No Control | The Night Before

3~ A.M.

My insides cartwheeled at his words, but I kept my face impassive as I let him pull my body against his. He moved to the beat of the music, one leg slipped between mine, his arm firmly around my waist holding me against him. I was drunk enough to have the confidence to let myself go a little, but not so drunk that I was unable to move fluidly. He was right: he wasn't a very good dancer, but in this environment where everyone was mashed up against one another, it didn't really matter. All I was interested in anyway was the heat from his body where it was pressed to mine, and the feel of his hand on my waist.

"You know how to move," he shouted over the music, and I smiled at him as his motion became more intense as he relaxed into it. There wasn't much opportunity to talk, but I was happy to savour this incredible moment of being this close to Louis Tomlinson from One Direction, and having his undivided attention for the evening. 

He grabbed my hand as we danced and put it around his own waist, turning to face me fully and wrapping his other arm around me too. I draped my arms around his neck and looked him in the eye, wondering where this was going and if Sarah's assumption about his (lack of) fidelity was correct. He maintained eye contact with me for a few moments before pulling me against him again, the side of his face now right next to mine, so our cheeks were almost touching. We gyrated like this for a minute or so, before he began half walking, half dancing with me towards the edge of the dancefloor, weaving his way through the throng again in the opposite direction to the VIP area, heading towards the corner of the room.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "Where are you taking me?" But he just shook his head, grinning, and I laughed as I allowed him to lead me where he wanted. Eventually he stopped at a free table in the far corner, just out of sight of the dancefloor, where the music wasn't quite so loud and I didn't have to yell to be heard.

"Just fancied getting away from the crowd," he explained, gesturing to a chair at the table.

I sat down and surveyed him with amusement. "But our booth is that way," I said, hooking a thumb over my shoulder in the vague direction of the VIP area.

"Maybe I wanted to get you on your own for a minute," he said cheekily.

"And why is that?" I smiled.

He looked down at the tablecloth for a moment, and then back up at me. He studied my face for a few seconds, and then rested his chin on his hand and his elbow on the table.

"You look familiar," he said eventually.

"Well I should hope so," I huffed. "You've been buying me drinks for the last hour. I didn't think you were that drunk!"

"You know what I mean," he chided. "I feel like we've met before."

"We definitely haven't," I declared.

"You seem very sure about that," he remarked with a knowing smile, and my heart beat a little faster at the familiar expression on his face that I had seen numerous times: on stage, in interviews, in fan videos. He studied me, his look of amusement never faltering. "Don't I look familiar to you?" he asked carefully after a moment, and suddenly I understood. He was trying to find out if I knew who he was.

I was about to answer truthfully, but then at the last second I decided I could have a little fun with this, so I smiled coyly at him and cocked my head to the side. "No, why? Should I?"

He continued to watch me, seemingly trying to read my expression. "Maybe not, then."

"Where did you think you knew me from?" I probed, wondering wickedly if he would reveal who he was, or at least admit he didn't really recognise me.

He shrugged. "Just around. I meet a lot of people, so maybe you just have a familiar face."

"Oh really?" I asked. "What do you do?"