Blue

As the Asian leg of the tour drew to a close, I saw Harry getting more and more tired. When we got back to the hotel after a concert, he’d fall onto our bed and stare up at me with his drooping green eyes, then slooooowly roll up into a sitting position; then sloooooowly pull off his shoes and his skin tight jeans. Once his shirt and briefs were tossed to the floor, we’d snuggle down underneath the covers, just touching and cuddling. Sometimes he fell asleep watching television, with his head in my lap and my hands tangled in his curls. Sometimes we just fell asleep together, his sleepy, soft kisses trailing down my neck or back until he drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

I was just happy to be near him, wrapped in his arms or gently rubbing his back. He worked so hard—it amazed me how he had the energy he did during each show. He never stopped moving, never stopped dancing or shaking his gorgeous mane of hair to the beat of the music. He was dedicated. He took every second of every concert or interview seriously. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was how he managed to do this for five years straight without mentally snapping from exhaustion. But, there were only five more shows to get through—and then he had a month’s break.

“Break” was a pretty loose definition of what he was going to do for the month. He wasn’t going to be on tour, no, but he was going to be in Los Angeles recording the next album, attending awards shows, and media appearances for the US market. I wasn’t entirely convinced this qualified as a break, but Harry spent a lot of time convincing me—both verbally and physically—that we’d get to spend more time together for the entire month.

We’d collapsed into bed the moment we arrived in Jakarta. He had a whole day of interviews, meet and greets, and charity events before the concert that night. Sophia and I had plans to just hang out at the hotel before we were driven to the Gelora Bung Karno Stadium to watch the show. She and I had made this our ritual: Harry and Liam counted on us being there and, I had to admit, watching Harry on stage was such a turn on….he knew the effect he had on me and made it a point to do something overtly sexual anytime he was on my side of the stage. He’d touch himself or dance provocatively or flip his hair around. Then he’d just look at me and smile or wink; even for as long as we’d been together, just one dimpled smile made my pulse race.

We were both worn out from a late night in Manila before the bumpy, uncomfortable flight into Jakarta. We’d gone out with Louis, some blonde chick, Niall, and Team Sophiam and had drunk way too much, way too fast. As I drifted off to sleep in Harry’s arms, I vaguely remembered the continuous drinking at the airport and making out with Harry in the private lounge management shuffled us into to keep the lunacy down from photogs and fans. We’d had hot, clumsy sex in the private car that transported us from the airport to our hotel, so by the time we reached our room, we just took our clothes off and flopped into bed. We didn’t even turn the lights on. Harry dumped our luggage on the floor and pulled me to bed. We smelled rank—sweat, airplane, travel, sex, and bourbon—but as late (early?) as it was, we didn’t care. At least I didn’t care. Harry was asleep almost as soon as he’d stretched out and flung his arm around me. As I was overcome by sleep, I had a vague impression that my cell phone was vibrating nearby, but I was too tired to care. The only person who mattered was in bed with me…….

The harsh bleep bleeeeeep of the telephone jolted me out of a solid sleep.

Harry groaned and pulled the thick, white comforter over our heads. “Bloody hell, we don’t have to be up until like, nine. Is it nine? Fucking management, they can fucking go to hell.”

I pressed my face against his chest, gently pressing my lips against his skin. “It’s daylight, so for all I know it’s afternoon.”

“They’d have knocked on the door if it was afternoon.”

“Where are we again?”

“Jakarta.” The room phone fell silent and he exhaled deeply, cradling me in his arms. “But being in bed with you is paradise.”

“MMmm…Hazza…” I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer. A smile played on his lips; he trailed his kisses across my cheek and jawline. His hands were everywhere, touching and caressing, tickling and trailing across my skin. His eyes still looked sleepy, but the intensity was just as noticeable as the way his body was responding to mine.

The room phone started ringing again.

And then his cell phone started ringing.

“This bloody well better be important.” He rolled me onto my back and reached across me, stretching out to snag the phone off the hook. “What.”

It was more of a statement and not an actual question. He draped his body across mine, grinding his cock against my hip. “Liam. Fuck. It’s six-thirty in the morning, I don’t fucking care what—wait, what? Who?”

He hoisted himself up from me and slid off the bed, yanking the phone behind him. “I missed like, three calls from management this morning. Fuck. Well, who fucking was it?”

I pushed myself up into a sitting position, watching Harry storm back and forth as far as the phone cord would let him. He balanced the receiver in between his shoulder and ear and started rapidly texting someone. “Well, we’d bloody well better find out. I’m sick of this shit. No, no, it’s not that—we’d been debating it, but I wanted it to be on our terms, not some fucker who’s trying to earn a quid off my name.”

When he stopped to take a breath, I heard the impatient buzzing of my cell phone from my purse. I crossed the nubby gray and white carpet to a slim, short backed gray couch (the room was actually super nice, now that I actually saw it in daylight) and pulled out my cell.

It was Jess.

If my stomach had been in knots listening to Harry on the phone, they were yanked tighter when I saw my boss’s name on the cell face. I cleared my throat nervously, stepped out of the bedroom and into the dark wood and marble bathroom. “Hello?”

“Laney?”

“Yeah, this is Laney.” I cleared by throat again. “Hi Jess.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, it’s not too early there is it? I wasn’t really sure what the time difference was.”

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes looked wider than normal, the black eyeliner and mascara smudged around my eyes like a raccoon face. I looked terrified. I found this to be unsettling, because I didn’t necessarily feel terrified. “Uh, no, I was awake. How did you know I was in a different time zone? I….uh….didn’t tell anyone but my mom and Violet.”

“Laney. Everyone knows.”

Wait, what?

Jess must not have been looking for an actual response to that, because she kept talking. “So…about that, look, this is a hard call for me to make, Laney. You’re a great asset here at the Center, but will all this going on? The girls are talking about it more than focusing on their sessions.”

“Talking about what, Jess? You act like I should know but I have no fucking idea what’s going on.” Well, there went the F bomb. Smooth.

“Meg Adams actually asked me yesterday if she started cutting herself again and did a few oil painting sessions with you, if you’d bring him along so she could meet him. I can’t have that, Laney, I know it isn’t your fault but I have to take into consideration the impact it has on the Center. And on the patients, but you know that because that’s always our main focus. Always, Laney, and it’s nothing personal.”

“Back up, just one fucking second. Are you talking about Harry?” The look of terror on my face was replaced by anger. My reflection and I were staring at each other, like neither one of us could actually believe what Jess was saying. “Harry is my business, not anyone at the Center. Did you talk to Vi? Because I cannot even begin to talk about how shitty it is if she’s bitching behind my back—“

“No, I didn’t talk to Vi. I didn’t have to, it’s everywhere. Look, Laney, you’re great at what you do. You’re caring, you’re confident, and I’ve never met anyone who is as passionate about art as you are.” She sighed and every psych class I’d ever taken in my life knew she was trying to break this to me gently. It wasn’t working. “I’m going to have to let you go. You haven’t had hours for almost two months, anyway, and I’ve got a lot of people here who need the money. I can’t just keep you on the schedule and hold a job that you’re obviously not coming back to.”

My pulse was pounding in my temple. “Are you….wait, you’re firing me because of who my boyfriend is? Seriously?”

“Not exactly. I mean, if you think about it, it was a part time job more for college credit anyway. And since you’re done with college—“

“Hang on, one fucking second. Who told you I was done with college? I didn’t drop out. I’m on break. I’m just traveling in Asia—“

“With Harry Styles.”

“It’s none of your God damned business who I’m with. This is, like, discrimination or something.”

“It’s a distraction to the patients, Laney, I’m sorry. These girls are more preoccupied that one of their therapists is dating Harry Styles than on coping and on session. That’s unacceptable.”

“You’re calling my relationship unacceptable, Jess? Because that’s a really fucking bitchy thing to say.”

“Who you hook up with is your own prerogative, Laney.”

“I didn’t hook up with him, Jess.” I gritted my teeth together until my jaw throbbed. “We are in a committed relationship. I’m in love with him.”

“I’m really happy for you Laney, that’s great. But it’s just not conducive to a good environment here for the patients. I’m sorry. But we have to let you go.” She hesitated for a beat and then said, “Enjoy your time in Jakarta, Laney. I hope you have a great time.”

And, with that, she hung up.

I stared down at my phone, my lips parted in blatant confusion. I just…got fired? I legit just got fired because Harry and I were in a relationship? What the fuck?

What the serious fuck? So, Harry was my boyfriend. That didn’t change who I was. It didn’t lesson my ability to work in art therapy. Ohhhh….fucking shit. Without a job, I didn’t have income. Jess made it sound like I worked like, an hour a day at the center. I didn’t. I pushed 30-35 hours there; I worked as full time as full time could get without being classified that way. I gave girls my apartment phone number, I told them to call me at any hour of the day if they needed help. That job paid for my apartment, my car, school, and food. Everything. And now I was fired. How the hell was I supposed to make ends meet without a job? Go back to retail? I’d have to work 80 hours a week to make anywhere close what I made at the Center.

Tears pricked the back of my eyes; I tried to blink them away but they trickled down my cheeks anyway. Fuck, fuck fuck. Now I was actually being punished for being happy? So, it was okay to date loser Mark, who did drugs and shot heroin in the Center parking lot and smacked me around when he was drunk—that was okay because people were too embarrassed to ask questions. That was okay, but Christ forbid I fall in love with a sweet, caring man who doted on me liked I was a princess and, even when we’d fight, would follow me around and tell me stupid jokes until I smiled. Who, after we had got into a shouting match about something stupid and I told him that I was mad at him, put a towel around my shoulders like a cape and informed me I was super mad. We’d made a rule: we could fight and say whatever we wanted to say to each other, call each other whatever name we wanted, with the understanding that after it was said, it was forgotten. He’d tattooed his initial on my wrist for God’s sake. We were madly in love with each other—and I was being punished for it?

“Laney.”

I saw his reflection in the mirror before I saw him standing behind me. Frantically, I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Sorry, I…um…I hit my knee on the counter. It stung.”

He knew I was lying. I could tell. He pried my cell phone out of my hand and set it on the counter, then pulled me to my feet and into his arms. “Oh, baby girl. Whatever happened…it was because of me?”

“Well, no, I—“

“Laney.” He tilted my chin upwards and slid his hand to my hair, anchoring my face in place so he could look into my eyes. “Tell me.”

“It was…um…” I could see the hurt in his eyes. “It was Jess. They…let me go from the Center. Let me go, as in fired because….well, because they said I’m a distraction.”

“Well, you are a distraction.” He smiled, but the grin didn’t quite reach his green eyes. “Every inch of you distracts me. Fuck, I almost fell off the stage last because of how gorgeous you are when you dance.”

“If you dare tell anyone you saw me dancing to ‘Ready to Run,’ I’m going to shave off your eyebrows in your sleep.” I giggled and stood on my tiptoes to kiss him. “It’s okay, Harry. Working at the Center just wasn’t meant to be and, honestly, if they’re going to treat me like this, then I don’t want to work there anyway. I just wish how Jess knew like, every single detail of what I’m doing. I haven’t talked to anyone from home since I flew to Tokyo.”

He scooped me up in his arms and carried me back to the bedroom, laying me down on the crumpled white sheets. “I can answer that one for you, love. It’s because everyone knows.”

I stared at him blankly. “They don’t know it’s me. I mean, it could be anyone with blue hair. And…..specific tattoos.”

He handed me his iPad. “No….actually, not this time.”

US Weekly was pulled up and, sure enough, there was my stupid face. It was a picture of me and Harry, his face nuzzling against my cheek. His hands were wrapped around my waist and he was pulling my body against his; we were managing to look at each other and smile, possibly laughing about something I had absolutely no recollection of.

And then there it was. The title: Harry loves Laney!

Uh oh.

My mouth ran dry and I started licking my lips like this might somehow help me figure out what to say. “Does…um…your management think it was me who leaked it?”

“No.” He was firm. “And I don’t either. But there’s some fucking asshole out there who is selling our private lives to the highest bidder. I’m sick of it.”

I looked back down at the article, sliding my finger down the side of the screen to scroll down. I remembered wearing the tight red dress when Harry and I were out at Funky Buddha in London, but no one really seemed to care I was there with him. I spent more time dancing with Sophia and Gemma than I did with him anyway.

#loveforblue! We finally know who she is! A source close to twenty-one year old British heartthrob Harry Styles revealed exclusively to US Weekly that the gorgeous, blue-haired beauty seen with the singer for the past few months is twenty-one year old Laney Lee, of Richmond, Virginia. The source confirmed the two have been inseparable since they met at a wedding back in March and that she has joined Harry for the Asia leg of One Direction’s ‘On the Road Again’ tour.

“Harry is completely smitten with Laney.” The source shared. “They’re in love. She lives up to the kid of girl Harry has always wanted: she’s down to earth, sweet, and she makes him laugh. Laney has met his family and gets along fabulously with Harry’s sister, Gemma (see our exclusive pictures from Harry, Laney, and Gemma’s night out at London’s elite Funky Buddha).” And, of course, there’s the physical side, too. The source confided, “Harry and Laney can’t get enough of each other. She makes him very, very happy.”

According to the source, Laney was a student at Temple University, studying psychology, before leaving school to join Harry on tour. Temple University did not respond to our request for comment. As of press time, multiple outreaches were made to Harry’s representatives but the only response we received was, “We don’t make comment on Harry’s personal life, especially not when it comes to speculation on who he is or isn’t dating.”

For as much as Harry and Laney have been seen together over the past two months, it’s pretty safe to bet the two are a couple. We’re just happy to see Harry so in love (although, admittedly, it does break our fan-girl hearts)!

I cocked my eyebrows upward. “Why do people always think I’m a psych major?”

“The source was right on two things, though.” He brushed my hair back from my forehead, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to my shoulder. “I am completely smitten with you and you make me very, very happy.”

“And hey, kudos to Temple for not handing them a copy of my transcript or the paper I wrote about Dali last semester.” I set the iPad to my side and leaned against him, trailing my fingertip down his V line and across the tattoos on his lower abdomen. “Soooo…..now what?”

He studied me, his eyes serious. “We talked about it a little before…but…I mean, I love you, Laney. I don’t care if the whole world knows it, I’m more concerned about keeping you safe.”

“I’m an unemployed college senior, Hazza. You’re pretty much stuck with me until fall as long as I can pay for classes.” I was trying to calculate the cost-per-credit dollar amount due before the semester started, but it was starting to make me sweat. Filling out loan applications was always such a blast…but at this point, there was no choice. I wasn’t asking my mother for money. She wasn’t speaking to me anyway.

His eyes were intense. “I’ll pay for your classes.”

“Hazza, no.” I pressed my index finger to his lips and shook my head. “You’re not paying for school. I’ll just take out more student loans.”

“Then I’ll pay those off after you graduate.” He cradled my face in his hands, gently pressing his lips to mine. “It’s my fault you got fired.”

“Don’t say that.” I pulled him into a hug and held him, nuzzling my face against his cheek. “Fuck them. I was a damn good art therapist and any other facility would be thrilled to have me.” Well. In theory anyway.

Harry swallowed hard and then pulled back, again looking into my eyes. “There’s just one more thing.”

****

An hour later, we were sitting in front of Harry’s tablet dialing into Skype, waiting for the rest of his management team, Simon Cowell, an image consultant, and his lawyer to log in for a meeting. Harry explained that this was completely normal, that Sophia had to go through the same thing when she and Liam had gotten serious and, before that, back with Louis was still with Eleanor. This was the talk of talks. The, “So it has come to this” of this apparently earth shattering expose that he and I were fucking.

I wasn’t entirely sure what one wore to The Spanish Inquisition, but I finally settled on a pink, blue, and green plaid strapless mini dress and, more for Harry’s benefit than the board, my black thigh high boots. I pulled my bangs and the side of my hair back and, for once, took it somewhat easy on my mascara and eyeliner. Harry seemed like he was far more used to this type of shit. He pulled his hair up on top of his head in a bun and shrugged on a white t-shirt; he refused to put on pants or briefs.

I was fine with this.

“Ah, good we’re all here.” A middle aged man with thick, tortoise shell glasses peered at the screen. They must have all been gathered around one, enormous computer screen. Of course, this was the big leagues. It was probably a screen the size of my first dorm room in college. “So, I’ll get started. I’m Alastair Dalrymple, Harry’s attorney. Going from the left, we have Simon Cowell, who I know you’ve met, Wilma Gleeson and Todd St. James, senior management for Modest, and Clair Deveroux, image consultant with Syco. I’ll be moderating, as Harry’s legal rights my domain. Todd, did you want to get started.”

Todd waved at the screen. There was something about him I immediately didn’t like, maybe the close proximity his eyes were to each other. He also just flat out didn’t look genuine. “’Ello, Laney and Harry, so sorry to bring everyone together at such short notice and, for the team here, so late. We just wanted to get together to talk about a few things. Harry, how’s the tour going? We’re hearing some great things.”

“It’s great.” Harry had turned serious, his brow furrowed down into a frown. His hand was tightly clamped around mine and he was leaning towards me, his lips tightly pressed together. He was pissed.

“Have you enjoyed the concerts, Laney?” Simon seemed to be the only one who actually was paying attention to me like I was a person, not just a problem. Because, even though Harry assured me this was normal, I knew they thought of me as a problem. Last minute conferences aren’t called because something good has happened.

“They’re awesome.” I said. My voice sounded foreign to me, higher pitched and wimpy. Like I was 12 or something. “All the guys have so much energy, they literally never stop moving or dancing or signing. I don’t know how they do it. I get sweaty just watching them sing and traverse the stage during ‘Clouds.’”

Simon continued. “And how many shows have you gone to, since you joined Harry in Tokyo?”

“How many?” I shrugged. How long ago had I flown to Tokyo? “I go every night.”

“Why? It must get rather repetitive to watch the show every night, especially for someone who doesn’t like pop music.” Simon’s blinks were pointed, like they were punctuating what he was saying instead of moisturizing his eyes.

“Because I love to watch him perform. It’s his passion. It makes him happy.” I thought for a split second. “And, because I want to support him. I’m not going because I think anyone else cares whether or not I’m there—I don’t care what other people think, or else I wouldn’t have pierced my face—I’m going because I want him to know I’m there. I want him to know I support what he does.”

“You mention your piercings.” Claire looked up from what I assumed was a sheet of notes. “You have a lot of them.”

“I do.”

“And tattoos.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you have an extreme image?” Of course someone named Claire would ask this type of question. She was perfectly coiffed, with blonde hair cut at a sharp angle, each hair slick and smooth, her makeup was perfect. Her teeth were perfect. Her skin was perfect. God must have made her with the occupation of image consultant in mind. “Do you do it for attention?”

“I do it because I like it.” Well, this was going just great. At least I’d anticipated a barrage of questions. With each one, though, Harry looked madder and madder. I said, “I started dying my hair different colors when I was sixteen because I was struggling to determine my own identity. My parents died when I was young and I’d been assimilated into my aunt and uncles family. They’re the perfect American family, with perfect, well behaved children. And I was Little Girl Lost, who everyone pitied, and I was tired of trying to fit in their mold. I wanted to be myself. I adore art, so I tend to lean towards the more creative, Avant guard way of presenting myself. I like vintage and retro. I like mod dresses and hair styles from the 40s. Blue Victory Rolls with pedal pushers and saddle shoes from the 50s. I’m not trying to make a statement or be dramatic, I’m being me. If people don’t like me, then whatever. I’m not a people pleaser.”

Wanda—nope, Wilma—folded her hands in front of her. “And what about Harry?”

“I love Harry.”

“No, how do you feel your image affects Harry’s image?”

“I think if you look at his demographic, it’s made up of a lot of girls who are at the age where they’re starting to discover who they are. Yeah, I have blue hair. Yeah, I have piercings and tattoos. But why should everyone look the same? Why force girls to try and fit into a mold? They don’t need to all be blonde haired and stick skinny like 12 year old boys. They can have curves and breasts and blue hair and dress however they want to dress. They don’t have to change who they are to make a man happy—or anyone happy, for that matter.” I bit my lip and took a deep breath. “I have a minor in psychology.”

I caught Simon smile and then promptly turn serious again.

“So, Laney, I want to understand something.” Todd exchanged a look with Alastair, who nodded his head slightly. “Harry has an image to maintain. We’re here to ensure that he keeps that image—and yes, I know what you’re thinking, it’s because Harry makes us money. One Direction has been Harry’s job since he was sixteen. He has a role to maintain: cheeky, silly but sensitive curly haired boy who makes the girls swoon. He’s very good at this.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d narrowed his eyes, but I could see tears welling up at the red rims of his lids. I could tell he wanted to say something to them, but for whatever reason, he was keeping his mouth shut.

And I had a feeling it was because someone had told him to; Simon maybe? If he was being silent, it was for a reason. I trusted him. I wasn’t going to second guess him.

“Our main concern anytime one of the lads get involved with a woman is the image. For example, when Liam and Sophia began to get serious, we had a discussion with her very similar to this. We want to protect the boys, their image, and their fans. This is in regards, but not limited to, your own image, your own behavior, and how you handle yourself in front of the camera.” Todd paused, again exchanging a glance with Alastair. “I’m sure you realize that, as Harry’s girlfriend, you’ll be in front of the camera more times than not.”

What was this? Some kind of fucking job interview? I tried to look bland, but interested. “Yes.”

“So, for you, this means that you need to watch what you say. Any time you’re interviewed or anytime you talk to anyone, you’re doing so as a representative of Harry. You will always have to smile and be positive, even when you don’t feel that way. You must never fight or have a disagreement in public. Anything you say on the internet or through social media must be positive and must always support Harry. There must be no nude photographs published of you, no crude or inappropriate language used on social media or in an interview, and if anyone ever asks you any questions related to your relationship, you keep it private. We all know you two are having sex, but that’s as much detail as needs to be out there.” Todd took a deep breath. “And, of course, you can’t trust anyone. The lads and their respective girlfriends are one thing, but, anyone close to you? Anyone that you previously trusted? You can’t. You must always assume that they’ll sell you out just to make money on Harry’s name.”

I wondered if Kate Middleton had sat through shit like this when she and William finally took things to the next step. It was ridiculous.

The more Todd yammered on, the more embarrassed Harry looked. His hand was gripping mine like he was grounding himself—or holding himself back. They acted like he was a side of beef: their cash cow who had to keep an unsullied and perfect reputation.

Fuck it.

I shook my head, waving my free hand dismissively. “Okay, okay, I get it. I see where this is going. You can stop.”

Todd’s jaw dropped.

“I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll sign a confidentiality agreement or whatever you want me to do.” I shrugged. “All I care about is Harry. I just want to be with him and, if that means signing something or promising that I can’t be on Facebook or whatever, fine.”

“You realize your life will change if this goes public?”

“I don’t care. I love him.”

Harry squeezed my hand. I looked over at him and he smiled so broadly, I thought his dimple went straight to his jawbone. He looked so incredibly happy—and that made my eyes water.

Once the conference was over, Harry pulled me into his lap and crushed his mouth to mine. “I think you defended my honor, baby girl.”

“No one is mean to my Hazza and gets away with it.” I giggled and guided his hand down to my thigh. “So, while I have these boots on…”

“I’m a pristine gem, Miss Lee. You heard what that horrible, horrible man from Modest said: you aren’t supposed to corrupt me in any way.”

“Well, Mr. Styles, then I guess I should take that black corset back to the boutique. And those thigh high stockings?”

He pretended to consider it and then, in an instant, slid his hand to the back of my thigh and hoisted it up, pulling my knee to his shoulder. Dipping me backward, he pressed his lips to my throat. “Let’s not let it get to that, shall we? You’re official now, Laney. I mean, we’ve been official to each other since that first night but now…..well….you’ve had the official talking to. You’re practically Mrs. Styles now.”

My heart fluttered in my chest. “Is that a fact?”

“Mmmm-hmmmm.” He nuzzled his face against the front of my dress. “Laney Styles….it has a certain ring to it.”

“Did you say ring just because you’re making a pun?”

“No….but now that you said it, that’s hilarious. Do you want to hear a knock knock joke?”

“No.”

“Laney-licious, come on. If we’re going public with our relationship, you have to think my jokes are funny.”

“Did you just call me Laney-licious?”

“Well, I do like the way you taste.”

We both started laughing and he lifted me up into his arms, hugging me against him. “Baby girl, you make me so happy. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you lost your job because of me.”

“Oh, Hazza.” I kissed him. “It’s not your fault. It’s them. They suck.”

“You’re better off with me.”

“I love being with you.” I pursed my lips together coyly. “And under you. And on top of you…”

He cheekily slapped my ass and then caught my wrist in his hand, dragging my hand across his junk. He pretended to look shocked, widening his eyes and dropping his mouth open. “You sassy, sassy girl! The internet connection with management is barely cold and you’re already groping me?” He pulled his black jeans, with holes worn in the knees, up skinny legs, not bothering to put on briefs. “I still have an hour before I have to leave for the day.”

My cellphone started buzzing again, the sound heightened by where I’d left it on the dark wood nightstand. I slid it towards me and looked at the faceplate.

It was Vi.

“Do you want to go get breakfast? They have a lovely restaurant here overlooking the city. It’s called Cinnamon, but don’t let that make you apprehensive.” He grabbed his wallet off the nightstand. “Do you need to answer that?”

I hit the ignore button on my phone and smiled at him. “Nope, I’m good. Wrong number.”

“Come on, baby girl. I’ll buy you breakfast.” He grinned and reached his hand out to me.

The phone buzzed with a voicemail. I slid my finger across the message and deleted it, then shut the phone off and discarded it back on the dresser. “Cinnamon sounds like my kind of party, Hazza. I’ll corrupt you yet.”

He grabbed me hand and pulled me to him. “Naughty girl.”

“But your girl.”

He smiled and kissed me. “Absolutely.”

Notes