Blue

We all got drunk, really, really fast.

As soon as we got to Lure, we were hustled in the back door and immediately escorted to a plush, curtained VIP section. It was dim, exclusive, elite: but other than, basically like any other club, just prettier glasses and nicer food. I usually have a reasonably good tolerance for alcohol, probably because I drink too much, but Louis kept ordering shots and I kept drinking them.

He sat next to me on the couch and put his hand on my leg, in between where my shorts ended and my boots began. “So, Laney.”

Harry, on my other side, reached over and shoved his hand away. “She’s spoken for, Lou, fuck off.”

“So, Laney,” Louis pointed his drink in my direction, “I don’t think you’ve properly explained how you don’t know who we are. We’re One Direction.”

Someone—it might have been Sophia—had ordered me a colossal whisky-and-something and I couldn’t stop laughing. “Which direction is it? Left or right?”

“Hilarious.”

“Look, dude, I’m in college. I have time to work and time to study and I’m in this fucking sorority that’s dumb and takes up my time. I like classical music and really, really hard rock. Not pop music.” Harry was sliding his hand underneath my shirt, trailing his fingertips across my belly and working his way upwards. It was hard to think. “Apparently, though, I like boys who sing pop music. Like Harry. I was not aware of this until yesterday. Was that just yesterday? Fuck.”

“We need another round of shots, over here.” Louis waved at the VIP attendant. “So, you don’t like me?”

“I think you’re a little sass-master. I like you.” I shrugged, leaning back to nuzzle against Harry. “But I really like him.”

“Harry likes you, too.” Liam looked up from kissing Sophia’s neck. “He likes you a lot. More than a lot probably. Lots a lot.”

“I told her that already, Jesus.” Harry dropped his head down, brushing his lips over my bare shoulder. “I just haven’t told her how much I like her.”

“Well, if things don’t turn out with him, I’ll fuck you.” Louis shrugged casually. He took a shot glass off the tray the attendant brought over. “I think you’re hot.”

I took a shot glass and threw the drink back. “That sweet, Louie, but I’m good. Like, really good.” Harry scooped me up and plopped me down on his lap, wrapping his arms around me possessively. I giggled and pressed my lips to his, dropping my hands to his shirt and unbuttoning another button. “Stop pouting. I’m yours.”

“Threesome?” Louis asked, smiling broadly and raising his eyebrows suggestively. I mean, if eyebrows can do that. It looked suggestive.

“I’m not sharing Harry, dude.”

“He fucks you good?”

“No comment.”

“Ed Sheeran wrote ‘Little Things’ about him, you know that right?”

“I can attest from personal experience that, in fact, it’s not little. I think you’re making that shit up.”

“I think he’s just jealous.” Harry tilted my head to him and kissed me, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth. “Bugger off Lou, seriously. Go find a girl and get laid.”

“She’ll come around for the threesome.”

“No, she won’t.” I answered. “I know, I know, I’m awesome but come on, dude. That line probably works on fan girls, but I’m not a fan girl. I’m Laney. Laney who likes Harry.”

“So, then, what have you learned about One Direction in the past day and a half?” Liam leaned over Sophia to look at me, nearly rolling off the couch and onto the floor. Harry and I burst out laughing; he pressed his face to my shoulder, trying to muffle his adorable, loud laughter.

I tried to compose myself. “I…um…okay, I’ve got this. I learned that you, not 5ive, sing Best Song Ever. Um…er…I learned that there are like, three of you that are British.” I looked around the room. “Wait, wasn’t there an Irish kid? Oh my god, did we lose the Irish kid?”

Louis waved his hand dismissively. “Niall, he’s fine, he’s upstairs with a blonde.”

“Fine. And there’s this Irish kid named Niall who likes to eat and I guess likes blondes?” I looked down at the silver rings on Harry’s fingers. “You’re cutthroat Nintendo players. Oh, and Sophia told me Liam doesn’t like spoons but I have no idea why and the whole thing just really makes me laugh. I like you, Sophia, high five.”

She raised her hand from her seat and we pretended to slap hands from across the room.

I giggled. “And…honestly that’s it. Should I know more? Was there like, a secret handshake or something that I was supposed to learn? Wait, wait, I have a question. Are there really like, kickass Absinthe bars in Europe? Because I had Absinthe at a frat party two months ago and…I’m not convinced it was the real deal. I thought you had to drink it when it was on fire…or…in a sugar cube like you do LSD. Well, not you specifically do LSD, Liam, but you know. Or anyone. Open question. Go.”

Harry’s lips perked into a smirk. “You drank Absinthe? I can’t imagine because you’re not particularly steady on your feet as it is.”

“I was fairly sure it was a joke and that someone had just dumped, like, highlighter ink in the bottle. Then I tried to drive home. Which, was a mistake—don’t drink and drive kids—but I was only like, three miles from my dorm. The yellow lines in the road were vibrating and then the moon looked like it was really big.” I paused. “Actually, it was a little like LSD now that I think about it.”

“Do you do LSD?” Louis raised his eyebrows again.

I shook my head. “I dropped acid a few times in high school and smoked pot and stuff, but that’s about it. My only vice is alcohol these days.” I turned to Harry, pressing my forehead to his. “And you. But, you’re a pleasure I don’t feel guilty about.”

“You shouldn’t,” He kissed me softly, teasing my tongue with his, “because I am so crazy for you.”

“Oh?” I trailed my index finger down his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

“Harry Styles, you little twink, you’re having a party and didn’t invite me?” A flamboyant, British voice broke through my alcohol haze. Nooooope, not interested in interruptions here. Move it along.

Harry glanced around me and smiled, raising one hand from around my waist in wave. “This is a private party, sir, no reporters allowed.”

The man who walked over to us had enormous hair, swooped and gelled over his head. He glanced from me to Harry, his eyebrow arching up in interest and extended his hand to me. “Who’s this little blue haired pixie?”

“Laney.” I shook his hand.

“Just Laney? He sat on the arm of the couch and studied me. “Is that like Madonna or Prince or something?”

“Don’t answer him, he’s a prick.” Harry chuckled, sliding his hand down my hip. “What do you want, Grimmy, did you miss us already?”

He shrugged. “You were in town, I was in town. Are your cheeks pierced, honey, or is it just the light in here?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Her hips are too, supposedly.” Louis leaned across my legs, handing him a shot glass. “But I wouldn’t actually know anything about that. You’d need to ask Harry.”

From his perch beside us, Grimmy studied me. He looked up at Harry and, again, raised his eyebrows. It vaguely occurred to me that this might mean something, but whatever. Dude wasn’t swinging in my direction. Hahaha, my direction. Harry’s direction. One Direction. I tried not to burst into inappropriate giggles. Hilarious.

Harry tightened his arm around my waist with one hand and slid his other down my leg, resting his fingers on my thigh. “She’s cool, man.”

“This isn’t the BBC, Hazkaban. You know I don’t run my mouth on your shit.”

“Her hips…um…are my business. Because…” Harry pressed his index finger, turning my face towards his. His lips grazed mine and, in a near whisper, he murmured, “Trust me?”

I nodded. “She’s the real thing. So, not a word.”

This seemed to register as some kind of unspoken code between them. Nick threw back his shot and tossed the empty glass to Louis. “Well, Laney love, you’re not what the media calls ‘his type’ and I think that’s hot. You’re not fan, are you?”

“Sure I am. I’m a fan of Thai food, Beethoven at midnight, Edgar Allan Poe, and skinny dipping in the Rappahannock River. Oh, and tattoos. I kind of dig tattoos.”

“On Harry or on you?”

“Her tattoos, like her body, are my business.” Harry frowned, but was smirking. “Are you trying to live vicariously through my girl?”

Nick put his hand on my shoulder, dramatically leaning forward. “I’m hopelessly devoted to him, but he keeps chasing skirts.”

I chugged down waaaay too much of my drink. I was starting to feel like the room spinning ever so slightly—liquid courage was kicking in. Nuzzling my face to his neck, I whispered—or, at least hope it came out as a whisper—“I love it when you call me your girl.”

He chuckled, urging my head up level with his and kissing me. “Aren’t you?”

“If you’ve been waiting for the confirmation to come from me, the answer’s always been yes.”

He grinned at my, his fingers straining to reach further up the leg of my shorts. “Do you want to go home and play, baby girl?”

“Absolutely.” I slid my feet from his lap to the floor, wobbling slightly on the heels of my boots. Shiiiiit, wasted and now I had to try and leave a club in the middle of Los Angeles? This was going to be a riot.

Nick grabbed my arm and steadied me. “Whoa, there, princess. Has he fucked you so much you can’t even stand? Because that’s my fantasy. Let me have my dreams, woman.”

I made a phfffffff noise with my lips and patted his chest. “Details, details. There’s no charge for my awesomeness.”

Harry draped his arm over my shoulder and guided me away from Nick. “I’ll catch you later, bro. I’ve got other…details…on Laney to tend to, so, you know. That’s where I am.”

“The struggle is real.” Nick touched his wrist dramatically to his forehead. “Pleasure meeting you, gorgeous girl. Don’t you dare leave a mark on that boy.”

“I don’t bite very hard.” I winked at him and then leaned against Harry, letting him lead me to his security team. There were sitting like ducks in a row on a couch; Sean might have even been asleep. It was hard to tell.

“We’re leaving.” Harry announced, sliding his hand down to my waist. “I’m not sure what will the easiest way to get her out to the car safely. Sorry…that’s what I’m worried about right now….just her…not getting bothered.”

“I’ll take her out through the back and bring the car around.” Paul elbowed Sean. He jumped slightly, then rubbed his face with his palms.

“Brilliant.”

The trek back “through the back” was ridiculous. It seemed preposterous to me, having me marched through the back door of a building and hustled into a car so no one saw us together. Me. Delaney Lee, the barefooted child of dead parents who grew up catching frogs and writing poetry in the margins of school text books. I wasn’t glamorous. I was pierced cheeks and pierced hips and blue hair. I wondered what the heavily makeup, mini-skirt wearing skanks out front would think if they knew I got my boots at the mall. The mall. And the shorts were from a second hand shop.

I started giggling. It was an inappropriate reaction and I knew that—but the harder I tried to squelch giggles, the harder I laughed. And the more I laughed, the more off balance I got.

Paul finally put his arm around my shoulders, clamping his hand down on my upper arm to steady me. “Okay, I’ll give. Why are you laughing?”

“I’ve never been smuggled out of a building before. This must be what it feels like to be counterfeit Coach bags or something.” I snickered. “I wish Harry was here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, because that was a great metaphor and it’d make him laugh. Or was it a simile? I never remember which is which; anyway, point being, I enjoy his laugh. Do you know what we talked about for fifteen solid minutes last night? How hard it is to zip a zip top bag. Like, not the ones with the pully piece but the ones you have to…you know, zip with your fingers.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way Laney, because I know Haz is all about you, but you’re weird.”

“Weird? Me?” I giggled. “Absolutely. Sometimes I pretend to be normal, but it gets boring. So I just go back to being me. I’d rather sit on a pumpkin by myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion.”

He burst out laughing. “What?”

“Thoreau said it. I’m not sure I actually want to sit on a pumpkin but, you know. It’s a nice sentiment. Maybe not one I’d wear on a t-shirt.” I thought for a minute. “No, I take that back. I probably would.”

He laughed, supporting my weight on his hip while we walked down the steps together. “You know, I’ve done this walk before. This isn’t normally how it goes.”

“What do they talk about?”

“Usually I’m driving them back to a hotel room, so that’s different. But, they’re usually fazed by this. You’re not fazed.”

“It takes a lot to scandalize me, dude.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“The Monkees sang a song in 1967 called ‘Look Out, Here Comes Tomorrow.’ It’s not entirely applicable to this conversation, per se, but you know. If we had to title it.”

He shook his head and pushed open the security exit.

The back lot of Lure was packed with people; girls in microscopic dresses, drunk guys; camera wielding people I assumed were paparazzi or whatever. Everyone immediately turned and looked at us but, with obvious disappointment etched on their faces, they looked away. I was no one.

My coordination was so off that Paul had to hoist me up into the SUV. “Seat belt please, love.” I giggled. I wanted to salute him, but thought better of it.

It took us nearly ten minutes, but we finally maneuvered from one side of the building to the other. People wandered around in the street—drunk, high, or indifferent—and held us back to a snail’s pace. A heard of snails. Stampeding through peanut butter.

He pulled out cell phone and fired of a text, presumably to Harry. A few minutes later, Harry strolled out the front door of Lure to a cacophony of camera flashes. His hair was now pulled up in an adorable bun and the flashes of light reflected off his face, like he was standing underneath a silent fireworks display. Cameramen were yelling for him, girls were trying to slow his steady pace to the vehicle for a picture or autograph.

He hesitated a bit, politely smiling for a few selfies, and then circled to the back of the car. Only opening the door enough to squeeze in, he slid across the seat to my side and flashed me a brilliant smile. “There you are.”

“You look sexy by camera light.” I giggled, snuggling close to him as he wrapped his arm around me.

“You should see when they’re really out in full force. It’s a bloody nightmare.” He trailed his fingertips over the bottom edge of my shorts. “I hope that kind of…intrusion…doesn’t scare you away.”

“Paul and I named it, so we’re good.”

For the remainder of the drive back to his place, Harry was well behaved: as in, he kept his hands on the outside of my clothes. He made Paul turn on the radio to an 80s station and we sang along with any song that came on: Bonnie Tyler, the Go Gos, Banana-Rama, Bon Jovi. I could have cared less how I sounded, but Harry…Jesus, his singing voice was even sexier than his speaking voice—something I would have considered impossible, if I hadn’t been sitting right next to him. It was raspy and deep, like the low rumble of a purr.

We were still singing ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ as he pulled me into his house. I couldn’t see anything in the dark, so of course I just assumed it was his house. He unlocked the door, so I assumed he lived there. Or, at least, knew someone who did.

Paul set my suitcase on the floor in the foyer. “Have a good night, kids. Call me if you need anything.”

“Drive safe, man. Thanks for taking care of her.” Harry slapped him on the back as he flicked on the lights. The entryway was spotless, with a white tiled floor and deep, hardwood beams running overhead. Something about it had a trendy feel, like I was sitting in 1965 listening to blues music, wearing a fur coat and smoking a cigarette. Harry was a ball of energy, but his house was laid back and Zen.

The moment Paul left, Harry closed the door and locked it, leaning over to pull his boots off. His lean turned into a fall and he flopped onto the floor. He laid splayed out for several moments, laughing hysterically with his face pressed into a tile block. “I’m sobering up, but obviously not fast enough.”

I giggled, dropping down to my knees beside him. “You don’t need to take your shoes off to fuck me. I won’t be insulted.”

He rolled over and balanced his chin on my knee. “That’s hot, baby girl.”

“Do you want me, Hazza?”

“More than you realize.” He did a pushup and rose up onto his knees, crawling to me, crushing his mouth to mine. His hands dropped to my thighs and he pulled me up onto his lap. For a moment, he pulled his lips from mine, smiling shyly. “I’m already hard for you, baby doll.”

I moaned lightly against his lips, letting him raise and lower his hips against me. The feeling of the bulge through his tight pants and against me was tantalizing, teasing me with the hint of his familiar rhythm. He dropped his hands from my body only long enough to whip his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. Even that was sexy.

I let my hands run down his chest, the sculpted curves of his abs smooth underneath my fingertips. The drunken warmth and my overwhelming attraction to Harry made me want to just slither to the floor and let him do whatever he wanted to do. But my Harry wasn’t like that—he was sweet, attentive, and concerned about my pleasure as well as his.

My Harry. Listen to me. Jesus, I was as bad as those girls outside the club.

He suddenly stood, reaching down and pulling me to my feet. “I’m not going to fuck you in my hallway.”

“Well, you can. I don’t deduct points for that or something.”

“Points?” He chuckled and scooped me into his arms, lifting me up like some kind of man-bunned Prince Charming. “Are you scoring me?”

“Ten points for each orgasm, five points each time you make me bite my lip—because you know when you make a girl bite her lip, you’re doing something right—and of course, there’s always bonus points for landing the dismount.”

“Which reminds me, you used to me a gymnast. I get hot, gymnast sex, right?”

“I’d have to stretch first.”

He kept laughing, carrying me through the house—up a staircase, down some hallways—to his bedroom. Flicking the light on with his elbow, he carried me to his bed and gently set me down on the white down comforter.

I peeled my shirt over my head and dropped it to the floor. “The fact everything I’ve seen in your house is white makes me self-conscious that either my hair will dye it blue or I’m going to spill wine everywhere. Or spaghetti sauce. Or anything else that permanently stains.”

“If your hair dyes my pillows, then you’re just going to have to stay here with me on a permanent basis and use them.” He stripped off his pants and briefs, then hopped up onto the bed next to me, sweeping me down flat on my back. “You are amazing.”

I drew my leg up to unzip my boots. “Not nearly as amazing as you. You got me to abandon NOVA….and no one has ever done that.”

“Wait,” he caught my hand and moved it up to his shoulder, flashing his devilish smirk, “leave them on.”

Oh…..Harry….

Notes