hbuharper :
Unless she had been worn down by the wide and unblinking puppy dog eyes of her friends, Harper didn’t do clubs. Clubs didn’t sell hot chocolates or M&M cookies, nor did they show screenings of her favourite Disney movies. She also knew that club-goers would look down on someone who would rather spend their Saturdays nights dressed in a matching Tinkerbell pyjama set and fluffy socks. That attire didn’t fit in with the skimpy outfits and loud music found in a New York nightclub, which is why Harper tended to steer clear of them.
However, she also chose not to wander into opium dens, dark caves, minefields, nuclear weapon testing sites or any area that had a sign clearly marked ‘keep out’ with a skull and crossbones attached to it. But if Peter Rhodes told her to go to any of the aforementioned locations, Harper would be whizzing by that precautionary sign before he finished his sentence. So really, going to a nightclub for the sake of Rhodes wasn’t an overly strenuous task for Harper, not if it would help her best friend like Elliot claimed it would.
“Put it this way, Harps!” Elliot had persuaded her. “No one is going to be straight so there’ll be no lads trying to grope your arse.”
After processing this, Harper had decided that Elliot did have a sound point. Plus, Rhodes needed cheering up after his break-up with Greyson and while Harper doubted that a room full of sweaty, if admittedly good-looking, guys would fix it, she wouldn’t write it off entirely either.
When Ethan, Autumn, Faith and, of course, Ferris Bueller, were left in the care of Rosy and Scotty, she had allowed Elliot to scrutinise her outfit before deeming her acceptable. If the club they were going to was full of gay men then she doubted anyone would be looking at her, so she knew that mom jeans and a cardigan would do.
As it happened, people had been looking at her and it wasn’t just gay men in the club that was now reverberating with the sound of a loud and remixed version of ‘You Can’t Stop the Beat’ from Hairspray. Harped loved it.
“A girl gave me her number! That was nice of her!” Harper excitedly told Rhodes, pleased as punch as she showed him the scrap piece of paper that she wouldn’t use for its intended purpose, but it never hurt for her to have more friends. She felt a little giddy and buzzed, and didn’t know whether to attribute that to the unexpected attention or the shots that Elliot had pressed into her hand and instructed her to knock back.
“I like this place!” she declared, sidling up to Rhodes and wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Are you okay, Rhoderunner?” she asked, peering up at her best friend.
Rhodes wasn’t the kind of man who attempted to nurse his wounds with a dark club, or the press of a stranger’s body against his own. Once upon a time, he had been. He’d been the type of man to crack open a bottle just to revel in the burning sensation in his throat, and arrive at the gym early in the morning still half-drunk. Rhodes winced to think of the amount of times he’d let himself into his New York City apartment, his jeans torn and dirty from where he’d hastily dropped to his knees in an alleyway behind a club, all for an anonymous man. Truthfully, it had gotten to the stage where Rhodes’ friends and family had cause to be worried. The drinking, the meaningless sex, it all had to be put to a stop.
A few years on, Rhodes could happily throw back a few shots with his friends without drinking to excess, and instead of searching for a stranger he could pull into the toilets, on the rare nights he went out, he was usually searching for Elliot. The other man was more often than not dancing with a gaggle of bachelorettes he’d befriended, or had somehow managed to convince the DJ to let him have a whirl. Their nights out were fun, never veering on dangerous, which was why Rhodes was totally comfortable when Elliot suggested they all have a night out. Just Rhodes, Harper, and Elliot. All with the intention of cheering him up. Rhodes had chosen well when it came to his best friends.
His intention of twirling Harper around on the dance floor was quickly put out of mind, however, when it became apparent he wasn’t the only person coveting one Harper Forbes that night. Harper was the centre of gay-girl attention, chatting and dancing animatedly with multiple pretty girls. Rhodes had choked on his drink at one point when he watched Harper innocuously lean forward and touch another girl’s arm. The girl in question had turned bright red when Harper leaned in to yell something over the loud music, her blonde hair tickling the girl’s face. Rhodes doubted Harper knew what she was doing.
Running his finger around the rim of the glass before him, Rhodes fought and lost the silent desire not to think about Greyson. This wasn’t the other man’s scene, so there was no fear of bumping into him. Still, Rhodes couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing. Was he sitting on the couch at home, his face pressed into Hero’s red curls? Was he thinking about Rhodes too? After all, wasn’t Greyson the reason Rhodes hadn’t so much as looked at another man all night?
Whirling around quickly at the sound of Harper’s voice, Rhodes plastered a smile on his features.
“She likes ya.” Rhodes teased, unable to help the giggle that burst forward.
Rhodes wound his arms around Harper’s waist easily, the two falling into one another in the easy, comfortable way they always did. He knitted his fingers together at the small of her back, his ass barely resting on the edge of his seat so she could lean into him comfortably. Rhodes caught a whiff of sugar, Harper seeming to emanate sweetness in that oddly delicious way Harper did. It was like she had flour and butter underneath her skin, in the hollow of her neck. Rhodes smiled up at her, wanting to straighten out the worry lines on her forehead.
“Perfect, Princess.” he promised, kissing the tip of her nose. He was sure he smelled much less sweet than her, like sweat from the hours he’d spent pummelling a punching bag and hard liquor. “M’jus glad you’re havin’ fun.”
He stared past her for a moment, searching the crowd to see where Elliot had wandered off to. It was impossible to catch sight of him, but Rhodes’ gaze did briefly lock on two men, dancing close among the throng, and his heart gave a palpable tug. He repressed a sigh, knowing Harper would see it, feel it, before turning back to her.
Slowly, the last, upbeat chords of the last song drew to a close, the club filling with the sound of a happier, punchier tune. One Rhodes immediately recognized. Throwing his head back and letting out a laugh, he squeezed her waist, being filled with one of the most genuine floods of glee he’d felt all night. He and Harper loved The Beatles.
“Dance with me?” he squealed, his voice halfway between a question and a demand as throes of people went wild around him, already gently swaying Harper side-to-side in his seat.
