It's Saturday morning, precisely 8 days after the concert, when I see him. "See" is the wrong word, I guess - he actually bumped into me outside of Starbucks and spilt cold, brown, caramel-scented liquid all down the front of my shirt.
My coffee cup falls to the ground with a resounding splash. I look up, a scowl already forming on my face, until I realise who it is.
"Harry Styles," I murmur breathlessly. He's wearing a white V-neck that accentuates his muscly chest perfectly and suede brown boots and his black skinny jeans are tight but not too tight and I swear I almost drool at the sight of him.
Harry glances down at me and I see my now-soaked shirt in the reflection of his Raybans. He looks irritated, and I can't help but think to myself that he probably just thinks I'm just another fan girl who spilt coffee on herself just to get him to notice. However, a second later, his irked expression disappears and he whips off his sunglasses in a dramatic, almost practised gesture. His eyes rake slowly up and down my body, blatantly checking me out. As he smiles in what I can only hope is appreciation, I shift uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze.
"Are you looking at my boobs?" I question, winking. I've never been a big winker, and I don't know why I decided to start now.
"Do you have something in your eye?" he asks back with a smirk.
"Do you want something in yours?" I reply sweetly, holding up a fist.
He laughs loudly and I allow myself a smile. "Ouch. Are you always this feisty?"
I suddenly remember my now-see through - albeit delicious smelling - shirt and hasten to fold my arms over my chest. He also realises and sheepishly asks, "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that; let me make it up to you. Can I buy you another coffee, Mystery Girl?"
"Eden. My name's Eden," The crisp morning air against my chest reminds me that I'm standing in the middle of the street with a soaked t-shirt. "And I really have to go."
"Eden," he murmurs, testing it out. "Eden." My heart flutters at the way his tongue caresses my name, and I have to stop myself from thinking of what else he could do with that tongue. I've been called Eden my whole life, but never, ever, has my name been said the way he just did. I turn to leave, but Harry catches my arm, momentarily rendering me speechless from his touch. A spark ignites where our skin connects, and I peer down in bewilderment. Harry seems to feel it too, and glances down curiously, but quickly regains himself.
"Wait," he says. I stare up at him, mouth slightly agape and do exactly that - wait. The corner of his mouth turns up, as if he knows exactly what he's doing to me. "When will I see you again?" Thankfully I find my voice again.
"I have a boyfriend, sorry." I reply, wincing as I realise how stupid I sound. He doesn't care, Eden, he's not actually interested in you! I think bitterly.
"Shame," he smirks, not looking the least bit disappointed, his hand still firmly planted on my arm. I shake my head to clear any, er, inappropriate thoughts, and turn to leave.
"Goodbye Eden," he says in a sing-songy voice as I walk away. I cast one fleeting glance over my shoulder and he smiles his dazzling, heart-stopping smile, and I'm almost regretful to leave. Almost.
