I'm Not Your Toy, Harry

Chapter 3

Jules groaned. Her hangover pill hadn't worked at all.

Groggily, she sat up in bed, leaning on one elbow. Her room was a messy riot of colour. When she had moved in a month ago, she hadn't bothered to decorate, really. The fluffy white bed was covered in a thick blanket which had patches of red, yellow, pink and green on it - a DIY project Jules had attempted after a spurt of Pinterest inspiration. The sunlight flooding in revealed Sassy snoozing on the windowsill, a table with a blinking laptop, books towering from every possible flat surface, and a rather large lump on the floor.

Harry.

Jules remembered Harry crashing over after the party last night. Now, all the alcohol out of her system, she blinked slowly as she came to the realisation that a rock star was sleeping on an air mattress on her floor. A wild giggle escaped her.

Awoken by the sound, Harry's head poked out from under the shawl he was snoozing under. "Good mornin'," he slurred, his accent thick. "I think I died last night."

Jules shook off the excitement mentally. He's just a dude, they're all the same. She had decided last night, resolutely, to absolutely Not have a crush on Harry Styles. That was possibly the most self-defeating thing she could do. He would never go for it, she would get her heart crushed and look like a desperate fangirl. So to fight that - there was only one way - as Sonia had taught her.

***

"Girl, if you want to get over a guy, get to know him," Sonia had said, giggling over cocktails all that time ago. They were sitting in a bar, celebrating the publishing deal Jules had just gotten, and discussing unrequited love.

"How does that even work?" asked Jules.

Sonia put down her martini and looked at Jules. "We only like a man when we don't know him. Our imagination fills in the details. He's charming, kind, loves puppies and fucks like a dream. But, once you get to know the guy, that's when you realise - he lies to women, he picks his nose for fun and thinks fruits are 'nature's candy'. If you wanna get over someone, become his best fucking friend."

***

Harry yawned, scratched his head, and looked over at Jules. It had been a while since he had woken up in a woman's bedroom fully clothed. Jules looked at the time, squawked, and jumped out of bed. "I have a reading today!"

"A what?"

"A reading, a reading of my book," Jules said, pulling out clothes from her cupboard. "I have to be at the bookshop in half an hour. Come with me, I need friends in the audience!"

Harry stumbled out to the hall, in his boxers and wearing a T-shirt that said "Kiss The Writer" {a gift from Paul to Jules when she got her book deal}. In the kitchen, Sonia and her crush were lovingly making pancakes.

"Do you want some, Styles?" said Sonia, untangling herself from her beau. She was wearing the dude's blue shirt and nothing else.

Harry grinned and sat down. "Yes, please. Then I've got a reading to be at."

***

Sonia, Harry and Raheem {that was his name, finally, Harry asked} spent twenty minutes chatting and cracking jokes. Sonia was funny and beautiful. Long, straight brown hair cascaded down her back. She had doe-eyes, a dancer's body and swore like a sailor. Ten minutes later, Harry felt like they had known each other for a very long time.

"Okay, let's go!" yelled Jules, running out of her bedroom. Harry turned to look at her.

Jules was wearing a little, Fifties-style polka-dotted dress. The fabric pooled around her shoulders, revealing collar bones that dipped and swooped attractively. Her hair was pulled up in a bun {the sexy kind, this time, Harry thought approvingly}, and eye liner swooped up from her lids.