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·° 。: ✰ : ·° 。
IN A PANTING MESS, the brunette ungracefully crumpled down to sit on the cold, rubber mat. Stella palmed her forehead to wipe the sweat that had accumulated on the surface. Rough, staggered gasps left her slightly parted lips as she tried to catch her breath. Beads of sweat dotted her body, staining the dark fabric of her sports bra and the black leggings she wore. Even her hair, which was tied in a high ponytail, was damp, a few strands clinging to her body. Her chest expanded and contracted in uneven rhythms, showing the lines of her defined abdomen.
She was a sight to see.
The Blake looked so ladylike, so powerful, as she took a break from working out. She was the epitome of all things elegant and feminine, everything you expected from a polished woman, andㅡ
"Bloody hell!" she cursed at the air.
Okay, maybe elegant was a bit off; but the point is, she looked, for the lack of better word, hot; a perfect description to what went on in her mind. The calm before the storm, explosive emotions bubbling beneath a tranquil façade, barely kept under. Given what she was about to do later that day, it was not an unjustified response.
Stella stood up, breathing harshly. She was slowly succumbing to the effects of frustration, dripping with sweat as she paced around the empty room. Luckily, the door opened, revealing Colin, before her thoughts went too far.
"Hey, we've only got an hour left," he said, looking around. He was dressed fashionably in corduroy pants and a colorful open collared top, which showed his sculpted collarbones. Colin grinned deviously, "Lover boy's on the line, by the way. I said you were busy kicking the crap out of a punching bag."
Her mind stuttered for a second, wondering who could that be. Stella frowned, slowly removing the elastic wraps over her knuckles. "Whaㅡare you talking about Harry?"
"Who else would I call lover boy?"
The Blake rolled her eyes at his quip, moving to grab a towel from her gym bag. She wiped her sweaty hands before sanitizing them with alcohol. Her agent was still smiling like the Cheshire Cat when she took the phone from him. The twat never missed an opportunity to tease her, honestly. She hated herself even more for loving him for it.
The brunette mumbled her gratitude, accompanied by another eye roll. "Hey, it's Stella," she spoke to the receiver, a bit unsure.
"I hoped so," Harry's voice teased on the other line. "I was worried I'd mixed my contacts up."
She smiled. "How's it going? Is Mitch missing me too much? It hasn't even been a day yet."
"Probably." Harry snorted a bit. The line grew quiet, the only sounds being light scuffles as Stella rummaged for something in her bag. He bit his lip, apprehension gnawing at his insides. Twiddling with his fingers as he was drowned in his own thoughts, the Styles felt helpless. Harry wanted to ask her about how she felt, knowing that she would soon face the man who had broken her heart after months of distance, knowing that she would face him after releasing some shady songs that thrilled the drama-hungry media. Harry wanted to know how she felt, and offer comfort.
