Sometimes, when I'm off tour, I get this itch.
Not literal. Metaphorical.
Tour ends, the lights shut off, and suddenly I'm just... still. No crew, no call times, no adrenaline. My body rests, but my brain? My brain starts looking for motion.
Sometimes, that motion looks like gym sessions, long walks, locking myself in a studio with nothing but an acoustic and my ego.
And sometimes? It looks like sex.
Not tabloid shit. No god-complex orgies. Just something familiar. Women I trust. People who text back with a wink and nothing more.
Like Sasha. Like Lou.
Not like Lena.
I thought it'd be casual.
Banter, late-night texts, sex with no strings.
But Lena doesn't do casual.
And I'm starting to think I don't either - not with her.
Christina Donaldson had been working as a personal assistant to many artist for years, but nothing could prepare her for being one to Harry Styles.
A professional friendship between the two begins to cross lines neither of them seem to mind blurring.
But will it all be too much.