50 Shades of Styles

Chapter 2

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades of Grey or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 2 

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling onto the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I'm free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what's left of my equilibrium.

No man has ever affected me the way Harry Styles has, and I cannot fathom why.

Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don't understand my irrational reaction.

I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven's name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap – what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.

As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I'm overreacting to something imaginary. Okay, so he's very attractive, confident, commanding, and at ease with himself – but on the flip side, he's arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he's autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface.

An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be – he's accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn't suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I'm irritated that Zayn didn't give me a brief biography.

While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I'm truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic – as if he had a hidden agenda. And Zayn's questions – ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can't believe I said that. Ground swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Zayn Malik!

I check the speedometer. I'm driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it's the memory of two penetrating green eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Styles is more like a man double his age.

Forget it, Lou, I scold myself. I decided that all in all, it's been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn't dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I'm immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator.

As I hit the 1-5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.

We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Vancouver, Washington, close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I'm lucky – Zayn's parents bought the place for him, and I pay peanuts for rent. It's been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Zayn is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and he is tenacious. Well, at least he has the mini-disc. Hopefully, I won't have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.

"Lou! You're back." Zayn sits in our living area, surrounded by books. He's been studying for finals – though he's still in his pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones he reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and general moody depression. He bounds up to me and hugs me hard.

"I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner."

"Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over." I wave the mini-disc recorder at him.