Blue

I led Harry up the marble staircase to the bridal party lounge. It was an ostentatious relaxation area above the ballroom, set up specifically for the elite sixteen of us who made up the bridal party. It was a long, narrow room with bizarre rectangle red couches and low hanging white tapestries hanging down from the ceiling. The coffee tables, end tables, and the bar were made of glass and one complete wall was tiled in gold and mother of pearl, with a trickling waterfall spilling down to a rectangular reflection pool below. The remaining walls were bright pink because why the fuck wouldn’t they be? I did not get this modern chic decorating crap. I’m weird and I get that, but even this was too much for me.

My dress did match the walls, though. Awkward and satisfying all at the same time.

One of the groomsmen, Dallas…or Donovan…or something, was doing a line of coke off the glass top of an end table. Otherwise, the room was deserted.

He looked up, brushing his nose with the back of his hand. “You guys want some?”

“I’ll pass.” I glanced at Harry. He shook his head.

Dustin (I was fairly sure it was Dustin) shrugged his shoulders as if only mildly interested in what we wanted. He turned on his heel and headed to the door, but paused in front of Harry. “I don't think she's your type, man."

“I am if his type is awesome.” I slid my hands around Harry’s arm, leaning closer to him, and fluttered my eyelashes at Dustin. “Jealous?”

“You could have partied with me, Laney. The offer still stands if you’re interested later.”

“I think I’ll still be busy later.”

“Your loss.” He shoved through the door without waiting for my response—probably because he knew I was going to point out, yet again, I wasn’t interested in him.

“Classy dude.” I slid my hands off Harry’s arm and circled around one of the couches. The champagne was still on ice and unopened. “So, I’m bad at opening champagne. I’m just putting it out there before I like, break a window or something. How inconvenient that almost everything in this room is made of glass.”

He sat down on the couch, leaning over slightly, and watched me peel the outer covering off the cork. I tried to focus my attention or unwinding the metal enclosures securing the cork, but I could feel his eyes on my figure. He was so close to me; all he’d have to do is barely lift his hand up and it would brush against the back of my legs. I desperately wanted him to do it, not because he was in One Direction or whatever, but because he was hot. His lips were pink and full, his face chiseled. God, his green eyes alone were enough to make be babble like an idiot. I wanted to see underneath that unbuttoned shirt, to feel his inked skin underneath my fingertips. And, of course, it went without saying that I wanted to watch him wiggle out of those skin tight black pants.

I discarded the metal wiring to the table and then stared at the cork. “How are you at opening champagne?”

“Here’s how I do it.” He took the bottle from my hands and set it on the table. “It’ll open on its own, when it’s ready.”

Like my legs. I shook the thought from my head. Keep it together, Delaney.

His lips curled up into a smile. He patted the seat beside him and leaned back, slouching down. “What are you thinking?”

“Inappropriate things.” I sank down beside him, also slouching down so I could look into his eyes. “What about you?”

“I’m wonderin’ if you’ll invite me on a scavenger hunt.”

I raised my eyebrows quizzically. “Um.”

“You know,” he touched his fingertips to mine, “to see if I can find all your tattoos.”

I felt my cheeks heat up. “Well…you know. First things first. I don’t actually know anything about you, other than your name. I want to know more about you.”

He stared at me.

His response was weird, but despite the ear busting silence, I didn’t break my gaze from his. “What?”

“You want to know about me.”

“Is that…bad?”

“Most girls get hung up on the One Direction part.” He shrugged, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbling on the tender flesh. It was killing me. “I mean, I sing. I’m in the spotlight even when I don’t want to be.”

“There’s got to be more than that to you, right?” I nudged his foot with mine. “I want to know who you are. If I liked pop music and I just wanted the pop Harry Styles, I’d get a cardboard cut-out and a vibrator.”

“And what do I get in return?”

The champagne cork popped and I jumped, grabbing onto his arm. Jesus; way to break up a potentially hot conversation, fucking expensive booze.

Harry slid his arm out of my grasp and moved it around my waist, pulling me close to him. We were pressed together, our lips so close I thought I could feel each movement of his mouth as he spoke, “You show me one of your hidden tattoos and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

I eased out of his arms and jumped to my feet, leaning over and pressing my skirt to my ass so as not to show him too much—not yet anyway. I had red bows tattooed on the backs of my upper thighs, like permanent garters right at the tops of my legs. After a moment, I heard him suck in a deep breath. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Just wait until you see what’s on my back.” I snagged two glasses and poured us each champagne, then sat back down next to him. “So, you’ll tell me anything?”

“Anything.”

I took a drink of champagne. “What do you like to do for fun?”

He studied me closely, raising his glass to his lips with one hand and idly trailing the fingertips of his other hand down the tangle of cherry blossoms tattooed down my arm. “That’s what you want to know?”

“Sure is.” I nodded. “I’m sure singing is a huge part of your life, obviously, but I don’t care about any of that. I want to know you.”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on the curve of my shoulder. “I’m Harry. I’m twenty-one. I’m reasonably good at singing, I guess, but I’ve found that I quite enjoy writing. I used to work in a bakery, so I like to bake bread but it’s hard to find time to do that when you’re traveling all the time. I don’t like to travel. I’d rather be at home, in one place, for as long as I can.”

“And where is home?”

“I have a place here in LA and a place in London.”

“What kind of car do you drive?”

“I have a couple of cars.”

“Fine, but if you had to narrow it down to one that you’d drive, say, on a family vacation with your grandma.”

“I like my Ranger Rover the best.”

I nodded, taking another drink of champagne. “Last question: if you had one spare hour of free time, all by yourself with no interruptions, what would you do?”

He thought for a moment, tugging on his lower lip with his fingers. There was something incredibly sexy about such a normal movement; his eyes were intense, his tongue pressed to his teeth. I was starting to think he wasn’t going to answer my question, when he murmured in his husky voice, “I think I’d like to sit with you. In the sunshine; just talking, like this, and see the wind catch your hair. I bet you look beautiful in the wind and in the sun.”

It left me speechless. Was this some kind of pick up line? Because, fuck, if it was, this kid was a professional at getting laid. I’d dated guys for years who’d never said anything as sweet to me and he rattled it off like he actually meant it.

He drank the rest of his champagne and then again focused his attention on my shoulder, running his fingers over the curve of my arm and dipping down towards my collarbone. “Same questions.”

“I’m Laney. I’m also twenty-one. I’m majoring in art history at Temple University with a concentration in art therapy and I hate Philadelphia, but I want my degree so I’m willing to live there another year. I’d rather be back down in NOVA because I live and breathe the state of Virginia, if that makes any sense, and I drive a beat up Chevy Cavalier. If I could be anywhere,” I thought for a beat, “it’s right here, right now, with you. And if I couldn’t be here, I’d be at the National Gallery in London because, frankly, that’s about it in the good time department for me. Art. My dream is to go to the National Gallery.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, trailing his index finger down my jawline. “I’ll take you there.”

“Oh, will you now?”

“I’d give you anything you want.” He leaned over slightly, pressing his mouth to the top of my shoulder. “As many times as you want it.”

“And what is it that you want, Harry Styles?”

His lips curled into a smile and he lifted his hand to my face, guiding me towards him. “You.”

“Why me?”

“You’re very captivating, I think.” He cradled my cheek in his hand and pulled me to him, lightly pressing his lips to mine. The kiss deepened instantly, his mouth prompted mine open and his tongue caressed mine with light, gentle laps. As we kissed, he slid his hand down to my thigh and coaxed my leg up and over his. I raised up on my knees and straddled him, sinking down on his lap.

His eyes were locked on mine. “Is this okay?”

“This is very okay.” I barely had the words out of my mouth before he was kissing me again, his hands feeling their way underneath my dress. I could feel his body responding to me, the growing bulge in his pants pressed between my legs. I shifted my weight slightly, tilting my hips to press against him more directly.

He moaned a little in his throat and slid his hand to my inner thighs. My pulse was throbbing between my legs; he touched his fingertips to me, trailing them down my panties. I sucked in a breath. I wanted him to keep going; I desperately wanted him to touch me, to be inside of me, but I wasn’t a conquest.

His middle finger slid underneath the seam of my panties, sliding against my bare skin. I grabbed on to his arm and broke our kiss. “I don’t want to be a one night stand. I want you, desperately, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not that kind of girl.”

There were those green eyes again, studying me with a deep rooted intensity that took my breath away. He took his hand out from between my legs and cradled my face in his hands. “I don’t want you for just one night. There’s somethin’ about you…”

I looked away, again feeling my cheeks flush. “I’m different. You can say it; everyone else does.”

“You’re different, true,” he trailed his fingers against the studs pierced into my dimples and into my nose, “but you’re beautiful. And…selfishly…I want to know what that bolt in your tongue feels like licking me.”

“Ahhh, so the truth comes out.” I grinned coyly at him, tracing my fingertips across the exposed ink on his chest. Two birds. Just like the birds inked on my ankles.

“We can take it slow,” He leaned over and kissed my lips softly, “or we can just lose control. It’s whatever you want, love, I just…I don’t want to leave you tonight.”

Gooseflesh rippled down my arms, my entire body felt like it was tingling with delight. Jesus, right in the fucking feels. The voice of doubt was still whispering in the back of my mind—you’re falling for a line, Delaney—but the way he was holding me, the way that he looked at me…I was willing to take that chance. It was better to regret one night than a lifetime of regret, wondering ‘what if,’ right?

Right.

I slowly licked my lips, twisting one of his curls around my finger. “Do you want to go upstairs to my room?”

His lips spread into a lopsided grin. “Yeah…I do.”

Notes