Stupid red swollen pimple. I awoke to see the fûcking monstrosity had decided to take it's leave on my jawline in all it's inflamed glory thanks to my lack of washing my face last night. It was another night like last month with Damien and Amita except this time Damien brought Taylor, his fiancé. We've pretty much become regulars at the karaoke bar even if it's just to have a drink after work. Somehow we always end up getting convinced to perform though. Last night we went for a drunken rendition of some 3LW song or was it The Cheetah Girls? Either way I'm sure we had a blast since the memories from the night are foggy as all get out.
Glancing in the mirror again I notice the bags under my eyes and the tired expression on my face. Yeah, last night was a doozey. I even have a bit of a hangover which never happens. Mostly because I normally don't drink enough to cause it but even when I do I can still wake up and be alright the next morning. The only reason I'm up right now is because I had to puke and laying back down quickly lost it's appeal when my head started to spin the second it hit the pillow.
I have no idea how I stayed up for hours writing once I got home last night but I did. Checking my phone I don't see any out of the ordinary comments from Spoodle about the chapter I uploaded so I figure it must've made sense. I've been writing more than usual lately and I love it.
My real life has been influencing my writing more and I can't help but feel it's making me a better author. My readers seem to be eating it up, devouring chapters in minutes and commenting for more. It's a bit overwhelming if I'm honest. I feel like I owe them not only just more chapters or dedication to my writing but so much more than that. Without them reading my stories I never would've discovered my passion for writing. Before I started uploading my books I lived an existence filled with trapped emotions and experiences that had nowhere to go. They'd spin around in my mind until I couldn't take it anymore and was ready to tear my hair out. Something magnificent happened to me the first time I sat down and wrote; I found my calling.
I slide my feet across the cold red wood of the floor. It feels good against my skin that's suspiciously hot. I hope I'm not coming down with something but if I am I'm glad I took off work today. I'll get a three day weekend so hopefully I can get over whatever this is.
My phone rings in my bedroom forcing me to rush back in and grab it from my nightstand. I smile when I see the caller ID.
"Hey mommy what are you doing off?"
She laughs, "I could ask you the same. Playing hooky? Like mother like daughter."
I take a seat on my bed sliding back against the headboard before replying, "At least I have an excuse. I'm feeling bad plus it's my six month anniversary of living in LA."
"Six months already?" she asks rhetorically, "God the time flew. It feels like yesterday you left. Venom is still moping around. She goes in your room and sits on your bed all the time."
That makes me sad. I can just imagine her stretched out in my bed waiting for me like she used to when I was at work.
"My poor baby," I groan, "Give her kisses for me."
"Of course," my mom replies, "Now what's this about you being sick?"
I sigh, wanting to lie but deciding instead to tell the truth, "I'm not sick like that I don't think, just hung over. I went out with my friends from work and we had a little too much fun."
I can just imagine the disappointed look on her face. She's silent for now but I know the lecture she's brewing up will make up tenfold for the lack of visual representation.
"Well that was pretty dumb," she exasperates, "You could've gotten into an accident and hurt yourself or someone else."
"None of us drove ma. We took taxis because we knew we'd be drinking," I offer trying to calm the bear I just poked.
"You still could've gotten hurt. What if the taxi driver took advantage of you while you were passed out? You're in a strange town with strange people anything could happen," my dad's voice chimes from out of nowhere. I guess he's playing hooky too.
"First of all, hey daddy. Secondly, who said I was passed out? I said we drank a little more than we should not that I was shitfaced and didn't know elbow from appetite." I want to giggle at the Southern saying but I don't. I have to keep a strong front up with them or they'll never back down on this.
"Watch your mouth Bailey Grace," my mother snaps. I can almost see her pointing her finger at me. "You just need to be more careful, be smart and grow up. You're an adult and a lady and ladies don't behave that way. Going out and getting drunk like that is unacceptable and I'd like to hope you don't do it again."
I'm seething with irritation but instead of lashing out I agree. "You're right ma. I'm going to go though I need to take medicine and shower then I'm staying in bed the rest of the day. I love yall." I hang up the phone before either of them can reply. It's a passive aggressive move but it's the only way I know how to operate with them.
I honestly don't know why I still let their words affect me. I love my parents and I know they want me safe but I'm grown and I should be able to tell them that. I want to tell them that I make my own decisions when I want and how I want. But instead I agree with their lectures and tell them I won't do it again, every single time. I have an immense amount of respect for them and I always feel like I have to follow their wishes even when they chastise me like I'm still a child. I guess parents have that way about them, at least mine do.
Their words play in my mind on a loop even when I don't want them to. Sit up straight. Walk like a lady. Don't act wild, behave. Carry yourself the way you want people to treat you. Admittedly their advice isn't bad for the most part and it's hardly steered me wrong. The one time I went against it in rebellion I got my face and my heart broken so I tend to stick to their lessons no matter how much they impede upon my good time.
The shower water runs cold shocking me out of my thoughts. They've been so heavy I forgot I even got under the water. Turning it off I wrap myself in a towel before grabbing my lotion and finding something comfortable to wear. I might've told my parents I was going to bed but I won't be, at least not yet. Today I've officially lived in my dream city for six months and I've seen all of a few blocks of it. That doesn't add up.
Grabbing my phone I ensure an Uber will be able to pick me up and slip on a pair of sweatpants that cuff at the ankles and a white crop top with a cool LA design on it. By the time the Uber driver alerts me he's outside my phone and money are in the black cellphone case that doubles as a clutch I bought off of eBay, I have my hair down in waves, black cat eye sunglasses over my eyes and a pair of black Chucks on my feet.
Sitting down in the back of the SUV I feel as relaxed as I look aside from a craving for coffee. I take a look at the app that tracks my periods for me and it tells the story. I'm due for a visit from Aunt Flow in a few days. I nod my head in silent understanding. My oncoming hell week completely explains my moodiness, swollen feet, and tender boobs, even my nausea and fever from this morning. I can always count on my body to give me a full list of ailments to go along with the torture that is having a menstrual cycle.
"To Beverly Hills and then the closest Starbucks please," I ask the driver whose name I didn't catch since his radio is up so loud I nearly have to shout to be heard.
The driver nods his head confirming my request before turning the stereo up louder.
I shrug not really caring about how rude he's being. I'm glad I'll miss the awkward conversation that almost always comes along with these types of rides. I'm antisocial by nature so he's doing me a favor even though he's bursting my eardrums.
Instead I focus on my excitement for our destination. I realized a couple of days ago that I haven't been to Beverly Hills yet and I've been dying to go to Rodeo. I probably won't be able to afford a pair of socks but at least I can say I've been. The hangover contributed to my need for an Uber but more than anything I don't want to deal with parking in an unfamiliar area. The last thing I need is to get towed miles away from home.
It Was A Good Day by Ice Cube blasts through the speakers and I smile as I listen to the familiar lyrics. As one of the few Ice Cube songs I actually like I know all of the words and secretly always wanted to listen to it as I rode down the streets of Cali. I'm happy with yet another realized aspiration even if it is small and silly. It's the tiny victories that make annoying moments, like the conversation with my parents, seem less important.
The first Starbucks we pull up to is so full I'd be in line until lunch time before I got anything so I ask Sean, the driver whose ID I saw above his navigation system screen, to go to another. The next few we pass are on the other side of the road so he'd have to find a U-turn to get there. Instead I have him keep going. By the time I look up again we're at a relatively empty location but there's no drive through.
I sigh knowing I'll have to get out and go in but on the bright side I'll get more exercise if I walk from here to Rodeo. It may or may not be close but at least it'll be an adventure to find it plus I can get away from Sean and his obnoxiously loud radio.
"Thanks Sean," I say unbuckling my seatbelt, "I'm going to just walk from here. Your payment should be confirmed from my card."
"Thank you, have a good day!" he offers energetically.
I smile but as soon as I close the door I roll my eyes. If he thinks because he's cool to me in the last few seconds I'm going to tip him or give him a good rating he's dead wrong.
Once he pulls off I pull out my phone and rate his crappy service as I walk to the door. I hear the bell on the door ring but not soon enough. In an instant I collide with a hard body and drop my phone to the ground. Freezing cold liquid sloshes right out of the person's cup and dumps all over my head, effectively chilling me in the warm heat.
If dropping my baby wasn't bad enough I feel ice and what I know is fresh coffee sliding down the curve of my spine and lower into places coffee shouldn't be going. The ice cold frost of the drink freezes me into silence, the only noise leaving me is a hesitant gasp.
Slowly, I bend down as to not disturb the settling ice in my pants and pick my phone up, not even concerned with the fact that whoever this idiot is can probably see my bra thanks to their iced whatever the fûck. One look at my phone tells me it's ruined, the last bit of life in it dying out right before my eyes. I close them, trying to take deep breaths and control my anger but the irritation gets the best of me when I remember I didn't buy the dá¸mn insurance. My eyes open, filled with rage and blazing with fire.
"Fûck me! I'm so sorry," his voice floats past my wall of flames, cooling them with the sweet chill of his breath.
I know that voice. But it can't be. There's absolutely no way I could have such crap luck and such good luck at the same time.
Tentatively I look up into the purest green hazel eyes I've ever seen. His stubble littered jawline is sharp enough to cut straight through steel and his nostrils are flared slightly as if he's taking in a scent. His lips are the most adorable baby pink and from here I can see how moist they are like he just licked them.
Everything about him is just like I imagined but better. Pictures, video, posters, they do him no justice. Especially not his eyes, they're piercing and bright, full of life and adventure. They're almost child-like. I find myself glad that he looks well rested. I hate how tired he can look when they're touring nonstop. When he blinks his long lashes flutter against his cheeks and my breath catches. My stomach falls out of my body and I instantly get dry mouthed.
His eyes hold distress and I see his lips moving but I can't make out anything he's saying. My heart is beating too loudly in my ears for me to hear him at all.
"Are you alright?" he asks before licking his plump rose colored lips. They're so vibrant. Everything about him is just so...alive.
"I-I'm fine," I breathe, grasping onto the smallest corner of my voice and holding it tight.
"Well that's good," he replies, smiling slightly, and I suck in a breath. "I didn't even see you I was looking down at my phone."
"S-So was I," I croak, my voice betraying me again. If you don't get it together Bailey Grace.
I look down at my dead phone and bite my lip in agitation. I just got it when I moved here and now it's already ruined.
When I look back up at Harry to see why he's not speaking he's looking off into the distance behind me. His eyes are squinted making the outside corners crinkle. His stare quickly darts to me and holds my gaze.
"Did you drive here?" he questions looking down into my eyes. I never realized how tall he is. I feel dwarfed.
"No I took an Uber," I reply, shivering as a rogue breeze flows through the air.
"And you know who I am?" he asks. His voice is so much smoother and his accent is thicker than it is in recordings.
"Of course," I admit quickly, way too quickly. I blush, turning my face away. This is my punishment for low rating Sean. I just know it. I wonder if it went through?
"Good. This is going to sound crazy but I want you to come with me," he replies slowly.
I look back at him only to see his hand outstretched and his eyes focused behind me again.
My parent's warnings coil around my brain, constricting like a snake. I almost zone out again but he speaks snapping me out of it.
"I want to make this right," he explains, connecting eyes with me once more. Seeing the hesitation on my face he continues, "and unless you want to end up on the front of a rag covered in iced coffee you should take my offer."
Looking over my shoulder I see what he's been staring so intently at. Sure enough there's a car stopped at the light down the street with the doors flung open and men running from it with cameras in their hands and hanging from around their necks.
I only have seconds to decide. I can see in his eyes he's leaving either way. I can hear my parents' reprimanding lecture already, making my decision for me.
Scared as hell yet unwilling to miss out on the chance of a lifetime I grab his proffered hand and ignore the anxiety in my belly. His hand is so soft I want to reach out and grab the other just to see if there's a difference between them. I start to worry about the feel of mine to him. What it lacks in softness it definitely makes up for in sweat. I'm seconds away from ripping my hand away and flinging it off of my body for the betrayal. Hopefully he'll think its coffee and not immediately assume I'm a sweating fan-girl, even if I am.
He links our fingers together and I give him a small smile that he returns. His dimples make their first appearance forcing me to lock my knees so they don't give out. I feel like the Tin-Man in the first scene when he needs his oil can.
Hastily, we round the corner and hop into his classic white Mercedes. Even in a hurry he still opens the door for me, like a gentleman, to get in. We're out of the parking spot and down the street before the paparazzi can reach us luckily for me.
Coldplay blasts through the speakers, filling the silence of the car. He has a pair of dark aviators on and a serene smile on his face, it's small but I see it.
I can't help but feel...invigorated. It's not in his character to be this forward from what I know about him, but maybe there's more to him than what the public sees. It's for dá¸mn sure not in my character to do something like this, I can feel the long distance disappointment from my parents already.
"Nice car," I speak up, over the sounds of the music. I desperately need to get out of my own head.
His slender fingers graze the volume, turning the song down to almost a whisper. I notice the two rings on his fingers, one on his middle the other on his ring finger.
"Thanks," he replies, placing his hand back on the gear shift.
"No problem."
This conversation thing isn't going as well as I thought it would. I thought he'd elaborate on the car, you know flaunt it a bit. I know it's a 1966 Mercedes-Benz 230SL convertible from my own research but he doesn't know I know.
The scenery before us starts to change from the over polished look of Beverly Hills to a more normal everyday esthetic.
My eyebrows shoot up, "Where are we going exactly?"
The car pulls to a stop seconds later and I look out the front window to see American Apparel.
"Nowhere now," he smiles, adjusting his olive green head wrap around his wild hair. "How long do you think this will take?"
Tired of me already? Of course.
"Maybe five minutes and I'll be out of your hair," I reply with a smile that I hope didn't look as sad as I feel. I finally get to meet my favorite and he's already bored with me. Well done Bailey. I think this is a new record.
I get to the door of the store and a tanned arm sporting a 'Things I Can' tattoo on the inner forearm opens it for me.
"Thank you," I reply quietly, not giving in to my urge to swoon. I didn't think he would come in with me otherwise I would've let him open the car door for me since it seems to be something he likes to do.
"Please tell me this going to be one of those montages like in the movies where you try on a bunch of outfits and I tell you no a million times until I finally get so tired of sitting here I say yes," he sarcastically begs walking a couple of steps behind me but still close enough to speak to me.
I can't get over this moment but I force my giddy feelings aside and keep my cool and stay true to my sassy nature. "I said five minutes not fifty Styles. I'm keeping it simple."
Raising an eyebrow he seems surprised at my response but doesn't say anything. He moves aside so I can grab a pair of black shorts hanging beside him.
My sizes here are always a little wonky so I take two different ones and grab a black t-shirt before heading towards the dressing room. Luckily there's a space of underwear and bras just before I get to the changing stall. I quickly shuffle through and grab what I need, embarrassed at the idea of him catching me looking.
Once inside I take a little time out to celebrate. I fist pump a few times until I hit my hand on the hook you hang your clothes on. The knock it made was pretty loud but the store's music covered it I'm sure. After that, I decide to leave my partying until later at home where I can have more space and less of a chance of breaking my hand on something. Slipping on a pair of the shorts I find the smaller size fits perfectly to my surprise. I pull them off and put my coffee stained clothes back on.
For the first time I actually look at what I look like in the mirror and Lord do I look crazy. On the bright side the swelling from my pimple has gone down and I almost can't see it. But on the flip side my hair is starting to clump and stick together and the feel of it is getting crunchier as it dries. I decide to put it up into a bun and deal with washing it once I get home. My top is soaked through and if it weren't for the decorative LA on the front of my shirt my purple and black lace bra would be completely visible. I can feel the residue of dried coffee on my exposed tummy and thank God I brought wet wipes with me. I pull them out and sit them beside my clutch that still holds my broken Samsung Galaxy S6. Exasperation starts to build over the loss of my phone but I push it down, now is not the time. Grabbing the clothes I'm buying I rush to the register.
"I'm getting this stuff. Give me a second and I'll put these back," I inform the young man behind the counter.
"I'll take them miss it's fine," he replies with an outstretched freckled hand. His red hair and pale skin makes his brown eyes stand out. He looks kind, which makes me want to help him even more.
"No way, I've got it. It's just right there. By the time you get done ringing me up I'll be back," I smirk turning towards the rack I got the shorts from. I always take pity on customer service workers especially ones in retail. I know their struggle.
I hear the printing of a receipt on my way back to the register and see the red head hand it to Harry.
"What are you doing?" I ask, knowing full well what he's doing but not understanding why.
"I owed you," he simply replies handing me the bag, gesturing towards the dressing room.
In a daze I turn around and walk back to the stall I came from. Normally I would be annoyed that he stepped in when I didn't need him to but for right now all that's going through my mind is the insanity of the last fifteen minutes of my life. I went out to get coffee and shop at overly expensive stores and now I'm here.
Pulling on my clothes it dawns on me that in less than half an hour he's already gotten me out of my panties and my bra. It's a record for sure. I hold in my laughter as we make our way outside.
"Thanks," I say as we walk to his car.
"You're very welcome," he replies opening the door for me.
I'm not sure where we're going. I expected him to ask where I lived to drop me off or at least inquire if there was somewhere he could take me to. A part of me wants to ask him but I stay silent instead. I'm not ready to see our time together end.
"That was cool of you to put the shorts back for him," Harry says while driving us down an unknown road. His two fingers are on his bottom lip pushing it up and between his teeth.
"I know all too well how the work load for crappy pay combined with the annoying messy customers can drive you crazy," I shrug speaking honestly, "I feel like it's my duty to help out when I can. Plus he was nice."
Stopping at a light he turns to look at me with a grin, "So had he been rude?"
"I would've left everything in the dressing room. Probably grabbed a few more items just to make him have to put them away," I joke, hoping he can tell.
He laughs, closing his eyes as if he's picturing it. Shaking his head he takes off at the green light. "I can imagine he'd go barmy by the end of the night."
"Barmy?" I ask, unfamiliar with the term.
He blushes and I swear it's the absolute cutest thing I've seen since Venom was a puppy.
"Sorry," he apologizes, "I just meant he'd be mad once he found everything."
I nod giving him a smile. It's funny how comfortable I've been with him. I guess years of being a fan makes me feel like I know him. I'm already at a level of comfort with him that took months to build with Damien and Amita and I just met him, officially at least.
"I guess I should ask you your name," he concedes, a tinge of red still staining his cheeks.
It didn't register with me that he hadn't known it.
"Sorry. I'm Bailey Duncan. Pleased to meet you," I offer him my hand once he stops at a stop sign.
He takes it in his with a smile and shakes it before letting go and crossing the street onto a sand covered path.
"Pleased to meet you as well Bailey," he replies, his words slightly cut off as he maneuvers the uneven terrain.
We stop in the makeshift parking lot of what looks like a tin trailer in the desert. We're only a few blocks from civilization, I can see the buildings down the hill, but this place feels like it's on another planet, or at least from another time period. The outside reminds me of something out of the game Fallout 3. In contrast to the game, the tin surrounding the cylindrical building is reflective and glistens and the sign above it shines brightly with big red letters that read 'Jet's Place.'
"I hope you don't mind. I'm starving," Harry divulges unbuckling his seatbelt.
I shake my head, "Same here I haven't eaten all day."
He gets out of the car before answering and meets me on my side to catch the door. "Why not?"
I purse my lips and shrug, "I don't know. I don't really eat when I get busy. If I don't think about it I don't get hungry I guess."
That's only half true. The other half is that it's a learned behavior not necessarily a natural one. When I started my weight loss journey I tried any and everything and before I knew it not eating until my body forced me to kind of became a habit. It's something I put a stop to but in times when I'm really busy I fall back on it.
"Hm," he grunts but doesn't say anything further. Instead he opens the door for me then immediately goes to the hostess, talking with her like they're old friends.
I feel like I've been sucked straight into the fifties. The walls are a pastel yellow, while the floors and booths are the classic black, white, and red. The waitresses and the hostess all have on the old school uniform dresses made from rich royal blue fabric with frilly white cotton aprons and big hair. I love it.
"Follow me," the hostess says to us, her hands full of menus.
She leads us to a corner booth towards the back with a window that allows us to see the nethers of the property. How they found this sand covered lot is beyond me but this is a really cute idea.
"What do you think?" Harry asks once we're settled and our waitress, Trish, has left to fill our drink orders.
I give the place a once over for dramatic effect before grinning, "I love it. The twenties through the fifties would have to be my favorite time periods."
A Cheshire cat smile spreads across his face. "I'm glad you like it. I found this place on one of my first visits to California with the lads. Imagine our surprise when the paps didn't have one photo of us coming or going. It kind of sold me on the place."
The story is cute and I feel warm inside knowing this place means something to him. Plus five out of five were here at some point. That just makes me happy.
"Order anything you want," he says, his menu still on the table, "I'm still making up for ruining your outfit and your hair and your cellphone. Christ what didn't I cá»ck up today?"
We share a laugh but I shake my head. "I've had a really...interesting time today. A lot more exciting than it probably would've turned out."
"That's good to know," he replies, taking a sip of his water. "So do you work in a shop?"
I don't have to rack my brain for the term. I watch enough British YouTubers to know a few basic terms and phrases.
Shaking my head no I reply, "I used to but now I work as a market research analyst with Reynolds Incorporated. I doubt if you know it we deal with boring business crap downtown."
Our conversation pauses when Trish comes back with our drinks and to take our order. I still haven't chosen anything but I can't focus on the menu for watching Trish eye Harry like a piece of meat. She looks like she's mere seconds away from lifting her dress and straddling his lap regardless of me sitting here. I mean obviously we're not together but dá¸mn. Can she have some self-respect and some respect for her fellow woman?
"And you?" she asks turning her body to me even though her eyes are still glued to Harry.
My eyes widen, once again my mental monologues have gotten me in a pickle. I glance at the menu but quickly give up. It's overly colorful and jumbled which makes it confusing enough. Combine that with the fact that I don't really have a taste for anything and that equals me not knowing what to order.
"Um," I drag it out genuinely confused about what to get.
"How about I come back when you've got it together?" she asks, an edge to her voice.
My eyes lift to hers and narrow as if they have minds of their own. "I'll have what he's having," I declare handing her the menu. Even though I have no clue what Harry's having anything is better than having this bucket-o-thirst in our faces.
She smiles disingenuously at me before beaming at Harry as she takes our menus, "Your food will be out momentarily."
I give her a smile just as fake as the one she offered, dropping it the second she's out of sight.
"What's a market research analyst do?" Harry asks making my smile come back, sincerely this time.
"Basically when someone has a product they need people to run numbers and factors and see how well their product can do in different markets and environments so they don't waste money. That's where I come in," I explain, "It's basically like doing a company's homework."
He nods, "Sounds interesting."
"Boring is more like it," I admit with a laugh, "I work alone most of the time which I like, I get more done, but it can get pretty dull doing the same thing day in and day out."
"I can see that," he agrees, "I studied business for a while before X Factor and although I liked it I did find some of the material to be right dull."
I smile, "So what are you into now? You know besides giving girls heart attacks at your concerts?"
He releases his fingers from between his teeth. I find it to be adorable yet kind of gross that he's a nail biter.
Laughing he replies, "Photography. I've always loved it, now I can actually indulge in it."
I place my chin in the palm of my hand and lean against the table. "Sounds cool. I'm a fan of it as well, although I haven't taken a picture in well over a year now that I think about it."
His eyes widen, "How? The camera on your phone is ace. No selfies or anything?"
I shake my head no, laughing at the way he pronounces the word selfie. The word just sounds wrong paired with a voice that deep.
"Well we'll have to change that," he declares standing to his feet.
I watch him dig into his pocket for his cell and pull out an iPhone.
"Scoot please," he requests in a sweet voice, gesturing with his hands.
"We are not doing this," I warn, leery of the camera today even more than usual with the way I look. I've been trying not to focus on the fact that he can see me looking this way in real life, I don't think I could handle it if I knew he had me frozen in time with this look in a photo.
"Just a quick one. You look perfect, the lighting is perfect, we can't miss the opportunity to commemorate this day," he explains. His eyes seem to sparkle in the light, a testament to his statement.
His words aren't lost to me. He said I look perfect and my heart nearly fell out of my chest. I'll bask in the memory later but for now I roll my eyes and sigh, scooting over for him, "Fine."
He grins siting down beside me. I watch his lithe fingers move across the screen of his iPhone unlocking it then going straight to the camera app.
"Ready?" he asks, scooting his face surprisingly close to mine.
"Mhm," I mumble, my mouth is as dry as the desert and getting drier by the minute.
"Smile," he says just before snapping a quick succession of photos.
The flash is blinding, leaving a bright film over everything I look at. However when he shows me the photos of us I can see pretty clearly how good we look together. The lighting is perfect, the flash keeping any ugly shadows out of the picture. He's doing his signature smirk as am I. It's almost comical.
"I guess you were right," I admit with a movement of my shoulders once he's back sitting across from me.
Trish places our chicken wraps down in front of us, almost dropping mine but softly placing Harry's.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asks him, poking her full chest out.
Harry seems as unbothered as he has since we walked in and gives her a charming smile. "Not right now Trish, thank you."
Her eyes widen slightly as does her smile. I watch her honey blonde hair sway behind her as she walks away swinging her boney little hips.
When I turn back to Harry he's watching me watch her. I laugh softly, blushing.
"Sorry," I mumble.
"No problem," he replies, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
I can see his wheels turning and quickly put a stop to it. "She's trying extremely hard to please you. And she doesn't seem to like me much. I feel like she spit in my food."
He immediately laughs, shaking his head, "I thought I was the only one who noticed. I didn't want to seem full of myself and say anything."
"Oh no. She's very obvious," I giggle, trying to stay quiet in case she can hear us. There's no need to embarrass her.
"You can have half of my chicken wrap then. I don't trust she didn't do anything to yours," he offers, picking up a half of his meal.
Just as I'm about to decline my stomach clenches, forcing me to rethink that decision. I reach out my hand thanking him in the process.
"So tell me about yourself," he requests, grabbing a few fries from his plate.
I hate when people ask me this. It's so hard for me to talk about myself to anyone. I always feel like a used car salesman talking up an overpriced VW Beetle.
"Um, there's not much to tell really. I'm originally from Graniteville, Texas and I've lived here for six months. I actually was out finally seeing the sights in celebration when I bumped into you," I explain, and continue when he nods, "I have a dog named Venom back home she's a Terrier-Chihuahua mix. I've got three older siblings; two brothers and a sister, a handful of nieces and a nephew and I got my degree in business." My voice trails off as I search for something else to add, "I've been a fan of yours since Take Me Home. Well you and the boys of course... I think that's it." I shrug and bite into my wrap not really knowing what it is he wants to know.
He takes a sip of his water before replying, "Wow you have a full family. How old are you?"
"Twenty-two, I'll be twenty-three next month on the twentieth," I answer quickly so I can keep eating. This chicken wrap is better than I thought it would be. Either that or I'm just hungry.
"So you're a Virgo? We should get along well enough," he mentions with a smirk before turning his attention back to his food.
I joke, "I don't know about that. I dated an Aquarius before, he was crazy."
His shoulders move in laughter, "He must've been one of the older models. The bugs got all worked out by the time I got made."
A smile forms on my face at the prospect of us having a friendship that extends beyond today, "One can only hope."
~*~
"I'm not accepting it. I absolutely refuse," I cross my arms across my chest for emphasis.
"Why not?" Harry asks, "I already bought it. There's no point in letting it go to waste. Besides I owe you."
I stare at the brand new S6 in his hand wanting so badly just to reach out and take it but I hold firm.
"I can buy my own phone Styles. You already bought my outfit, that's enough. We only collided because I wasn't watching where I was going either remember?" I try to reason with him.
The look on his face says he's not budging. "It's already been purchased; all it needs is for you to activate it. You can consider it an early birthday present."
"This is a mighty extravagant gift for someone you just met a few hours ago," I jest, reaching over to grab the phone from his hand.
"You should see what I get for people I meet in passing," he jokes, raising his eyebrows.
I shake my head as I start to reprogram and activate the phone noticing his number is the only one in my address book. Very smooth Styles.
When his security team pulled up outside of the diner I didn't think anything of it. He let me in the car while they talked to him. When he came back he had a box that he opened and then presented me with a new phone.
"Thank you Harry," I acknowledge, he didn't have to do what he did. He hasn't had to do any of what he's done today, I'm thankful for it all. I definitely would've had a normal boring day had I not bumped into him.
"If you really want to thank me then spend the rest of the day with me. Nothing nefarious just sightseeing and getting to know one another," he promises, his eyes are as honest as his words seem.
I don't even think twice before accepting via text so he'll have my number as well.
Before I know it we're off. Everything is so beautiful and new but the sights start to run together after a while. High noon turns to evening before my eyes even though it feels like we just left Jet's. By the time we head back to LA it's a little past seven at night.
The car rocks slightly as we climb what seems to be a mountain. I roll my window up to avoid the dust clouds the tires are conjuring. Once the sand clears the air I see we're parked on a flat area of a mountain or more than likely a huge hill. It seems to be a forgotten hiker's trail or an old lover's lane. Either way it gives a beautiful view of the city and the Hollywood sign.
"We're here," he states before stepping out of the car and walking around to my side.
Secretly I love how he opens all of my doors even though I'm perfectly capable. The gesture is like night and day from the guys I dealt with in Texas.
We move in a comfortable silence around to the front of the car where he hops on the hood patting the space beside him.
Instantly I frown. I've never been fond of hood sitting. I only did it once before when I was younger and once I got off the hood it popped back into place so loudly it echoed through the neighborhood. I was so thoroughly embarrassed I vowed to never do it again. But as it's been today his dimpled smile lures me in and against my better judgment I carefully slide into the spot beside him.
"This is a little romantic isn't it?" I ask with a snort, "Watching the sunset together?"
He scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, "That's not real romance. Real romance is waking up next to someone with morning breath and still snogging them."
"Gross," I protest, scrunching my nose at the thought. I've never really seen myself as the wake up beside someone every morning type let alone kissing their morning breath infested mouth.
He shrugs, staring off in the distance before looking at me, "I don't know. I think it'd be pretty cool to have someone you could come home to. You know, call your own and all that."
A part of me deep down agrees but the bigger part of me knows the other side of that story. You're so busy calling them your own you don't realize they're calling you and anyone else in grabbing distance their own as well. Loyalty can be fleeting and people can be fickle.
The flash of a camera beside me brings me back to the present moment. My eyes refocus on the sunset I've been staring at and I see it for the first time it seems. Beautiful assortments of colors paint the heavens. The sky is a pale clear blue with scattered purple and pink cotton candy clouds. Palm trees that line the streets look like shadows in the fading light, only discernable by their shape and stature. In the distance you can see the sun setting in all its glory casting an orange and red tint over everything it touches. I've never seen anything like this before, it makes me happy that I got to today.
Another flash from beside me causes me to look over at Harry. He's snapping away with his iPhone taking pictures of the sunset and our surroundings then finally one of me.
"Would you cut it out?" I grin despite my harsh words.
He smiles back, his dimples doing fluttery things to my stomach. "Sorry, your eyes...they just look so cool out here."
When I raise an eyebrow to him he opens his photo album on his cell to show me. It's not an abundance of pictures, maybe ten in total, but he has more photos of me and my eyes than the sunset. I'm not sure how to feel about it.
"See how sick they look? Your iris' are like glowing pots of honey with mahogany pupils. And see the amber colored rays that connect the two? Your eyes mimic the sun perfectly. I guess I couldn't help myself," he explains, closing the app.
My heart is racing from his words. No one's ever paid that close attention before.
I've always hated my eyes for being so boring. My sister and I call them 'stock' eyes because they're the basic color. But hearing them described like that... I wouldn't want them to be any other hue.
"Thank you," I blurt, not really sure how to respond in a way that doesn't involve me throwing my panties at his face.
"No problem, I'll send the photos to you," he assures me, pressing a few buttons.
We're silent enough that I can hear my phone beep inside the car and yet I feel totally comfortable with it. It's strange to think about really. Had you told me a year ago I was going to bump into Harry Styles and spend the day with him I would've thought I'd be a nervous wreck. However I've had more peace today than any other day since I moved.
My theory is his relaxed demeanor and nonjudgmental nature helps me to stay calm. More than that though, I've always felt like I knew him, better than any of the other boys. I felt like I understood him and could read things on his face and in his actions that others couldn't see. Of course I attributed it to my perceptive nature while my family chalked it up to obsession but that's neither here nor there. I guess because I feel like I get him I don't feel the need to be anxious around him.
"Tell me something no one else knows about you," he suggests out of the blue.
I scratch my head trying to think of something that isn't too embarrassing but come up with nothing. "You first," I propose trying to give myself more time.
"Alright," he says dragging out the word as if trying to think, "I wee nearly every time I get in the shower. I can't help it." He breaks into a chuckle once he's done and lifts his shoulders.
I laugh, cringing internally at my own confession, "Coffee makes me poo. I don't know what I was doing going to Starbucks today, I'd just need the bathroom half an hour later."
He cackles then, holding his stomach and it's like watching a behind the scenes video. He's almost always caught laughing just like this, so hard he almost falls over, so loudly it reverberates off the surrounding area. I feel like I caught some kind of exclusive.
Pushing the star struck fan-girl in me down I focus on our conversation. Somehow he's rolled into a story about his X-Factor audition and the BG's he had just before he left the house.
"I still get nervous before shows but never that bad," he snickers, wrapping the story up.
Instead of admitting I was lost in my own world I giggle and nod as if I heard it all. Swiftly I move the conversation along, "How do you get over your fear?"
He adjusts, turning towards me more, "I do a lot of breathing exercises to calm down. It took some time to get the hang of it. Now it's second nature."
"You'll have to teach me those sometime," I half-laugh, but further explain when he tilts his head in confusion. "I have social anxiety disorder. It can get pretty bad if I don't actively work to stay on top of it."
His eyebrows rise, "Wow, I'm sorry. That's got to be hard living in LA, there's always so much to do."
I nod, "It is but I guess it helps I don't have many friends. Just a few people from work but they're normally pretty busy so a lot of times it's just me and my laptop to keep me company."
I realize how pathetic I sound but before I can take it back he jumps back into the conversation.
"Were you given anything to take by your doctor? I'd think if it's severe they'd prescribe you something," he inquires, concern covering his features. The street lamps behind us cast a glow on him, making him look like an angel.
"I refused to take anything. I hate taking pills I always feel like I'm choking to death," I laugh, "Fun fact number two about me I guess."
He joins in the laughter then asks about my family and if it's a hereditary thing.
I wonder why he's so interested but in a way I don't really care. No one ever asks about my anxiety even my own family. Everyone either ignores it or brushes it aside as if it's not relevant, leaving me with no one to talk to about it.
"I doubt it," I answer, "Both of my parents are pretty self-assured. I can say they definitely contributed to mine, though I'd never tell them that." I can't even determine why I'm telling him but the words keep coming and I keep speaking them.
"Why do you say that?" he queries, pulling off his head wrap only to retie it again.
"Growing up my parents used embarrassment as a... disciplinary tool so to speak. There was always the warning that if we didn't behave they'd embarrass the hell out of us in one way or another. In my mind that became the ultimate punishment, I guess I still relate it to my life today," I explain, feeling good to finally bounce my theory off of someone else.
"That's wild," he breathes, "It's good that you're able to track it all the way back to the root of your problem, a lot of people can't. I can imagine it's still hard though."
I shrug, not wanting to make the entirety of our conversation about me much less my anxiety.
"Psychology and sociology have always interested me," he reveals, "I can imagine if I wasn't with the guys I'd be doing something involving the two. Or maybe not, I wanted to become a physiotherapist for a while but when you're young your interests change like the wind you know?"
I agree, nodding my head. I hardly ever had the same interests from day to day let alone from year to year.
He keeps talking about how different his life is compared to how he thought it would turn out. I halfheartedly listen; the other half of my attention is stuck on watching his lips as they move. The way he speaks captivates me. His rosy lips and bubble gum tongue work together in such a strange yet entertaining way. It's as if he tastes every word before he says it. Somehow it makes me feel like he means what he says more than other people.
"Doing what I do can get rough sometimes. We tour so much, it gets hard to see my family and friends or make new ones for that matter. I wouldn't trade any of it for the world but sometimes," he trails off.
I nudge his shoulder with my own softly, bringing him out of his thoughts, "I get it. You guys are on the road for most of the year. As a fan I have to tell you how much I appreciate your dedication even if it drives me crazy to see yall looking like exhausted zombies."
He cracks up at that, his eyes lighting like beacons in the surrounding night.
"Seriously," I continue, "I'm in awe of your determination though. I've never really had that, even as a kid. I never learned to ride a bike thanks to my lack of willpower."
"Are you kidding?" he asks with a grin that says he's got a laugh in the works.
I shake my head no definitively, "Not in the least bit. I fell one too many times and took my aá¹£s right back in the house never to return again. It's not the best thing in the world I guess but it's my nature. I have to really want something to work for it otherwise I give up."
"I'm the total opposite," he chortles, "It's so hard for me to let things go. Even if I get burned I keep trying until I beat it. That's half the reason I stay in the band honestly."
His admission catches me off guard, "What's the other half?"
"I love performing with the lads," he states soberly, "But mostly it's the fans. Knowing I'm touching their lives and helping them. It gives me a sense of purpose that I doubt I would get doing anything else."
I don't reply, letting his words sink in. As a fan and a person, I'm touched. I can readily admit their music has uplifted me when I needed it. I can't say they saved my life but I know others that can.
"Well as a fan, thank you," I express, looking straight into his warm eyes. "Your music has helped me a lot especially going through different changes in my life. I wish I would've had you guys when I was younger."
I sound half-amused however I mean it. Listening to a 1D album is like being in a space with five ridiculously attractive friends who just get you. They know what you want to hear, when and how you need to hear it.
"I'm sure your house was noisy enough coming up with three older siblings, you didn't need our prepubescent voices cracking all over the place," he jokes with a dimpled grin, lying down against the windshield of the car to watch the sky.
I can imagine the scene in my head making me giggle as I lie back as well. Silence stretches between us momentarily as we take in the clearness of the night. It's unreal. I've never seen a sky this empty; the buildings below twinkle brighter than the non-existent stars in the air. The only light in the sky is the moon, partly shrouded by dark clouds that cover more than half of it.
"You'd be surprised how quiet and lonely it was actually. My siblings and I are years apart. My youngest brother is five years my senior so we didn't have much in common. And no one wants to play Barbies or dress up when they're as old as my siblings were so a lot of the time I was alone. Even when we would do things as a family I was left out because I was too short or too young, it sucked. In a way I guess I've been lonely my whole life," I hear myself speaking before I can stop and cover my blabbering mouth, "I can't believe I just said that out loud."
He laughs and moves my hand from my lips. "Don't be embarrassed, everyone gets lonely sometimes."
Neither of us speak, letting the validity of the statement sink in. No one ever wants to admit it but it's one of the hardest truths we have to face.
I hear his shoulders slide up and down against the car, "I would've played with you."
I laugh and look over at the smile on his face, it's stunning. I have to look away. "I'm sure you would've Harry," I mumble with a smile of my own on my lips.
"Is that a gay joke?" he laughs, sitting up on his elbows.
"Of course not," I reply, sliding off the roof of the car praying it doesn't pop back into place loudly like the car from before, "it just seems like something you'd do. It's not in your personality to let lonely people be lonely." I can tell that about him already.
What I don't know is how our friendship is going to work from here. As he opens the car door to take me home I glance at his face hoping tonight won't be the last I see of him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
What's up my good people!!!!
A little late but it's long so hopefully that makes up for it. With any luck the chapter flows well since I wrote it in pieces.
FINALLY!!!!!! We have HARLOD <3 Let me know how yall felt about his introduction in the comments please :)
This chapter's song...
It Was A Good Day by Ice Cube. It's one of my favorite classic hip hop jams and every time I hear it I feel so LA like I was born and raised there lol Besides I think the title is pretty fitting to the day Bailey had.
Also...
Sorry not sorry if anyone was expecting a 'love at first sight' proceeds to fall into bed to have wild gorilla sex moment because you WON'T be getting one from this story nor any other story of mine. I like to build rapport between my characters before they proceed to have wild gorilla sex thank you very much lol
In this story in particular it's very important for the relationship to be built the way it will be for the direction of the story. Besides that I want to try and keep this as realistic as I can because outlandish fanfics annoy me. Granted there's probably less than a 0% chance any of this would happen but the point is it could. IMO it's a lot more realistic of an encounter than it being love at first sight between the two blah blah blah. So yeah!
In other news...
This chapter is dedicated to buunessaa because she's been patiently waiting for Harry's intro! I hope it's to your liking :)
As for new follower S/O's...
This time we have: Aphro_dite753, Sweeti3SC, Siren_Burn, and WriterSchmiter!!!!
Thanks so much for following and I hope I don't disappoint!
Leave me some feedback yall I love hearing from you!!!!
Until Next Time,
WBN