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Harry can’t help but stare.
He should be closing his eyes and relishing in the warm sunlight but he isn’t. Instead he’s staring at the man seated on the next lounge chair, his eyes hidden by sunglasses. He watches the soft, dark hair atop his head, trailing his eyes over his sharp cheekbones and the dips of his collarbones. All the way down to his sun kissed chest and his shapely calves. He’s having a merry time sitting and admiring this guy, until he lifts his sunglasses.
Cocking an eyebrow, Louis says, “You know we’re married, right?”
“Can’t help it.”