Espresso

Chapter Two

Harry 

Jet is so fucking uptight. 

She stands over me, her lips pursued in a straight line as she borderline punches me in the throat with a makeup sponge, applying layer after layer of what I think is concealer. Her brows are furrowed and her dark eyes bore into me as she blends it into my skin, in a desperate attempt to cover the bruises travelling up my neck towards my jawline. 

Her tattooed arms are exposed, a stark contrast to her white crop top and I can smell her perfume as she leans over me, every muscle in her small body tense. I think it's Gucci but I'm not quite sure. 

"I don't know what you're getting so stressed about you know."

"Oh I don't know, maybe the deep rooted bite marks all over your neck when you're being filmed in less than an hour," she scolded, picking up her powder brush and dusting it against my neck. It tickles. 

I shrug, trying not to chuckle as the bristles move backwards and forwards against my skin. 

"They've already filmed the last few nights here, they won't even use this footage." 

"That's not the point though, is it?" 

"This is on me, not you." 

"Yeah, but they employ me to cover this shit up you know that, and here we are again," she snaps. 

"Oh live a little Everly, if you can't take your pick when you're young, rich and famous, when can you?" 

"Cocky much?" 

"Oh come on, don't pretend you don't love it," I tease. 

She wrinkles her nose, placing the brush back down on the dressing table and picking up a small tube, which she unscrews and brushes through my brows with. 

"Yeah well, my career is riding on your stupid mistakes and I don't fancy being sacked because you so desperately need another notch on your bedpost."

I scoff. 

"Wow, you really do hate me, don't you?"

"I never pretended otherwise," she retorts, picking up the lip balm and swiping it over my bottom lip. Her fingertips are soft, but her stare is hard as her thumb nail grazes my lip and I gulp. 

"You won't get sacked, you know. Your Dad's one of our main security guards for a start." 

"That doesn't mean shit and I am more than Daddy's little princess you know Styles." 

I shiver. 

I look at the tattoos decorating her arms and the lip ring on the left corner of her painted purple lip and nod, "I am aware." 

She hums in response as Lou enters the room, making small talk about the next few tour dates and different things they're excited to check out in each city. 

I blink my eyes over the mascara wand when instructed and let her ruffle through my hair, coughing as she spritzes it with hairspray to hold it in place.  She doesn't speak to me the entire time and Lou must notice the tension because she barely acknowledges me either, despite being one of my closest friends.