Harry Styles Imagines (Book 2)

21 Questions

Harry’s POV

(Y/N) sat beside me on the sofa, typing out the last paragraph to her English essay. She huffed in frustration, constantly deleting sentences and re-typing them. As she struggled to finish up the assignment, I allowed my fingers to wander aimlessly along her skin. It wasn’t until my hands made their way to the waistband of her shorts that she paused to look at me.

“Are you OK?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow curiously.

I leaned back on the sofa, making no effort to move my hand. Instead I allowed it to slip underneath her shirt so that I could feel the smooth skin of her stomach underneath my fingertips.

“Yeah, baby girl,” I said, pulling her so that she was nestled in my arms. “I’ve just been thinking lately…”

She looked up at me, curiosity glowing in her eyes. “What have you been thinking about?” She asked. She turned around in my arms so that we were looking each other in the eyes, her english paper long forgotten.

“I was just wondering what you would do if all this money I had disappeared,” I muttered. “I mean, would you still love me if I was riding around on a bus instead of in that new Escalade. Or if I got locked up and sentenced for a quarter century, would you be there to support me mentally?”

(Y/N) appeared shocked by my questions and I shook my head, hoping to clear my mind. “It’s fine,” I said. “Don’t answer any of that; I don’t care.”

“Harry,” she whined. “Of course, I would still be here. When I met you, I had no fucking idea what the hell a One Direction was. You had to win me over like any other guy would; I love you because of you not because of who you are and how much money you got.”

“I know,” I sighed, lifting my hands so that they were cradling her face. “But what if another guy comes up with more money? What if I ended up flipping burgers at Burger King? Would you still tell your friends about me?”

“Hazza,” she ran her fingers up and down my shirt. “It’s easy to love you now while everything is going good, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving you when shit gets hard. I care too much about you to leave you over something like money.”

I brought my lips to hers, tightening my grip on her. I knew that it felt like I was asking her 21 questions, but I was only trying to see if her love for me was real.

“I love you like a fat kid loves cake,” I mumbled. She giggled, and I smiled at her. She knew my style; I’d say anything to make her smile.