𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋! | harry styles

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OF course it starts pouring because I actually flat-ironed my hair this morning. I hunch my shoulders as if playing turtle might stop the raindrops from landing on my head and my skintight clothes. If only I had a real waterproof shell to escape into.

Come on, 51! If the bus arrives before my T-shirt gets soaked through, this day might not be a total disaster.

A body shuffles behind me; the rain stops-or at least, it stops falling on me. A soft pitter-pat above my head muffles the noise pollution of the city street. Any other day, I would shrug away from a stranger's umbrella. Today, I can't afford to be prickly.

Craning my neck, I take a cautious peek at the pavement behind me. A man's brown loafers, almost twice the size of my own open-toed sandals, stand firm against the water droplets ricocheting off the sidewalk. My gaze ventures up his tan corduroy pants, just reaching his thigh when a deep voice startles me.

"Sorry, didn't meant to scare you. I hope you don't mind."

My focus jumps to the man's face-a handsome, grown-up face with a hint of a smile that brushes his cheeks, mirrored in his green eyes.

"Not at all. Thanks, actually."

His grin widens. "It goes against my grain to let a lady get wet."

Coming from any other guy, that line would definitely ring the creeper bell. Something about this man-maybe the crinkles etched at the corners of his eyes and lips-lends a sense of depth that instantly sets me at ease. Or maybe his swoon-worthy smile has lulled me into a false sense of security.

"I appreciate that."

"My pleasure." He steps close to my side, creating a safe, dry island for two.

A rustle of cellophane draws my attention to a bouquet of sunflowers in his opposite hand. Be still my romantic heart.

"Those oughtta brighten somebody's rainy day," I say, allowing myself the brief, wistful fantasy of those flowers-and the smile behind them-being for me.

"Hope so." He glances at the flowers as if they disappoint him somehow. "So, what brings you out in this monsoon?"

"I have a job interview."

He scans my outfit as if he must have seen it wrong the first time. The eyebrows rise, but he resets his neutral expression just as quickly. "I see."

I should make something up, something that would impress a man who buys flowers and keeps ladies dry in the rain. But fuck that, because if I can't even say it out loud to a stranger on the street, how am I ever gonna get this damn job?

"I'm applying at Hooters." It's almost a dare.

"I see," he says again. His gaze falls to my chest, just for a split-second, but long enough for my stupid nipples to form two sharp points against my damp shirt. "I like your chances," he says, "if you don't mind my saying so."

Gee, why would I mind a complete stranger telling me my tits will get me a job?

Get over yourself, Sophie. "I guess it kind of goes with the territory."

He chuckles. "The terrain, so to speak."

Okay, so done talking about my chest. "And where might you be headed?"