August 5, 2015
The passes arrived via messenger the next morning.
"I need Ms. Vanessa Brains to sign for it," the voice said.
"And I'm telling you we don't have anyone here with that name. We have a Vanessa, but her last name isn't Brains," I heard the floor secretary speaking as she approached my office. The exchange drew a small crowd who gathered outside my door, curious about the excitement.
Rolling my eyes, I stood up. My last name was on the documents we'd signed last night, and he snapped a photo of the contract, so why he felt the need to send the tickets to "Vanessa Brains" was beyond me. He was the biggest dork. But worse, he was drawing attention to something that was supposed to be under wraps.
"I'll sign for the package," I used my most authoritarian tone, taking the clipboard from the bicycle delivery boy and scrawling a signature on the line. The guy smiled warily as he passed over the envelope.
"What is it?" Amber stood on her tiptoes behind me, trying to see over my shoulder.
"I haven't opened it yet," I said, entering my office and tossing the envelope to the side as I returned to working on the contract in front of me.
"Duh. Open it." She was persistent, and I knew she wouldn't leave until I gave her some inkling of what was in the mysterious package.
Attempting to placate her, I commented, "It's probably just a small token of appreciation from that client I helped last week."
"Mhm," she crossed her arms, tapping her foot. "Open it, bitch."
Sometimes Amber scares me, so I did as she asked, using my letter opener to slit the envelope. Inside was a single piece of paper with a handwritten note on it. Unfolding the note, I picked up the two lanyards that fell out and read the scrawl. "Come see me. - H"
Not "us". "Me". It made me smile.
Amber had pounced, grabbing the lanyards from my hand and squealing. I used the distraction to fold Harry's note and tuck it away where she wouldn't get her hands on it. "We're going to see One Direction tonight!" When she examined the passes more closely, her high pitched squeal got louder and more high pitched.
"Oh holy cannoli, Van! These are VIP tickets! We even get Meet and Greet!" She was jumping up and down. "I get to meet the blond one and hug him!"
With the elation, it appeared that she forgot to ask the hard questions like why I had received these, and I took the opportunity to practice my fifth amendment rights by not providing any explanation whatsoever.
"Ummmm....who said you were going with me?" I playfully demanded.
Stunned, her mouth dropped open, and she swiveled to face me. "Who else are you going to take?"
I laughed, and she started dancing around my office, singing at the top of her lungs one of the songs we'd heard the boys perform the previous day when she froze.
"What am I going to wear!?"
The level of freakout was definitely not proportional to the actual question. She rushed out of my office, racing to her own in order to plan her wardrobe, I guess. For me, the decision was a simple one: blue jeans and a t-shirt. It was going to be hot outside, and I knew I would need to be as cool as possible with Harry on stage in front of me, his animal magnetism at full force. Wolves across the country would likely howl when they caught his scent. The entirety of the female population would go into heat when he stepped on stage.
I wish I could say I was the exception.
Later that evening, dressed in my ripped jeans with a simple black t-shirt, I smiled as I put on my VIP lanyard and winked at my colleague who had decided to go with a completely different outfit. The skintight dress Amber wore hugged every curve like a Lamborghini on a racetrack. The pattern was bright and colorful. And she'd chosen to wear heels. My sneakers, though brand new, looked out of place next to her. I wasn't at the show to make friends and influence people, though. I was there simply because Harry had invited me.
We were guided to the Meet and Greet area, and Amber clutched my arm the entire way, her nerves getting the better of her. "You already met the long-haired one," I reminded her.
"Harry? Eh. He was nothing. It's the blond god that I live for." She waved her hand in the air, brushing away my -- crap. What should I call him? He wasn't a boyfriend. We were under contract, so perhaps we were business partners? That made the most sense, so I decided to call him my partner in my head.
The line was moving along. We were surrounded by females as young as 12 and as old as 60, but the majority of the throng was between 16-18. They cried in anticipation, fingering their lanyards as though the passes were made of gold. Some squealed in high pitched ways, and I wanted to cover my ears. Amber kept spouting facts she knew about the blond one. I really needed to quit calling him that, but I couldn't remember his name for the life of me.
"What's the blond one's name?" I half-whispered to Amber, and all conversation around me halted as young girls stared at me with shock on their faces.
"Niall, you bozo. You seem to only have eyes for Harry," and the vigilantes relaxed noticeably. It must have made sense to them that I knew of Harry and not the others. Which just proved the point I had made to him the day before.
Soon enough, we were the next in line. The energy bouncing from my friend was palpable as she rocked back and forth on her heels, her head swiveling left and right.
"Okay. Plan of attack," she whispered to me. "I'm gonna go hug Harry and Liam and Louis first so I can end up next to Niall. You do whatever."
I had to giggle at her comment. Cause what I was thinking was Yeah. I did do whatever. And I was very much into it.
When our time came, Amber's nerves kicked in, and she forgot everything about her battle plan, heading straight for a hug with Niall. Liam and Louis were talking quietly over on the side, ignoring us for the most part, teasing and jostling each other.
Harry's eyes softened as he spotted me, and that sticky, gooey feeling was back in the tar pit of my stomach. With a glance at my friend, I saw she was still embroiled in a hug with her blond Irishman, so I moved to Harry, hugging him tightly. I could feel his nose squench up as he buried it in my hair and took a deep breath.
"You look good," he whispered.
"This old thing?" I asked as I stepped back, motioning to my utilitarian outfit.
"Okay. Let's get this picture everyone! Liam! Louis! Are you ready?" the photographer encouraged somewhat harshly.
Harry turned me around to face the camera, his lips close to my ear, "Can I come over after the show? It might be late."
Wordlessly, I nodded, my panties developing a wet spot just from the thought. His hand on my waist, he stepped close enough that I could feel him plastered against my back as though he were the skintight jeans I was wearing. His hand slid from my waist down over my ass, and he gave it a light squeeze.
By then, everyone else had posed for the picture, and we were being rushed on for the next people in line to have their turn. I spun quickly and wrapped my arms around Harry again. "Break a leg tonight, Butterfly Boy!" I breathed the words into his ear just before I stepped away, the feeling of his hands on me like a branding.
Twice on the way out of the room, I pivoted to look back at him only to find his eyes on me. Which somehow made my hips sway of their own accord as I sauntered away.
The show was phenomenal. Although I didn't pay much attention to the other members of the band, Harry was captivating enough on his own. He was like one of those air-filled floating noodles at times, his limbs flowing and flailing. During softer songs, he had this quiet, reverent stillness about him that reminded me of the intensity of a church service. His loose hair flowed behind him as he danced and pranced around the stage.
But he really came alive when he chatted and flirted with the audience. He and Liam sang a beautiful rendition of Happy Birthday to a fan. He brought out a ridiculous New York accent with talk about someone named Ishmael. I didn't understand it at all, but people around me laughed hard. He asked people to clap their hands and stomp their feet. He seemed to like numbers as he was frequently counting the band and the crowd up to the next part of the song. It was adorable. Then he tried to get the crowd to be quiet which was pretty close to impossible before he encouraged them to scream. I laughed while I covered my ears. He pointed out dads in the audience, encouraging them to dance. He made everyone feel important, and his gratitude for those in attendance felt sincere.
Star power. My partner had the magical, mystical "it".
And wow. Did he have the voice! Listening to him sing was mesmerizing. His note changes reverberated through my body, and I shivered hearing him. It was like the most melodic angel as his voice carried through the entire stadium, echoing and rumbling, weaving a spell over me and my fellow concertgoers. How he thought the world wouldn't fall at his feet with a solo album was beyond me. Perhaps I needed to spend some time boosting his ego. Around things other than his bedroom performance.
When the show was over, I barely noticed the way that Amber limped from her sore feet. Seriously. Who wears heels to an outdoor concert where you know you'll be standing the whole time? But she was too ecstatic at meeting Niall and then seeing him perform to complain. Twice during the show he had waved to her, and I thought she was going to self-destruct with her giddiness as we wandered out and caught the 160 back to the Port Authority Bus Terminal where we caught the Q into Manhattan.
The whole way, my friend could not stop talking about her experience, and my ears were still ringing, so I let her drone on while my brain wandered to what I would wear and how I would greet my sure-to-be-exhausted 'partner' when he got in later.
Amber and I parted ways at the Broadway station. My weariness from working a full day and then being up so late to the concert was starting to wear on me, and I wondered how I would manage a visit with Harry too. The heat of the night wore on me, so the instant I got home, I stripped my clothing and climbed into a cool shower, washing my hair quickly and scrubbing with my lavender and vanilla body wash, designed to induce sleep. When I climbed out of the shower, my eyelids were already droopy, so I wrapped myself in a towel and put on lotion. That's how I fell asleep with the Egyptian cotton tucked under my armpits as I sat on my bed, the lotion still in my hand.
The noise of the buzzer awakened me, and I sat up abruptly, unsure where I was or even who I was. Remembering Harry, I shuffled to the door, pressing the release downstairs and sleepily leaning on my entryway as I heard his footsteps rising to meet me. A tired smile rose to his eyes as he spotted me, and I felt sure that perhaps I had drooled or that my hair was a mess, so I reached up a hand to check both, wiping my chin of nonexistent saliva before smoothing a hand across my head.
Immediately, he stepped into me, pressing a kiss to my lips, and I sighed at the touch, wanting him inside: my apartment, my mouth, and me. It only occurs to me now that I likely had the beginnings of morning breath, but at the time, his flavor overwhelmed me with its invitation. His mouth melded with mine, and I leaned into him. Reaching up, he untucked my towel, letting it fall to the ground right there with my apartment door wide open. And I didn't even care if my neighbors wandered by. My hands meandered to his waist, and I could tell from his scent that he had showered before coming to me.
He tweaked my nipple, sliding his knee between my legs, and I was lost to him in the shadows, not having turned on a light in my foray across the apartment. Towering over me, he tilted my head back to give himself better access, and I moaned. My fingers teased under his shirt, scratching at his back, and he laughed as he pulled back from me.
"You can greet me like that any time, Van," he murmured in his soft voice, and my core melted like butter on a hot day.
Kicking the towel inside, he grasped my arms and steered me through the doorway, kicking the door shut and making quick work of the locks before stalking my way again. Which is when it hit me that I was completely naked in front of him.
"Harry!" I shrieked, running for the bedroom and climbing under the covers, yanking them to my chin.
"Modest suddenly, Brains?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow as he entered my bedroom, hopping as he pried off his Chelsea boots.
Crossing his arms and grasping the ends of his t-shirt, he pulled it over his head, tossing it to the side. Next he peeled off his skinny jeans, sitting on the bed to remove his socks. The whole clothing pile in the corner of my bedroom grew, and it didn't feel weird or unusual to have this man stripping in my bedroom while I lay naked under the covers watching.
When he was down to his boxers, he lifted the covers and slid in next to me. I shivered as he drew me close.
"Hope you don't mind, Brains, but I'm wiped."
I didn't mind at all, and I rested my head against his chest. "You're really good, Harry," I whispered into the darkness after he flipped the switch on the bedside lamp. "I don't know why you think you can't make it alone, but damn. You are amazing. Your voice. Your presence. I was impressed tonight."
There was a long pause, and when he spoke, his voice vibrated against my ear, the rumble deep and steady. "It's hard for me. We were a group of five. Honestly, I never expected to make it beyond X Factor. But then we became a group of four. And stuff happened. Things were said that can't be unsaid."
I twisted in the bed so that I could rest my arm on his butterfly and my chin on my hand, looking to where his face was outlined by the moon. "Harry -- you have the whole world at your feet. I am so fucking excited for you to go out and grab what belongs to you."
He traced patterns on my bare back for ages, and I was just beginning to doze when his voice stirred me. "Thank you, Vanessa. You don't have to believe in me."
Pressing kisses to his chest, I nestled close to his side again. "Doesn't take any work, Butterfly Boy. I just do."