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It took ages to get to the party. I felt nervous as we walked in - wondering if... hoping... that Harry was going to be here.

He wasn't.

It wasn't much of a party either. Rubbish music. Not that many people.

Luke whisked Taylor off almost as soon as we arrived. Seconds later Niall Horan materialised beside me and Gigi, a bunch of beer bottles in either hand.

From the way he smiled at Gigi, it was clear his fixation on Taylor had completely gone. He started chatting away with surprising confidence. I looked at Gigi. Mmmn. Maybe it wasn't so surprising. She was blushing, smiling up at him coyly.

I didn't give much for Joe's chances of not getting dumped in the next twenty-four hours.

Niall didn't seem to know if Harry was coming or not. I drank a couple of beers too fast, out of nerves. Then, with no sign of Harry in the house, and with Gigi and Niall ignoring everyone else, I drank another out of boredom.

I'd just extricated myself from a long conversation with the red-haired boy who played Lord Capulet when Harry finally turned up.

It was almost eleven o'clock. I looked up and he was there, standing in the living room doorway. His white shirt was creased. He looked tired, but gorgeous.

I held my breath as he gazed round the room

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I held my breath as he gazed round the room.

Notice me.

But his eyes skittered past me, as if he hadn't seen me. He looked down at the floor and shoved his hands in his pockets.

I glanced over at Gigi. Niall was definitely moving in on her - she had her back against the living room wall and he was leaning his arm against it, above her head. Still, they weren't kissing yet.

I went over. "Hey, Niall," I said lightly.

He turned round.

"Harry's here," I said.

Niall showed absolutely no interest in this bit of information.

"Oh." He turned back to Grace.

"How come he's so late?" I persisted.

This time Niall didn't even turn round. "Just finished work, I expect." He leaned closer to Gigi and smiled down at her.

Work? What kind of work did Harry do on a Saturday night? I stared across the room at him for a minute longer, then, emboldened by my three beers, I decided to go and talk to him. I set off across the carpet, but before I got halfway he caught my eye.

I could see from his expression that he knew I was coming to speak to him. He turned away and vanished from the doorway.

I stopped, stock-still, in the middle of the carpet. It felt like a slap in the face. Why had he done that? Didn't he want to talk to me? Feeling utterly humiliated, I retraced my steps across the living room.

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