Chapter 3 : three.
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“Evangeline, my darling, my love!” the Irish lilt is something I’ve always envied about dear Eoin. “Grab your coat, my darling little chicken,” he moves, the light shifting on his face so I can see his stubble scattered chin and the wolfish smile curling at his lips. “You’ve pulled.”
I laugh at him, roll my eyes and jerk my head. He steps into the flat, all six foot five of him managing to make the reasonably sized room seem like it belongs to a dwarf. “Long time no see,” I comment, grabbing my wand out my hair and flicking it to put the kettle on. Eoin sighs, rubbing his hand through his tousled hair.
“Long story,” he says shortly, then peers once around the poky little flat I gallantly call home. I learnt years ago it was best not to delve into the Irish boy’s personal life; I knew more than most and had to be content with that. His spot check over, he looks at me with his sea blue eyes and smiles the roguish grin with that hint of danger that has girls running, “shall we go out?”
Sighing, I look at a damp patch on the ceiling, then at my friend. “Please.”
It’s with a bleary yawn that I wake up, hyperaware of a soft snoring coming from the other side of the bed. Cracking one eye open, I peer cautiously upon the sleeping figure. Thankfully it’s only Eoin; fully dressed, his mouth hanging open ever so attractively. Raising my knee, I shove them into his stomach. His eyelids fly open, his mouth expressing his shock before he hits the floor with a soft thud.
“Bitch,” he sits up, looking over and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Smirking at him, I stretch out my arms and note the fuzzy feeling in my head.
“You let me drink too much,” I accuse, eyes narrowing as I look at him. Now Eoin smirks, picking himself up from the floor and glancing over his shoulder.
“But you’re such a hot mess when you’re drunk.” I roll my eyes and throw my pillow at him, which collides with his face. “Oi! Not the face! This is Merlin’s gift to me!”
“Well, it sure ain’t your personality that ensnares the poor lasses,” staggering slightly, I manage to make my bare-footed way to the bathroom. I stub by toe on the doorframe and hop around for a bit, holding my throbbing foot. Only there’s not really enough room to hop in my tiny ensuite, so I end up colliding with the toilet and collapsing down onto it. Resting my elbow on my knees, I concentrate on stopping the room spinning.
“Eoin, you bastard, I hate you,” I grumble loudly, cursing his laughter and the day I ever got mixed up in the mess that was Eoin Blake.
“Woah,” Harriet’s gaze skips over me once, before focusing on my half lidded eyes and groggy expression. “You look like shit.”
“Cheers,” I mutter drily, stepping back to allow her in. She makes a beeline for the kitchen and begins filling the kettle with water as I slump onto my sofa, yawning widely. Sybil pads over and leaps elegantly onto my knee, purring contentedly. Harriet’s buzzing, hips swinging as she hums a song I presume is from the concert.
“I still can’t believe you called your male cat Sybil,” she sniffs as she hands me my tea, looking at the kitten on my knee.
“Me either.” The addition of a second voice makes Harriet jump, coffee sloshing over her hand as she whips around. Eoin smirks at her reaction, crossing his arms across his bare chest. His damp hair curls around his ears.
“Eoin,” I say in a bored tone, “put some clothes on.” I turn to address Harriet again, “besides, Sybil is arguably one of the best prophecy people thingies. She had a lot of impact.”
“The word you’re looking for is a Seer, love,” Eoin re-emerges from my room pulling a slate grey jumper over his head. With a stab I realise it’s one I bought for Tommy. Harriet shoots him an annoyed glance, huffing slightly.
“Piss off,” I grumble, partly in retaliation, but also in annoyance as he intercepts my mug of tea.
“See you later, sweethearts,” with one last wink the Irish man disappears out the door, cradling the mug with both hands. Harriet’s head whips around to me, her eyes narrowing.
“When did he arrive?! Please say you’re not shagging him now? Eva!”
Groaning slightly at her shrill tone, I shake my head. “No shagging,” I promise, heaving myself up. Sybil drops from my lap with an irritated mew. Bustling around in the kitchen, I try to think of the appropriate description for mine and Eoin’s relationship. “We’re just friends,” I conclude at last.
“Who shag each other.”
“Who occasionally shag each other when really, really drunk. Or sad. Or lonely. But not last night,” pouring water into a chipped mug, I glance over at Harriet and smile. “But c’mon, how was last night?! Did you meet the next love of your life?”
Harriet smiles and looks into the bottom of her mug as if the words were going to form there. “Yes. It was…”
“Amazing? Mind blowing?” I supply helpfully, sitting back down next to her.
“…Odd,” she concludes, swilling coffee around her mug. I frown at her. “Yeah, we got to go backstage, but there was a massive crowd of us and he barely even looked. Just pointed a finger at three girls and disappears off.”
I wrinkle my nose, and Harriet follows suit. “Bastards,” I nod knowingly at her. “They’re all bastards.”
“The concert, though… it was amazing. During one song I felt he was just looking right at me. I swear. I could feel the emotion of the song… It was brillo pads.” Rolling my eyes discretely, I can’t help but grin.
“Well, glad you enjoyed it.”
“Yeah… shame you had work – wait,” her eyes narrow at me once more, and I have to resist the urge to gulp in fear. “Don’t you have a hangover?”
There’s no point denying it. The signs are all clear; looking like shit, Eoin in bedroom, squinty eyes. “Maybe.”
“So either you were drinking on the job or you weren’t working at all. Eva! You could have gone!”
I roll my eyes and huff a bit. “But I didn’t want to go, and you did. So all’s fair. C’mon, you’d do the same!”
“Maybe,” she relents, “but you still should have gone. You need to get out more.”
“I did go out,” I point out fairly, pressing two fingers against my throbbing temples.
“I don’t think Eoin counts. Toxic springs to mind.”
I narrow my eyes at Harriet. “I can’t decide if you two hate each other or whether it’s unresolved sexual tension. Either way, I could cut it with a knife. And my knives are blunt as hell.”
Harriet just looks at me, seemingly unimpressed.
“Seriously,” I urge, “just sleep with him. It’ll make my life a lot easier.”
She throws a cushion at my face, but thanks to her shoddy throwing skills it falls short of it’s target.
“Want to come to a wedding?”
Eoin glances up at the question from the sofa where he’s making a fuss of Sybil. “Whoa, sweetheart,” his grin is crooked. “Bit early to be thinking of that, don’t you think?”
“Not ours, idiot,” I pull my hair up into a bun and squint into the mirror. Then let it go so it flops around my neck again. Then gather it back up between my fingers, turning my head to examine it from all angles. “It’s an after party thing. Harriet’s invited. Apparently the more the merrier. I’m her plus one thingy, you can be my date.” I grin as he snorts incredulously.
“Dream on,” he mutters, but he’s coming towards me and tugging my hands away from my hair so it fans out over my shoulders. “It looks better down,” he assures me, twisting a lock around his finger.
“There’s dress robes in the wardrobe if you want to come.” I glance back at him, gaze turning slightly pleading. “All her Hogwarts friends will be there and I won’t know a soul. Pretty please?” I bat my eyelashes at him.
“What colour are the robes?”
“Midnight blue. Your eyes will pop.”
“Fine,” he relents. “Only because us homeschooled kids have got to stick together. Now put on a sexier dress and look nice,” he commands, before sweeping off dramatically to get ready, rolling his eyes at my happy dance.
Harriet arrives at six pm on the dot, not bothering to knock. I glance over and wolf whistle, which draws Eoin out from the bedroom.
“Holy shit, Harry darling, you look hot,” I spin my finger and she twirls obediently, giving me the full view of the emerald dress. The material flutters as she spins, settling just above the knee. The nude shoes, slash of coral lipstick and messy up-do make it look as though she’d put no effort in, but I could tell differently.
“Smoking,” confirms Eoin, glancing between the pair of us. “How come I’m stuck with Evie?” I swat his arm with my clutch bag before shoving my wand into it and snapping the clutch.
“This dress’s classic,” I inform him, tugging at the hem of the little black dress and wondering whether it was just that little bit too short. Was the red lipstick too much?
“Think you’ll find it’s just old,” Eoin retorts.
“Well,” Harriet interjects, placing a reassuring hand on my arm and shooting Eoin a warning glance. “I think you look stunning. But we need to go now or we’re going to be late.”
A/N: So... the third chapter. How're you liking the characters so far? They're so alive in my head I'm not sure I'm doing them justice! How do you like Eva?
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