which is probably terrible seeing as how I'm fresh off a date. Using all of my willpower, I turn away from him and walk towards the couch. He hesitates by the door a second before following and taking a seat beside me.

"I was just watching TV," I say, picking up the remote. "What were you doing tonight?"

He shrugs. "Honestly?" he asks me, and I quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, honestly."

"I was thinking about you."

I almost expect a cheesy chorus of "Awww," to blare out of my TV speakers or something. Yet the words still have an effect on me. I look at him in surprise, and though his expression is still light, I can hear the sincerity in his words. It does things to my heart that a million Georges – even socially appropriate Georges - would never be able to do.

I look down at my hands, suddenly uneasy. "I didn't want to go out tonight," I admit to him. "Zoey's friend begged me to keep her stepbrother company. It was a double-date, anyway." I look at him, and his eyes are glued to mine. I swallow, adding, "And I thought about you almost the whole time."

Harry lets these words sink in a moment, thoughtful. He rubs his face with his hand and I sigh.

"Why do you keep bothering with me?" I ask lightly. "I mean, I hear the way girls talk about you. You could have anyone you want. You're a pretty big catch." I nudge his leg with my own, trying to keep our conversation easy. But internally, I'm terrified to hear the answer.

Harry looks at me like I've gone insane. "Because I like you, April," he says seriously. He shifts a little, turning his body towards mine. "And because I know you like me too. If I didn't think you did, I wouldn't bother."

I smile, embarrassed, and continue nudging his leg with my knee. "Always so sure of yourself," I remark.

"Am I wrong?" he asks seriously. I glance at him.

"You know the answer to that, Harry."

A few seconds pass in silence, and then Harry puts his hand on my arm, causing me to look up. "Come here," he urges, and I once again find myself being drawn to him. He wraps his arm around me, tucking me into his side, and I sigh against him and relax.

"That's better," he says in contentment, and we both settle into a comfortable silence. Harry's thumb rubs light circles on the skin of my arm.

I almost feel like I could fall asleep, but another question grabs my attention. "Do you miss your ex?" he asks. I crane my neck so that I can look at him, confused.

"No, I don't. Why?"

"I was just wondering," he says sheepishly, but doesn't offer more of an explanation.

"It wasn't like that, Harry," I say, relaxing against him again. "We're done. It was a long time coming. I'm not still pining over him or anything."

Harry nods, squeezing me just a little tighter. "Okay," he says. He changes the subject. "Did you want to watch a movie or anything? I guess I kind of passed out on you last time you suggested it."

I smile at the memory and move away from him, getting up to retrieve my movies. I don't have many since most the ones we owned actually belonged to Ethan. I carry what I have to the couch.

"I don't have much," I say, shuffling through them. "We could go rent something if you want."

Harry leans forward to look at the movies. "They're all chick flicks," he observes, amused. "Love Actually…The Holiday…Atonement…" He rifles through them, moving each one aside.

"They were the only ones that were actually mine when I moved," I say defensively. "Ethan was a big movie watcher. He bought all the other ones."

"Hmm…I see," he says thoughtfully, and I pull all my movies back from him with a huff.

"We're not watching these," I say with finality. I'm not sure what I was thinking – Harry's still a man, after all.

"No, no," he says quickly. "Just give me a minute. I can't decide if I want to imagine myself making out with Jude Law or that other weird guy."

"You actually have to think about it?" I ask in mock surprise. "Jude Law. No question." I wave The Holiday at him. "What do you say?" I ask, attempting to entice him with the cover, but he just makes a face before snatching it out of my hand and setting it on the table.

"I actually have another idea," he says. "Would you be up to taking a drive?"

"A drive where?" I ask.

"You'll see," he says, standing. He holds out his hand to help me up. "Just wear warm clothes and comfortable shoes."

* * *

Piling into Harry's car, he starts the engine and turns on the heat, making sure the vents are pointing towards me. I'm insanely curious as to what he has planned. I'm wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, and he also suggested I bring a small blanket if I have one.

We make small talk along the way. It seems like such a one-eighty from where my night began. The date was such a disaster, completely unwanted, and then Harry comes along and nothing seems quite as bad. The night hasn't been a total loss at all.

The drive is only about ten minutes, and then we pull into a local park. I've never been here, but it's not one of the most popular parks in town. It's a natural area, with lots of trees and a few benches. Harry cuts the engine and steps out of the car, immediately opening his trunk and pulling out a thick blanket of his own. He also takes out a long, black flashlight.

"You keep a blanket in your trunk?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. I join him, retrieving my smaller blanket from the backseat.

"I came here the other day and never took it out. There's nowhere to sit, so if I'm gonna be here a while I usually bring a blanket to sit on."

He tucks the blanket under one arm, shuts the trunk, and holds his free hand out to me. "You ready?"

"Sure," I say, taking his hand in my own. It feels good there, the grip tight and firm and secure. We walk a short distance across the park, me simply following his lead, until we reach the edge of a lightly wooded forest.

"We're going to go through here," Harry says, glancing at me. I look at him curiously.

"Through the woods?"

"It's not a long walk. Promise."

"Hmm...this seems very Jason-ish," I say, but allow him to step in front of me so that he can lead the way. "And I'm gonna hold you to the 'not a long walk' thing. I can barely walk on flat ground when it's daylight out, much less hike through a dark forest in the middle of the night." He releases my hand so that he can move twigs and leaves out of the way, clearing the path for me. The air is chilly, humid and muggy, but no worse than a usual Seattle night. The moon is mostly hidden by the clouds, and Harry uses his flashlight to illuminate the ground in front of us.

I have no idea what I'm doing. It's obvious how much I trust Harry, following him into the dark forest without question. There's no one else here this late at night. Hopefully he doesn't have a secret Michael Myers side to him I'm not aware of. And hopefully their are no real Michael Myers hiding in the forest...

The walk isn't terribly far or difficult. The ground is mostly level with only a few fallen branches and roots to slow us down, but Harry shines the light on them and points them out along the way. He holds back the low-hanging branches and graciously prevents them from smacking me in the face. Eventually, I can see a tinkling of lights through the trees, and the forest thins until we're stepping through to a large clearing.

I inhale sharply as we're greeted with the Seattle skyline, each building lit up magnificently in comparison to the darkness where we stand. The clearing is about fifty feet around, with trees bordering on every side, and it dips down in front of us to a deep, vast hill. It's at this dip that the trees break away enough to offer the stunning view.

Harry turns off his flashlight and stashes it in his back pocket. "Do you like it?" he asks, looking over at me. I nod in awe.

"It's incredible!" I gush. "I mean, I've been to Kerry Park, and that place has a really great view…but there's always so many people around." I pause once more to take it all in. "This is amazing. How did you find out about it?"

"My dad found it a long time ago," he explains. "He took my mom here. She told me about it years ago and I decided to come check it out. I don't think too many people realize it's back here. There's never anyone here when I come."

He begins spreading the blanket on the wet ground, and I hasten to help him.

"I'm surprised whoever owns the park hasn't cut down the trees," I comment. "If they knew what was back here it would bring in a lot more people." And then the place would lose its charm, just like Kerry Park. But I don't say this.

"Well…guess we better enjoy it while it lasts." Harry takes a seat on the blanket and holds his hand out to me, urging me to join him.

His hand engulfs mine, and I'm gently pulled onto the blanket beside him. I nestle into his side, grateful for the warmth of his body.

"Comfortable?" he asks me.

"Yes."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and that's about how long it takes for my ass to go numb on the hard, cold ground. I pull away from Harry so that I can lie down, hoping that he'll join me.

He does.

He puts one arm behind his head like a pillow, using the other to wrap around my shoulders and pull me close again. I snuggle against him, my gaze still on the gorgeous skyline below us.

"Do you come here a lot?" I ask him.

"Sometimes. It's a nice place to clear my head."

I nod, and after a few seconds say, "I'm sure you already know this, but you're making every other man on the planet look pretty shitty right now."

Harry chuckles. "Am I now?"

"Like the cocky doctor didn't already know," I say sarcastically.

"You still think I'm cocky?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Of course."

"I suppose that's fair," he concedes. "I mean, you had a horrible date with whats-his-face, and then on the same night I whisk you away to one of the best little known spots in Seattle. And now you're snuggled against me, and you'll probably be kissing me soon. Even though you said no kissing for a while. So I guess any man would be a little cocky."

I gasp and pretend to be offended, though I don't bother pulling away from him. He's just too comfortable. Too right.

"You're head's gonna explode one day," I lament. "It just keeps getting bigger and bigger. And for the record, I never planned on kissing you tonight."

He looks at me, smiling. "Tonight?"

"I don't date one boy and kiss another on the same night," I explain patiently.

"Then stop dating other boys and we won't have that problem," he counters, his tone light. Teasing. But the words are full of implications, and I completely understand what he's asking.

I lie against him, silent for a moment. Then I finally find my voice.

"Fine."

Harry turns his head towards mine, curious. "Fine?"

"I won't date other boys. It's not like there's anyone I'm interested in. But I'm not dating you yet either."

Harry grins, his green eyes reflecting the Seattle lights. "Are you saying you're not interested in me, April?"

"Nooo, not at all," I say mockingly. "I do this with every guy I hate."

"Hmm. Well that could be where you've been going wrong."

"You're right. I should probably leave." I move to push away from him, but his grip around me tightens as he smothers me against his chest.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks playfully, trapping me to his side, and I laugh.

"Nowhere, apparently."

"That's right."

We relax after a few moments, and I lie casually against him, toying with the zipper of his jacket.

"Will you tell me about your dad?" I finally ask.

Harry's brows draw together. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know," I answer, shrugging. "I just hear everyone talk about him. Is he like you?"

He thinks for a moment. "Not really. He's a good surgeon," he says. "Really dedicated to his work. Work has always been one of his top priorities."

"Is he nice?" I wonder.

He shrugs. "I guess it depends on who you ask."

"I'm asking you."

He turns to look at me again. "Yes, I think he's nice," he says carefully. "But he's very…particular."

I nod in understanding. Well I guess I don't exactly understand, but I've met doctors who seem to fit that description. They're perfectly nice until something doesn't go their way. I figure that must be how his father is.

I clear my throat and say, "After my parents divorced, I only saw my dad once or twice a year. And one time, when I was sixteen, I made a huge fuss about going to visit him. I think I really hurt his feelings and…I don't know…I always felt bad about it." I turn to find Harry looking at me, his attention focused. "I don't really feel like I know him that well anymore."

Harry nods slightly. "Well you live closer now, at least," he says. "You have the chance to get to know him."

"Yeah, that's true."

"I actually lived in the same house as my father for eighteen years and we were still never close," he supplies.

"Is he why you became a doctor?" I ask.

"No. My mother is why I became a doctor."

I nod, trying to scoot even closer. There's not a breath of space between us now. After a minute, Harry removes the arm from behind his head and gently pushes the hair from my face, his touch like a soft caress.

"This is why I keep bothering," he eventually murmurs, pressing his lips against my forehead. I let my eyes flutter closed for a moment before reaching up and cupping his face, drawing his lips to mine.

The contact is slow at first. Careful. Tender. But it progresses quickly; his tongue eagerly stroking against mine the instant my lips part, our touches quickly becoming more insistent. I move my hand to his hair, where I twist my fingers through his silky locks and lightly tug.

Harry moans and pushes me back with his body. I don't resist him. Instead, I bring him with me, his weight firm but careful as he balances over me on the ground. Our kisses become hungry as his hand travels down my side, his fingers caressing, to finally rest on my hip.

Everything fades away in this moment. I don't worry about Ethan or the burden of a failed relationship. I don't think about the time that was wasted. Instead, I focus on the way Harry makes me feel, his body warm and hard as it presses into mine, his lips soft and careful as they desperately seek my own.

Harry's mouth finds my jaw. My head tips back and he kisses my neck, his hand craftily slipping beneath the fabric of my sweatshirt. I don't stop him. I can't stop him.

My shirt is slowly pushed up to my neck, leaving my chest exposed. My plain, black bra is on full display. I obviously didn't learn from the first topless blunder I experienced with Harry, and since I never dreamed of going this far with him so soon, it didn't occur to me to wear something sexier. It seems my mind is always seeking comfort.

Just like now. Here, with Harry – with his lips on my skin – I feel comfortable. His mouth trails across my chest, grazing and kissing the swell of my breasts. I arch slightly, pushing my body against him as I tangle my fingers through his hair and urge him closer.

Harry kisses down my chest, to my stomach, eliciting feelings and desires I haven't experienced in years. Not even with Ethan. I ache for this man in a way I never have for anyone else. Even here, near this old park where the air is cold, the ground is wet, and someone could hear us. None of those things quell my growing desire.

His lips crash against mine again, his warm body covering my own.

"I fucking love kissing you," he moans, pulling back slightly to catch his breath. But his mouth is never far from mine, and we're kissing again almost instantly.

This continues a few more minutes. Harry's erection digs into me almost painfully, yet I still grab his hips and force him closer. He never pushes me too far; my bra remains in place, his hands are always where I can see them. Eventually, our kisses slow to sensual caresses. Harry nuzzles my neck, then my nose, and then we're sharing small, crooked smiles before he kisses me again, the softness of his touches barely palpable, yet definitive in their meaning.

He rolls beside me and pulls me close to him on the ground, tucking the spare blanket around my shoulders. The tranquility of the moment is a stark contrast to the chaos within my mind. My thoughts race in every direction, my heart aching at every possibility.

I curl into Harry, enjoying his warmth. Everything is suddenly so unclear – every thought and plan I had is being overwhelmed by the man beside me, and I suddenly can't see the way up in this vast pool of uncertainty.