Friends With Benefits

Chapter 10

I assured them quickly, of course, that their expectations were completely and utterly accurate in every way.

As the song ended and the boys began away to the crowd, my eyes stalked Harry closely.  I watched in satisfied awe as he brushed his curls from his eyes, his long fingers lingering slightly on his sticky forehead as he heaved deep breaths.  Whatever Louis was saying to the audience blurred fuzzily into the background as I kept my eyes focused, watching heatedly as Harry scanned the crowd carefully, his eyes lost momentarily before they clamped onto my gaze.  A sweet, seductive grin crept onto his face as he held my eyes, his hand rising in a swift wave, and I suddenly felt a surge of childish excitement at the fact that the sexy, lusted-after singer on the stage was directing his attention to me. 

Amongst the crowds of crying, shrieking fangirls, each and every one of whom practically worshipped at the feet of Harry Styles, each and every one of whom would give their left leg to be on the receiving end of that wave…I abruptly felt the weight of the honour of being the one girl he’d chosen to have as he pleased.  He wanted me.  Maybe only as a substitute, for the time being.  Maybe only as a fuck buddy.  But all the same…he craved my body, my touch.  I was the girl he looked for in the crowd.

And that thought alone made my stomach do somersaults.

“ASHLYN!  ASHLYN OH MY GOD!” I heard a girl a few feet away from me screech, “ASHLYN HE WAVED AT US!  HARRY WAVED IN OUR DIRECTION, OH GOD, HE MUST HAVE SEEN OUR BANNER!”

I watched the two girls jump hyperactively, waving their arms and wringing their hands like there was no tomorrow, all the while with a sly smile on my face.

I had, effectively, just made that girls year.

The three of us headed swiftly round to the backstage area when the show finished, trying our best not to draw attention – if Eleanor and Danielle were noticed, it could cause large scale war, and for me to be with them…it would create shockwaves, to say the least.  There were already rumours floating around about me and Harry’s involvement with each other, what with the leaked photos of us ice-skating together…and when the word had gotten out about me spending Christmas in Holmes Chapel, the fanbase had done all but blown up.  Suddenly, I was pictured in every magazine next to him, every gossip page in every newspaper.  Heat was my favourite for the farfetched rumours.  According to them, we’d had a ‘dirty week away’ in Holmes Chapel over the holidays.  In his mother’s house, nonetheless.  Oh, the scandal!  And the best part was, the article featured an interview from Harry that he’d never even attended. 

Exclusive, right?

His one, simple tweet was all he’d provided as a way of explaining us –"Kylee is just a friend … my best friend :) .x”  That hadn’t put the rumours to bed, either.  People immediately over analysed every word, and the fans determined that we were fucking.  I’d seen it written on some of their little blogs when I’d googled it late at night at home.  I didn’t mind – they were mostly joking, commenting on it in a light-hearted way, and the majority of them didn’t seem too pushed or upset.  Those fangirls were smarter than they looked!

Unfortunately, though, there were always going to be a few bad apples.  My reception every time I logged onto twitter these days was…hostile, to say the least.  It was unnerving, some of the insults and hate they sent me.  I’d gotten used to it – I’d worked with Disney long enough to have my fair share of online abuse, and I’d learned not to take it to heart – but it was hard to forget about it when someone was telling you ‘you need to leave Harry alone or get stabbed in the face’.  I tried to overlook it, and Harry guaranteed me that it was all brainless silliness, that that sort of behaviour and level of insolence didn’t represent his fans, and I knew that.  It was funny, really.  The girls who so gallantly rushed to defend Harry, really thought they were right, saying “He would never have a fuck buddy, Harry’s not like that!” or, “He wouldn’t want a plastic, cheap whore like you anyway!”  How ironic, I always thought, that they didn’t know Harry at all.