Fearless Heart (EDITING)

Part 1

"Does that line really get you laid?" Harriet crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows above the black rims of her glasses.

He pulled a face at her,

"Does that line really get you laid?" He mocked her in a higher pitched, whiny voice.

Harriet rolled her eyes and turned to leave the party before her friend stopped her and pleaded her to stay.

"Yes. Please. Stay and entertain us some more with riveting social commentary on how my jokes encourage rape culture."

Harriet shrugged.

"If you insist."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow as she threw herself down on the sofa.

*

Harriet woke up in foreign territory, in a bed not her own. She groaned, nursing her hangover, noticing that the owner of the bed had a particular taste for silk sheets.

Her mouth was like sandpaper, the horrible taste of cigarettes at the back of her throat and an acidic feeling in the pit of her stomach. She rolled onto her back, noticing a figure laying next to her in her peripheral vision. She blinked, reaching for her glasses which luckily were in one piece on the night-stand. Her clothes were strewn along the bedroom floor, along with the awful age old thong that was going to be super uncomfortable to put on this morning, unless she stuffed them into her bag.

Harriet noticed clothes that didn't belong to her and began to worry when she saw the black and white T-shirt which, she remembered, had hung off the owner's thin frame.

Panicking she sat up, clutching at the sheets as she turned to look at the man lying beside her, his back turned but still oh so recognisable.

"Shit." She mumbled to herself before she crawled out of bed the best she could without waking him. She didn't know what venereal diseases he could have given her and had started planning a day of doctors appointments in her head. She noticed him stir as she was pulling on her jeans and cringed as he turned to face her, his eyes open and his mouth forming a smug smile.

"I guess that line really does get me laid." He mumbled, blinking a few times with his crystal blue eyes, a crinkle between his eyebrows forming as the hangover set in.

Harriet closed her eyes, pulled on her shirt and pinched the bridge of her nose as she contemplated the situation, wishing that she was in some horrible nightmare and was about to wake up.

"Honestly this was a huge mistake so I'm going to leave."
Harriet grabbed the rest of her things and left, leaving the door open in her rush to leave.

"What, no breakfast?" He chuckled to himself before wincing at his head.

Standing, he tamed his bed hair with his fingers and pulled on a small pair of boxers and a kimono before wandering towards his kitchen to grab a bite to eat.

Harriet had been an interesting lay. Rarely, when he visited his home city, did he find girls with that amount of fire and confidence, and actually sleep with them. Harriet had been right about him, he was immature and rude but it was all part of his persona, this visage of celebritydom that had paychecks coming left right and centre. He wasn't about to stop being Vince Bogart just because one woman had got offended.

Taking a glass of orange juice he sat down on the sofa, contemplating life, love and the constriction of both when you were constantly in the eye of the media.

*

Harriet stumbled her way back into her apartment, successfully dodging anyone she knew while she was on her walk of shame. She contemplated the social stigma of a one night stand and how the walk of shame seemed mainly applicable to the ladies. In her eyes there was nothing shameful about sex and she, nor any other woman, should be made to feel bad about having it. She'd kept her head up and strutted the streets of London like she'd intended to wear her mascara halfway down her face, just to prove her point.

While she was making a cup of tea to make herself feel more alive, her phone rang. Clive, her best friend who had tried to stop her from leaving the party, was trying to get hold of her, probably wondering if she had any gossip to tell. She did, but she wasn't about to admit that what happened last night had actually been reality, that she had actually slept with a celebrity. Shivering at the thought, she clicked the answer button and held her phone to her ear.
"Harriet?! Where did you disappear to last night?"
"I went home." She answered, trying to make her excuse sound viable she added, "I was just so tired and Vince had got me so angry." She stopped, hoping her excuse wouldn't sound too out of the ordinary.
"What. A. Liar!" He exclaimed, "I saw you getting cosy with Mr. Arsehole."
"I...err.." Harriet sighed, giving in, "I don't know what happened Clive. I remember you getting me to stay and then I woke up this morning, in Vince's bed."
She held her breath unwillingly as she awaited the inevitable from Clive.
"What?! My best friend ditches me to sleep with a celebrity!!! Who are you and what have you done with my Harriet?"
"Hey, I didn't forget that earlier in the night you ditched me to meet Mr. Prince Charming!"
"Hah! What a disappointment he turned out to be." He chuckled on the other end of the phone.

"So what can you tell me happened last night after I stubbornly refused to leave the party?""Well," Clive settled in to tell a story, "you must have sat in that seat giving death glares to Vince for what felt like hours. I lost track of you because I was, otherwise engaged, then I looked around for you and Vince was there on the sofa with you and you are actually laughing, which you know, is a feat by itself." He chuckled, "So I left you to it, thinking you were having fun. Must have been a while later and you two looked like you were arguing again, that's when your drink ends up in his face." 

He paused, "I don't really remember much after that since I was both drunk and a little high. I couldn't find you after that, you'd disappeared."

Harriet finished her conversation and hung up the phone, having a flashback to Vince taking off his soaking shirt and letting it fall to the floor. She sipped her drink as the memory replayed in her mind.

"I am so sorry, I really didn't mean to chuck my drink over you, I tripped over that little step on the floor and my drink just went everywhere." Harriet dabbed at the shirt with tissue she'd grabbed from Vince's en suite bathroom. 

"Don't worry about it. I've got tonnes of shirts like this one."

"Can't say you didn't deserve it after winding me up earlier." She smirked.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "I deserved it? Did I really," he took a step forward and put his hands on either side of her waist jabbing her playfully, "deserve it?" 

Harriet's laughter ceased as she met Vince's eyes. "Yes. You deserve everything you get." 

He closed the gap, pulling Harriet towards him as he kissed her, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes on her lips. Harriet absent-mindedly touched her lips as she put the hot cup of tea back on the surface of her kitchen counter. Maybe there was more to Vince than she had first thought.