Notorious

Foreboding

Fore·bod·ing/noun: fearful apprehension; a feeling that something bad will happen.

I've had this feeling before once. Just seven months ago on a morning without coffee that I woke up with the gut feeling that something terrible would happen. Seven months ago -the day Harry joined the band.

Seven months later and that same ominous feeling is stirring in my belly and rearing its ugly head to the forefront of my attention.

I've felt it brewing for a while. From the first time Harry lied, the first time he erased his calls, the first time he whispered about me with Liam. It's been right underneath the surface just boiling, ready to explode when the time came.

And here I am; that feeling in my gut thriving and roaring inside of me stronger than ever.

I try to convince myself that it is just nerves for tonight. That the bees in my chest and the waves in my stomach are all because of the banquet tonight. The banquet that is hosting the four bands that are playing at the Manchester Festival in the hopes of being signed to a label.

Tonight we meet those bands and the judges and the executives of the record company and it is quite possibly the second most important day in our careers (right behind the actual festival night) and maybe that's the reason I feel like this.

But, I know better.

Because it has only been a week since I found out that Harry is my mother's client. A week that I have spent watching Harry's every move and analyzing his every word. A week I have spent googling his name and only coming up with videos of his old bands and articles on his dating rumors.

A week I have spent trying to gain enough courage to ruin everything by finally asking him the golden question; what the actual fuck is going on?

So, yeah, all of this stress and anxiety and fear are probably the cause of my sense of foreboding, but I try to push that thought away.

Try to quell the storm inside me.

But, the feeling is still there. It's there when I curl my hair, when I put on my red lipstick, when I slip on my navy dress with the slit up to my hip, when I buckle the strap of my heels around my ankle.

It's even alive and well when I answer the door to Harry's persistent knocking.

But, as soon as he lays eyes on me, as soon as I lay eyes on him, the storm quiets slightly and I can finally hear the blood pumping in my ears.

His eyes trace my figure ever so slowly, drinking me in and darkening at my tanned legs and rouge lips. Now the ominous feeling is being overpowered by a stronger sense of desire; by the fire that licks up my veins.

I can't help my eyes from wandering down his frame either –I love him in suits. Especially ones with the shirt half unbuttoned and his tanned, inked skin poking through.

"You are so dangerous to my health," He breathes, as if in awe, shaking his head as if unsure what to do with himself, "'mm so lucky, you look so gorgeous it's almost lethal... But, it almost makes me want to lock you inside so no other bloke can see you."

I want to roll my eyes at him, but before I can even take another breath he is stepping through the threshold, closing the door with his foot, and gripping my hips in his palms.

The look in his eyes is all I need to know that he is up to no good.

He places a light kiss to my lips before dipping his head down to my neck, brushing his lips against the sensitive flesh and causing me to shiver lightly. It's ridiculous how he can barely touch me and still manage to short-circuit every single nerve in my body.