Blue

I scooted upwards in the bed and pulled my knees up to my chest. I wasn’t sure which set me off into more of a panic: the tone of his voice or the words he was snapping out. Break up with her. He sounded pissed. But…break up with me? For real? It was four words, but four of the most horrifying words I could hear him say.

Shaking my hair loose, I hugged my knees to me. He’d fallen quiet; but after a beat, his retort barked out so loud that I jumped. “Yeah, well, fuck you.”

And then, silence.

So, there was no way this was going to be good. The degree of how not good it was going to be was based on who he was on the phone with: his parents or his sister? Well, then that meant they hated me after all. One of the other guys? That wasn’t necessarily bad, but it wasn’t cool. Or maybe it was another woman….that was potentially the worst. If another girl wanted him to dump me, then that meant he was cheating on someone with me. Or, worse, he was cheating on me with someone.

“Laney.”

He was standing in the door way, his cheeks flushed pink. He blinked several times as if he didn’t expect me to be sitting up in bed. Adjusting his weight from one foot to the other, he ran his hand over his hair, from forehead to the elastic band holding his bun in place. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I woke you. I didn’t mean to yell into the phone.”

“No, that’s okay.” I waved my hand as if I was disregarding the statement. I felt awkward. I felt like I’d been listening at the door as my parents fought over something stupid. Or something serious; it didn’t matter. He’d left our bed to have the conversation downstairs for one reason: he hadn’t wanted me to hear. And that was okay, right? I mean, it’s not my business. I trust him. I’d made it perfectly clear that his business was his business and that I wasn’t the type of woman who needed to know his every move. He didn’t need to check in with me or some stupid shit like that. If he wanted to call me, awesome, but if he was too tired to function, it was perfectly fine if he went to bed.

Awkward. Just plenty awkward.

He walked to the bed and pulled the covers back, sliding in next to me. One hand slid across my stomach and the other squeezed my upper thigh. His eye were intense. “So, you heard that.”

“Um.” I looked away for a breath and, when I looked back, his eyes were filled with tears. “It’s your business, Hazza. I only heard bits and pieces.”

“My management team thinks I should break up with you.”

“Oh.” It felt like a slap to the face. I mean, yeah, I knew that’s what he’d been talking about but to actually hear him say it to my face was another thing completely.

“I’m not going to break up with you, Laney baby.” He lifted his hand from my stomach and pressed it to my cheek, caressing me with this thumb. “I love you. I love you more than anything else in this world and nothing—especially not some asshole’s opinion—is going to take you away from me. You’re my everything, baby girl.”

I exhaled deeply, touching my forehead to his. “I cannot begin to tell you how much better I feel hearing you say that.”

He chuckled and cradled me in his arms. “It’s like you said: they think you’re not the kind of girl I should have a relationship with and that I should have someone sweet and innocent looking. Like Taylor.”

“I once hit a deer with my car. A Taylor Swift song was on the radio and, personally, I can’t forgive her for that. NOVA deer are intense though. It bounced off my headlight and caved it in, stood up, shook itself off, and strolled back into the woods.”

“God, I love you.”

I reached up and brushed his hair back from his face. “I love you, Hazza. So much more than I can even describe to you.”

He pressed his lips to mine, tantalizing me with the soft caress of his tongue. “I told them to fuck themselves. They manage my career and can claim ownership to my voice, if they want, but my life and who I want to be with is my decision. They said I have a fan base to think about.”

I made a noncommittal sound in my throat. Fans, yes, it was easy to block them out when we were holed up in his house with the curtains drawn and the covers up over our heads. I never really gave them much thought because I was usually too preoccupied with Harry. It was kind of sad if his management only saw them as walking dollar signs—both the guys and their fans.

“I told them that I care about the fans, but my life is my life—you are my life. That’s pretty much when the conversation ended.” He sighed, trailing his fingertips along the curve of my collarbone. “Sometimes I completely understand why Zayn left.”

We laid in silence for several moments, his hands gently running down my side and hip. He looked sad and dejected, like a little boy who’d smashed his mother’s flowers trying to make her a bouquet. Finally, I said, “So, basically you’re saying I shouldn’t expect a Christmas card from them this year?”

He burst out laughing and rolled me onto my back, pinning me down and looking down into my eyes. It made my pulse race. “Laney love, promise that I can keep you.”

“It’s too late to get rid of me now, Hazza. I’m addicted.”

“Addicted…exactly.” He kissed me again. “That’s exactly how I feel about you.”

His phone rang again and he groaned, pressing his forehead to mine. “I know that ringtone.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Do you jump up that fast when I call you?”

“Faster.” He sat up and plucked his phone off the bedside table. “Hi Simon.”

I sat up too, sliding the pony-tail holder out of my hair and shaking it loose; running my fingers through the waves in an attempt to detangle it. Gross. Somehow Harry always looked sexy when his hair was messy and tangled first thing in the morning. I looked like I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

He slid his hand to my thigh, tracing the curve of my leg with his index finger. “They called you that fast? Well, no….um….I wasn’t trying to be difficult, I just wasn’t about to let them run my life. Now? Yeah, we can come now. Okay…..okay. Right. Thank you.”

He set the phone back on the bedside table and then, moving faster than I expected, grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me up into his arms. I started laughing as he carried me towards the bathroom. “So, when you say we can come now….is that you and me? Or you and a lawyer? You and your mom?”

“You and me, of course.” He set me down gently on the cool, tiled floor and then turned to the shower. Fiddling with the temperature controls, he tested the water with his hand and then pulled me into the glass encased shower area. I say area, because it wasn’t like any other shower I’d ever seen: one wall and the floor was solid marble, with a solid marble bench for….actually, I wasn’t entirely clear why there was a bench in the shower, other than for Harry and I to fool around on and cases of extreme laziness. There was a shower head in the ceiling plus separate, square heads on the walls. On the other side of the wall from the shower was the huge, hot tub bathtub. I legit could spend the entire day with him just hanging out in the bathroom.

“Sooo, where exactly are you taking me?”

Harry lathered up his hands with soap and then started rubbing my shoulders. “Simon Cowell wants to meet you.”

“As in, American Idol Simon Cowell.” I wrinkled up my nose. “That’s not intimidating or anything……Hazza, you’d better not touch me there unless you’re specifically trying to get laid before we go.”

He chuckled, again sliding his soapy hands down my breasts. “Yes to both: yes, I’m trying to get laid and yes, American Idol Simon Cowell. And X-Factor. And everything else because he’s into every aspect to music right now.”

“Can I ask him why he thought ‘From Justin to Kelly’ was a good idea?”

“No.”

“Come on, inquiring minds want to know.”

“Absolutely not.”

We both started laughing and then, in an instant, he swept me up against the shower wall and pinned me in place with his hip. He crushed his mouth to mine and then pulled away, staring into my eyes. “Whatever happens, you’re mine. Okay? No one is taking you away from me.”

I nodded. There was a tone in his voice that made me nervous, like this was a legit concern of his. That somehow, because of who he was and what he did, we might not get to be together; that someone else would make that decision.

And that scared the shit out of me.

****

An hour later, we were strolling hand in hand across the Mediterranean tiled, exquisite back….well, it wasn’t a back patio. It was a back Shangri-La: a huge pool that seemed like it dropped off into open air, an adjoining square Jacuzzi that was possibly bigger than my car, and an elegantly, obviously specifically, placed multitude of cushioned chairs, weird draping overhangs, and a gorgeous, wrought-iron fire pit/dining area thing that was literally built into the landscape. Simon Cowell lived in a palace. It was literally a palace. I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to see Prince William chilling with a daiquiri on a pool noodle raft. I wouldn’t.

Harry was a sexy as always in tight black jeans and one of his weirdly picked, flowered, polka-dot whatever unbuttoned/three buttons buttoned shirts. I had been, as usual, undecided on what to wear, but finally picked a mint green dress with cleavage revealing chevron cutouts and white lacy platforms that tied around my ankles with a wide white ribbon. If it was good enough to visit Grandma in the home (something my mother was visibly irritated by, but Grams loved it), it was good enough to wear to Simon Cowell’s house.

He stood up from a glass and iron table, pulling Harry into a hug. This was not what I expected from Simon Cowell, with his puff of chest hair and permanently etched scowl. Of course, Harry had made him piles and piles of money. “It’s good to see you, my friend. The tour is going well from what I hear.”

“They’re honestly our best shows ever.” Harry dropped his hand to the small of my back and nudged me forward. “This is Laney Lee. My girlfriend.”

“So you’re the blue haired mystery girl.” Simon shook my hand firmly—his hands were like silk and his nails better coiffed than mine—and then motioned us to sit at the table with him. “The paparazzi says your name is Clementine.”

“Truth be told, it’s on my birth certificate. But it’s my middle name.”

“Laney Clementine?”

“Delaney Clementine, actually.”

Simon leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m going to get straight to the point, Modest called me this morning and were upset about the paparazzi photos from last night. And the others from before that. And before that.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not like I was naked in them.”

“No, but you two were kissing.” He slid an iPad across the table. There were a series of photographs from last night: me and Harry making out, me wrapped in Harry’s arms, me and Gemma dancing on a table top, me and Harry walking hand in hand outside the wine bar. I didn’t exactly see what the problem was with the pictures. He looked happy—we looked happy being together. Yeah, sure, we were kissing in some of the pictures but it wasn’t like we were dry humping on top of the bar or something. I wasn’t sitting on his cousin’s lap. There was no violence or nudity or gang signs or whatever. We looked like average people.

I glanced up at Harry. “You looked nice in that shirt, by the way. Sometimes you pick out super bizarre patterns, but I like that one.”

“It’s a black t-shirt, love.”

“Exactly.”

Simon very nearly cracked a smile. “I’ll be honest with you, Harry, I don’t see what the fuss is about either. I’m glad to see you smiling again—for a long time, I was worried you were starting to let this life get to you.”

“I’m not breaking up with Laney because they think we’re too affectionate in public.” He laced his fingers around mine and squeezed my hand. “I’m in love with her.”

Simon glanced at me. “What about you?”

“I love Harry, I really do.” Well, this was awkward.

“Do you sing?”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows. “Like randomly break out into song? Because, yes, I actually do that throughout the day and it’s kind of weird.”

“No, are you interested in singing professionally?”

“No.”

“Do you act?”

“Uhhh….no.”

“Are you interested in modeling?”

“No, especially because I’m clumsy and would probably fall off the catwalk.”

“Is there anything in your past that you don’t want people knowing?” He leaned forward, tenting his fingers together and resting his chin on the tips. “Because if you two go public with your relationship—and I think you should—the media will try to dig up any dirt on you and fling it back in your face.”

Ahh, I get it now. This was a casual, but covert, interview to see if I had just hooked up with Harry to further my own career or make a name for myself. I thought for a minute. “I once cheated on a gluten-free diet. Actually, it’s now more a long standing relationship with gluten. I’m a huge fan. But, no, other than I’m somewhat notorious in Western Virginia because my parents died when I was a kid. I was ‘Little Girl Lost’ in the papers for several, unexciting years.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

He looked at Harry and then back at me. I was starting to feel a little bit like we’d been called to the principal’s office. It wasn’t like someone had gotten a sex-tape of us or something. Harry kept those damn well hidden….

Finally, he said, “Like it or not, Harry, the media considers you all a clean cut boy band. They want you to be with other clean cut people, like Taylor Swift or, for Liam, Sophia. She’s poised and elegant. Do you know how many times I had to handle Zayn’s tantrums when Modest tried to get between him and Perrie? That turned ugly.” He shook his head. “They think you need to be with an innocent, clean cut Catholic school girl.”

I held my hands up. “Don’t look at me. I’m Protestant. And, worse yet, American.”

“Do you take anything seriously?” A faint smile had upturned his lips but he still looked intense, like, ‘Harry is my cash cow you’d better not be a whore or a communist’ intense. “I feel like I’ve often asked Harry that very same question.”

“Sure, there’s a few things I take seriously. The Arts. Behavioral Heath. Recycling.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Harry Styles.”

Simon smirked and then looked down at the iPad. “You’re not easily intimidated, are you Laney?”

“Not particularly. This kind of shit—um, stuff—doesn’t get me all excited like it does my roommate. I didn’t even know who Harry was when I met him.” I grinned at Harry. “He’s just a normal guy to me. His job is abnormal, that’s all.”

“And you’re not a bit interested in becoming famous?”

“Only if I make some kind of breakthrough in the field of art therapy.” I glanced down at Harry’s and my intertwined hands. This felt like some kind of bizarre job interview. It was the serious version of the Bachelor or something, which made it seem all the more ridiculous. It was the Dating Game! Let’s meet our host, Simon Cowell! “There’s just so many applications for art therapy right now, from soldiers with PTSD to kids like me who lost their parents. I’d rather do the actual field experience though, than sit in a stuffy office and write books on the process. But, you know, I just think art and music therapy is awesome. It breaks down barriers. It reaches through mental and physical barriers and touches people’s souls.”

I blushed. Excuse me while I step off my soapbox. “I’m really passionate about art. Sorry.”

“You’re in college?”

“I’m on break now, but yeah.”

“What are you going to do after graduation?”

“Uhh….get a job?” I stared at him. His lush chest hair was distracting. “Isn’t that what most people do after college? Oh, and well, start paying back my student loans. That’s a long term commitment. My scholarship from awesome grades only takes me so far. And when I say awesome grades, I mean a current GPA of 3.94. Ba zing.”

Simon was staring at me. I immediately knew what he was thinking. “What? You think Harry buys me everything? No. I won’t let him.”

“I offered to buy her a dress at Chanel but she declined. Repeatedly.” Harry reached up and brushed my hair back from my face. “She’s maddeningly independent.”

His smile melted my heart. Staring in those green eyes was enough to make me drop Simon completely from my radar. “I’m a free spirit.”

“That’s one of the many, many things I love about you, baby girl.”

“We don’t have time to list all the things I love about you, Hazza.”

He leaned over and kissed me, gently cradling my face with his hand, and when the kiss broke, he nuzzled his face against mine. “I won’t give her up, Simon. I’ll quit the group before I’d let that happen.”

I stared at him. Holy fuck. “Hazza, no. You can’t do that. I’m not Yoko Lee, here, I don’t want you quit your dream because of me. Singing is your passion. We can make this work somehow without that happening.” I turned and narrowed my eyes at Simon. “Right? I mean, if we can’t, you can.”

He chuckled. “You should listen to this young lady, Harry, she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“And she’s beautiful.”

I blushed.

Simon chuckled again. “Understand, Harry, there’s nothing in your contract controlling who you can or can’t date. They can recommend the image consultant sit down with you and discuss what you should and shouldn’t do in public but I’m fairly sure you know that. Stop drinking and getting caught doing stupid things.” He paused for a moment, glancing between me and Harry. “And, if you want my honest opinion, if you two are happy together, then be happy. They gave you a recommendation. You don’t have to take it.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I refuse to take their advice when it comes to her.”

“You don’t have to hide a relationship if you don’t want to, but keep in mind the consequences if you go public. The fans aren’t going to make it easy for her—just like with Eleanor. Or Perrie. Or Sophia.”

Weeeell, this was awkward.

Harry looked at me, his eyes intense. He didn’t even have to say anything to me, I knew exactly what he was thinking. “I’m not in it for anyone else’s opinion, Hazza. I mean, it’s not a completely applicable quote, but it was either Caligula or Cicero who said, ‘Let them hate me, as long as they fear me'.” I thought for a minute. “So, A) they don’t have to fear me, but you know; and B) I hope it was Cicero because I’m not trying to compare myself to Caligula. Do you Caligula was Latin for Little Boots? Yeah, I bet not.”

Harry snorted, trying to hold in his laughter. “Oh, baby girl.”

“I’ve never heard anyone quote Caligula—or Cicero—before, Laney my dear, and I think it adds to your charm.” Simon stood up from the table and extended his hand to Harry. Obvs this meant the discussion was over. “I’ve known you a long time, Harry, and after meeting Laney, I honestly can’t imagine you with anyone else. Going public with it is up to you, but remember, the fans will be mad either way: deny it, and they feel like you’re insulting their intelligence. Admit it, and they’ll be mad you aren’t single.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry shook his hand and then pulled him into a hug.

Simon then turned to me, shaking my hand. “You keep him smiling, Laney. I appreciate his maturity, but sometimes I miss that goofy sixteen-year-old.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Harry laced his fingers around mine and we walked out to his car, the Audi, together. Once he was in the driver’s seat, he sat and stared at the steering wheel for several moments.

I fastened my seatbelt and fidgeted with my skirt. He looked pensive, his brows furrowed in concentration. Finally, he said, “Do you just want to order in tonight and relax? Just us, just be together and watch movies or something. Or talk. Or just…just not worry about shit?”

“Works for me, Hazza.”

“You have to be naked though.”

I leaned over and pressed my lips to his. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

****

He stopped and picked up salads and blueberry scones from his favorite shop. Once we were home, he spread a blanket on the living room floor and turned the entertainment system on, sliding a CD into the player. After an instant, the soft strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata flowed out from hidden speakers. He set the salad containers on the blanket and we ate more or less in silence, occasionally commenting about how delightful edamame is (and we agreed it’s fabulous) and Harry told me stories about how much Simon terrified him when he was sixteen.

It felt really, really weird.

He was just oddly introverted, his typical cheerful personality subdued. He was tired, I knew that, but he was obviously still affected by the earlier conversation with management. I knew he loved me—there was no doubt in my mind that he did—but he just flat looked out bothered.

And I really had no idea what to say to make him feel better.

Further comment about edamame was dumb, so I tugged on the ribbons around my ankles and pulled my shoes off. Harry slid his hand to my calf, running his fingertips down the tattoos on my legs. “Baby girl.”

“Hazza.”

He was quiet for several moments, just running his hand up and down my lower leg. Without saying anything, he crawled over to me and crushed his mouth to mine, cradling my face with one hand and sliding the other around my waist, pulling me against him.

His kiss took my breath away. It was intensity, passion and desire all in one; it was the kind of kiss that turned my brain into mush. I slid my arms around his shoulders, tangling my fingers in his long hair. I was so in love with him; everything about him was exactly the man I wanted to be with: his was sweet, funny, sensitive, kind, generous….the list just went on and on. How did I get this lucky? How, in all the world, did I manage to find this boy?

He nudged my legs apart with his hip, gently easing me flat on my back. His free hand slid from my waist to my skirt and he pushed it upward, anchoring his hand on the outside of my thigh. The kiss broke. His eyes were intense. “I love you, Laney.”

“And I love you, Hazza.” I brushed his hair back from his face. “You aren’t going to lose me. If you want to keep this between us, that’s cool. It doesn’t hurt my feelings or anything. If you want to go public with it or whatever, I’m cool with that too. It doesn’t change how I feel. I want you, Harry Edward Styles. I don’t care what your fans think. I care what you think. Well, and what your mom thinks. I’m fanatical about that.”

He pressed his lips to mine several times and then studied me. “She adores you. Laney, darling, I want you to be mine forever. I don’t want anything to come between us and I’m afraid if it gets bad…if the fans get bad…you won’t want me.”

He looked so sad that it broke my heart. In those green eyes, I could see that sixteen-year-old Gemma showed me pictures of; that boy on the beach singing ‘What Makes You Beautiful.” In a way, I could understand why he was scared. How many times had girls tried to use him for his fame? How many girls just wanted him for what he did, not who he was? How many times had he lost someone because she couldn’t handle the shit that came along with his fame? Yeah, it scared me too. I didn’t know what it meant or where it would take us, but I knew I loved him. And nothing, not his management or his fans or any other shit out there, was going to change that.

“Nothing could change how I feel about you, Hazza. I love you. I want to be with you and, honestly, it doesn’t matter to me if you’re standing on stage singing or you’re back in Holmes Chapel working in the bakery. You,” I touched his full lips with my index finger, “are my world. There’s nothing that could ever take me away from you, not fans, not management, nothing. I’m your girl.” I nuzzled my face against his. “And I always will be, as long as you’ll have me.”

He kissed me deeply again, his hands hiking my dress up further. “I’m never going to let you go, Laney. I want to spend my life with you.” He fell silent again, this time, the furrowed thoughtfulness was replaced by cheeky curiosity. “How crazy do you feel?”

“As long as we don’t get arrested, I’m up for anything. And the arrest part is negotiable.”

Before I actually knew what we were doing, Harry made a few phone calls and within twenty minutes, a tattoo artist was at his door. Harry obviously knew him personally and there didn’t seem to be any questions that they artist—Kris—was going to run his mouth. Harry trusted him.

And I trusted Harry.

We were both feeling particularly random and, despite Kris giving us a bunch of “couples tattoo” ideas, we did our own thing. Harry had long ago told me what all his tattoos meant, so it was a little weird when he picked something as simple as ‘L’ for the inside of his wrist. He insisted I write it on paper in my handwriting first, so the actual tattoo was exactly like I’d written it. I followed suit, with an ‘x H’ on the inside of my wrist: it was how he signed every text message to me. Anyone with eyes could figure out what they meant, but it didn’t matter. It fit us.

Once our fragile ink was covered in Saniderm, Harry carried me upstairs to his bedroom. We were naked within seconds and spent the rest of the afternoon and into evening in bed, making out, making love, and making every single second together count. He still hadn’t told me what he’d decided about going public with our relationship and frankly, I couldn’t care less. All I wanted was time like this: with him. Nothing else in the world mattered.

Notes

Guys: I just saw the boys in concert!!! That Hazza, omg. He was still like, super far away from my crap seats, but I'm completely inspired with new story ideas. Keep reading and commenting!