Crimson Lips [Harry Styles POV]

Chapter 2

Harry is confused. No—not about the number (but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about it often). He is more confused as his eyes flutter open to a brightly lit room he has never been in before. The sun beats its way between his lashes and suddenly, his head pounds with the memories of last night—or more accurately, it pounds with a skull-crushing hangover. He lifts his torso off the bed and does a nasty hacking cough, which is an unfortunate habit in the morning especially after a night of drinking. He is in a female’s apartment, that much is certain because of the dresser scattered with an obscene amount of makeup products and the tidy, nice smelling purple sheets that Harry drags himself out of. After only a second of searching, Harry doesn’t need to fully get the goop out of his eyes to see her lying on the bed next to where he just was. Not Carina, although he wishes it were, he thinks he recognizes the raven hair draped on the pillow. Black hair to match the blackest of eye makeups: this is Cat-eyes, or Harry has come to find out that she is appropriately named Katelyn. Memories of how he got there momentarily relieve his brain before it is right back to throbbing again. He easily finds his pants on the ground and pulls them up, not even bothering to throw on underwear. His phone is mercifully in the front pocket.

Harry exits the small room to the kitchen where he won’t disturb her as he calls a cab. Harry could call his friend, he supposes, but now that he has a bit of disposable income, he thinks he can finally afford to be picked up. Lord, he doesn’t miss the days of mooching rides and crashing on friends’ couches. $90 cab ride? Fuck it. Harry hasn’t got a personal driver yet, but it might be only a matter of time.

With the cab called and on its way, Harry goes searching for water to moisten his sticky mouth, because it tastes like a flea market in summer. As he is sipping from his own glass, he has a thought and grabs one more. Believe it or not, Harry is not the type to quietly sneak away after a one-night-stand. He doesn’t stay long in the mornings after cheap sex, granted, but he likes to make sure the girl is okay and that she knows he is not a complete dick before leaving. Whether or not he ever answers their calls or texts later is a different matter, but altogether he is a caring fellow that gently wakes a girl and hands her a glass of water with a thankful smile. They chitchat before saying goodbye with the promise—or more, the lie—of a phone call later.

He tiptoes into the room, glass of water in hand, and Harry rubs a hand soothingly into her back.

“Hey, you,” he coos and sets the water down on the bedside stand. Katelyn stirs and sniffles, lids squinted at Harry in a daze. Harry sorta finds her adorable like a little black cat waking from its afternoon nap or summat. She even stretches like a feline would before sitting up to peek around the room. Her body slunches as she sits there, topless in the sheets. Harry didn’t notice it last night, but she is quite thin—almost uncomfortably bony and maybe it is just because he likes a girl with a bit more cushion personally. She has almost no boobs but a nice face to look at nonetheless. Kat takes a drink of the water and smacks her lips at Harry.

“How are you feeling?” he asks while buttoning up his plaid shirt.

“I’m good—really good. What about yourself?”

“Really good,” he nods and flashes his dimples toward her. “Sorry, but I can’t stay long. I got a ride coming for me because I have some things to do today.”

The “things” that he has to do involve sleeping off the monster eating his brain for several hours, but he thinks he can tell this little white lie without hurting her.

“Okay, good. I have some things to do too.” She says and with that statement, Harry feels they are on the same page about their one-night-stand truly being one night. He inwardly breathes a sigh of relief. Harry does love LA women.