Like The Classics ||Harry Styles AU||

Hey, Bartender.

"Alright. Yes, Mom I'll be safe. Yea, ok. Bye." I click the end call button on my iPhone, stifling a smile whilst looking at my composed reflection in the mirror.

I wore the customary black leather pants and orange tank top layered with a white one, the letters of 'Dillard's' written across it.

"Why must you choose bar-tending to be your college job?" my fiancé, Dean, asks whilst walking I to our room and plunging onto the bed, face down in a pillow.

"Because I'm a college student and want to live." I reply, turning to him and running my palms down the leather pants. "Do I look alright?" I ask after a moment of silence.

He glances up at me, a lopsided grin forming on his cheeks and he sits up in the bed and motions me forward.

"You look," he pauses, his palms pressing to the sides of my thighs as he stares up at me. "So, so hot." His voice is low and rough, as I run my fingers through his short, dark hair. I lean forward, kissing him lightly before pulling away completely and exiting the room, leaving him huffing behind me.

I skip down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing my large purse and a hair tie from the kitchen counter, turning and starting for the door.

"No goodbye kiss?" Dean asks, bounding down the stairs. I smile, turning and planting a short kiss on his lips, then slipping quickly out of the door.

After a short ride to the bar in my blacked out Dodge Ram, I pull into the back lot and enter through the back door, the door for employees only. Music slowly drifts into my ears and I smile at the tune.

"Is someone seriously playing Kesha at 8 pm?" I hear a waitress ask, whilst striding thought the hallway towards me. "You're right in time." She smiles thankfully.

She was an older woman with greying hairs and dark slithering eyes. But, her smile told me she was sweet.

"Yes ma'am, as I agree." I say politely. Her eyes sweep over my uniform and she nods, pleased.

"These men are gonna eat you up, in telling you. How old?"

"Twenty one."

Her eyes dilate quickly and she nods with a dim smirk.

"Oh, perfect."

Once she handed me a small notepad and a small set on instructions, she shoo'd me off to start my shift. I started at the far left of the bar, where the seating tables were and began taking orders.

"Hello, miss." An older man says with a kind smile. I furrow my eyebrows teasingly, with a sly smirk appearing.

"Sir, may I see some identification. This bar is for 21 years of age and up." I joke, settling my weight comfortably on one foot. He chuckles, nodding approvingly towards me. After a moment of small talk, they order they're drinks with heated cheeks and small smiles.

"Alright. If you need me just call for Marry, that's me. I'll come right away." I inform the man and his wife. I return to the kitchen, pinning up their order for the chef to see and exit back to the main dining area.

I could see how being a Yale student and working at a bar could be a bit hard to believe, but an old friend and I had told each other that we would eventually work here at Willard's to test the waters before getting our degrees.

I eventually made it through high school, above average levels with a 2 year degree, and am now almost finished with my Masters degree. Yay me!

Unfortunately, my curtain friend hadn't made it out of high school, like I had.

After a moment's hesitation, I glance around the nearly empty bar and check the clock above the bar. It was only 8:15.

Without much activity in the lounge, I decide to sit in one if the bar stools in wait.

As the minutes dragged on, I tended to newcomers and checked on the older ones, bringing out meals and changing orders. The night soon became lively as I slowly chatted with the patrons and even my fellow waitresses.

Hellen was the older lady that had first taken care of me. She was slim and smoked often with a sailors mouth and a wicked sense of humor.

Molly was only 36 with kind eyes and a wild smile. She was one to dance from table to table as the patrons picked songs on the juke box, which rarely played anything but country.

Misha was the oldest, with platinum blonde hair and a larger build. She smiled like a young teenage girl on a sugar high and laughed with a melodramatic tone. She was very hyperactive and was a flirt with many of the younger guys. Cougar.

As the activity picked up, a lot more people filed in and I rushed around handing out drinks and making small talk.

"Are you new here?" a middle-aged man asks me, his eyes skimming over my frame. I smile widely, placing my hand on my stomach as if to flash my bold diamond ring.

"Yes, I am." I reply shortly, my eyes cutting from him to the younger looking girl with him. Gross.

"I'll take a bud light draft. She wants and apple martini." He orders. I smile and nod, scribbling the drinks orders down and turning away.

Molly smiles at me, swaying her hips to the song- an older country song about 'achie-breakie-heart's. I, in return, dance along also as wolf whistles arise from the crowded lounge.

I turn to a table with a young man, he had to be around my age, with curly brown hair and dark greens eyes that cut up my frame and a few other younger boys.

"Orders, gentlemen?"

"Darling, I'm anything but gentle." He says in a husky, deep accent. I smile, seemingly unfazed at his sly remark.

They order rounds of vodka straight and I nod, turning away.

"Oh, boys." I turn back, placing both of my hands on their table in a slick lean. "Call me Marry."

With that, I turn and saunter back to the bar line to fill the orders I've placed. After a few minutes, I return back to the table and hand out the shots, asking,

"Anything else, boys?"

"Marry," the seemingly British guy says in his slow accent. "Call me Harry." He says, glancing up at me with a dark grin that makes me shiver.

"Will do." I answer simply, turning and leaping back in surprise, knocking the shot from Harry's hand. "Shit. I'm so sorry, I'll get you another." I stutter, grabbing napkins rapidly and clearing the table of the liquid, then continuing with wiping off his limbs and damp shirt in a rush. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I don't know what-"

"Marry."

Oh, yeah.

I turn back to my surprise visitor and gleam widely.

"Dean! Honey, you scared the hell out of me." I throw my arms around him and turn back to Harry quickly, grabbing his now empty shot glass and returning my gaze to Dean. I grab his arm and pull him to the bar line and behind the bar.

"Who's Harry?"