"Date?"

"Yeah, date." He confirmed.

"What do you mean?" I asked, raising my brows.

"God, Ella!" He exhaled in annoyance, running a hand through his curls.

"You mean like going to a fancy restaurant, getting all dressed up, just you and me, the two of us?" I repeated slowly, making sure he understood exactly what he was suggesting and why it was not my ideal way to spend an evening.

"People who date usually go out on dates, Ella," he pointed out, leaning back on the sofa with a knowing smirk.

"Baby..." I tried to sweet-talk him, moving from my armchair to his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. His own strong arms instinctively found my waist, pulling me closer, his lips tilting in amusement.

"Yeeeees?" he dragged out, waiting for whatever nonsense I was about to throw at him.

"Dates are so overrated. I mean, they're so fake," I declared, my voice dripping with exaggerated disdain.

"Oh, this should be good," he grinned, already chuckling.

"You get all dressed up and go to some overpriced restaurant where you basically have to leave a kidney as down payment, and they hand you these menus filled with words that only former MasterChef contestants can understand. And we pretend we know what they mean while we order some microscopic dish that's more garnish than food. Then we sit there starving because if you eat too much, your date might think you're a pig."

Harry was full-on laughing now, his dimples on full display. "Don't hold back, baby. Tell us how you really feel."

"And the wine!" I threw my hands up. "Oh, let's not forget the damn wine. 'Ooooh, the Chablis blah blah blah.' No, thanks. Just get me a damn beer!"

"I feel like I should be taking notes," he teased, tightening his grip around my waist.

"And the conversation! It's all so unnatural. Talking about life and politics when all you want to do is eat your tiny portion in peace. And the waiters hovering, refilling your water like we're incapable of lifting a glass ourselves. I swear, if I wanted to be monitored that closely while eating, I'd just visit my mother."

Harry was laughing so hard now that he had to bury his face in my shoulder. "You are something else, you know that?"

"So I've been told," I wiggled my eyebrows before planting a quick kiss on his lips.

"So... pizza and beer at the pub with the gang it is, then?" he asked, pressing his forehead against mine.

"Now that is my kind of date!" I grinned.

"You are my kind of girl!" he murmured, his lips finding mine once more.

Just then, the door burst open, and Jimmy waltzed in like he owned the place. "And I want to puke frogs," he announced, throwing himself onto the armchair I had previously occupied.

I groaned. "Do you ever knock? We could have been naked!"

To that, both boys turned to face me. Jimmy looked borderline offended, while Harry... looked terrified.

"He hasn't touched you, has he?" Jimmy asked, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

"No!" Harry was way too quick to answer, immediately moving his hands away from my waist, raising them in surrender like he was being held at gunpoint.

"You touch her, you marry her," Jimmy declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"Okay, wow. Are we in medieval England now?" I rolled my eyes.

"I'm serious, Ella. If he touches you..."

"I know! You'll punch him," I sighed, exasperated.

"It was one thing when he said he wanted to date you, but touching was never part of the deal," Jimmy continued.

"Right, of course," I said dryly. "We'll just sit here knitting and exchanging recipes, Jimmy."

"Actually, I've always been curious about knitting," Harry mused, making little crosses with his fingers as if demonstrating stitches.

I smacked his arm lightly. "You are not helping."

Jimmy ignored us both. "Listen, Ella, I'm just saying, if you two ever—" he hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, "—do things, use protection. Wrap his thing before—"

"Oh my God, STOP!" I cut him off, absolutely mortified.

Harry, the little shit, leaned back with a smug grin. "Wrap it? Well, it is a gift, so I suppose that makes sense."

I groaned, shoving his shoulder. "You are unbelievable! I'm going to check on Natalie before I actually die of embarrassment."

"Yeah, go do that," Jimmy waved me off. "I need to talk to Harry about, you know, guy stuff."

"Oh, fabulous. Please, educate him on the sacred bro code," I said, throwing my hands in the air before making my escape.

As I entered the bedroom, I found Natalie sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the ridiculous chaos happening outside. Gemma was out with friends, finally enjoying a night out after everything she'd been through. It was nice to see her reclaiming her youth. With Natalie healthy again, she had a chance to live a little, and she deserved that more than anyone.

Meanwhile, Harry was left alone with Jimmy. I had zero doubts that my dear overprotective friend would give him yet another lecture about keeping his hands to himself. And honestly? I kinda loved that Harry was terrified of him.

For now, I let myself exhale, a small smile forming on my lips. Because, for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

Well, as for Harry and me, we were taking things slow. Baby steps would be more accurate. I wanted to make sure this didn't turn into a repeat of my last relationship, and Harry—well, he had never actually been in one. Not a proper one, at least.

The night I went to Alibi definitely ranked in the top five nights of my life, right below the night he walked away from Manhunt. That had been almost ten days ago, and in that time, things had been... wonderful. We were enjoying each other, learning each other, curling up on the sofa watching TV, and getting into endless debates over the most ridiculous things. Which series was the greatest of all time? Which actor was the best of his generation? Which actress was the sexiest?

Naturally, I always won, because I didn't argue—I simply explained why I was right. And Harry? He loved it.

So after hours of very serious discussion, we had come to a mutual agreement: Friends was the best series, Leonardo DiCaprio was the greatest actor of his generation, and Angelina Jolie was the undisputed queen of sexy. He put up a good fight, but in the end, what do you know—he caved.

There were times I knew he was right, but I refused to admit it just for the sake of watching him get adorably exasperated. It always earned me a giggle fight, stolen kisses, and at least one very distracting make-out session. And let me tell you—he had a damn gift for that.

I knew he was ready to take things to the next level, but despite the comments I threw at Jimmy, I wasn't. It was too soon. Harry had been with so many girls—women, really—and that intimidated me more than I cared to admit. I'd only been with two: my high school boyfriend, who was more of a friend than anything else, and Michael. Both experiences had been safe, predictable. Harry, on the other hand, had practically built his reputation on sex. I didn't want to become just another girl he slept with.

I wanted us to be more.

Of course, I knew sex was a big part of a relationship, but I wanted us to actually build one before we took that step. I didn't want to do anything I might regret, even if my friend Sherry would probably roll her eyes and tell me to just go ahead and fuck him already. People are different, I guess. Lol.

School was going great, and work was finally getting fun now that I had mastered all the major drinks with Jimmy's and Harry's help. In the past ten days, I had seen Harry every single day, despite my repeated (and failed) attempts to suggest we spend some time apart. He wouldn't have it.

He insisted that I get a lift to school with Chrys just so he could pick me up after. We'd drive to his place most afternoons, where we'd either cook together or take a nap on his huge, ridiculously comfortable couch. He was able to sleep in the mornings—me, not so much. But I didn't mind.

He was affectionate and sweet, constantly showering me with tenderness that I adored. But there was also this little streak of jealousy peeking through. He kept asking if guys at school were hitting on me, and I even caught him interrogating Jimmy behind my back more than once. I didn't mind. I had nothing to hide. I knew he was trying to figure out how to navigate all these unfamiliar feelings, trying to work out how relationships were supposed to work.

Maybe that's what Jimmy meant by guy shit.

Not once did I ask him about work. I knew women were hitting on him—it was inevitable. It wasn't about whether they tried; it was about how he handled it. I never understood girls who took their boyfriend's phone to check messages, tracked their whereabouts, or stalked them at work. If someone was going to cheat, they would do it whether you acted like a jealous lunatic or not.

I don't do clingy.

Not my thing.

When I finally snapped out of my thoughts and walked back into the living room, I immediately sensed the shift in the atmosphere. Harry looked deep in thought, and Jimmy was shaking his head, rubbing his jaw in frustration.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my stomach tightening. "Is it Gemma? Is Natalie okay?"

"No," Harry muttered.

He and Jimmy exchanged looks, clearly debating whether to tell me. Finally, Jimmy spoke.

"Ed had a fight with his parents," he said, sighing. "Seems like he left and doesn't have anywhere to stay."

"What?" My eyes widened. I didn't know Ed's parents very well, but they always seemed decent. What could've happened to make him leave? And why didn't he call me?

"Yeah. He's at yours now with Chrys, but he needs a place to crash," Jimmy explained.

"He can stay with us as long as he wants," I offered immediately.

"He doesn't want that," Harry said flatly, shaking his head. "He and Chrys haven't even defined their relationship yet. He doesn't want to jump into living together and risk messing things up. Says it's too much too soon."

I frowned. "Harry, please, can he stay here?" I pleaded, sitting next to him and looking up at him with wide eyes, my voice laced with urgency.

"It's not just Harry's decision, El," Jimmy pointed out. "Johnny lives here, too. And you're basically here all the time, so it kinda affects you, too."

"So what?" I shot back. "Are we just going to abandon him? No fucking way. He can stay in my room."

"The fuck he is!" Harry snapped, standing up, his stance almost alpha male—if only it had actually worked on me.

"I'm not letting him sleep on the streets, Harry." My voice was firm. This was something I wasn't going to budge on.

"He can't stay with you, and that's final," Harry spat.

I blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"Shut up, both of you!" Jimmy finally cut in, exasperated. "He's staying with me."

Harry and I both turned to face him.

"That's why I don't do relationships," Jimmy sighed dramatically, dropping back onto the couch. "Too much noise. Too much pressure."

I rolled my eyes, while Harry let out a huff of frustration.

Crisis averted. For now.