Hiiiii! This one shot is inspired by the wonderful Cat and my love for her writing, especially the wedding chapters in Awkward Beat. I really hope you like it! I might be posting some other one off bits to try and help with KNOCKOUT.
“You’re making a mistake.”
There’s a flurry of something pink tacked into Rosa’s hair whilst
Jazz is shooed out the way before she’s stuck with another hairpin. She flumps
down on the bed, scolded once again for creasing her godawful dress. Jazz thinks she’s better off just standing in the
corner and keeping well away from the hairspray, mascara wands and curling
tongs.
“Jazz! It’s my wedding day; does
this conversation have to happen now?”
Jazz breaks through the
close-knit assembly of makeup assistants to address her best friend. She looks
stunning, as always; her hair taken up and away from her face to emphasise beautiful
features. The colour of Rosa’s eyes is different to hers, more of a warm amber
than Jazz’s rich, dark brown.
She’s sort of floored for a
second. They’re both grown into young women but Jazz can still remember sharing
her sweets with Rosa the day she skinned her knees tumbling from her bike. They
sat on the grass sprinkled with dew outside Rosa’s house before she was called
inside and Jazz wandered home with a handful less of sweets but the exciting
promise of a new friend.
“This is the best and last time
we can have this conversation. I’m just giving you options. And besides, with
your Spanish goddess looks, you could have any man you want. You don’t need to
settle for him.”
Rosa turns to Jazz, lips curling
into a knowing smile.
“Jazz –“
“Just say the word and I can get
you into a taxi and away from here in under five minutes.”
Rosa takes hold of Jazz’s
shoulders, forcing her to listen.
“I’m not settling for him. I love him,” she bashfully admits. “And anyway,
have you seen the weather? Not even you with your freakish ability of
lightening evac could challenge the blizzard outside.”
Jazz takes a moment to strip back
the privacy veil over the window. What began as a festive flutter this morning
has transformed into something a little less whimsical. She watches as guests
arrive and almost skate down the sloping drive to the entrance of the park hotel.
Coats and skirts flap in the blistering cold wind as women attempt to keep
their modesty.
“Oh.”
Rosa shuffles up beside Jazz,
jostling for a view out the window. She places a hand on Jazz’s waist, drawing
her friend in close and kissing her cheek.
“I always wanted it to snow on my
wedding day.”
“Well, you’ve certainly got your
wish, with a bit of British sleet thrown in.”
“Wonderful.”
***
Jazz is plonked down upon a seat
outside the ceremony room. There’s about half hour before the marital show is in
full swing and she knows Rosa is going to use this time to have a drink and
settle her nerves. This is why Jazz can’t understand why she’s being placed on
the metaphorical naughty seat.
“Sit here and don’t move,” Rosa
instructs.
“Why can’t I stay with you?”
“Because you’ll blab something to
someone and people will be offended.”
Jazz’s hair is in full volume, a
halo of dark, afro curls adorned with pink flowers. The colour is supposed to compliment her darker skin tone, but Jazz isn’t a massive fan of pink, she’d have preferred a bright orange or purple. Rosa fusses with the
position of a few of the flowers as she scolds Jazz.
“I can control myself. You make
it sound like I do it all the time.”
“You do, and I’m not willing to
take the risk of an unnecessary family argument on my wedding day. You know I
love you, now just sit there,” she gently encourages. “I need a drink.”
Jazz wistfully watches as Rosa
glides away with the train of her dress dragging along behind her. Fancy not
trusting her to keep her mouth shut. Jazz isn’t a child for goodness sake.
She sits in the most lady like pose she can muster, which
isn’t all that elegant, but at least it keeps her from flashing her knickers to
the rest of the function. Flowers in her hair and freckles sprinkled over her
nose. The piece of gum she chews has been rolling around her mouth for the last
twenty minutes and has lost any trace of flavour it once had. She’s busy on
deciding where to conveniently spit it out when a male sits down beside
her. Jazz covertly side eyes him as he
mirrors the same uninterested slouch she’s perfected.
“And you are?” she turns to address him.
He’s sporting a godawful
pink tie to match with Jazz’s godawful pink
dress. The suit fits him nicely but the hair is unkempt and Jazz is having
flashbacks to watching Tarzan when she was seven.
“Best man,” he gruffly replies to his phone screen.
“Well, if you’re the best he’s got, that’s saying
something,” Jazz comments, picking at the petals in the bouquet. “You weren’t at
any of the dress rehearsals,” she mentions, casually prompting him.
And what a palaver they were.
He places the phone on silent before pocketing it.
“I was performing.”
“As what, a flying monkey?” Jazz sniggers.
“In my band,” he almost sighs.
“Brilliant. You their
keyboardist?”
“No.”
“Dancer?” she eyes him critically as if judging his
abilities whilst slouching in the seat.
“I’m lead singer and guitarist.”
“Of course you are,” she confirms with a sickly sweet smile.
Jazz is momentarily distracted by the arrival of Rosa’s
aunts. It’s always bit of an occasion when the women of Rosa’s family get
together. They’re all top heavy with huge customary hats and fascinators, along
with pink button holes pinned to their chests.
And to Jazz’s confusion they each fizz with a rosy blush and
a coy smile. It’s not until she turns back to Mr I’m In A Band, that she sees
the flirty wink he throws at them. There’s a cheeky grin to match which has
Jazz screw her face in grimace.
“Have you no shame?”
“I’m being friendly,” he defends with a satisfied smile.
He cocks his head, eyebrows raised and biting the flesh of
his lower lip. He thinks he’s being cute.
“Jealous?”
Smug prick.
“Of what?” Jazz sharply replies.
She gives him a disgusted once over as he moves to sit up
straighter. He seems to take it as a hit to his pride, the once jovial mocking
long forgotten as a thunderous frown descends.
“You look like a strawberry meringue,” he bites in
retaliation.
Ah, the bridesmaid’s dress. It wouldn’t have been Jazz’s
first choice, or even her seventh, but it’s what Rosa wanted so that’s what
she’s wearing. A monstrosity of overly cute frills and a bow around the waist
to match. Jazz knows she looks like she’s been dressed by a child, but he doesn’t
have to point it out.
“You’ll be wearing the bloody wedding cake if you don’t shut
your noise, Flower.”
“How lady like,” he scoffs.
No. No, this shouldn’t be happening. Jazz is the one to
always get the better of someone, to pester and badger until she’s victorious
in juvenile banter. She’s never the one to fluster or throw a tantrum. She’s
the one to sit back looking smug, accomplished and thoroughly entertained. But
to Jazz’s horror, she’s the one up from her chair about to throw a hissy fit.
“Screw being a lady, I look like a fucking dessert!”
Jazz stomps off in a huff before returning in a furious
rage. She snatches the forgotten bouquet of flowers from the idiot’s hand and
promptly leaves before the need to wipe the smug look off his face escalates.
Jazz mentally counts to ten, willing herself to find a desperate source of
tranquillity before having to face anyone important within the family.
The dance floor is almost empty apart from a few
outrageously loud children chasing the ribbon from a balloon. It’s with another
chorus of childish shrieking that Jazz decides she’s going to need a drink if
she’s to make the ceremony and reception. Her beeline to the bar is interrupted
by a flash of purple, the groom’s mother.
“Jazz! So you’ve met Harry then?”
Jazz is unaware that he was following. But now she can put a
name to the face she wants to photograph and pin to a dartboard.
“Unfortunately.”
“On both our counts,” Harry adds.
The older woman laughs, squeezing his forearm. Jazz has only
met her a couple of times, but she’s definitely made a lasting impression with
her homemade Victoria sponge and blackberry jelly to fill it. Jazz could have
had a cake-orgasm the last time Rosa and her dropped around for tea.
“Isn’t he funny?” Matt’s mother chimes.
“He’s something, alright,” Jazz glares.
Completely oblivious to the sarcasm, the older woman kisses
Harry on the cheek before making her way into the room where the ceremony will
take place. And yet again, Jazz is left with very person she wishes to have an
ocean between.
Her growl of annoyance puts a smile on his face and she
stomps over to the bar. There’s a guy tending behind the counter, but he seems
more preoccupied with organising refreshments for the reception rather than
Jazz’s need for a shot of liquid courage. She leans over the bar in an attempt
to swipe a glass.
“I shouldn’t if I were you.”
Harry’s muscling in beside her is unwelcome.
“Well, you’re not me, so bugger off.”
“I have to walk you up the aisle.”
The statement has Jazz turn to him in offence. This is the
first she’s heard of it. Jazz was under the impression that there would be no
coupling up.
“No you bloody well don’t. I’ve attended other weddings and seen
Love Actually, the best man stands with the groom at the altar.”
She wishes he was shorter, even with Jazz tottering around
in her heels he’s still an infuriating couple of inches taller.
“It will ruin the aesthetic. All the other bridesmaids are
being escorted.”
There’s delight fluttering in his eyes as if he’s found
something amusing and Jazz fears this might be the start of numerous
interactions purely for his entertainment. She can already tell he enjoys
winding her up and her replies only stoke the fire. But Jazz can’t seem to bite
her tongue.
“They have to be
escorted, because they’re all under the age of ten. You couldn’t give a toss
about aesthetic anyway, and I don’t need anyone to walk me anywhere.”
Before Jazz can hammer the message home any further, Rosa
pops up in all her bridal glory. The traditional head gear is secured in her
hair and elegantly draped down her back.
“Harry’s walking you up the aisle. Is that alright? I know
we haven’t practised it, but Harry knows the pace and all you have to do is
walk beside him.”
Rosa’s unknowing smile rubs salt into an already flaming
wound.
“That’s fine,” Jazz grits politely through her teeth.
“Brilliant.”
There’s a little tension between the three of them that no
one dares point out. And now it’s painfully obvious at Rosa’s less than pleased
opinion on Matt’s choice of best man. Jazz remembers the painful argument she
had to sit in on between the soon to be married couple. Well, she can recount
most of it, the rest was swept away in an alcohol whirlwind. All Jazz knows is
that Harry’s candidacy for best man was hotly disputed.
Rosa gives them both a tight smile before departing once
more.
“Come on, Flower. It’s starting soon,” Harry mockingly beams.
“Oh, shut up.”
He’s smug, holding out his bent arm for Jazz to take, which
she begrudgingly does. Minutes later, the two of them stand patiently waiting
for their turn to enter the room. The little ones go first, each holding hands
with Matt’s friends and walking up the centre of the grand hall.
Jazz is ready to stomp up the aisle and to the alter, but
her plan is firmly extinguished by Harry’s hand on her own.
“Steady on. You’ll kick up dust motoring that fast.”
She pinches him in retaliation just under his armpit. It
hurts judging by the sour look on his face.
“Smile, Pickle,” Jazz encourages.
“Devil woman,” he breathes.
“Excuse me?”
Harry’s voice hushes to resentful whisper as they begin
their snail’s pace of a walk to the gathering at the front. With their arms
still linked, Jazz is forced to listen.
“I told him, told him he was stupid for wanting to marry
her. There’s not a single thing in his life that hasn’t been changed or prodded
at since she came into the picture. He can’t even have a wank without her
crying.”
Harry plasters on a grin for the relatives, and Jazz thanks whatever
god there is that the music is loud enough that Rosa’s gran didn’t have to hear
Harry say “wank”.
“She’s improved him,” Jazz sharply hisses.
“You sound just like her.”
“He was living off of take-away and having the dog lick his
plates clean before Rosa came along.”
“That’s freedom and his right to do whatever the hell he
wants.”
“No, it’s a breach of unpardonable hygiene requirements as a
functioning human being. Arsehole,” she adds.
And then they’re at the altar.
The peck his lips leave on her cheek stokes the fire raging
inside her. Not a lustful burning, but something a little more murderous.
Jazz is not five years old so quells the need to wipe her
cheek with the back of her hand. She’s well aware that the playground rumour of
boys having germs is false. Her skin tingles where his mouth made contact.
***
Rosa has insisted on tradition. A flamboyant white dress,
classic music and a veil. The ceremony room looks beautiful, draped in sunset
colours that reminded Rosa of dusk and dawn across beaches in Spain. Jazz had
helped with the decorations, attending meetings with a wedding planner and
answering calls in the early hours when Rosa’s insomnia had her quibbling over
bouquet flowers.
It’s all paid off by the look on Rosa’s face after the
ceremony finishes. There’s tears in her eyes and a glowing smile on her face.
***
Harry’s speech passes in a gulped glass of wine, bursts of
rapturous laughter and a couple of digs at the bride - wife. Jazz still hasn’t
quite gotten over that; wife. It makes Rosa sound middle-aged with a mortgage
and a need to watch County File on a Sunday night. Jazz excuses herself to
visit the toilets, shuffling past chairs adorned in orange ribbons containing
relatives too old to make room. Her eyes catch Harry’s just as she’s about to
swear; and to her utter mortification people have turned to see the person he’s
throwing a bemused smile at. Harry catches himself before the pause becomes
awkward and carries on with an anecdote from when he and Matt were at school
together.
Once Jazz has performed her ablutions and touched up her
makeup, she makes her way back to the reception. The speeches have finished,
thank goodness, and she navigates through the tables with minimal damage, but
it seems her luck is about to run out.
“And how is little Miss Sunshine?”
“All the better for seeing you, Flower,” Jazz sarcastically
preens, tipping her head back to see Harry.
“I’m flattered,” he replies before sitting down in the empty
space next to hers.
“Don’t be.”
“Did you enjoy my speech?” he asks, ignoring her gripe.
“It was riveting. But I think your little fan club enjoyed
it more.”
They both turn to the young group of girls twirling each
other on the dance floor. Elation erupts around their little circle as one
nudges another to spread the news that Harry’s now grinning at them. There’s a
lot of giggling and waving.
“They’re very sweet.”
Jazz is prevented from making a snarky reply by one of
Rosa’s great aunts. A wrinkled hand is placed on her shoulder before her dress
is admired once more. Fighting back the acid on her tongue, Jazz graciously
accepts the approval before the old woman hobbles away.
“If another one of Rosa’s decrepit relatives comes up and
compliments the monstrosity, I’m going to take it off and burn it.”
Harry’s eyes comically widen.
“Well, wouldn’t that be quite a…spectacle.”
“Excuse me! I happen to look pretty magnificent without the
dress. It’s holding me back!”
Jazz is certain she’d have at least a small herd of men
following her around the function if she wasn’t wearing the dress.
“Mmhm,” Harry hums, lazily rooting through the bottles of
wine on the table.
“I think you underestimate the power a woman has when
wearing matching underwear,” Jazz insists as Harry pours the remnants of wine
from a bottle into a clean glass. “I could topple nations! There would be statues
erected in honour of my spectacularness.” Harry trickles a little white wine
into the red. “We’d have a bank holiday to celebrate just how magnificent my
bum looks.”
“Here, drink this,” Harry shoves the glass at her after
adding some neon blue liquid that smells like sickly berries.
It’s an odd colour combination of whatever alcohol was on
their table.
“Why?”
“Dunno, to see what it tastes like,” he shrugs.
“You’re an idiot,” Jazz admonishes, “and I look cute in my
underwear,” she sadly mumbles.
“I never said you wouldn’t.”
It’s spoken so softly Jazz might have missed it if they
weren’t sat with their elbows knocking. Neither speaks and Jazz is a little
panicked to note that he has pretty forest eyes, and a full mouth; features
she’d overlooked before now, what with him being a smug prick and all. She
clears her throat and shifts in her seat. The DJ pipes up before Jazz can
dissect and analyse Harry’s comment. They both turn to where the decks are set
up at the back of the ostentatious room.
“Here’s to the happy
couple! Can everyone gather around the floor for the first dance?” he mouths
into the mic.
Harry’s the first up and Jazz follows as they join the rest
of the wedding horde standing on the dance floor. The main lights are dimmed
for the fairy lights to twinkle high in the canopy of the ceiling. Jazz awes at
the scene. She’s not much for romance, but the tea-lights set up around the
tables and the enormous Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner create
something of a winter wonderland.
Well, that’s until the music begins to play.
The guests are serenaded by ‘You Are So Beautiful To Me’ as
Rosa and Matt start to sway.
“I think they just googled sappiest love songs ever,” Harry murmurs behind her.
“Chirst.”
“I think I’m gunna vom.”
“I need a drink.”
The bar is completely empty when they arrive. Jazz hops up
on a stool with Harry stood beside her.
“How about it, Ruffles? Want to get spectacularly drunk with
me and forget about this whole shitty day?”
“Why not?”
It’s not in Jazz’s nature to back down from a challenge, so
when Harry dares her to a shot drinking competition there’s only really one
outcome. And that’s her, on the floor, with people laughing.
***
“Men are oblivious. They roll over afterwards thinking the
orgasmic equivalent of New Year’s fireworks have gone off between my legs. But
in reality it’s those shitty sparklers that burn out before you have a chance
to wave ‘em around.”
Jazz cackles, head tipping back as she humorously listens to
the girls gathered around the table. The evening has died down a little, some
of the older guests calling taxis to go home or turning in to their rooms.
The women are sharing the last of the free wine after
kicking off their heels under the table. They’re a striking bunch, dresses of
differing bright colours. And it becomes apparent to Jazz just how well
travelled Rosa is and how easy she finds it to make friends. There’s a variety
of accents and skin tones and Jazz wishes she could have tagged along with Rosa
when she set off on her gap year.
“Don’t fake it! Never fake it; let him know he’s
disappointed you.”
“Don’t let him go ‘round thinking he’s God’s gift when it
comes to the intricacies of the vagina,” Becky states proudly.
“What’s going on here?”
Jazz sways and then swivels to see Harry and his 100watt
grin approach to take a seat three chairs away from her on the rounded table. A
couple more of Matt’s friends join the gathering, either scrounging chairs from
neighbouring tables or standing.
“We’re putting the world to rights, starting with mans’ complete
lack of finesse in the bedroom.”
There’s a few raised brows from the lads at the punchy
declaration, but many more are enthralled at where the conversation is heading.
“The best sex of my life was with a classical art student when
I was at uni.” Annie shares with the group. “She was perfect, no fumbling
around under the covers. She knew where everything was and what felt good
because she had a vagina of her very own.”
Humoured smiles and laughter trickles around the table and
it’s surprising to Jazz just how comfortable people are about discussing
sexuality so openly. There’s more on uni antics and sexual experimentation and
it helps Jazz come to a conclusion.
“Men have always been bit of a disappointment it seems,” she
jokes.
There’s objections, but she picks Harry’s out above the
rest. He’s slouched in his seat, looking thoroughly entertained at the prospect
of debate.
“You’re clearly not doing it with the right man then,” Harry
provocatively proposes. “You’re missing out.”
There’s a fiery challenge in his eyes that Jazz seems to be
dancing in.
“On what?” she splutters a laugh. “Having a seven and a half
second ride on the most nauseating person I’ve ever met.”
“You like it on top?”
The question has a sultry edge and the rest of the group’s
discussion ceases. Jazz can spot the comic outrage on her friends’ faces,
disbelieving at the gumption. She chooses to ignore it to tease Harry some
more.
“Well, I can’t rely on you to get me off, can I?” she
gestures the full length of Harry’s body. “Rosa and Matt will have had their
first anniversary before you find anything remotely close to my g-spot.”
There’s a chorus of “oooos” and giggles.
“I’ve found plenty of g-spots, even some p-spots.”
Becky’s mouth falls open as Harry arrogantly grins, sitting
forward and resting his arms on the table top. He waits for her reply.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, and for the record, strawberry meringue’s my
favourite.”
Jazz can’t gather the words to retaliate because she’s
stumped for the first time in quite a while. Harry looks to be quietly boastful
with the outcome as the buzz of conversation picks up again.
Jazz’s seat is yanked back from the table in order to make
private the interrogation she’ll receive from her friends as they gather
closer. It’s a rambling of questions and comments that all jumble into one.
“What’s he talking
about?” – “Is it some kinky sex thing?” – “Does he like involving pudding in
the bedroom? Because he’s my kind of man.”
The laughter it provokes draws Jazz out of whatever daydream
she’s been swallowed by. There’s another drink been placed in front of her but
she’s not feeling it anymore. Her stomach has rolled over.
“Jesus. Flirt anymore and you’ll be in his lap,” Annie
elbows at Jazz.
It takes her a second to recover, piecing together what
she’s been accused of.
“What? No.”
“It’s flanter,” Becky chimes in.
Jazz scoots to the left in her chair a little before Becky’s
drink can slosh over the rim of her glass. She’s in an orange number, sequined
bodice with a flowing skirt.
“What the fuck is flanter?”
“Flirting with banter. You take the piss out of him but it’s
like – sexy.”
Annie snorts a laugh which pinballs around the group of
girls listening in. Jazz has always liked attention, but this isn’t quite what
she had in mind.
“He’s got the major horn for you,” Marta suggestively
wiggles her eyebrows.
“No.”
“Harry.”
“No.”
“I’m thinking he most certainly does.”
***
“Oh Christ, what do you want?” Jazz sighs, edging closer to
the bar.
“Was wondering if you’d grace the dance floor again this
evening?”
There’s a mischievous quirk to his expression as he leans in
a little closer to be heard.
“So I can fall on my arse again. No thank you.”
“I could go with you,” Harry shrugs.
“Are you asking me to
dance or roll around on the floor with you?”
“I’m down for either, or both.”
Jazz clenches her fists as Becky pops around the back of
Harry to mouth, “flanter”, at her. She’s about to unkindly tell Becky to go away, when he touches her arm.
“Come on, then,” Jazz groans. “You have me for one dance,
then you’re getting me a drink.”
They’ve only been on the disco-balled floor for a matter of
moments before Harry’s busting every move known to man-kind.
“It’s not even dad dancing, you’ve got grandad moves.”
Before Jazz can back away, Harry takes her hand and scoops
an arm around her back.
“You’re ridiculous.”
He takes the lead, dramatically leading her around the floor
as if they’re ballroom dancing in a Disney film. Jazz barks a laugh as Harry
swerves them to the right, out the way of an elderly couple counting steps. He
must feel the bite of her nails through his suit as she clings to his shoulder.
It’s not mentioned, even as he dips her low.
Jazz can feel her stomach descend as Harry slowly encourages
her upright, and Jazz thinks the small smile he wears is just for her. And
that’s terrifying.
“Ok,” Jazz awkwardly pats him in the shoulder. “I’m gunna –“ she makes
a vague gesture to where her vulture like friends are gawking at them.
“Alright.”
***
As Jazz stands with the rest of the wedding hoard, she has
to admit, it’s kind of sweet. She watches as Matt takes Rosa’s hand and they
disappear into a waiting taxi. Matt’s organised the honeymoon for them, keeping
it a secret until they step on board the plane. Jazz had given him a stern
talking to beforehand, schooling him on the holiday guidelines, no snow, no
venomous animals and no self-catering. Who wants to be cooking on their
honeymoon?
Jazz can see the appeal now, it would be nice to share new
experiences with someone. Short, fun relationships are easy, they fit around
her work and there’s none of that weighty commitment Jazz has seen so many of
her friends pressed with. She’s dedicated to making her business work and the
prospect of expansion is time consuming. She loves it, but she’s only ever
really had Rosa to share that with.
The taxi disappears through the lines of trees and Jazz
wraps her shoulders with her pashmina. It’s touch and go whether she’ll make it
back to the entrance of the hotel before skidding and landing on her arse.
Luckily Annie catches hold of her arm before a trip to A&E is needed.
The remaining group of girls are steadily splitting off,
wishing Jazz a ‘Happy Christmas’ and promising to meet up in the new year.
There’s a last burst of photo-ops before Jazz is waving them off, too.
***
There’s no expense
spared, hair flicks, giggles and small touches to let him know she’s
interested. He’s a cousin of someone or other, but Jazz isn’t really fussed
with his relations. The conversation is a bit dry but when you’re 6’1 and have
a face like a Greek god, little things can be overlooked. Jazz is just about to
steer the chat around to sharing a room until the pain in her arse reappears,
dimples and all.
“Hi,” Harry greets
happily.
“I’m busy,” Jazz grits, swatting at his side.
“You’ve gotta come and look at this,” he implores,
completely unaware.
“Sorry,” she smiles up at her potential bed buddy for the
night. “I’ll get rid of him.”
Jazz reluctantly turns away only to be confronted with
Harry’s daft, grinning face once again.
“What is it?” she sharply questions.
“You know they cut the wedding cake outside? Well, there’s a
squirrel eating it, and I think he’s about to go into a food coma.”
If Jazz could roll her eyes any more, they would be a
permanent fixture in the back of her head. And that’s unfortunate, because if
she had that ability she would have seen Mr Greek God making a very speedy
escape.
There is indeed a squirrel eating the remnants of the
wedding cake, and Jazz sits on a table top next to Harry as they watch the
little beast stuff its face. Their knees knock as Jazz begins to fiddle with the
strap to her clutch bag.
“Do ya think he’ll die?”
Harry’s question is murmured as he rests his head in his
hands.
“Why would he die?”
“Don’t think wild animals should be eating that much cake.
Think of all the sugar he’s consumed. It’s not in their nature, is it?”
The sheltered outside area isn’t as cold as Jazz expects
because by some miracle someone decided to turn on the patio heaters. The
warmth has melted any slushy ice that pelted down that morning and they’re free
to look over the cultivated gardens in the spotlights.
Sharp variations in temperature have taken their toll on
Jazz’s hair accessories, discovering the flowers have wilted when she begins to
remove them.
“Are you taking them out?”
“Yeah.”
“They look pretty.”
“Oh – Thanks.”
“What’s up with you, anyway?”
Harry shifts his full attention to her. The pink tie he’s
been wearing all day has worked lose from his neck, the top buttons undone on
his shirt. The shot she accidently knocked over him has left an ominous blue
strain right done the centre. She hopes he didn’t rent.
“What do you mean?” she shakes her head for petals to
flutter from her curls.
“You’ve just looked a bit mopey ever since the newlyweds ran
off for a week of screwing.”
There’s a dramatic inhale as Jazz clutches at her chest.
“You’re so romantic.”
Harry sniggers.
“But seriously, what’s up?”
“You scared away my last hope for a shag on this miserable
night,” Jazz mumbles, slouching back and sighing.
“Wait, were you flirting with that guy?”
“Yes, I was flirting with an extremely beautiful man. And
then you came along and ruined it.”
“I probably did you a favour.”
“Please, enlighten me,” Jazz sarcastically jibes.
“A guy that looks like that has to fall short somewhere,
right? He can’t be looking perfect everywhere. He probably has a tiny penis, or
six toes or something.”
“Is this you trying to make me feel better, because it’s not
working?”
There’s a pause where Jazz swears she can hear the cogs
turning in Harry’s mind whilst his mouth pouts in contemplation.
“Well, I’ll shag ya.”
“What?” she almost chokes.
Harry slips down from his seat beside Jazz to stand directly
in front of her.
“If you want someone to rock your world, you’re looking at
him.”
Harry grasps the wood either side of her and rattles the
table top. Jazz’s resulting squeal frightens the cake-eating wildlife before
her heal connects with Harry’s elbow. He’s rubbing unhappily at the spot that
will probably bruise as Jazz yields and gives him a quick once over. He’s fit.
It might be fun.
“Alright, Casanova.”
No time for hesitation is given before Harry grabs her hand
and leads a laughing Jazz inside.
***
“What number are you in?”
“57.”
As the floors chime away on the lit panel in the lift, Jazz
takes the opportunity to remove her heels, using Harry’s shoulder to balance
herself.
“What are you doing?”
“I run faster without my shoes.”
“Why are we running?”
“Last one there has to pay for room service.”
The doors chime and open. They step out into a sleepy
corridor, most of the guests already tucked up in bed.
“I think you’re forgetting that I have the key,” Harry
teases, fishing it out from his wallet.
Jazz snatches the card from his fingers as soon as it’s
presented and is off like a flash. Harry makes a sound of disapproval before
he’s barrelling after her. Her heels swing in her hand as she makes decent
headway and Jazz is sure their thundering steps will wake the entire floor.
That or her shrieking laughs. Breathless with glee she reaches number 57
unscathed, swiping the key before Harry rounds the corner.
“Bloody hell, you’re like a cheetah,” he puffs.
He unfolds from doubling over, slipping through the door
after Jazz before it closes. The unceremonious fumble for the lights has the
untidy room illuminated before Harry dims it to an appropriate level.
“Christ, looks like a tornado has hit in here.”
“I didn’t have time to clear up.”
“You’re telling me.”
She drops her heels before flopping back onto his bed. Harry
kicks off his shoes as Jazz scans the suitcase open with its contents spilling
onto the floor.
“Stop judging and put some music on,” he complains.
The phone he tosses across the room narrowly misses her face
and she curses him whilst he works on gathering up clothes and toiletries.
“You trust me with your phone?”
Most people wouldn’t.
“Don’t text anyone.”
Jazz smirks, opening up the music app and navigating the
menu to Harry’s playlists. She aimlessly scrolls until landing on one she’s not
quite ready for.
“NO!”
Her hand claps to her mouth.
“What?”
He spins, eyes impossibly wide with an arm full of clothing.
“You have a fucking playlist.”
“What?”
“Songs to fuck to,
it says.”
The items he holds tumble into his case haphazardly only for
him to turn and stomp over to the bed.
“It’s a joke, Niall made it. We share a Spotify account,”
Harry rambles, cheeks flushing pink.
“You’re a liar,” she leers from the mattress. “SoMo – Ride,”
Jazz cackles, rolling onto her side and clutching her stomach.
“It’s supposed to be hot, something that’s clearly lost on
you,” Harry huffs, trying to yank his phone from her.
“It’s a bit heavy for a one nighter, isn’t it?”
She evades him once more, Harry resorting to crawling up the
sheets to make another grab.
“Yes! You’ve saved the Lion King soundtrack!”
“We’re not shagging to Hakuna Matata,” Harry chides.
“Killjoy.”
He takes his phone back. Jazz rests into the pillows, making
herself comfortable as Harry selects a song and places the phone onto the side
table. The bed shifts as he collapses back with her and they just lay there
waiting for the music to build.
“Is this Sexual
Healing?” she asks up to the ceiling.
“It’s a remix.”
“Oh, ok.”
It’s not awkward. It’s not. But this whole bit before taking
clothes off has never been very settling for Jazz. She’d rather him just get on
with it. And perhaps she’s spoken too soon.
“Roll over then.”
Harry’s graced with a look of horror from Jazz.
“Oh, Christ. I’m classier than that, give me some credit.
I’ve gotta find the zip on your dress though, haven’t I?”
“Idiot,” Jazz mouths before rolling onto her front and
propping herself up onto her elbows.
She can feel Harry wriggle over, hands knocking as he
searches for the release to the clothing. His knee is digging into her side.
“What are you messing around at?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not a fucking magician!” Harry exclaims.
“You’re gunna have to stand up, I can’t see a bloody thing.”
This is probably the least hot Jazz has ever felt before
sex. There’s nothing seductive about being dragged closer to the light so your
partner can reassess the zip situation. She squirms as fingers pinch the top to
the back of her dress and she’s just about had enough of this.
“Sod it, it’s up and over. Hold your arms up.”
“Harry!” she yells through a mouthful of ruffles.
There’s a definite tearing sound and the yanking motion
ceases immediately.
“Shit,” Harry mutters.
“It doesn’t matter, I was gunna bury it after this anyway.”
More undignified wrestling commences before Jazz is finally
free of the pink atrocity she was forced to wear the entire day. It slumps to
the floor and she breathes a sigh of relief.
“Wow.”
Stood in her matching underwear, Jazz has Harry gawping at
the smooth brown of her uncovered skin.
“Don’t get too excited, I’ve still got to get out of my
tights.”
The couple then launch into a chaotic strip routine minus
any sexual allure. Jazz nearly face plants into the bed jostling from her
tights and once they’re bundled and discarded she’s free to watch Harry. He’s
just dropped his trousers.
“For the love of Christ, take your socks off.”
“Oh, God yes,” Harry crudely moans. “Micro manage some more,
it’s so sexy.”
Despite his mocking tone, Harry still removes his socks,
flinging them at Jazz before they fall to the sorry heap of mounting clothes.
“Ugh,” Jazz groans. “Why are you like this?”
“Don’t worry, what I’ve got in my pants will make up for
it.”
He pings the underwear elastic resting on his hip.
“A litter of kittens and the money to pay off my student
debt?” she asks hopefully.
He cheekily grins, making his way over to the queen where
Jazz is sprawled on her back on top of the covers.
“Not quite.”
She watches as Harry mounts the bed, knees digging into the
duvet to crawl to her. Any other time Jazz would have poked fun at the odd
collection of ink he’s riddled with. But the snarky jibes are contained because
he’s kneeling, sat back on his heels and gently encouraging her thighs to
spread over his. Her mouth dries as he leans forward to kiss at the soft skin
just under her bra.
“You smell nice.”
“It’s rum and that awful body wash from the room.”
Harry’s quiet huff of laughter puffs out across her ribs.
Her skin goose pimples and she’s undecided on where to place her hands. She
settles them beside her and it’s only when Harry kisses around her belly button
that she collects a handful of sheet in each fist.
To ease the curve of his spine, Harry shuffles back whilst
keeping Jazz’s legs parted. The pads of his fingers graze the sensitive skin
right at the top inside of each thigh. Her right leg involuntarily jerks with
the sensation, nearly booting Harry off the bed.
“Would you keep still, I’m trying to sex you up and the fidgeting
is off-putting.”
“I’m ticklish,” Jazz gushes.
As romantic or dutiful as Harry thinks he’s being, she could
quite easily kick him in the face if he digs his fingers into the wrong spots.
“What?”
Harry raises his head and it throws Jazz off kilter. She
wasn’t expecting to make eye contact whilst receiving. That’s for
well-established couples and porn. She swallows nervously, looking back at
Harry who’s settled between her legs with a small, amused smile.
“I’m – I’m ticklish.”
He props himself up for a second, fingers curved around her
hips.
“Where?”
“My sides and the inside of my thighs.”
“Do you want me to tie my hair up?”
Before she’s even answered, Harry leans over to the side
table where there’s an assortment of hair ties. A messy bun is produced in a
matter of seconds and Jazz is somewhat surprised at how turned on she’s become.
Harry’s cheek dimples as if he knows.
Jazz’s side is lightly tapped to encourage her to lift her
hips. Her knickers are dragged down her legs and dropped from the bed. It
probably should be a little terrifying to have someone so intimately. But the
smile Harry offers eases the flighty butterflies in her belly.
He’s what Jazz would call a generous lover. She’s not been with many in her time so it’s bit of
a revelation to have the foreplay last longer than five minutes.
“This is cute.”
Harry’s fingers gently feel over the small patch of pubic
hair whilst he’s busy experimenting with different tongue strokes and soft
kisses. Up at Jazz’s end of the bed, it’s a struggle to process any thoughts
that don’t involve what Harry’s performing with his mouth. She couldn’t give a
flying fuck about anything right now.
“What’s this called?”
He loses contact and Jazz about sobs into the pillow.
“Huh?” she breathlessly replies.
If she had less self-control, he would have his head
squeezed between her thighs for the utter disgrace of aborting his oral duty.
“It’s a landing strip.”
“Hmm,” he contemplates.
Jazz is feeling somewhat feverish as she leans up on her
elbows. The room has worryingly started to spin and she’s not sure if it’s
pleasure mixed with direction of rushing blood or the remaining alcohol in her
system. Despite this, Jazz humours him.
“What have you got?”
“Just trimmed,” he nods, pushing himself up from between her
legs. “Do ya think I could do that?”
There’s a gesture to the area he’s just surfaced from.
“It’s more of a – vagina thing. But sure, knock yourself
out.”
He frowns.
“Maybe I should shave mine into the shape of a heart,” Harry
suggests.
“Why?”
“Because I love it when people go down on me.”
The joke earns himself a pillow to the face and he’s
laughing before it hits the floor. It’s only now that Jazz can see the full
extent of the situation. There’s a strong indication he loves giving just as
much as receiving if Jazz is to go by the heavy straining in his pants.
“Get’em off.”
She hustles back, gritting her teeth at the drag of sheets
over her overstimulated skin. The remaining pillows are elbowed into place,
rolling her head to be greeted with the sight of bare arse. Harry’s stood her
side of the bed whilst trying to tear a foil square with his teeth. Her fingers
press to his naked hip, encouraging him around.
“Christ,” she blurts. “Where do you put it?”
It’s kinda pretty, if male genitals can be considered
attractive. Jazz touches him whilst Harry sorts out the condom. He’s thick, but
not intimidatingly so, it’s an exciting girth. Oh God. An exciting girth. Jazz inwardly cringes and vows never to speak
those words aloud.
Harry’s smiling at her again, waiting for her to finish
playing so he can cover himself. She thumbs at the sticky head before trailing
her soft touch down and then back up the shaft. Jazz relents for Harry to roll
the condom.
“Shift over.”
It’s odd to think, but this is the closest Jazz has been to
Harry’s face as he climbs on top. They’ve not even kissed yet but Jazz could
tell you just how many freckles he has, the exact shade of his eyes and just
how cute his stupid dimple is. Their noses brush and Harry kisses her cheek
before taking hold of himself and lining up.
“Harry?”
His eyebrows raise in question at Jazz, waiting for her to
continue.
“I wanna get under the covers.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
He huffs a laugh before clambering off to help resituate the
duvet. Once comfortable, she loops an arm around his neck and Harry tries
again. It’s a mutual negotiation on angle, shifting higher up the bed until
Jazz gives him a quick nod. It’s fascinating to survey each other’s expressive
transformations as Harry rubs at her opening twice before pushing.
Any breath Jazz was holding is expelled from her lungs. Harry’s
eyes are half-lidded, pressing further into her and Jazz can feel his heart
thumping along with hers. They remain stationary for a moment, her means of
communication failing as her mouth opens and closes without sound.
“If I knew this would shut you up, I would have suggested
going to bed earlier.”
Revenge is committed with a heel into his lower back, which
only has him arch into her. They both groan.
“Please.”
The lift of his hips is producing little, punchy shockwaves
deep in Jazz’s belly. Her toes curl into the bedsheets and she would hate to
admit it but Harry’s working miracles. He grins whilst bowing his head down to
her.There’s no fireworks exploding from the kiss but it’s a lovely
accompaniment. Soft lips and devoted tongue. Jazz wouldn’t have pinned him as a
romantic, but the way Harry’s holding her is massively contradicting the smug prick she’d labelled him as when
they’d first met.
One of his hands anchors her hip to improve the leverage, forcing
her sexual delight to near shatter point. They’ve not even finished but Jazz is
desperate to experience this again and again, on the bed, in the shower. She
would even let him have her on the balcony if it wasn’t so bloody cold.
Her leg hitches higher around his waist, digging her nails
into his back to urge him on. But Jazz is discovering that Harry doesn’t need
much encouragement. He practically basks in Jazz’s electrified responses as
their hips repeatedly meet. She’s never had anyone so invested in her
satisfaction in the bedroom before. It’s a much welcomed change.
Together they spend time trialling the advantages of each
other’s bodies; Harry’s solid shoulders and Jazz’s strong thighs. She also has
a growing fondness for the little bit of squish on his hips. It’s massively
endearing when she squeezes them because he yelps a surprised laugh into their
kiss.
He’s close, she can feel it in the pull of his back and the
roughness of exhale. Her hands graze down his spine, pulling him in closer to
share breath. Harry doesn’t even flinch when Jazz begins to rub very gently at
the area behind his balls. The roll of his hips means she puts in little effort
but the effects are blowing his pupils wide.
“It means no worries,” Jazz quietly huffs, “for the rest of
your days.” There’s a pleasured rumble before the melodic tone is picked up
again. “It’s a problem free, philosophy –“
“Don’t finish it,” Harry grunts.
He links the fingers of his right to her left, clasping them
tightly by Jazz’s head. His eyes are pleading, but it’s too late.
“Hakuna Matata.”
“Fuck!”
She’s shaken with two deep thrusts before Harry’s eyes clamp
shut and their hips firmly press. He’s panting into her neck as she pets his
hair and smiles.
“You just came to a Disney song,” Jazz hushes into his ear.
“Shut up,” he scolds. “You’ve just waved goodbye to any
future DJ privileges on my phone.”
She barks a laugh as he rolls from her, rummaging around
under the covers to remove the condom. He’s too lazy to bin it, so it’s wrapped
and left until later.
The wire from Jazz’s bra is digging into her, so with one
hand she unclips the back and slips it off. There’s a feeling of déjà vu
as they both lay back side by side with the music from Harry’s phone still
playing. That’s until he blindly gropes at the table to turn it off.
“Well, that was fun.”
“You were right.”
Jazz rolls her head to see Harry staring right back at her.
She lightly starts from the hand catching her waist to loop an arm around her
middle. His hair is falling out of the tie.
“I’m right about most things, you’re going to have to
elaborate,” she replies, smiling.
“You do look cute in your underwear,” he whispers into her
neck. “And without it.”
***
Jazz refuses to open her eyes, convinced that as soon as she
does the world will come to an end in a brutal combination of blinding light
and guttural groaning (mostly on her part).
She’s utterly convinced that she shaved her legs yesterday,
remembers having to plaster up her knees to cover the nicks from the blade. But
even as Jazz lightly runs her hand over the leg again there’s a horrendous
thought that maybe, maybe she forgot to shave. Maybe she walked around the reception
with a rainforest growing in the leg department. Shit balls. There’s nothing wrong with that, obviously, women can
do whatever the hell they want but Jazz prefers the smoothness as opposed to
scratchy stubble.
She cracks an eye open, head throbbing as she peels back the
duvet.
“Uggghh,” Jazz bellows.
There’s bit of a commotion with the sheets, and she barely
manages to stop herself from tumbling from the bed to her arse.
“Ahhhh!”
Harry. It’s Harry. Fuck.
He’s currently curled up on his side, eyes tightly clamped
shut and moaning like he’s dying. They’re both fully covered by the sheet but
Jazz is acutely aware of just how naked she still is.
“You kneed me in the
nuts,” Harry chokes.
“What?”
“I can see the light!” he labours in agony. “Why, why did
you do that?”
“I’m so sorry.”
He rolls onto his back with a grunt, all the while pinning
Jazz with a particularly steely glare. She doesn’t have a clue what she’s
supposed to do. One thing for certain though, she shouldn’t have fallen asleep
in his bed.
“Why were you feeling my legs?”
“I thought they were mine.”
“What?”
“I’m hungover.”
“That makes both of us. But at least you didn’t wake with a
knee slammed into your genitals.”
“I am really sorry about that, but you frightened me.”
“How?! I was asleep.”
“Well, I – normally I’m on my own,” Jazz splutters, and it’s
only until the words have left her mouth that she’s mindful of just how sad that
sounds. “I don’t have – “
The irritation on Harry’s face drains as he watches Jazz consciously
tease out her curls to avoid any more being said. She wants the covers to
swallow her whole.
“Well, sharing a bed with you is like sleeping with a bag of
ferrets.”
“It’s not my fault! I can never settle in a strange bed,”
she bites back.
“Fine, next time I’m coming ‘round yours.”
The comment is so off-hand that Harry’s cheeks redden with
the time it takes for Jazz to respond.
“Next time?”
“Well, I umm – “
Biting at her bottom lip does a sorry job of trying to hide
the smile creeping onto her face. Harry clears his throat.
“We’ve got a gig next weekend, do you wanna come?”
“You gunna serenade me with that awful voice of yours?”
“If you’re lucky.”
“Alright then.”