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(HARRY'S POV)
Sunny grabs my wrist and tugs me from the bar and down the path that leads towards my beach house. We stop to get ice cream on the way, and I swipe my fingertip over her bottom lip, wiping off a bit of the excess strawberry residue that she hadn't licked off yet. I suck it off my finger and jut out my lip, nodding my head in approval at the taste. She chuckles and bends over, taking a large bite from my vanilla cone.
She refuses to answer any of my questions about where she's taking me as we wander down the street. Just when I think she's either bringing me to the beach or my place, she takes a sharp turn down a dirt trail that's surrounded by trees and hauls me up a hill.
"Is this the part where you kill me?" I joke, and she swats my arm.
"Dammit! How did you guess?" she giggles.
When we get to the top, I see a navy-blue shipping container that has been converted into a house. It actually looks pretty cool and is exactly like something I could picture her in. There are windows scattered along the front and there's a large garden of sunflowers framing the landscape. She pulls me through a bright yellow door and flips on the light to illuminate the modern open space.
The entire back wall has been cut out and replaced with glass windows and doors, which I bet looks beautiful in the daylight. I glance to the right and see a king-sized bed in the living area and a massive bookshelf as the headboard that's filled way over its capacity with novels. In the corner on the other side of the bed is the world's tiniest kitchen; only having a fridge, stove, microwave, and a makeshift wooden island that doubles as a table to eat at.
There's no couch, no tv... but there is an entire studio's worth of equipment and instruments scattered around on the left-hand side of her home. I can feel my eyes grow wide at the beautiful sight, wishing I could mess around in here and make music with her.
"Do you play all of these?" I ask in bewilderment, pointing to the baby grand piano, drums, violin, cello, sax, and her collection of basses and guitars and other similar stringed instruments.
"Every single one," she nods.
"Who the hell are you and where did you come from?" I stare at her, needing answers right this second.
"My grandma always pushed me to try new things... to be creative in every possible way. She said I was a prodigy at everything I picked up, and told me that when I was old enough, I needed to get out of South Carolina and make something of myself. Music and writing always made me happy, so I wanted to learn everything about it. Even went to a music conservatory for a bit while I lived with her." She shrugs it off like it's not one of the most impressive things I've ever heard.
"You have the ability to be something huge if you went for it. I've heard you sing. You should think about going for it... signing with a label or writing songs," I admit honestly, and she gives me a tight-lipped smile, peering at me thoughtfully. "What?"
"You remind me of her. It's weird but you kinda make me feel at home when you say things like that to me," she confesses, blushing. I smile back at her, feeling that warmth in my chest return from her words.
"That makes me happy to hear. So, what brought you here to Hawaii to become a fiery surf goddess and not to LA or something to pursue music?" I ask. Her face immediately falls at my question, looking as though she's debating about divulging that bit of information to me.
I can't blame her. I am a total stranger prying into her life. But I need to know everything there is to know about her. She's like a drug.
"Um... well, I was 16 when she passed, and I was sent to Oahu to live with my only known living relative, apart from my grandpa who is still in a nursing facility back home. My uncle took me in, but he was deployed shortly after I got here, and he was killed overseas when I was 17. So, instead of going into the system, I took off to Kauai with a suitcase and my guitar. I was homeless for a while, bouncing from town to town, trying to make money as a street performer just so I could eat. One day I found a board in a dumpster next to a shelter I was staying in and taught myself how to surf, which is how I met Jack, my drummer. He was 18 and let me crash at his apartment. His parents are surf scouts and he brought them to watch me one day without my knowledge, but that's how I got sponsored to surf pro. And now here we are."
She blurted out so much information that my brain is now overloaded with even more questions than before. She's an open book, that's for sure. I'm not used to blatant honesty where I come from. My life is all about secrets.
"Fuck," I breathe out. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of that at such a young age. I now understand what you were talking about at the charity event, but at least you seem to be doing well for yourself. You made it." I motion my hand around the room, and she shakes her head.
"Don't be sorry. Things happen the way they're supposed to, and they lead you to who you're meant to become in this world. I was meant to be a surfer... not a big-time musician. I don't think I could handle that kind of pressure, anyway. LA is too big for me. I like my life how it is because everything is still fun and simple and easygoing. If it wasn't, then I wouldn't be able to do it anymore," she tells me, and I nod, understanding where she's coming from.
"So, if you moved here at 16 and have been here for 6 years, that would make you 22, correct?" I pinch my bottom lip between my forefinger and thumb, still processing everything I just learned. When I was 16, I was on The X-Factor and starting my career, and if my math is correct, she was wandering around this very island homeless. I'm gutted by the thought of us living two polar opposite lives.
She smiles and taps her nose to tell me I'm correct. "You're a smart one. And they say pretty boys can't be intelligent." She pushes my chest, trying to make me laugh and stop stressing about the tragedies she has endured. "Come on. I brought you here to go night swimming since you're already dressed for it."
She turns to open one of the large glass doors and props it open for me to go out whilst she changes back into her swimsuit. When I step outside, a gasp escapes the back of my throat as I realize her backyard overlooks the ocean from her small cliff. I can see the beach house from here and the spot where I first saw her making those funny faces at the camera.
Her pool is lit up with purple LED lights, and it's surrounded by more sunflowers and lounge chairs. There's a wooden hexagon porch-swing set that encases an in-ground, stained-glass firepit. This is a place I could disappear to and forget about the world if I could. This is a sanctuary.
"Are you gonna stare, or are you gonna swim?" she teases. I look over my shoulder, and my lips part, watching her walk over in her white bikini. It contrasts with her golden-brown skin perfectly. She brushes past me and dives in headfirst, swimming to the other side.
I pull my white, Pink Floyd t-shirt over my head swiftly, showing off the rest of my tattoos, and kick off my shoes before running up to do a cannonball into the water. When I come up for air, she splashes me back, laughing as I shake my head to break up my curls, hating the way it looks when it's slicked back. I lean against the side of the pool and watch her float on her back like nothing bad can touch her while she's up on her cliff in this calm state.
"Curly Boy, we have a problem here," she says with a serious face, looking at me now.
I tilt my head in confusion, not sure what she means by that. She flips over and swims toward me. She locks her legs around my torso and rests her arms on my shoulders, letting her fingers play with my hair. My hands hold her up by her lower back whilst I wait to hear what bone she has to pick with me.
"You know so much about me, and I know nothing about you. So, spill. It's only fair."
"Erm, I grew up in Holmes Chapel, England with my mum, whose name is Anne, my sister Gemma, and my step-father Robin. My dad was never really around much growing up. I loved singing karaoke as a kid... still do, actually. I was the lead singer in a band called White Eskimo when I was still in school. We even won Battle of the Bands once. It was pretty epic. Erm, I worked in a bakery for a while, and then I eventually moved to London to pursue my career." I leave out the fact that I'm currently also in literally the world's biggest boy band. But that's semantics at this point. I don't want her to treat me differently if she finds out. I just want tonight to stay how it is... normal... like a daydream that I don't want to wake up from.
Her bright blue eyes gaze at me, flickering between mine like she can't choose which one to settle on. But instead of choosing one, she lowers them to my lips. I step outside of my comfort zone and take the opportunity. I bring a hand up and curl my fingers around the nape of her neck, rubbing my thumb along her jawline. I pull her in and press my lips to hers gently, causing her to moan against my mouth in response as my eyes wire shut.
Our lips move in sync, keeping the slow pace of the soft kiss as her fingers tangle into my hair, fisting at the roots to secure her hold on me. I graze my tongue along her bottom lip, asking permission for entrance, and she doesn't hesitate to let me in. Our tongues dance with each other, fighting for dominance.
She grinds her hips against mine and a groan rumbles in my chest, elicited from the friction she's creating between our cores. I feel the straining in my swim trunks tighten with each passing second. As our breathing grows heavier with salacious hunger, it's almost as if our bodies need the other in order to breathe... to survive.
I grip her harder, needing more, but she pulls away hesitantly, much to my dismay. I pry open my heavy eyelids, watching as soft pants slip between her now swollen, parted lips. She unravels her limbs from me and pushes her feet off the wall behind me to resume floating with a smile on her face. I sink under the water and push off the wall as well, hooking my arms around her waist and drag her under with me; successfully breaking us into a full-on savage dunking contest. One in which I let her win.
We swim around for a little while, talking about everything our brains could come up with, but I made sure to keep the focus on her as much as I can. I learned her favorite color is white because sunlight is white light that's composed of all the colors on the spectrum. Her favorite foods are fruit. She is scared of clowns. She loves The Beatles, Frank Sinatra, and Queen. She is an adrenaline junkie. She wakes up with the sun every morning. She paints, and she has a tattoo she drew on the front of her lower hip that she won't show me.
She was also flown out to LA for a couple of months, after winning a lyric contest, and they liked her so much that they had her meet with some artists to write for them while she was there. She even ended up selling some of her songs to major charting artists. She wouldn't tell me who they were or what songs though because they were personal lyrics, and she also doesn't want to be known for her writing. She wants to be known for her surfing and she thinks traveling back and forth to write for people would get in her way.
"Can we go in? I need to get this song in my head recorded on my phone before I lose it." She latches herself onto my back, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck like a child, making me grin.
I nod, knowing the feeling, and climb the stairs to get out of the pool. She jumps down and throws me a towel before drying herself off quickly, wrapping the white fabric around her hips.
Once we're inside, she grabs her electric guitar and plugs it in, resting her phone on the piano as she sits on the bench in front of it. I turn to sit on the end of the bed and face her direction, watching as she bites her bottom lip to focus on what she's doing. She hits record and starts strumming with an upbeat tempo, giving it a classic rock vibe. She does it so effortlessly. It makes me want to learn how to play even more now just listening to her.
"Here to take my medicine.
Take my medicine.
Treat you like a gentleman.
Give me that adrenaline.
That adrenaline.
I think I'm gonna stick with you.
Here to take my medicine.
Take my medicine.
Rest it on your fingertips.
Up to your mouth.
Feeling it out.
Feeling it out."
Her focus stays on the strings as she sings. I smile, thinking back to her calling me a gentleman in the cabana and to that strawberry ice cream incident on our way here.
"I had a few.
Got drunk on you.
And now I'm wasted.
And when I sleep,
I'm gonna dream
Of how you tasted."
She smiles to herself at the lyrics. The rasp in her voice as she raises it a couple of octaves adds a brilliant touch to the rock-and-roll sound. She stops singing and looks up to think, but keeps her fingers moving on the guitar, keeping the same tempo as before. I have a sporadic brave moment and decide to jump in.
"If you go out tonight,
I'm going out 'cause I
Know you're persuasive.
You got the salt, and I
Got me an appetite,
And now I can taste it.
We're getting dizzy, oh.
We're getting dizzy, oh.
La-la-la-la-la.
You get me dizzy, oh.
You get me dizzy, oh."
I sing about her taking me to the club, taking shots, and dancing with her... kissing her. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, nodding her head in approval, and mouths the word "Nice" before she looks down to her guitar again.
"Tingle running through my bones.
Fingers to my toes.
Tingle running through my bones.
The boys and the girls are in.
I mess around with him.
And I'm okay with it.
I'm coming down.
I figured out
I kinda like it.
And when I sleep,
I'm gonna dream
Of how you ride it."
Her voice grows powerful mid-verse, but switches octaves quickly like before, ending on a lower note this time for the pre-chorus.
Sunny's hypnotic eyes lock on mine and a cheshire smirk takes over her soft lips. She stops playing and presses her phone to end the recording. She chuckles at her dirty lyrics, shaking her head before she sets down the guitar on the nearby rack.
"Bloody hell! That was wicked!" I shout, not believing she wrote that in only a few minutes just based on tonight's events alone.
"I know." She flips her hair dramatically, just like I did earlier in her car. I narrow my eyes at her, wanting to ask the impending question about those lyrics.
"Did you just write a song about me, Sunny Anderson?" I tease, my own smirk growing wide across my face as I raise an eyebrow. She chuckles and flips me off, getting up to join me on the end of the bed, and throws herself back to lie down.
"What can I say? You're a great muse, Curly. It still needs a little work, though. Too bad you won't be here to help me finish it," she mumbles. I lie down on my back next to her and she shifts to stare at me, pursing her lips. "You're a great singer, by the way. Those lyrics were ace. Maybe you should do something with that talent instead of trying to convince me to."
"Thanks." I grin at her before looking up at the ceiling. She stretches her arms above her head and looks at the clock.
"Shit, it's 4:00 AM. What time is your flight tomorrow?" she asks worriedly.
"9:00 AM," I sigh, rubbing my tired eyes, not wanting this night to end. She gets up and rummages through her dresser, tossing me a pair of men's sweats. I hold them up and look at her questioningly, furrowing my brows.
"Hey, don't judge me. I like wearing men's clothes when I'm not prancing around in a bikini or show attire. They're comfier than women's." She digs in the drawer some more and grabs an oversized t-shirt and boy shorts before walking to the bathroom to change.
I do the same, stripping off the wet fabric, hanging it on the door handle for tomorrow, and pulling the grey sweats up over my legs, resting them low on my hips. I lay back on the bed with my feet still on the wood flooring and rest one of my hands behind my head, waiting for her.
"You can crash here if you'd like or I can walk you back to your place," she says, walking toward me and flops in the bed.
"I'm not far from here. I can walk back in the morning if that's alright with you?" I'm grasping at straws, attempting to make this time with her last a little longer.
"Fine by me. I didn't really feel like walking you back anyway," she laughs, crawling up to the top of the bed, and slides herself underneath the covers.
Following suit, I set my alarm on my phone and rest it on the table next to the bed. I reach out and pull her body against mine by her waist, and she snuggles closer, turning on her side to rest her head on my chest.
She begins tracing her finger lightly over my butterfly tattoo, triggering goosebumps to rise across my arms and chest, which makes her giggle softly before she moves her attention to outline the ferns. I breathe out a laugh through my nose and wrap one of my arms around her back, while the other runs through her hair. The small gesture causes her body to quiver, and she mewls in contentment.
When I feel my eyes grow heavy, I can't knock this sense of dread brewing in the pit of my stomach, knowing our night is about to end. I want nothing more than to stay right here with her, stuck in this moment for as long as I possibly can. I just hope she realizes how special tonight was to me because I can't remember the last time I felt so free to be myself and completely let go without fear of repercussions.
"Hey, Sunny?" I whisper.
"Hey, Curly," she mumbles back.
"Thanks for today. You have no idea how much I needed it," I confess to her, my voice growing groggy with exhaustion.
She hums lightly, squeezing my side in response, and we finally let ourselves drift off to sleep.
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The whimsical sound of my alarm wakes me up, and I reach over to shut it off, smiling to myself. I turn my head to look at Sunny's beautiful face, but she's gone. In her place, there's a piece of paper laying on her pillow with a sunflower resting on top of it. Sitting up, I grab it and rub the sleep from my eyes with my fists before I focus my gaze on the letter to read her dainty, cursive handwriting.
Curly,
Had a sunrise shoot at the beach. Didn't want to wake you. Have a safe trip to wherever you're going. I had fun last night! Thanks for helping me with my song and making bad decisions with me. ;) I'll never forget it!
-Sunny
P.S. You're a horrible dancer and you can keep the pants.
I laugh to myself and quickly grab the pen off of her nightstand. I scribble on the bottom of her note, leaving my phone number and a message.
Sunny,
I'll never forget last night for as long as I live. It was one for the books. But in my opinion, no bad decisions were made. I really hope that I can see you again someday. Please reach out and we will plan something.
I look forward to hearing from you.
-H (aka Curly)
P.S. I warned you and you didn't listen to me. That's not my fault. And if I keep the pants, then you're keeping my shirt. I think it will look better on you, anyway.
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