Olivia's pov
I'm exhausted and want nothing more than to just go home and collapse on my couch. But of course, that's just too much to ask for. Instead James, my boss, tells me that I'm in charge of locking up shop, which will take another 25 minutes.
The minute he speeds of in his car, I'm muttering every swear-word I've ever learned to myself.
I look around the record store and sigh. The place was a mess as well. Knowing James would kill me if I left the place like this, I start to shuffle across the store, heading over to the completely chaotic pile of records a customer obviously had a good time throwing around.
I organize them, alphabetically, blowing my straight-across bangs out of my eyes in the process. It really is time for a haircut. I make myself a mental note.
As I'm in the process of putting on my sweater, I hear the front door open and the little bell above the door rings out.
"We're closed, sorry!" I call out from the back room of the store. I zip up my sweater as I peek my head around the door, seeing who in the world is coming to a local record store at 10 at night.
My stomach flutters when I recognize the familiar dirty blonde head of hair. He wears one of those damned knit-caps I hate so much. And that charming smile of his, of course.
Tate Solti; my ex-boyfriend.
"Hey, Olivia," He smiles, taking a step towards me.
"Tate," I nod, politely, despite my strong urge to take that coffee in his hands and dump it on his head. I fold my arms across my arms and wait for him to speak first.
I don't see him for weeks and he just shows up out of the blue. What can he possibly want? What kind of situation has he gotten himself into now?
"I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now," He starts, holding his hand up, signaling me to wait. I just snort and roll my eyes. That's an understatement. "But I really need someone to talk to and you're the only person I could think of," He explains, a sad expression settling on his face.
I can't lie and say I haven't fantasized of this moment. The moment where he comes crawling back to me on his hands and knees and I can just kick him when he's down. But I wasn't expecting to feel bad for him. After all he's done, here I am, wanting to comfort his sorrowful attitude.
"Tate..." I start, getting ready to let him down as easily as possible, throwing away all the nasty insults I had ready for him the next time he showed his face.
"Just let me have a moment," He begs, taking another step towards me, making the space between us more non-existent.
My brain is telling me to take a step backwards and reinforce the distance between us. It's screaming at me that I won't be able to resist his 'Tate-like-ways' in a few moments. But my heart is telling me to cradle his head in my lap and let him speak what's on his mind.
You win this time, heart.
I nod, letting him say what he feels the need to say.
"It's been 2 weeks; 14 days; 336 hours; 20,160 seconds, since I've seen you and I've missed you every moment of it. I know I've messed up, and I know that you deserve better than me, but I was hoping you could give me- give us another chance. I haven't stopped thinking about you, or your beautiful smile, or your amazing voice, or your sense of humor. Honestly that's all I've been thinking of." He tells me, getting it all off his chest.
He exterminates the distance in between us altogether, coming up to me and placing one of his hands on my cheeks. He still towers over me in a very irritating way. He still smells of spearmint gum and expensive cologne.
"And why should I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?" I narrow my eyes at him, batting his hand away from my face. A flash of frustration comes over his face and that serves as my reminder of why I hate his guts.
"Because, you're my everything." He collects himself and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ears, brushing my neck in the process; my weakness. I close my eyes and try to straighten my thoughts out.
I start to take a deep breath when suddenly a pair of familiar lips crashes against mine in their usual aggressive manner. The cool burst of spearmint gum makes me gasp for air. As soon as I regain my breath, I push Tate away with all the strength I can muster up.
After he staggers back a few steps, he looks at me with a hurt expression on his face.
"What do you think you're doing?" He asks, "You're just going to throw all we had down the drain because you're still upset over stupid little mistakes I made?" He raises his voice.
"Except that's the thing. Those mistakes might have seemed small to you, but they mattered to me. So yes, excuse me if I'm still a little mad at you. You can't just kiss me and expect everything to be better!" I shout back at him, getting up in his face. "You treat me like some toy you can throw around," I give his chest a harsh push, anger hitting it's boiling point in my chest.
A sly smirk forms on his lips as he stares down at me, breathing just as heavily as me.
"That's all you are. A toy, an object. That's all you'll ever be to anyone. Easy." He drawls out his words, each one hitting me like a blow to the stomach.
WIthout even thinking, I reach out and slap him across the face as hard as I can. I feel the burn of the slap on my hands as his face snaps to the side, turning red almost immediately. He stumbles backwards and catches himself on the edge of the table. His hand goes up to the cheek I hit, defensively.
"Just you wait, Olivia. You'll be crawling back to me in no time." He laughs at me before storming out of the store.
Breathing heavily, I lean against the wall for support. My adrenaline starting to downfall, I start to feel the real pain inflicted from his words. I can't help but to start to let out a few tears, mostly out of anger. I wipe them away in frustration.
Tate and I were high-school sweethearts. We both were musicians and were completely in love. Tate was my first everything. I was planning on marrying him. Then graduation hit and everything changed. Tate started hanging out with new friends and I didn't matter as much any more. I was always that last on his list.
Then one day I head over to his house after not hearing from him for a few days. I was worried about him. But instead of finding him fatally ill, I found him in bed with some bimbo. I broke up with him immediately and haven't spoken to him since.
After I wipe my face dry of tears and fish my keys out of my pocket, I head out the front door. In the distance I hear a chorus of high-pitched screams. It sounds as if a group of teenage girls had just been released from captivity for the first time. I simply roll my eyes as I lock up the store.
I take a step out of the doorway when suddenly somebody crashes into me, knocking me completely over. I let out a small yelp of surprise as the person scrambles to their feet. I try to sit up, only to be grabbed by the arm and yanked to my feet.
I try my hardest to reach for the can of pepper spray in the bottom of my purse, but the person holds me tightly in place. I look up to see a boy, around my age, closing his eyes and whispering under his breath.
That same group of teenage girls race pass the doorway to the shop. I consider shouting out to them for help, but for some reason, I refrain from doing so. Instead I study the boy carefully.
His thick dark hair is peeking out of his sweatshirt hoodie. His eyes are squeezed shut as he grips onto me for dear life. His chest rises with his quick breathing, as if he's out of breath.
The screams from the girls fades off into the distance, but the boy still holds onto my arms.
"Um, excuse me, can I help you?" I clear my throat and speak up.
The boy's eyes dart open and he looks directly at me. I'm only a few inches shorter than him, so he doesn't tower over me like Tate had just a few minutes ago. His eyes seem to be glowing from the dimly-lit streetlamps; a brilliant green color.
He stares at me for a few moments before a small smile develops on his lips. He lets out a small laugh.
"I'm incredibly sorry, I usually don't go around tackling pretty girls to the ground," He explains. My heart flutters as he speaks with the most charming British accent you've ever heard. I can feel my cheeks turning a bright pink color, something that doesn't happen often.
"But you do use that line on all the pretty girls, don't you?" I counter, taking a step back. The boy doesn't let go of my arm still. He only lets out a louder laugh.
"What's your name, love?" He asks, taking a step towards me, a large smile placed on his face.
"Why should I tell you?" I ask, trying to hide the smile that's struggling to make an appearance on my face. I'm not going to make this easy for him.
"Because I owe you a real apology, an honest one, and I feel like I can't give you that without knowing your name," He answers smoothly, not missing a beat.
I like that he can keep up with me. He's quick on his toes. There's nothing worse than someone who can't keep up with me.
"Olivia Watson," I answer, the corners of my lips turning up, "And you?" I ask, brushing my bangs out of my face.
But the boy just looks at me like I'm a mad-woman. His eyebrows raise and his playful grin is replaced with a look of confusion.
"You don't know who I am?" He asks, furrowing his brows. It's my turn to let out a laugh,
"I'm afraid I don't know every boy who knocks down unsuspecting girls in the street," I joke, going along with it. But he doesn't smile, instead he studies me carefully. He almost appears... suspicious.
"You sure you don't know who I am?" He asks again, making me the confused one, "The name's Harry Styles," He tells me, waiting for me to have an epiphany.
But Harry Styles is completely new to me. It doesn't sound familiar in the slightest.
"Afraid not," I shrug, pulling my sweater tighter around me, trying to keep warm in the cool summer's breeze.
Now the confusion and surprise is completely gone on his face. A large smile has made his face it's home and he beams at me.
"That's quite alright, love. That just means we'll have to get to know each other," He comments, returning back to his flirtatious ways. I just laugh at how quickly he bounces back.
"And what makes you think I'd be okay with that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Because, Olivia," He drawls out his words. I can't help but to feel butterflies flying around in my stomach when I hear him say my name, "You haven't stopped smiling since I've started talking to you," He remarks, smiling confidently at me.
It's then that I feel the burning in my cheeks, from too much grinning. I look down to my feet, the smile not fading, slightly embarrassed.
"But that's quite alright, because you have a beautiful smile," He continues, making me smile even more.
What a smooth-talker. I wonder to myself how many other girls he's used these lines on.
"You're good; you're very good," I shake my head and laugh. He just stands there proudly. I admire his confidence and blunt personality. I'm not one for games. "Well Harry, I'm afraid I have to be off. Maybe we'll run into each other again sometime. But perhaps next time without so much force," I joke, stepping out onto the sidewalk.
He follows me, trailing a few steps behind me. I stop underneath the streetlamp beside my parked car.
"I don't want to just run into you sometime." He frowns, pouting like an adorable puppy, "Let me take you on a date," He offers, boldly.
"You barely know me! I could be some psychotic serial killer for all you know," I remind him.
"But you're not-"
"You don't know that,"
"I can tell," He assures me,
"And how exactly?" I fold my arms across my chest, waiting to see what he'll say next.
"I can see it in your eyes. They're big and green and have the word 'trustworthy' written all over them. Not to mention your smile. That smile can only belong to the world's funniest and most charming girl ever," He answers, placing his hand on my cheek, just as Tate had. I throw Tate's angry expression out of my mind quickly as my heart patters quickly in my chest.
His hand feels warm upon my cheek and I want to place my own hands on his face, but I keep them glued to my side. Don't make a fool of yourself, Olivia. Keep playing it cool.
"I suppose I do deserve an extremely good apology," I smile, pulling a pen out of my pocket.
I remove his hand from my face and scribble my number down in deep black ink. I glance up at him and he's grinning at me like a man who just won the lottery. He's just the right mixture of confidence and sweetness.
His hand drops to his side and I give him a small smile before making my way to my car. He leans up against the streetlamp, watching me leave. I try my hardest not to embarrass myself in front of him. I could just picture myself falling flat on my face in front of him.
"I'll be calling you very soon, love!" He calls out as I start my car,
I hope so.
I just smile and give him a wave before driving off. The streets of Los Angeles are incredibly empty for a Thursday night. But I can't even appreciate the lack of traffic. Instead Harry's cute smile and dazzling eyes are stuck in my brain.
Deep within my purse I hear my phone going off. As I stop at a red light, I quickly fish it out of the bottom of my purse.
UNKNOWN CALLER CALLING...
I crinkle my brow and answer it,
"Hello?"
"Hello, love," Harry says, his British accent sounding just as charming over the phone. I can't help but to smile.
What is that saying everyone says? When one door closes, another one opens?
I sure hope this is the right door...