Blue

I lost track of what day it was ridiculously fast; one day faded into another, in part, because we’d settled into somewhat of a routine: talking and laughing in bed, skinny dipping in the pool, ordering in food, and having as much sex as we could manage. We’d holed up in his house like the rest of the world didn’t even exist and as far as I was concerned, it didn’t. I wasn’t actually going to be able to tell people about my “trip” to California because the only pictures on my phone were of us—and no one was ever going to see them. Not unless they wanted to pry my phone out of my cold, dead hand.

As evening set in, we’d sprawled out on the couch in his living room, watching The Hangover for the third time that day. Harry was lying on his back with his head on my lap, jotting down lyric ideas in a leather bound notebook. He was humming quietly and when he wasn’t writing, his fingertips caressed my knee and upper thigh. It was comfortable, relaxing.

At some point, probably not long after our talk on the piano bench, it wasn’t just about physical and the sex. The sex was mind blowing—I’d cross a desert to fuck him—but we were happy together. It was a different kind of intimacy; one where we just laughed together over stupid things and held each other, just enjoying being together. I’d told him things I’d never told anyone else before and, as far as I knew, he’d done the same. I wanted time to stop. I never wanted this time with him to end.

He looked up from his notebook and flashed me a charming grin. “I think we should go out for dinner and drinks tonight, baby girl.”

“I refuse to believe that you’re tired of watching The Hangover.” I traced the outline of his granite sharp jawline with my fingertip. “Besides, I can count the number of times I’ve seen you with actual clothes on with one hand…and probably have fingers left over.”

“I’ve yet to hear you complain about nudity in this house, love.”

“I’m not sure I’d actually recognize you in clothes, Hazza.”

He laughed, catching my hand in his and bringing my fingertips to his lips. “Let’s shake it up tonight and go out. I want to show you off.”

“I hope your plans are for a place that’s really fancy or really laid back because I’ve got limited clothing options.” I glanced down at his slender, muscular legs. “What size pants do you wear? Because I’ll be honest with you, Hazza, I’ve seen you in pants like, twice, and I can’t figure out how you get your legs in, like, a size extra small. Or your cock because, let’s be honest, you’re packing.”

“I don’t want to brag.” He sat up and crushed his mouth to mine. “If I’m going to brag, it’ll be about my gorgeous girlfriend.”

My heart fluttered. It took my breath away slightly and I had to compose myself somewhat before speaking. “Your girlfriend.”

“Unless you don’t want to be.” His eyes were locked on mine, his expression serious. Even in the short time we’d been together, I found myself able to figure out what he was thinking, just by the expressions he made. When he was serious, he looked deliciously intense: his brow furrowed and he either chewed on his lip or tugged it between his index finger and thumb. We’d had deep conversations—that intensity was one of the things I adored about him.

I slid my arms around his broad shoulders and touched my forehead to his. “Well, I mean, if you think you can handle me.”

“You know how I handle you, baby girl.”

I giggled and took a deep breath, inhaling the musky smell of his cologne. “This is not how I pictured the aftermath of Susanna’s wedding being. I assumed I’d be extremely hungover and possibly in jail. Maybe puking on Vi; anyway, I didn’t expect to be happy.”

His lips curled into a smile. “I make you happy?”

“Well, yeah. You make me laugh, you fuck me like no other guy has, and, you’re like, my best friend. Even this fast, I feel like I could tell you my deepest darkest secret and you’d be like, ‘I totally get that.’”

“And I would.” His smiled faded slightly; the intensity was back. “My life…in the public, is a fucking circus. Wherever I go, there’s fans. There’s cameras. I try to go and buy a shirt and it turns into a mob scene. Laney love, I adore you. I’ve, um, never felt like this for a woman before, especially not after only five days. I couldn’t even tell you the name of the last girl I slept with; there’s always girls around, always a chance to get laid. And I’ll be honest, when I first saw you that was all I wanted…just…just to fuck you and go. But…you were different. This,” he motioned around him, “doesn’t faze you. I want to be with you. I want to protect you…and…I just don’t want the chaos I have to deal with all the time hurt you.”

I cupped his face in my hand and again pressed my forehead to his. “None of ‘all this’ matters to me. You matter.”

He nuzzled his face against mine and then kissed me, our tongues sliding against each other tenderly. When he pulled back, he flashed his charming smile at me. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Raising hell in NOVA. Getting kicked out of Catholic Bible school.” I ran my fingers through his curls. “Getting my face pierced.”

“I’m a fan of every inch of your body.” He dipped his head down and pressed his lips to my collarbone. “The bolt in your tongue…the studs in your hips…the studs in your cheeks…all the tattoos and the way you taste between your legs…and…” He trailed off; I could feel him getting hard and he shifted, pulling me up onto his lap and guiding my legs around his waist. “I love the way you make me laugh. And the way you make me feel. I want you to be mine, exclusively. I mean, if you’re okay with the long distance part of it. I’m not around a lot, but I can promise you when we’re together, I’ll make it up to you. And, ignore social media and all the shit on the internet because the hate can be soul crushing—“

“Hazza.” I pressed my fingertip to his lips. “I’m in this for you. Harry Styles, from Cheshire. That’s really all that matters to me. As you may recall, you tried to use the pickup line ‘I’m in a group’ and I promptly asked you ‘a group of what?’ That shit doesn’t impress me. The way you look in skinny jeans, however, now that I find impressive.”

He rocked his hips forward slightly, the tantalizing pressure of his erection making me arch towards him. He pushed forward more, as if ready to slide inside me; his teeth clamped down on his lip, the corners of his mouth curled up in a smirk.

I sucked in a deep breath and pressed my hand to his tattooed bicep, squeezing it gently. “Either take me to dinner or take me to bed. You’re seducing me and that’s not fair.”

“Seducing you?” He slid his hands underneath me and lifted me up as he stood, carrying me towards the staircase. “I’m going to be hard all evening just thinking about you, naked, and that’s unfair. I literally don’t own any loose pants I can hide this in.”

“The struggle is real, Hazza.”

He set me down on the floor and swatted at my ass, then nudged me up the stairs. “I’m taking you to The Nice Guy. Good food, better drinks. It’s quite mod and vintage feeling, so you’ll fit right in.”

“Are you picking restaurants based on the clothes in my suitcase or on places you actually like?”

He grinned at me. “Both.”

I followed him to his bedroom and into his walk-in closet, where we’d stowed my suitcase. While he rummaged through his shirts, I sat on the floor next to my bag and thumbed through the limited clothing options. It was either short and tight or short and flowy. I went with the short and flowy: a loose fitting white bohemian dress, with three-quarter length sleeves and black embroidery across the bodice and the hemline. Harry adored my high black boots, so I’d wear them too. There, two seconds to get dressed and now forty minutes trying to put on makeup.

I trailed my fingertips across his back as I walked past him and into the adjacent bathroom. After tugging my dress over my head, I shook my hair down from a messy bun and started brushing it out. I braided a few, random hippie braids into it and teased the crown up into small bouffant, pulling a thin braid across my forehead like a headband. A little bronzer, a lot of mascara and thick, black eyeliner swooping into a cat’s eye, and just a touch of pink lip gloss later and I was ready.

Harry was leaning against the doorframe, watching me with intensity in his green eyes. He was dressed in tight black skinny jeans, a black linen shirt unbuttoned to just below his chest, and a black admiral-like jacket with gold braiding on the sleeves. He grinned, brushing his hair back from his face. “I love when you lean over and I can see those sexy ribbon tattoos.”

I sprayed perfume on my throat and walked to him, trailing my fingers down his bare chest. “If I lean over much further, you’ll see I totally neglected to put on underpants.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, you what? You can’t do that to me, Laney love, these trousers are tight enough as it is without you getting me hard. Again.” He was right behind me, trying to pull up the back of my dress. “Laney. Ugh, baby girl, you are such a tease.”

“Maybe.” I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on my black boots, zipping them up above my knees, and then slung my purse over my shoulder. “But, I’ll let you take advantage of me later.”

“I’ll tie you to the bed later.”

“Promise?”

He chuckled, sliding his arm around my waist. “If you let me.”

“Fuck yeah, I will.”

He led me through the house and out to the garage, which was empty except for three cars. As an individual who knows nothing about cars, I noted them as being a white one, a red one, and a black one. The black one was an SUV; that much I could identify off the bat.

He stopped beside the white one and opened the passenger side door for me. “It matches your dress.”

“It’s cute.”

He walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, turning the key into the ignition. The car roared to life and then down into a rowdy, growly purr; somewhat like how Harry sounded when he sang. That thought I kept to myself.

He winked at me as he turned, maneuvering the car out of the garage and onto his private drive. “I’ve never heard a car described as cute.”

“Well, here’s what I know about cars. They have four wheels and take me places. My car, which I lovingly refer to as the Blue Meanie, has survived having a groundhog eat the wiring harness out of the engine, not one but two deer bouncing off the side, and sliding sideways down the driveway of my childhood home five winters straight. It’s a scrappy little car and smells faintly of Apple Pucker, but it’s paid off and I love it.” I glanced down at my bare knees. “My brother would probably get very excited about this car, but then my brother is a motor head.”

“Back home we call them gear heads.”

“He’s already informed us he’s going to name his future children Gage, Axel, and Mercedes.”

“This is a Mercedes.”

“Ben is too much of a dweeb to drive a car this cute.” I shook my head. “You should see us at family events these days. There’s only an eight month age difference between us—I mean, technically he’s my older cousin—but I use my psych background to diagnose him and he uses his pre-law degree to tell me how many different ways he’d convict me in a court of law. We’re all about having fun.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me your sibling’s names.” As he pulled out onto the main road, he adjusted one hand on the steering wheel and moved his free hand to my thigh, sliding my dress up so it was skin on skin.

“Of course, ehm, I don’t think I asked either.”

“Ben’s older than me, so he’s almost twenty-two. Foster is seventeen, Alex is thirteen.” I paused, stopping to think. “He just turned fourteen, actually. My sisters are the babies, comparatively anyway. Joy is twelve and Emily is nine.”

“I can’t imagine growing up in a family that large.”

“We’re dysfunctional. Ben, Foster, and I were the trouble makers. Alex is quiet and would rather sit and listen to music rather than communicate with people, and the girls…well, the girls will be trouble. They’re very dramatic.”

He caressed my thigh with his thumb. “Are they all tatted up like you, lovely?”

“Ben has a few and I dyed Alex’s hair green last month, but other than that, they’re relatively normal.” I giggled. “I think I embarrass the girls sometimes. They told my mom they think I’m out of control and that college was a bad choice. I was weird before college, though, so that’s an informed opinion.”

“Are you close to them? Gemma has always been like my best friend, probably because we’re so close in age and because, growing up, it was always just the two of us.”

“Ben and I have always had a love/hate relationship because we’re the same age. I’m probably closest to Alex and Foster. The girls are so much younger. They’ve grown up a lot since I went off to college. Sometimes I barely recognize them when I go home.”

“I know what that’s like.” He sighed deeply. “I literally left home when I was sixteen; I didn’t even finish school.”

“I hate the ‘what ifs’ in life. Like, what if my real parents hadn’t died when I was a kid? Jesus, I don’t even remember them.” I traced the veins on the back of his hand with my fingertip. “What kind of person would I have grown up to be? Would I have brothers and sisters? What kind of decisions would I have made?”

He squeezed my thigh. “I catch myself thinking that way, at times. What would my life have been if I hadn’t….fallen into fame like this? Would I have gone to college? Maybe I would have stayed at the bakery and just sang with my buddies on the weekend. This is what I’ve always wanted and now that I have it…I wonder what it would be like to have been normal. To just be me and not One Direction’s Harry Styles.”

“Well, I like the way you turned out.”

“I’d honestly like to think every decision I’ve made in life has led me to you.”

I leaned over and pressed my lips to his cheek. “Stop being so perfect.”

“As soon as you stop being so gorgeous.”

The restaurant Harry picked, The Nice Guy, had a black exterior with a weird, paneled wood extension. It looked like some kind of weird, 1930s speakeasy in Cuba. Or a shack. Either way, I was willing to trust Harry’s impeccable taste that this place wasn’t actually a slum, but was as cool as he’d made it out to be.

He maneuvered the car around mobs of people and parked, tossing the keys into an inside pocket of his jacket. He smiled. “Ready?”

“I’m actually super hungry. Like, I wasn’t ten minutes ago, but now I’m fairly sure I could eat an embarrassing amount of food.”

He walked around the car and opened my door, reaching his hand in to help me out. His brows were twitched down in concern. “Please don’t get upset if they mob me.”

“I’ll get upset if they stand in my way of dinner.” I smiled at him, smoothing down the back of my dress. “I say rude things when I’m hungry.”

“I made reservations for us when you were putting on your makeup.” He slid his hand to my low back and guided me forward. “Actually, I put them under the name Clementine Darling. The paparazzi sometimes check reservation lists to track us down.”

“That’s fucked up.”

He kept his hand firm on my waist as we walked towards The Nice Guy. I wasn’t really sure what I thought he’d do; I still wasn’t completely sure how this all worked. We were crazy about each other and he’d basically said he wanted me to be his girlfriend…but…was that something he was going to keep between us? I wasn’t blind; Vi was obsessed with all things Hollywood and who was dating who verses who they claimed they weren’t dating. Was I about to become one of the stories?

Just knowing I was going home with him made it totally worth being one of those stories. I’d find a way to manage.

He dropped his hand and, for a brief second, I panicked. Ew, I was that girl I’d been at fifteen, chasing around after one of Ben’s friends, Jeff—he’d kiss me when we were alone, but when people were around, he acted like I didn’t exist. That had done a lot for my self-esteem; fucking bastard. He and Ben still hung out and it pissed me off. Still.

But Harry slid his hand down my arm, lacing his fingers around mine. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in my lungs; I’d internally freaked out over nothing. Typical.

I heard some squeals to the side of the building but, like Harry, ignored it. He led me into the restaurant and up to the maître‘d. Two girls slightly younger looking than me were at his side so fast I barely had time to take a step backward so they didn’t step on my feet. Jesus, it was like some kind of radar.

One looked too terrified to speak. The other one was ten thousand percent focused on Harry; I could have been on fire and I don’t think she would have noticed me. She cleared her throat. “Hi, um, Harry, can we have a picture with you? Please?”

“Sure.” He squeezed my hand and leaned forward, his breath hot in my ear. “You can go sit down, because I know how this is going to go. These two will turn into two more, which will turn into four more. Order me a milk punch.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Ew, that sounds….fermented.”

He laughed and again squeezed me. “It’s good. You’ll try it, yeah?”

“About that….” I raised my eyebrows quizzically and stepped over to the maitre’d desk. The man behind the desk was wearing a power blue suit, a pink floral shirt, pink bow tie, and a pink flower in his upper jacket button hole. He was fabulous—and I secretly/not so secretly wanted him to be my best friend.

“Well, hello.” His smile was pursed but, like him, fabulous. He’d obviously been watching me and Harry. “You look like you stepped right off some of our black and whites in the main dining room.”

“And you look like you stepped out of a Vogue magazine circa 1964. I love you.” I smiled and turned slightly to look back at Harry. He had his arm around the terrified girl and was staring seriously at the other girl as she fumbled to take their picture—but when he looked up and saw me, he grinned.

Swoooon.

“Anyway,” I turned back to the powder blue prince, “reservation for two, under the name Clementine Darling.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He pressed a few buttons on the computer and glanced up at me. “You’re one and he’s two?”

“Mmm-hmm. Send him my way when he’s done.”

“You’re Clementine Darling?”

I cocked my head sideways, widening my eyes in an attempt to look innocent. “Sure am. Don’t I look like a Clementine to you?”

“Honey, you look like a hippie goddess.” He motioned towards the dining room. “Right this way.”

I followed him into the dining room of my artsy, retro dreams: dark paneled walls, light hardwood floors, and round globes hanging from the ceiling on shiny metal rods. He led me to the side of the room, past several people I’m sure Vi would have identified by filmography and/or Grammy awards, and to a recessed, raised section of three booths. The seats were made of flowered, green patterned fabric and two plates were at each setting, with a paper menu on top. He motioned to the rear booth. “Can I get you a drink while you wait?”

I slid into the side facing the dining room, so Harry could see me when he walked in. “He wants a milk punch. And I…honestly have no idea.”

“Are you over twenty-one?”

“I’m exactly twenty-one.”

He nodded, as if he was taking my word for it. Weird, but whatever. “What do you like?”

“I’ve never had a fight with bourbon or whisky.”

“Spicy or sweet?”

“Sweet like me, of course.”

“I’ll get you ‘The Chairman.’ It’s got a salted cola reduction, whisky, and cacao; and we serve it in a flask.”

“Can I keep the flask?”

“I won’t say anything if it’s not at the table when you leave.”

“Hook me up, dude.”

The maître’d left and I glanced at the paper menu. Fuck. The prices were insane. Even the so called ‘small plates’ were more than I typically paid for three dinners back at school. Ehhhh, not good, not good. I had to stop and wonder how much that fucking cocktail was going to cost. Probably more than my economics book cost last semester.

I idly twisted a strand of hair around my finger, skimming the list of food. Squid ink pasta. Nope. Pea crustini. No. Pei mussels. And no again.

“That took far less time than I thought.”

I glanced up from the menu and into Harry’s green eyes; his lips were pursed in a sexy smirk. His smolder, that look of intensity, made my pulse race.

Leaning over, he pressed his lips to mine and then slid into the seat across from me, running his fingers through his hair and pushing his curls away from his face. “Thank you for being so understanding. It literally happens anywhere I go unless I like, but a bag over my head or lay on the floor in the back of a car.”

“You missed me bargaining to get to keep the flask my drink comes in.” I continued staring at the menu; ah, okay, a hamburger. Deliciousness. “It mainly consisted of me saying, can I keep it? And the dude saying, okay.”

“You’re very irresistible, Laney love.” He glanced down at his phone and then up at me, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry, do you mind? It’s my mum.”

“Go for it. You don’t have to worry about me like, stealing your milk punch or whatever.”

He winked at me and slid his finger across the face of his phone, pulling it up to his ear. “Hi Mummy.”

It reminded me that I probably should text or call my mom. And probably Vi, though, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to either one of them. Just chilling in California. Eating food. Falling in love. Normal shit, don’t worry. Totally run of the mill.

“No, I’m just going to fly over from here. I think Niall and Liam are heading back to London this weekend. Not sure about Lou. No, we don’t have to be there until Sunday.” He burst into a wide grin. “Who, me? Maybe…maybe, as in yeah. Laney.”

Uh oh. How did his mother know about me? Already? This was only the second time we’d been out of the house together.

“Soon. Yeah…no, I’ll send you a better picture.” He winked at me again and reached underneath the table, squeezing my knee. “Okay, love you too, Mummy. Bye.”

I shifted my weight from one hip to the other. Before I could speak, though, a waiter with black trousers, a black button down shirt, and a spotless white apron around his waist. He set the flask in front of me and a suspicious looking liquid in front of Harry. “Good evening, I’m Rocco and I’ll be waiting on you tonight. Can I offer you a starter or are you ready to order entrees?”

“I think…uh…Herb and Cheese flatbread to start.” He exhaled, blowing air through his lips before glanced up at me. “Do you know what you want, love?”

I nodded. “The Nice Guy burger. No pickles.”

“How do you want that prepared?”

“Medium.”

“Fries okay?”

“Yup.”

“Well, that was easy.” Rocco nodded at Harry. “And for you?”

“Give me….the…Chicken Piccata.”

“Excellent, I’ll have that out to you shortly.”

As soon as the waiter left, Harry reached across the table and took my hand in his. “So, apparently, someone took pictures of us together outside of Lure.”

“Well, now.” I took a drink from the flask and raised my eyebrows. “Um, delicious.”

He nudged his glass of milk punch to me. “Taste it.”

I nudged it back to him. “So, is it a bad thing that someone got pictures of us? Or is the bad part that your mom found out about it?”

“It’s not bad or anything like that, it’s just that I wanted to protect you from the spotlight for a little while longer.” He cupped our interlaced hands with his free hand, caressing the tender flesh on my inner wrist. “She said the headline was something like, One Direction parties with mystery girl at Lure.”

“Ohh, mystery girl!” I grinned at him. “I like it. Were they scandalous pictures?”

“She said it was just us walking together and I had my arm around you.”

“You’d better keep those pictures we took on your phone to yourself.” I took a drink of the purported milk punch. “This tastes like tea.”

“That’s because there’s tea in it.”

“And my mother said having a pierced tongue would affect my ability to taste. You win, I love it.” I took another drink. “But, seriously. Those pictures. Your eyes only.”

“There’s just as many naked pictures of us on your phone.” He chuckled and then turned serious. “Laney love…the fans…they get really…um…protective. And the paparazzi are ruthless. I have friends who are girls and, apparently, all it takes is the rumor I’m dating one of them, and their Twitter or Instagram gets blown up with threats and hate and all that shit. I don’t want you exposed to that; I don’t want it to change how you feel about me.”

“Nothing could change how I feel about you.”

The tense muscles in his jaw relaxed and he smiled at me, pulling my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. “Laney…I…I love you.”

My brain shot in a thousand different directions at once, mentally trying to replay that raspy, mumbling voice of his over and over again in my mind: I love you. He sounded so natural, so relaxed, like we’d been together for years instead of days. All those little worries that pricked the back of my mind—he was just having a good time, he was just leading me on, this was just a fling—melted away. “I love you too, Hazza.”

####

Despite my better judgment, Harry dropped $350 bucks on a punch bowl—a punch bowl!—of milk punch. We were drunk. I couldn’t stop laughing at whatever story he was trying to tell me: something about Niall running around in his underwear at a hotel and then getting locked out of his room. Just as he was launching into a side story about Liam and an inflatable spoon, a red headed man who look about our age walked up to the table. His hair was tousled and he was wearing a dark plaid shirt and torn jeans; there was something extremely laid back and sexy about him. He knocked on the side of the table, “Hey brother, I just wanted to stop and say hello, but I see you’re fucked over here.”

Harry’s smile grew even wider. “I’m on the piss because the tour is like, a week away.”

“Shit, you just ended your last tour. You’ll be wankered by summer.”

I raised my eyebrows quizzically. “Am I like, drunk out of my mind and no longer able to comprehend words, or is this some kind of British boy code?”

Harry burst out laughing and pulled my hand to his mouth, kissing my open palm. “Ed, this is my girl, Laney Lee. Laney, this is Ed Sheeran.”

“Hello, Ed Sheeran.” I shook his hand politely and then started giggling. “Want a drink? He and I…might have accidentally gotten each other drunk.”

“Accidentally?”

“It started out as just a ‘casual’ night of drinking.” Harry let go of my hand long enough to do air quotes and then relaced his fingers around mine. “Then it turned into a competition of who had the most hilariously awkward things happen to them. She had to chug a full glass after I told her about the time I got hit in the bollock during a concert.”

“And he had to drink one after I told him the time I sent the college president an email and spell check corrected my ‘I apologize for the inconvenience’ to ‘I apologize for the incontinence.’” I giggled. “You handled it well, though, Hazza compared to when I had like, a spasm, and spilled half a glass on the floor.”

“Taking you in public is quite an adventure.” Harry’s cheeks reddened. “I mean, not taking, taking you in public. Taking you places. I mean, if you want me to take you now I will. Fuck me, Laney. Just fuck me now.”

Ed was making no effort to conceal his laughter. He looked from Harry to me and then shook his head. “Okay, well, that escalated quickly, yeah?”

“I’ve been fucking her for days.” Harry was staring at me, his smirk more like an intense smolder. Such a turn on; I wasn’t sure what it was about him, whether it was his jawline, his dimple, or his sexy expressions—or maybe it was just that I was crazy about him. Nothing that that boy did was a turn off. He was just a curly haired, green eyed sex god. Apollo. No, Apollo was the god of war. Was there a god of sex? Yes, yes there was. Harry Styles.

Harry had said something else, which I totally missed, so I started my own conversation, “I’d, like, walk to Nevada right now for a ham sandwich. Did I tell you I went to this sorority mixer a couple weeks ago? They said Velveeta was going to be there and I was like, oh, awesome, and imagine my disappointment when it wasn’t the processed cheese but, in fact, a band. A band, guys.”

Harry threw back his glass of milk punch. “Why are you talking like it’s 1962?”

“Seriously, have you ever looked at me?”

He looked up and pretended to be shocked, opening his mouth and jerking back slightly. “Have you always had blue hair?”

Ed clapped his hand over Harry’s shoulder. “I can see why she’s your girl, dude. Call me when you’re back home.”

“I will, brother.” Harry stood up and hugged him quickly. “Are you sure you can’t stay and bullshit awhile?”

“Nah, I’ve got to get up early and head into the studio.” He reached out and again shook my hand. “Laney, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. You’re as stunning as this dirty boy said you were.”

I pointedly looked at Harry. His feigned innocence was adorable, but not in the least bit convincing. “It’s nice to meet you too, Eddie.”

He laughed and again clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Don’t you dare drive home tonight, mate. Call someone, yeah?”

“I texted Paul and Sean and they’re gonna come get us. Probably should have had them bring us here in the first place but, you know, we were naked when we decided to come out.”

“Wow, too much information Harry.” Ed laughed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “You and being naked, Jesus.”

Harry scooted in the booth next to me, draping his arm lazily over my shoulders. “She likes it.”

“I do, actually.” I nodded enthusiastically and leaned against Harry, smiling broadly at him. He returned my smile with his goofy, tongue sticking out grin and kissed the tip of my nose.

Ed laughed and raised his hand in farewell. “I’ll see you guys later. Try not to have too much fun.”

Once he was gone, Harry fumbled for his phone in his pocked at checked his texts. “Letsee, baby girl, I got one from Louis demanding to know if we’re still fucking because, if not, he claims dibs on you—I’m deleting that one because he’s a wanker—and one from Sean that they’re almost here.”

I pulled out my phone out of my purse and checked my texts. Vi. Vi. And Vi again.

I fired off a quick text: Would you calm down? I’m fine. I’m still with that guy.

She must have had her cellphone in her hand, because she texted me back almost instantaneously. Omg are you fucking Harry Styles??

I showed him my phone. “Jesus, you try and confirm that the rumors of your death are highly exaggerated and this is the crap you get.”

He chuckled. This time, I didn’t restrain myself and ran my finger down his dimple. Sizzle. He caught my hand in his and pressed his lips to my knuckles. “She knew who I was the second you two turned around.”

“Vi’s in the know, dude. She’s very in tune to gossip and entertainment and celebrities and shit. She’s a media relations major so, you know. She insists it’s all part of preparing for her future career and, believe it or not, when they redid our university catalogue, they quoted her. Right there, in bold font: ‘my major combines my love of entertainment with my future career.’ Anyway. What should I say to her?”

“Well, you are fucking Harry Styles.” Harry dipped his head down and trailed his lips down my neck. “It’s your call, baby girl. I trust you.”

I studied my phone for several moments. Harry may trust me, but I wasn’t sure I trusted Vi with this particular information. I composed my text carefully: Not at this particular moment in time.

Her response was prompt. !!!!!!

Okay, this was going to take all night. Time to put an end to it and get back….well, get back to fucking Harry Styles. My vagina isn’t your business right now. The less you know the better. We’ll talk later. Buzz off.

She responded in a heartbeat: O.M.G. I’ll pick you up at the airport. My lips are sealed.

With that, I switched my cell phone off and tossed it in my purse. “I’ll deal with her later. She’s going to be a joy to be around if I don’t tell her what she wants to hear. Irritating.”

He balanced his elbow on the back of the booth, leaning his hand towards me and running his fingers through my hair. His eyes were focused on me, studying me with that familiar look of intensity. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Mmmm,” I leaned over and kissed him. “Hazza.”

We slid out of the booth—I nearly slid all the way to the ground--and heavily leaned on each other as we wound our way around the tables and people milling about the restaurant. He led me through the dining room with his arm confidently around my waist and out to the main lobby area.

Instead of continuing on to the door, though, he slid his hand up to my arm and pulled me down a narrow hallway. I nearly tripped over my own feet. “Hazza. The door is the other way.”

“I know.” He slowed long enough to study the brass plates on two heavy, wooden doors and pulled me into the men’s room. Without saying a word, he guided me towards the last, surprisingly large, stall; waiting while I stumbled in. I guess when people are dropping three hundred fifty bucks on a punch bowl full of booze, you can afford roomy stalls in the men’s room.

He strode in and closed the door behind him, shoving the lock into place. His eyes looked heavy from the alcohol and I knew I probably looked the same: drowsy and giggly with the gait of an inexperienced sailor. In one seamless movement, he swept me up against the wall and crushed his mouth to mine, dropping his hands to my thighs and yanking my dress up. His half mumble, half whisper set my pulse off like a rocket launch, “I want you so bad right now.”

I fumbled with his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping it as fast as I could. He was already hard. I grazed my fingernails across his flesh and he sucked in a deep breath, guiding my leg up around his waist. His lips found mine and we started kissing again; this time he slid his hand between my legs, dipping his index and middle finger inside me. I kissed him harder; I had a love/hate relationship when he finger fucked me: I loved it, but I hated that he wasn’t fucking me with his cock. Neither of us were particularly patient when it came to sex—we’d get through like, five minutes of foreplay before we just went at it. Not that it was a bad thing. Foreplay seems highly overrated when you’re staring into those wide green eyes and a dimple dotted smile.

The bathroom door swooshed open and Harry slowed the rhythm of his fingers, pulling them out of me. He adjusted himself quickly and then cupped my other thigh, hoisting me up and pinning me against the wall. With gently pressure, he easily slid inside me. I bit down on my lip, trying to muffle a moan that threatening to spill out. Even standing in a bathroom, he was amazing…

A stall door a few down from us slammed shut. Harry shifted his weight from one hip to the other and settled into an intoxicating rhythm. He cradled my cheek with one hand, tilting my face towards him so he could better seal his lips over mine. My breath felt like it was trapped in my throat; the way I was pressed up against the wall, my legs anchored around him, and the swirling, dizzying effects of the milk punch, I felt like every cell of my body was sizzling. Every time he moved his hips against me—knowing there were other people in the bathroom with us, just a stall away from our silent lovemaking—pulled me closer and closer to the edge.

He broke the kiss, prompting me to open my eyes. Nuzzling his face against mine, he pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “I love you, Laney.”

“I love you, Hazza.”

“You have no idea how addicted I am to you.” His rhythm picked up and his eyes fluttered, rolling upwards. “And I don’t care who knows.”

I tightened my arms around him, matching my rhythm to his. We stared into each other’s eyes as we made love—awkwardly, clumsily—and I started to feel like my soul was sailing. It wasn’t just the incredible sex or how my body seemed to melt into his; he was quickly turning into my best friend. I adored everything about him: from his stupid jokes to his sweet mumbling in his sleep to the way he stood with his feet together during those bizarre moments he actually stood still. Even so, every time he fucked me—every single time—I felt like I’d never been more alive. I felt like my body and my soul were a kaleidoscope: swirling and twisting and waltzing with his.

And we only had one more week together.

Notes

Super long since I was inspired by seeing him on The Late Late Show last night! Hope you enjoy!!