Golden Luckenbooth

Eight

"Harry Styles?" Cara asks. "What would he want with you? And why wouldn't you tell me?"

"Alright, I confess," I announce, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've been having a series of mad, torrid sexual encounters with Mr. I'm-Too-Big-For-A-Boyband Styles, and I am going to go inside right now and prepare a romantic dinner for him to pay him back for rushing me to work this morning after we fell asleep in his bed following a long night of lovemaking."

"Jesus, Anna. If you don't want to tell me the truth, then just say so." She mutters as she gets in the car, but it's loud enough for me to hear. "Ask a simple question. Get a ridiculous answer."

Instantly, I feel awful. "Cara!" Approaching, I put a hand on the car door to stop her from getting in and driving off angry. "I'm sorry. He's house sitting, and the homeowner's dog was sick. I was checking on them this morning, and Harry offered to drive me back. I didn't tell you because –"

"Well, duh, Anna. Of course you wouldn't tell me. He's a celebrity, and he probably wants his privacy." She mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key. "No one will hear a word from me."

"Thank you, Cara. I knew I could count on you."

"Do you think –" my cousin pauses and glances over to Kai's car, but he's already lost interest in the conversation and is driving away. "-- you could get an autograph or maybe I could get a pic with him?"

Biting my lip, I consider her request. "That makes me uncomfortable. I'll tell you what, Cara...if you can keep his presence in town a secret, I'll ask. But I make no promises that he'll agree."

"Well that's not fair, Anna. You heard Kai. Word is already out that the man is in town."

"Okay, okay. But still, I don't feel right asking him for an autograph. We don't know each other that well." That's a lie. I mean, once you've seen someone naked and called his penis 'The Whale', an autograph should be an easy ask, right? But since Cara didn't believe my first confession (thankfully), I'm not going to share any more along those lines with her.

"Thank you, Anna. If I hear any gossip about him, I promise not to say that you've met him."

Relief washes over me, and I almost believe her. At least our exchange has bought me (and Harry) some more time.

Waving goodbye to her, I wonder how long he's planning on staying around. He'd said a month, but when had that month started? Had I met him on the first night? The 24th night? Surely someone would have mentioned his name earlier if he'd been here three weeks?

Not that it matters. Truly. We're just using each other for sex. Sex and whatever meals he chooses to shop for and cook.

Shit. Except I'm the one who is supposed to do the cooking. Rushing into the clinic, I lock the door and make sure everything is in tiptop shape. My home might be a disaster zone that needs police tape, but my business will never be anything but sanitary and organised. After feeding some lettuce to the turtle that I'm treating for a severe cut near his shell, I whistle for the dogs who come running, their tails wagging.

"Hi there, girls! Let's go see what we can make for Mr. My-Abs-Are-Sexy-So-Let's-Fuck for a meal." They tag along behind me, and in the still quiet of my house, it occurs to me that Harry hasn't called today.

Huh. Interesting. Maybe he's moved on? Maybe my caterwauling this morning about a hair tie had put him off? Maybe I'll be playing with those toys by myself tonight.

Just in case I'm wrong, I jog upstairs and put in my FemCap. If he doesn't show, I can take it out again, but better to be prepared, right? Whether he shows up or not, I need to eat. Not eating breakfast, and gobbling half of my sandwich for lunch is not nearly enough food to meet my body's needs. After changing into leggings and an oversized jumper, I pad downstairs to survey the food situation.