Don't Be Predictable [Harry Styles]

Don't Be Predictable [Harry Styles] {03}

“You’re sure you want it to be goodbye?” Harry asked. I stood for about a minute, just looking at him-well, to be more accurate, staring at him. He didn’t seem to mind, maybe that’s something you get used to when you’re an international star; people looking at you. His curly hair was still messy from where I’d raked my fingers through it, skin faintly flushed from either the cold or the effect of our earlier...activities, but it was the eyes that held me there. Men shouldn’t be allowed to have eyes like that.

“Darling I’m not sure at all” I replied, noting the little smile that played about his lips when he heard that “but...I don’t know what to expect from you”

“I could say the same to you” Harry replied, stepping closer to me as a woman came up close behind him, walking briskly down the underground steps. This proximity to him did not help the whole will power situation; god he smelt good.

“I don’t know what I want and I don’t know what you want” I muttered feebly, before giving up and moving closer to him. He interpreted this gesture correctly and his arms wrapped round me, pulling me against him I was engulfed in warmth. I am only slightly ashamed to say that I nestled into his chest and smelt him, my hands automatically encircling his waist.

“Neither do I” I heard him say into my hair. We must look so strange to the passersby; casually locked in an embrace.

“You know this is a rather odd situation?” I inquired, looking up at him

“Most of my life is” he replied                                       

“Good point well made” I said, finally stepping away from him. I might as well; fumbling around in my pockets I searched for a pen “give me your hand” I instructed, he complied and-after having found a black biro-I proceeded to write my number on his hand. This process was probably painful because the pen was running out, but he didn’t withdraw his hand, although he did look slightly baffled. “That’s my mobile number” I said, letting go of his hand “if you want to...I don’t know...do something give me a text, if you can remember my name”

“I’ll try my best” Harry laughed “I’m not sure-”

I interrupted “just if you fancy a chat love”

“Or a fuck buddy” he said; I chose to interpret the comment as a joke hitting him lightly (well, kind of lightly) on the arm, my brain conjuring up unbidden the image of a naked Harry, in an attempt to distract myself from that distracting image I teased him.

“Are boy band members even allowed to say ‘fuck’?” I asked, arching a mocking eyebrow at him

“When there aren’t recording devices around” he replied “you think I’ll get away with it?”

“Maybe” I said, suddenly hit with the realisation that I’m probably never going to see him again. What girl hadn’t given him her number? How arrogant was I to assume that mine would be the one he would respond to? (Please don’t answer that...) He leant down and kissed me lightly on the cheek

“Yeah, maybe” he replied, winking and turning away. I could see him getting out his phone, presumably to contact the probably baffled driver who we had abandoned but in an attempt to look cool I fled down the steps, not looking back and trying incredibly hard not to fall over.

                                                            ****************************

The next couple of days passed by fairly uneventfully; I admit I spent an unhealthy and perhaps mildly obsessive amount of time checking my phone, but each time I went unrewarded. Eventually I gave up checking and accepted that-shockingly-reality is just what you expect it to be; somewhat disappointing. I had explained to Rose about why I had abandoned her for a member of a boy band and told her all about my brush (or brush against) with celebrity. But telling my One Direction obsessed friend Josie was an experience; at one point she screamed at me “why didn’t you sleep with him?” surreal to say the least.