A Heart of Gold

Chapter 2

Oh my God oh my God oh my God.

I can see her mouth moving but I cannot hear a word she is saying. The ocean roars in my ears I feel the air sucked out of my lungs. My mind repeats: Harry Styles. Harry Styles. Harry Fucking Styles.

Yes, I am a grown woman. And yes, I am obsessed with Harry Styles.

"Lynn? Lynn... are you listening?"

I actually feel lightheaded.

She continues to talk about details but my body is buzzing and I'm starting to sweat. The room spins and I think- this is it. This is really it. This is where I actually die of a heart attack.

Complete Fangirl Mode.

Living in LA, it's always in the back of my mind. Will today be the day I see Harry? The day we meet in line at the coffee shop, where he 'accidentally' takes my coffee because he wants to meet me? We chat, and he is so taken with my beauty and quick wit that he whisks me away into his black Range Rover and we get married on the beach? Or will it be the day I spot him in the coffee shop, my legs stop working and I trip over myself, sploshing my hot drink all over his chest? Or might it be the day that I don't go to the coffee shop, and then scroll through endless photos posted of him there posing with other girls, while I drown my sorrows in pint after pint of ice cream?

I've spotted old soap stars in shops or out to dinner, and have seen crowds around people I probably should recognize but don't. But how do these girls, looking perfect and never wilted, just bump into Harry on the street? 'Whoops, look who I just met!' their IG captions taunt me, along with Harry's stupidly gorgeous face and his arm around their shoulders or giving his classic thumbs up. I don't get it. With my luck I'd see him on my way home from Zumba when I look like I've just lost a battle with a garden hose.

Wait till I tell the kids.

Wait till I tell Jenny.

Wait. Till. I. Tell. Lina. She is going to flip out.

I'd listened- well, half listened, to my niece ramble about "the boys" and their antics for years. The excitement of album after album, secret meanings behind each new tattoo, rumor drama and the pain of Zayn leaving. She instructed me on how a true Directioner loves all the boys equally, however, she has declared herself a Niall girl.

"He's soooo perfect and I just love him soooo much. Ugh, if only he knew me he'd love me, too," she whines dramatically. I totally get this. Painfully intense feelings that ping pong between love, longing, joy and frustration. My boy band days have passed, but those feelings left a mark.

The summer the OTRA tour came near us was both heaven and hell. The phone call that changed my life. The police and the ambulance. The shock and the anger. The funeral and the tears. My brother's death changed my family. We stumbled around in the darkness, like a party halted by a power outage. We bumped into each other but were too confused to think straight- to hold on to one another for support or to lift the other from the floor.

Lina was especially lost. Her mother, swallowed by her own grief, just could not help Lina through hers.

Silly as it sounds, some of Lina's relief came though following her boys and their music, and the support she felt from other girls in the "fandom." And some of my heaven came from seeing her smile.

Lina was desperate to go to the concert, but Brigid was in no shape to take her. I instantly became the favorite aunt as she and her friends piled into my car that summer day.

Inside the stadium, I felt 15 again. Girls giggling and pulling on each other, carrying signs that lit up, wearing flower crowns on their soft heads- the excitement was overwhelming. I was thrilled to give Lina a few hours of happiness. Little did I know this would be the beginning of the end for me.

The stage was their playground and watching Niall, Liam and Louis tousle and tease each other like eight year olds was fun. But it was Harry, loping around the stage with his long hair flying out behind him, who made my mouth go dry. Muscles bulging under his sweaty t-shirt and jeans like a second skin, he was sex on legs. Powerful enough to shush 80,000 girls into silence, and then command them to scream till their eardrums burst. Singing and dancing fed by music and adrenaline. Dousing the screaming girls in the front rows with his water bottle as they begged him to do it again.

How could I have missed this all these years? I spent that weekend on a 1D binge- watching music videos, old concert footage and interviews and when I emerged I officially declared myself most definitely, without a doubt, a Harry girl.

I've tried to keep my crazy from Lina, but little things slipped in our conversations and my secret has slowly leaked out, like nail polish from a tipped bottle during one of our pampering sessions. Only mine is not a pearly ballet pink, but a bright and screaming red.

Lina, unknowlingly, feeds my addiction. We sing all the boys' music in the car on our way to the mall for our girls' days out. She shares her lyric art and drawings of Niall with me when she's feeling moody. We panicked the day Harry cut his hair and posted the picture of his ponytail, and we cried actual tears watching their last performance of "History." For my birthday, she bought me a mug with Harry's tattoos on it that says, "A Heart of Gold and Boots to Match" with her babysitting money.

When Harry announced his solo tour, I bribed Jenny with an iced cappuccino to cover my class so that I could order tickets for us at the exact moment they were released. Lina and I both skipped school the day of the show. She teases me about it and thinks it's cute, that I'm "so old" and in love with Harry.

She has no idea.

As I scroll through my photos of him I realize that, laid end to end, they could wrap around the Earth. I check fan accounts for new sightings of him more than I check my email. I fantasize about him all day long and have even read a fan fiction or two. Or fifty. Or a hundred.

I literally dream of his hair. Rich, chestnut colored waves. I want to sink my hands into it, rake my fingers through its silkiness slowly, from his forehead to the back of his neck and watch his eyes roll back and then close at the sensation of my nails scratching his scalp.

I've studied the way he uses his hands as he talks. He spreads his long fingers out wide, he laces them together, he rolls his chunky silver rings distractedly. I want those hands on my face, cupping my cheeks. I need them to trail slowly down my neck and maybe squeeze a little. I want them to grip my waist or pull me toward him at the small of my back.

I'm mesmerized by the perfect cupid's bow of his lips. Their pink is the same shade I see above the horizon just before the sun sets. He pulls on the bottom one when he's thinking and he licks them before speaking, leaving a shine. I want those lips to press into mine, to graze over my collarbone, to kiss down my chest.

"Hmmm? Oh, right. Yes." I blink and nod slowly. "Yup- Harry Styles... got it. Sounds great. I'm in."

A/N:

Wouldn't we all just faint if we met Harry?!

Thanks for reading, please vote or leave me a comment if you can relate!

xx

~S