"If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends
(Gotta get with my friends)
Make it last forever, friendship never ends..."
____

"I'm going to Phoenix."

"What?" Chikezie clutches her chest, staggering into her closet door. It's late as hell, but she's preparing to be dropped off at Phoenix and her man is over because he always is.

"Calum, you? What...? But," she gasps loudly, "How, Sway?"

"Wow," Calum laughs, tossing one of the pillows on her bed into her, "I hate you, just remembered."

She cackles, "You and Phoenix don't mix, mate."

"I'm going for a bachelor party," he explains, rising from her bed. "So, it's kinda not my choice."

"Of course," she nods. "Now it all makes sense."

"Watch me have a good time."

"Yeah," she snorts, rolling her eyes, "sure."

"What?" He laughs, leaning against the doorframe of her closet, "You don't think I can enjoy myself?"

"Sure," she turns to him, deadpanning, "if I'm not working."

"And what if you are?"

"Then," she takes a step towards him, "all of your friends are gonna..." she comes closer, "see me," and she pokes his nose, "naked."

___

Rory has her legs hooked on a pole and she's twisting, turned upside down to meet the raining of notes and cheers as people throw money on the main stage.

Tonight was the unveiling of this new 'party season' calendar the club has been promoting. Tonight was that Spice Girl's themed night that she and the girls had been prepping for. Tonight was the night she'd have to be on the main stage practically all night. Tonight was a night she couldn't wait to be over with.

There were always loads more people showing up to these nights. It's like the strip club turned into a club-club, and while it was good for her to see lots of people throw notes all night, it was just...damn it, it was just tiring.

She's hanging from the pole and she's already hungry; she hopes someone's brought food or something to share tonight because she hasn't even gotten halfway into her shift and already she can feel her stomach growling.

She slides down, falling into the splits and bouncing to the beat on the stage. It's her and Asmaa and Minnie working the main stage before Desi and Charlie came to relieve them for their next shift.

From the main stage, Rory can see Kezie on Stage Two and Suzy on Three. Shit--She's twerking to 'Wannabe' (which sure as hell isn't music to strip to, okay), and she can hear her stomach growling over the music and she's wondering if anyone else can hear it, too.

The only good thing is that based on the traffic in here tonight, Rory can tell that she's going to go home with a stack of notes that might make her hunger, her sleepiness, and her 'I'd rather be anywhere but here' attitude, somewhat dissipate.

It's hot on the main stage, with all of the colorful flashing lights alternating in her face. She feels like she's sweating and just...ew...her sweaty pussy was literally all up in people's faces.

Gross.

Sometimes, she didn't understand why people even came to strip clubs at all.

And Rory pushes herself to her feet. She's back on the pole, watching from her elevated position as Asmaa and Minnie work the edge of the stage; Rory watches as the papers fly.

There's whistling and cat-calling—Rory is almost deaf to the audience by now. By now, she's learned to block it all out, she's learned to ignore it.

But Rory is not blind, and as she spins on the pole, she's given a much clearer view of the club. She can see the big spenders who've bought bottles and tables. She can see the crowds of people clamoring to all three stages; she can see the demand at the bar; she can see the bottle girls pushing sales.

And Rory looks out into the audience around her stage, and she can also see a man who looks vaguely familiar.

She does a double-take, now. And she locks eyes with the only man she, surprisingly, did not expect to see at all...

The one man who would have half a fucking mind to lift two fingers to his mouth, sticking his tongue between them...

And she can't help that shit.

She laughs.

Typical.

"You see your man out there?"

"You mean our men?"

Minnie giggles, shaking her head as Rory hands her a towel and they exchange spots with Desi and Charlie.

"Too bad I don't get their table tonight," Minnie says. "There's a pair of Jimmy Choo's I really wanted for Blaire's—"

"Bye," Rory laughs. "Minnie, good-bye."

"What?" Exclaims Minnie. "That cute blonde one oughta know he's out here funding my lifestyle."

"You two are the most," Asmaa grins. "The worst, but the most. I should tell Zayn to set you both up."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Rory!" Minne gasps, "Why?"

"'Cause I just don't and Asmaa you bet' not roll your eyes at me!"

"What?" Asmaa exclaims. "I'm just listening to my best friend pretend like she doesn't want this man, who only comes into the club to see her, by the way, and I'm listening to her try to tell me that she isn't even the teeniest tiniest bit interested in getting to know him," she holds up her hands in surrender. "I'm just listening."

"First of all," Rory laughs aloud, "I hate you."

"Second of all, you're out here looking for round two of that dick."

"Asmaa!"

"Asmaa, I'm weak!" Minnie giggles, falling into a loveseat in their dressing room. "Holy shit, I love you so much."

Okay but, Rory was looking for round two of that dick.

But, like, damn. It almost wasn't fair to have sex that good after a dry spell and then go back to another dry spell.

Especially not when her fuck buddy showed up to her place of work like, every damn day.

And it made her mad because she felt like she was being too thirsty for any man's dick, dammit, when she should really know how to live without it at this point.

Ain't that some shit?

It's finally four in the morning when Rory pulls her hood over her head and grabs her purse. Her three best friends are all being picked up by their men—traitors—so she's got a solo drive back to her flat tonight having finished her shift—finally.

"Tired, Ror?"

"Exhausted," she replies as Minnie walks out with her to the lot. "And I'm hungry as hell."

"Same, boo," Minnie sighs, hitting the unlock button on her cute white Volkswagen Beetle. "I'm about to knock out, though."

"Same," Rory nods in agreement. Her eating and sleeping schedule was honestly so fucked up because of working these hours.

"See you, boo."

"Bye, Min-Min," she waves, watching the car pull from the lot.

And Rory grabs the door handle to her G when a Range Rover speeds into the spot Minnie's car had just occupied beside her and a window rolls down and a cheeky smile is staring back at her.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Rory blinks, "You."

"Hey."

"The fuck're you doing here?"

And Rory shakes her head, "What am I even saying?" She snorts, "You practically fucking live here."

"I do not," Harry calls.

"Right," she yanks open her door. "Bye."

"Whoa, whoa...Wait, wait..."

And Rory can't help but feel satisfied as she hears him fumble in his car, attempting to unbuckle and roll up his windows and hurry to chase after her.

"Rory...Rory, wait."

"Harry," she spins around, staring up at him in the lot as gets out of the car to join her in the cold air, "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and my shift is finally over. I just want to get into bed. I mentally cannot deal with this too, tonight."

"With this?" He lifts a brow. "With me, you mean."

She folds her arms. "If that's how you wanna put it."

"Rory," he pouts, "that hurts."

"Sucks to suck."

"Sucks to...?" He frowns, eyebrows pinching, and beneath the dim lights in this parking lot, Rory notices that he's gotten a haircut. His curly brown hair's been cropped and there's this slight darkening of a five-o-clock shadow along his jaw...like he hadn't shaved, and he was always clean-shaven, each and every time she'd seen him prior to this.

He looked tired. He looked like she felt; like there had been a lot on his mind and he was thinking about an endless, seemingly inexhaustible supply of solutions for problems that seemed much bigger than they probably actually were.

Or maybe that was just her. Maybe she was just projecting.

She can't help but allow her mind to drift back to that time in her bedroom when he stared at her like he wanted her; when he touched her like he needed her; when he kissed her like he--

"Rory?"

She jumps, startled from her thoughts.

"I thought we were past this, love."

"Past this?" She asks confusedly. "Past what, exactly?"

"This," he motions between them. "This on and off game we've been playing, love."

And she blinks, shaking her head. She's got a paragraph-long response in her head and she's too tired to recite it. "Look," she sighs, "I've got to get home, Harry."

"Is Asmaa there?"

She sighs, considering lying. "She's with Zayn, Harry."

A slow, seductive smile pulls at his lips, "Lemme come, then."

"After you haven't texted me? After you haven't called?" She almost laughs. "The fuck outta here."

"What?" And he blinks and she's nearly shocked by his own reaction. "You've waited on me? You wanted me to?"

"Don't look so smug," she folds her arms, pursing her lips, "You did say you would, right?"

"I know, just," he draws out the word, eyebrows pinching again as he raises two fingers to his lips, thinking. "Just," he sighs, "don't be mad," he frowns deeper, "please?"

"I—" This surprises her. "I'm not mad."

"You seem upset."

"I said I wasn't."

He laughs aloud, "I've missed arguing with you."

She almost smiles.

"You said you'd call," she challenges instead, "we could've argued sooner."

He chuckles tiredly. "I...I know, love. I know."

"You didn't mean it, then?" She stumbles backward. "Good to know. Goodbye, Harry."

"Rory," he groans, laughing another tired, high-pitched laugh, reaching out to grab her door and keep her from walking away from him. "Please, love."

"Harry," she whines, "I told you I was tired—"

"I'd have called if I knew you wanted me to," he says, and Rory's eyes narrow instantly. "Honestly," he continues. "I wasn't sure, and I let my imagination get the best of me," he states. "Had..." he runs a hand through his hair, "Had quite a lot on my mind, to be honest."

He looks it, and because he looks it, Rory believes him...almost.

"See," he begins, "I've got a friend, right? And he's kind of the reason I even know about Phoenix. And he's getting mar—"

Rory rolls her eyes impatiently. "What's he got to do with the two of us, Harry?"

"I..." he pauses. "I guess nothing."

"Exactly. Bye."

"Rory," he keeps his hand on her car door, "You did push me out of your flat the morning after, love."

"Because my roommate was there, Harry."

"Lemme make it up to you."

Rory's mind skips to the two of them in her bedroom after Fabric and she has to physically shake her head to clear it.

"I don't think so."

"C'mon," he reaches for her hand. "Let's get you something to eat."

She laughs, jerking from his grip. "And go where, exactly? It's fucking four in the morning."

"I know a place," he grins. And maybe it's his dimples that make Rory consider. "C'mon," he grins, and he runs his thumb beneath his lip like he knew that shit turned her on. "You can follow me there," he suggests, "Or," he holds up a finger, "here's an idea. Ride with me and I'll bring you back to your car in the morning."

"I hate you."

"What?" He laughs, pulling into the driveway of his own flat, "my kitchen is always open."

She huffs, folding her arms as he laughs again, harder. "Am I really allowing myself to be played?"

"I, believe it or not, am not playing any games with you, Rory."

And he parks his Range Rover and leads her up the steps and into his home.

Rory doesn't exactly know why she agrees to this, but she's standing in Harry's kitchen at nearly five in the morning now, as she watches him open his refrigerator and stare inside.

Her car's still in the Phoenix lot, she'd expected dinner, and she's running on Harry's timeclock because she can't just leave--up and go home to Asmaa, like she'd like to.

If Asmaa was even home, honestly.

It was funny, actually, because Asmaa was likely with Zayn, wherever she was, and here Rory is standing across town with Harry.

Harry Styles the Phoenix frequent.

Did she get the weird friend?

"So...I've got some leftovers..." he mutters, digging around. "And..." He pulls a Tupperware from the shelves, holding it eye-level and squinting at it, "...there's...this..."

"You're trying to poison me now. Bye."

"Joking!" Harry exclaims, tossing the food into the waste bin. "I'm just joking!"

"Sure you were."

"Pancakes!" He exclaims at once, holding up a bag of flour. "That's it," he claps his hands together, pulling out eggs and milk, too. "I'm making pancakes."

"Pancakes?" Rory lifts an eyebrow, sighing tiredly. "You really don't have any food in here, do you?"

"Believe it or not," he chuckles, "I eat most of my meals at Zayn's," and he pulls out a pan and bowls and starts cracking eggs and grabbing spoons to stir and vanilla to hopefully impress this woman enough to make her come back and eat with him again. "Practically live there, almost."

"How about that," Rory muses, taking a seat on the counter.

"I can cook, though."

"I'll believe it when I see it, buddy."

"You'll have to come over again, then."

"Sure, if you text me."

Harry pauses.

He turns and sees Rory sitting on the counter, and so he sets the bag of flour in his hands down so he can cross the floor and place his hands on either side of her legs and lean towards her.

"Rory," he says.

She stares back at him, eyebrow raised, lips pursed. "Yes?"

"I promise you, that is not a mistake I'll make again."

And dammit, Rory was still salty but she was melting—seriously unthawing—as Harry stared at her with an expectant smile and ran his teeth across his bottom lip.

Rory licks her own.

And she blinks to keep from imagining all of the tattoos across his chest.

"Am I really caving to fuckboy behavior?"

"Wha—?" Harry throws his head back and laughs. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Are there any other fuckboys who don't call I should be aware of?"

"You're never going to let me live this down, huh?" He groans, backing from her and retreating towards the stove. "If I really didn't care would I go through the trouble now?"

She shrugs.

He laughs "Rory..."

"What?" She exclaims. "I'll believe it when—"

"You see it," he finishes, rolling his eyes as he struggles to open the flour with his teeth. "Is this what you'll say to me? We could be married with kids and I'll be doing this, making pancakes, and we'll have argued and you'll be all—"

"At least you know," she smiles. And as he rolls his eyes, she jumps from the counter, meeting him by the stove.

"What're you—?"

She takes the bag gently from his hands. "I know how to make pancakes, too," she grins. "And I'm also starving, so I figured you could use some help."

"And," he takes the bag from her, "it's not like I didn't know you were impatient," he chuckles, and she gulps thinking about that night again, "but I'm good over here, love."

"Harry," she sighs, "I'm trying to help you."

"And I know," he nods, "but," he tears open the bag, "if there's one thing I can do, it's this."

She sighs.

"B'sides," he grins, "this is actually a restaurant, a quality establishment, and pretty women aren't allowed in the kitchen."

"As much as I appreciate the compliment, I really can help expedite this process..."

He points to the empty countertops, "Sit."

"Ha—! Like I respond to dog commands, fuck outta here."

"Rory," he states, sternly now. He lifts the spoon he'd been stirring with and points again to where she'd been sitting, "Cooperate," his eyes flicker to her lips, "Please."

And she's staring at him with hard eyes that make him think she's either going to slap him or strip him of his clothes, and so when she says nothing but actually sits back on the countertop and lets him finish cooking, he smiles and says, "Thank you, love," which only garners a small grunt from her...which makes him laugh.

"You're impossible," he says.

"Thought you liked arguing with me."

"I do," he tilts his head, "But I must say, I like it better when you're nice."

"I'm always nice."

"I believe you," he grins. "Maybe."

She laughs aloud, and Harry pauses stirring, grinning fondly at the woman perched on his countertop.

There was something about Phoenix.

He couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but it...there was something. And that something was undeniable—had been since Luke's party.
Harry couldn't stay away.

It was just the magic of this strip club, apparently.

And Harry had always thought that anyway, but he's been thinking it more now that Louis has reemerged in his life.

Harry never thought that a strip club could hold sentimental value, but it did.

For all of them.

That's what he'd told Zayn, anyway.

"The only job you've got at this point is to throw a bachelor's party," he explains. "And it's gotta be great, mate. S'really your one job. You've got one job."

"I take it..." Zayn pauses, "you've got ideas."

"And they all revolve around Phoenix," he nods. "You're welcome."

"Haz..."

"S'where it all started, isn't it?"He'd pressed. "It's like, that's where this whole mess began; there's a sentimental value, now. It's the reason Lou's getting married. It's the reason you've got a girl...Which," Harry pauses, "I take it Lou doesn't know about."

"Right," Zayn replies. And he shakes his head, "And I don't know how to tell him."

"Don't."

"He's bound to find out, Haz."

"He can," Harry nods, "when we're all drunk and having a good time at Phoenix."

Zayn rolls his eyes, sarcasm lacing his voice, "For the bachelor party?"

But, Harry nods. "For the bachelor party."

When pancakes are done he's brought Rory butter and syrup and orange juice and she admits, he can make pretty good pancakes.

"I won't change the recipe then," he grins. "Y'know, when we've got kids."

She rolls her eyes at that.

He laughs.

And he sits across from her, smiling to himself and watching her eat, and before she can ask why he's always fucking staring at her he speaks.

"You should eat more," he says, head resting in his hand as he stares at her across the table. "Like, before your shift, yeah? S'what I meant."

"You can't have a food baby before you're 'bout to get naked."

Harry drums his fingers against his face, "Didn't quite think of that, to be honest..."

"There's a lot people don't think about when they come into the strip club," she replies. "Like, how not to follow us to our cars, or call us our stripper names in public like we don't have real ones..."

"Okay, personal attack."

Rory laughs, and Harry smiles.

"It was," she admits. "But, in all seriousness, people think that just 'cause we strip, we're sex workers, and they assume since we ought to be sex workers they can treat us any type of way," she frowns deeply. "You wouldn't believe how many times I've been fingered."

"Fuckin'—" Harry curses, truly surprised by this outrageous statement. "Are you fuckin' serious?"

"Cannot make these things up. I've been burnt by cigarettes, splashed with liquor...And I've probably seen worse," she chuckles humorlessly as Harry's face falls, "One man ejaculated on Desirée."

He pushes himself from the table, face twisting. "Oh my g—"

"Like, fuck everybody who treats their dentists and their teachers and their secretaries with more respect than they do the women in the strip club."

And before Harry can respond to this, she's continued.

"Men come into the club hard, y'know," she tilts her head, "Surprised you've never witnessed it yourself. You might be one of the most respectful men to ever step foot in Phoenix."

"I...Unfortunately, that's something to celebrate."

"Right," she snorts. And her tired eyes twinkle mischievously, "And you're just shy of a stalker."

"You love being mean to me..."

"Because I can."

"...outside of the bedroom."

Rory chokes on her food; she is at a loss for words.

Harry claps his hands together as he laughs a high-pitched little laugh she thinks is both dumb and adorable.

She stops thinking he's adorable as he wets his bottom lip, smiling seductively. "Think about that night often, don't you?"

"Mouse told me you were asking about me," she's regained that mischievous glint in those almond eyes. "Ages ago; back when you—"

"Helped you to your car," he sucks on his teeth. "And she said she couldn't tell me who you were! Claimed not to know an 'Indya.'"

"Not everyone's well-meaning and not a fucking creep," Rory replies with a shrug. "If we don't protect each other who will?"

Harry nods. "S'fair."

And in this moment, Harry realizes that this is the first time they've had a real conversation. Like, a real meaningful conversation. Before, they had just communicated in passing, or based off of necessity. Now, with her in his kitchen, it was like they'd reached a milestone in their relationship and the devil on Harry's shoulder was screaming at him: Why do you care what the fuck are you doing do you remember why you're no longer friends with Lou?

Harry was ignoring those thoughts, though.

Because he couldn't deny that he had felt something for this woman since the moment he saw her and he had her with him in his kitchen, now.

And he takes her plate, sliding it away from her, across the table.

"Hey," she whines, reaching with her fork for the end of her pancakes, "The purpose of this was to feed me, remember?"

"Rory, don't be selfish," he pouts, and that pout is replaced by a smirk that ignites a fire in the pit of Rory's belly.

And this searing eye contact? Oh, god.

"Excuse me? Selfish?"

"Love," his tongue darts out to wet his lips, "You had yours. It's my turn to eat."
____

sorry I love all of these couples equally but I looove writing some rarry and some duke

Comment and vote my lovessss :)