I watched him through the mirrored window that stood between us. He sat with his well-built arms folded across his chest. He wore a black button down shirt and black skinny jeans. He was dark. And he was mysterious. He looked up like he knew I was watching and a dimpled smirk flashed across his face making my heart flutter. I draw in one deep breath and walk into the interrogation room. "Hello, Mr. Styles," I said, cold and brief as I slam his file onto the table. He watches me as I take a seat opposite him, biting his lip. "Hello there," He replied, as he unfolded his muscular arms and rest them on his thighs. I was warned about him, and his devilish charm. If only I knew that not even I could evade him, and if only I knew it was Game On.

Winters in London are cold. Harry drinks tea to keep warm. Lena doesn't like that. She's much more of a coffee person, really.

no·to·ri·ous/adjective: famous or well known, typically for some bad quality or deed. Harry Styles, by the very definition of the word is notorious. Not only for his good looks, charm, and unfathomable musical talent, but also for his womanizing and heartless attitude. Aspen Russo, by the very definition of the word, hates Harry Styles. Not only because he calls her "munchkin" and constantly looks down her shirt, but also because he flirted his way into her band and refuses to leave. Through drunken nights, illegal adventures, sizzling chemistry, and a few secrets bubbling at the surface Aspen may just learn that definitions were meant to be applied loosely. WARNING: Graphic sexual content. I am also not responsible for any feels or heartache (good and bad) this story ensues.