Ghost Writer [Harry Styles][H.S. Fanfic]

2 - DON'T COME DOWN

"Aloha, my little minnow," he says, swooping her up into a painful-looking bearhug, and twirls her around before she taps out from the dizziness, and he places her back on her feet.

"Aloha, brother! Spike, meet Curly. Curly, this is Spike." Sunny introduces us, waving her hand between the two of us hastily, and then she wanders away towards the booth to pull up some music files on her laptop.

"Ah, you got a nickname too, huh? That must mean you've made an impression on her. She only gives them to people she likes," he informs me, reaching out to shake my hand. His grip is crushing, and I have to keep myself from wincing in pain. Although, as I look at his hair, I see how he got his nickname.

"Well, that's good to know, at least. She's something out of this world. I just thought she forgot my name and didn't have the heart to tell me," I admit truthfully. 

Spike cackles, slapping my back in amusement, forcing my body to fly forward from the impact, but I catch myself before I eat the ground.

"Naw, braddah. Trust me, you don't wanna be called your real name by her, because that means she's upset or you fucked up somehow and are on her shit list. But I'll be back in an hour. Don't let her burn the place down." He waves goodbye and his words about her liking me ring in my head. I can't help but let a satisfied smile spread at the mere thought that she didn't just bring me here because she felt bad for the quiet, shy guy.

Over the next hour, my eyes stay glued to her as she dances around enthusiastically, hyping up the crowd. Her blonde hair whips back and forth and she throws her hands up as she jumps along to the beat drop. She looks like an angel. She's just so carefree. I admire that about her. And I can't lie... I'm a little jealous.

She has all this talent and freedom and can be authentically herself to all of these people... and they all love her. She's adored just by being true to herself and not apologizing for it. Hell, she flips everyone off as her signature greeting and they eat it up. She's real.

My entire career, I've been under a microscope in the spotlight, having to hide who I am, and dealing with trash magazine rumors, calling me a greasy-haired womanizer, gay, or overrated. Part of me wishes that she doesn't know who I am and hasn't read all that stuff written about me. But if she does know who I am, I'm grateful that she's treating me like a normal person and not like Harry Styles, the heartbreaker bloke from One Direction.

If people only knew the truth.

I look to my phone and see a load of texts from the boys asking where I went and that they're going out to grab a drink, and to call if I want to join. They probably think I went home. They will shit their pants if they show up here and see that I'm with Sunny instead of in bed like I usually am. I'm not much of a partier, because I don't like all the shit that comes along with it in Hollywood.

"Hey! Spike just got back. You ready to get wasted?" She grabs my shoulders and shakes me excitedly with a toothy grin on her face.

"How can I say no to that face?" I've never been a huge drinker but it's my last night and there's no way in hell I'm leaving her till I have no choice to.

"Whoo! You're in luck cuz I drink for free," she yells over the music, yanking me toward the VIP section's private bar. She lays out ten glasses and pours each of them in a straight line, filling them to the brim before handing me a shot of the clear liquid. "I hope you like tequila."

I reach over the bar and grab the salt and limes, "Bring it."

"Oh, Curly! It's brought! You've never had a shot like a Sunny-Side-Up! Just wait. You'll love it!" She smirks devilishly and wiggles her eyebrows before grabbing my hand to lick over the spot where my cross tattoo inks the fleshy part above my thumb.