15 Years // harry styles

chapter eight

B

"Bailey. You already tried that shirt on. Twice."

Kelsey's voice would seem annoyed if I didn't know her well enough to hear the teasing undertone.

"UGH." I groan, letting myself fall on my stomach on my bed- well, on the pile of failed outfit compilation that now cover almost every surface of my room. "Help. Me." I mumble into a pair of jeans.

"Sorry babe, I don't really have a 'my best friend met Harry Styles in a cemetery and he carried her to bed and is now inviting her to a concert' outfit plan just hangin around in my brain."

I can't help but laugh. She'd been so enthralled when I told her the story this morning. It all sounded so crazy coming off my tongue. I guess it is, really.

"Do you think you have anything I could wear?" I ask timidly. Although I love Kelsey mote than anything, our styles are no where close. I have more fabric in one of my shirts than she does in three of her dresses usually.

"I never thought you'd ask." Her smirk is devious as she darts out of my room, leaving to head to her apartment on the 6th floor.

Trying to ignore how scared I am to see what she brings back, I get some leftover pasta from the fridge and eat some. I can't tell if my toe tapping and pacing is caused by my nerves to see Harry again, or my excitement to see one of my favorite bands.

Before I can dwell on it too much, Kelsey comes back through the door with an array of dresses slung over her arm and a devilish grin on her lips. I roll my eyes, but toss my bowl in the sink and follow her to my room.

15 dresses later, I'm still frowning at myself in the mirror.

"Girl I have to go home, you've gotta pick something soon."

"Fuck it," I grumble, grabbing a black crop top and some lace tights, throwing them on followed by my favorite jean shorts.

"I literally hate you. I dragged those dresses all the way up here and you aren't even gonna wear em, you little shit," she grumbles, gathering them all back up.

"I love you!?" I offer with a smile as she rolls her eyes, but her playful call of "I love you too, you sexy motherfucker" over her shoulder makes me laugh.

After she heads out, I decide I might as well get ready. I curl my hair and do my makeup, keeping it simple and trying to not overthink things.

However when I realize I'm completely ready to go, shoes and all at 4 o'clock, I can't help where my brain goes.

What if he's just doing this out of pity? I'm sure there's gonna be tons of girls in that tiny little VIP booth. I bet he invited them too.

"Shut up brain," I mumble to myself, physically shaking my head in some feeble attempt to clear it.

I resort to the only thing I know will distract me: a book. I pick up Black Ice again, curling up in my nook and reading away.

A few minutes later, my phone is buzzing. A call.

From Harry.

"Hello?"

"Hey! I was just making sure you still wanted to come. I can see you in your reading nook, you look quite comfy up there."

Confused, I glance at the clock.

7:15.

"FUCK. ILL BE DOWN IN A SECOND OH MY GOD."

I scramble straight out the door, locking it hastily before running down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator, my VIP pass in hand.

The cool autumn wind smacks me in the face as I run out of the lobby. I stop myself, suddenly realizing I have no idea which car is his.

The large red suv- a Range Rover to be exact- rolls down a black window, revealing a mess of tousled curls and a warm smile. Harry.

"You comin or what?" He calls out with a grin before rolling the window back up.

I scurry to the door, throwing it open and jumping in.

"I am so sorry, I completely lost track of time cause I was r-"

"Reading. I know. No need to apologize love, the show doesn't start until 8:30."

I have a mixture of letting out sigh of relief and choking on it when I realize he called me love.

"I still feel bad."

"I'm the one who left you in the middle of the night like some douchey frat boy. It's settled, were even." He winks at me, pulling out into the street.