Dahlia’s Point of View

A panic jolts through my warm body when I wake up engulfed in muscular, tanned arms. It takes me a few seconds to remember the events of last night; going out with the Jensen Brothers, getting drunk and having Vince take me home only to insist on staying with me.

I try my best to untangle my limbs from Vince’s in order to use the bathroom without waking him. I still need to decide how I feel about waking up with a man in my bed… a man other than Harry. I won’t deny that I liked waking up being held, and if I remember correctly, I enjoyed falling asleep with Vince in my bed too. However, I’m not naive enough to dismiss the fact that I’m just missing the company, rather than Vince specifically. Maybe I liked having him stay over so much because I pretended it was Harry?

I sigh. Why does life have to be so complicated?

Doing my best to distract myself from all of the crap on my mind, I use the bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth and pull my hair out of my face before heading to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I decide to leave Vince sleeping in my bed—as awkward for me as it may be—because I feel bad I ruined his night. I mean, I’m sure taking care of me wasn’t his first choice of things to do.

Once my coffee is ready, I take out my favorite mug that I brought back from London and fill it with the warm liquid before adding two sugar cubes and a splash of creamer. At this point, I have no idea what to do. Maybe I should call Harry to set up the other shoot he wanted me to do?

I had almost forgot about the shoot we did yesterday, so I run over to where I disposed my camera on the dining room table and fetch my laptop in the living room. I take out the memory card from my camera, insert it in the computer and watch as over a thousand pictures of the boys appear on my screen.

Now will be the perfect time to start picking out the best ones until Vince wakes up.



I’m on my third cup of coffee by the time Vince appears in the entryway to my living room—his hair disheveled from sleep and shirtless.

My heart skips a beat when our eyes meet, then the nerves kick in. The last time I had a ‘sleepover’ with a guy was with Harry, but that was different. And before that, I was with Louis, so it wasn’t like I had a ton of guys staying over.

I had no idea how these things work. What was I supposed to do, supposed to say?

“Hey,” I finally say.

“Hey.” Vince crosses the room and sits next to me on the couch, only leaving a few inches between us. “Hungover?”

I laugh and force myself to look away from his bare, chiseled chest. “No, surprisingly not.”

“Well that’s good. What are you working on?”

I let him turn my laptop so he can see the screen. “Sorting through the shots we took yesterday. They’re really great; you guys will have plenty to choose from for the album cover.”

“You’re just saying that,” he chuckles. “Let me see.”

Vince takes my laptop into his lap and begins clicking though the photos. “Oh God, Marco is so not photogenic. What the hell is he doing?”

He turns the screen towards me, showing me a shot where Vince and Tucker each have an effortless smile on their face while Marco is making a pained expression. I can’t help but giggle. They’re just a bunch of little boys at heart.

I reach over Vince’s lap to click through the pictures myself and find one I saw earlier. “Okay, but look at this one. I think this is my favorite so far.”

“Yeah, that’s a good one. I’m surprised, Dahlia, no one can make us look this good without photoshop.”

“Oh shut up,” I roll my eyes playfully. “You guys don’t need photoshop, quit fishing for compliments,” I tease.

“You think we’re good looking?” He smirks.

I punch his shoulder and shake my head with a smile on his face. Such a flirt, he is.

We end up going through most of the photos together, laughing at the funny faces Marco made when he was getting bored or restless, and picking out our favorites.

A glance at the clock below the television tells me it’s one in the afternoon when we hear a knock at my door. I shrug my shoulders when Vince asks who it could be and get up to check.

I almost forget that I’m still wearing an old pair of short athletic shorts and a night shirt as I walk past the mirror in my small foyer, but I open the door anyway. They probably have the wrong apartment anyway; no one knows I live here.

“Harry,” I state, surprised. Harry knows I live here.

“Lia,” he returns. “Did I wake you up?” he asks.

“Oh no, I’ve been awake, I just got caught up looking at pictures from yesterday, so I haven’t changed yet.” An uncomfortable giggle leaves my throat.

He nods. “Did you have fun last night?”

Oh God, why is this so awkward? Why did Harry have to choose now to come?

“Yeah, drank a little too much, but I’m alive,” I laugh.

“Sorry I couldn’t join you. Maybe another night we can all go out.”

“Yeah, that’d be fun. So… what brings you here this morning?”

Just as I ask Harry why he showed up, Vince appears in the foyer… still shirtless. “Who is it, Dahl? Oh, hey man.”

I groan inwardly. Can this morning get any worse? Don’t think so. I mean, I know I shouldn’t feel so awkward… Harry and I are not dating, and neither are Vince and I, but I know what this probably looks like to Harry, and I do not want him thinking Vince and I are sleeping together. Well, we did sleep together, but in the literal sense, not figurative.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had… company.” Harry runs a hand through his hair and looks away from me.

Shit!

“I’ll call you later, Lia—“

“Harry, it’s fine, you can stay.”

“No, I should probably head to the office anyway. See you tomorrow, Vince.”

“See ya, man.” Vince waves to Harry and goes back to the kitchen to pour himself another cup of coffee. “You want another cup?”

All I can do is shake my head. I like Vince. I really do—he’s a great guy and I’m grateful that he took care of me last night, but despite that, I just don’t feel for him what I feel for Harry. It’s frustrating, but I can’t help what I feel in my heart.

And now I can’t help that Harry thinks I’ve slept with Vince.

---

Harry’s Point of View

Throwing the paper bag containing muffins and croissants into the nearest garbage bin, I book it out of Lia’s apartment building as fast as I can. I’m surprised I made it out without throwing any punches, but the rage still boiling inside of me doesn’t guarantee that I still won’t.

I had picked up breakfast for us and decided to stop by her place to apologize for the way I’ve been acting lately, but seeing Vince there—without a shirt—made me see red.

There was so much red in my vision I couldn’t see anything else.

I’m angry, upset, disappointed, heartbroken… you name it. This was not how I wanted to find my girl this morning.

How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow and see Vince without wanted to break his jaw and rip his dick off for touching my girl?

How am I supposed to go on knowing Lia already moved on from me, and it was all my fault because I pushed her away?

She gave us an opportunity, but I told her we couldn’t because I was trying to the good guy for once.

Now I’m starting to realize that being the good guy isn’t going to get me anymore. I should’ve taken my chance when she gave it to me—I’ve been waiting over ten years to have her soft, pink lips on mine, and now I’ll never have her again.

I’m becoming a mad man because of this girl, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I want her so bad, but my stupid fucking brain told me I couldn’t have her, so now my heart is shattered into a million tiny little pieces, and I’m breaking everything in my sight as soon as I get back to my apartment until I find my stash of bourbon in the kitchen.

I know getting tossed isn’t the best thing to do, but at this point I can’t handle it. I need to forget seeing her in her apartment with that douche bag. I try to remember the night she made cookies for me, the night we kissed… up until I pushed her away and fled.

Why did I make things so much more complicated than they needed to be? She wanted me—we could be together right now if I wasn’t such a dumb ass, but now I’m here, alone, drinking away all of my problems… for the second time in a matter of a week.

Notes

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