He's still here.
I open my eyes slowly, fighting the heaviness of the sleep that wants to pull me back under.
Light filters in through my open curtains, illuminating Harry's face with the early morning sun. I let my eyes fall over his face, lingering on each one of his features.
His green eyes are closed and the deep-brown lashes that frame them are fanned across his cheeks. I've never really paid attention to them before, but looking close up, I can see that they're long and curled at the ends. They're girls' eyelashes—perfectly formed and totally worthy of eyelash-envy.
His cheekbones are defined just so, sitting on either side of the perfect nose. Or almost perfect. From this angle, I can see a tiny bump on the bridge of his nose. Somehow, it makes him more real. Especially when my gaze follows the strong, shapely line of his jaw and falls onto his mouth.
Soft. Pink. Curved at the corners.
"Morning." The husky tone of his voice sends tremors down my spine.
"Morning," I whisper, running my thumb across his bottom lip.
"Enjoying the view?" Harry opens his eyes. They're shining with laughter.
"It's not bad. Probably better than yours."
He grins. "I gotta say, I've never seen anyone look so cute with panda's eyes."
My fingers touch below my eyes. Crap. Evidently, I should have been using the last few minutes to fix my face up instead of staring at his.
A soft chuckle leaves him and he takes my hand away. "Kidding." He brushes his lips against mine. "You look great."
I roll my eyes. "You're not fooling anyone, Harry."
I move out of his arms and get out of bed. I run into my bathroom and look into the mirror.
Holy shit! Fuck panda eyes. I'm actually a panda! Mascara and eyeliner are smudged all around my eyes, and there are a few faint trails down my cheeks. There's even a smudge of it by my chin. Not to mention patchy foundation.
I look like I got in a fight with a makeup counter and lost. Abysmally.
I grab a makeup wipe from the packet in the cabinet and start scrubbing at my face. There's a light-red rash beneath my jaw, presumably from Harry's stubble. When I feel like I've removed the toddler-esque mess of hell from my face, I stroll back into my bedroom.
"You probably should have grabbed a robe before you went into the bathroom," Harry says, lying on his back. "My morning glory isn't so fucking glorious right now."
My gaze flicks to the tent halfway down the bed. "Honey, your cock is always glorious. It's just demanding. And constantly has an appetite for sex." I give him a pointed look, but his smirk almost breaks my serious façade.
"I appreciate you noticing it's superiority amongst all cocks."
"I never said it was superior."
"Ever come as hard as you did last night?"
"No."
He sits up and holds his arms out. "Superior cock."
A giggle escapes me. His confidence is adorable—and warranted. It is a pretty damn superior cock. Of course, it helps that the man it belongs to isn't shy about using it.
I put on some underwear. Harry coughs behind me and I pause before pulling on some sweatpants. "What?"
"You're going to leave me like this when it's all your fault?" He tugs the covers aside, exposing his erection.
My eyes flick down to it and back to his face. "I have a shower. You're welcome to use it."
"Are you going to join me?"
"No. I'm going to run to the store and get something for breakfast. I was supposed to go yesterday, but I didn't get a chance to."
"Why not?"
I wiggle my hands. "You think these nails are this pretty naturally?"
He blinks at me. "Okay. High-maintenance nails come before shopping for food. Gotcha."
Bastard.
Harry grins and gets out of bed. He crosses the room to me, cups my chin, and pulls my face to his. "I'll have a cold shower. You get dressed and feed that demon cat of yours. Then we'll go to my place and I'll make us breakfast."
"Or I could run to the store and get some Lucky Charms or something."
"Lucky Charms?" He seems horrified, releasing me and backing out of the room. "No, Liv. You're having more than Lucky fucking Charms for breakfast."
"There's nothing wrong with them!"
"Perhaps not on a normal day, but this isn't a normal day. I need to keep my bitch fed well so she can keep up with me."
I grab the nearest thing to me—a can of hairspray—and throw it in his direction. It hits him in the butt and I hear him yell. It's followed by a laugh.
"I'll get you back for that, you bitch."
"Counting on it," I murmur.
I stare at my sweatpants for a minute before switching them for some running pants instead.
It's been a few days since I've gotten off my lazy behind and did some exercise that didn't involve another person.
I tug on a sports bra and tank before starting a crazed hunt for my sneakers. Angus immediately takes up a chorus of meows upon seeing me, so I tip a can of food into his bowl and absently run a hand down his back.
Where the hell are my sneakers?
After a few minutes of no luck, I shrug and head back to my closet. Well, my new ones have been sitting there for a month. I didn't actually need them when I bought them...
I tug on the grey-and-bright-pink sneakers and tie them tight just as Harry emerges from my bathroom. Wearing nothing but a towel and water drops that cascade down his body.
Oh. Hello.
"Going somewhere?"
Resisting the urge to follow one particular droplet trail beneath the towel, I meet his eyes. "I figured I'd run to your place. I've been kind of lazy lately."
"Run?"
"Yeah. You know, it's like walking, except faster."
"Your sense of humor amazes me." He rolls his eyes and whips off his towel.
Way to distract me, asshole. "Good. It's another one of those great qualities of mine."
He snorts. "I gathered. No, I meant, why are you running when my car is here?"
"Your car is here?"
"I drove here last night. Then the car to the party actually turned up." He dries his hair.
Naked. Still.
"Are you going to put any underwear on any time soon?" I grab his boxer briefs from my floor and throw them at him.
He grabs them with lightning-fast reflexes. "I suppose. Why don't you let me drive back to my place?"
I stand and rest my hands on my hips. "Harry, you live, like, six blocks away. I can probably run to your apartment quicker than you can drive it."
I grab a hair tie from the side and pull my hair up into a ponytail as he thinks this over. Now with underwear on. Unfortunately.
"Fine. Then I'll race you."
"Race me? What are you, six?"
"Twenty-six," he fires back. "But that doesn't mean I don't like to play sometimes."
I arch an eyebrow. "Fine. I'll race you. What do you get if you win?"
He buttons his pants then steps toward me slowly. "If I win, I get you...for twenty-four hours. And I get to do whatever I want with you." His breath coats my lips with warmth. "You'll be completely and utterly mine."
My heart speeds up. "And if I win?"
"Then you get me," he whispers, brushing the backs of his fingers down my cheek. "For twenty-four hours, to do whatever you want with."
I raise my eyes from his lips to meet his challenging gaze. "You're on."
He smirks. He takes one step back from me and pulls his shirt over his head before he grabs his keys then takes my hand. He tugs me out of my apartment and down my stairs, barely giving me time to grab my own stuff.
"Hold on," I say, stopping him before he gets into his car. I plug my headphones into my cell, start my running playlist on Spotify, and shove the phone into my bra. Harry watches with amusement as I adjust it slightly. "Bras make good pockets," I explain, hooking my headphones into place over my ears.
"Ready?" he questions, sliding into his Mercedes and starting the engine with unnecessary force.
"Ready to kick your hot, British ass? You bet I am." I wink and start running a second before he pulls away.
"We'll see," he calls out the window as he drives past me.
I take a right turn at the end of the street. My feet pound against the pavement as I pick up speed, determined to win this race. Determined to have twenty-four hours of him completely at my mercy to stuff up my sleeve and whip out whenever I feel like it.
And of course, that poses the question of whether it's twenty-four hours straight or if I can break it up into twelve two-hour segments. Because that could be even more fun.
I take a turn onto a one-way street—the very same street that means at least three minutes will be added onto Harry's driving time. The one that takes two minutes running off mine.
He might have wheels where I have legs, but I have the upper hand because I know Seattle. I know the streets, the blocks, and every fucking shortcut.
His block comes into sight after a few minutes, and I sigh. A sharp pain starts in my side.
Damn stitch. This is why I shouldn't go five days without running—my body turns into a lazy pile of crap, unable to cope with a ten-minute run.
I turn the corner to his apartment building and scan the parking lot. Bingo. Sucker.
Grinning to myself, I pull my headphones from my ears, leaving them to dangle around my neck, and walk into the building. The doorman eyes me suspiciously, but I walk straight past him and head for the elevator.
I push the button to take me up to Harry's apartment and use the few minutes alone to catch my breath. When I get there, I realize that I can't get in. I don't have a key.
Fantastic. I win, but now I have to sit out here like a friggin' lemon and wait for him to show.
Unless... I give the handle a jiggle. It opens. I raise my eyebrows. Clearly someone needs a lesson in locking his front door...
And cleaning up after himself.
I think I just walked into a teenage boy's apartment.
There's a mug on the island in the kitchen. Actually, there's a mug and three plates. A shirt over the back of his sofa. A glass on the coffee table—the very smudged, dirty coffee table. And I'm pretty damn sure I can see a few socks poking out from the bathroom door.
"You need to learn to lock your door," I say, hearing him come up behind me. "And how to look after yourself, evidently."
"Isn't that what women are for?"
I turn and punch him straight in the gut. "You sexist bastard."
"Fuckin' hell, Liv," he laughs, rubbing his stomach. "Remind me never to get punched by you again."
I narrow my eyes. "Harry Styles, you are a twenty-six-year-old, fully grown man. Are you telling me you still need mommy to keep your shit in line?"
"No. I'm just lazy. I like to save my energy for other activities. None of which, by the way, I've heard you complain about."
I fold my arms across my chest. "Shut up."
He laughs again, drawing me close to him. He nudges his nose against mine. "You won."
"You sound surprised."
"I am. I was. Then you punched me and I realized you're a lot fucking stronger than you look."
I unfold my arms and hook them around his waist. "I'm just full of adorable little surprises, aren't I?"
He grins, but it only lasts a moment before he closes his mouth over mine. "You're all sweaty," he mutters.
"That happens when you run," I say sarcastically, pulling away. I look around his apartment and sigh. "Do you have a dishwasher?"
"Do I look like I hand-wash dishes?"
Cocky bastard.
"You don't look like you wash dishes at all." I look at him flatly. "Okay, here's the deal. You make breakfast and I'll clean your apartment. I can't eat in this mess."
He smirks. "Calling in some of your twenty-four hours?"
"You bet I am. One hour."
"Okay. Personally, I think it's a waste of an hour. I mean, you could come, like, three times in sixty minutes, but whatever."
I pick up one of his dirty socks from the floor and throw it at him. "Shut up and go and make me breakfast, bitch."
He stops, raises an eyebrow, then roars with laughter. I grin.
Yep. I'm going to have so much fun with these twenty-four hours.
+
I'm pretty sure the bacon and pancakes just contradicted the effort I put in to run here. I'm even more certain that the sex after balanced it back out.
Apparently, my choice of what to do this morning was overruled. I don't think I'm going to get my full twenty-four hours after all. The orgasms were great though...
"Do you have work today?"
I nod, tying my wet hair up in a messy bun. "At two. I'm on the long shift today. What are you doing?"
"Working. Engagement shoot."
"Romantic."
"They pay the bills." He grins.
"Right. Because you need to work." I raise my eyebrows and give him a pointed look.
"I don't need to work, but I want to. I might have a cushy little trust fund courtesy of my parents—and the fact I sold my share in their company back to them—but I'd get bored sitting around on my ass all day. I need something to do." He lies back on the sofa. "I used to teach photography, but then I decided to go freelance."
"Why?" I sit on the other end of the sofa, nudging his ankles apart so I can squeeze in.
He shrugs. "I didn't like teaching all that much."
"How long did you do it for?" Bad question, Liv. Bad question.
I should get up and run now before I find out any more about him. Before this conversation delves any further into his past. Before it goes too far.
"A couple months. Like I said, it wasn't for me."
"But you teach Dayton now, right?"
"An apprenticeship isn't really teaching. That's why she's in college one day a week."
"But you still teach her stuff."
"Yes..."
"I don't get it."
He frowns. "Don't get what?"
I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "You said you didn't like teaching, but you teach Dayton. Like, what—did you just wake up one morning and decide that you didn't want to teach anymore? Then do it again, except the other way around?"
"Day's basically family. It's different." His tone is a little tight, and instinct tells me that it's a sore subject.
It's a shame that my desire to know everything is a lot stronger than my instinct.
"Well, yeah, but no. I don't particularly enjoy pulling pints for Donny in the bar, but I've worked there for a while now. I wouldn't just stop and go and do something else randomly. Of course, I don't have the means to, but—"
"Can we drop this now?"
"I don't think you're telling me the truth about why you stopped teaching." The words blurt out of me before I can stop them.
Harry's eyes instantly harden. "Are you ready to sit and tell me everything about your past?"
"No."
"Then don't expect me to tell you everything about mine. And definitely don't expect it when you still look at me as your fuck buddy."
My lips form an 'o.' Shock—that's what I'm feeling right now. Shock that he came right out and said it... Especially after what I admitted to him last night.
Yeah, I was drunk. Yeah, I was high off an orgasm. That doesn't make what I said any less true.
That doesn't mean my addiction isn't grabbing hold of him, obsessing over him, desiring him.
It doesn't mean I'm not.
"You know that isn't true," I say in a small voice.
"No, I don't. What you said to me last night doesn't tell me how you look at me. I'm a fucking addict, Liv. I've had sex with a whole bunch of bloody people I don't see as anything more than a quick shag."
A lump forms in my throat. I swallow once, twice, three times, but it doesn't go away. It lingers, heavy, full of emotion.
"And me? Is that how you see me?"
"Don't turn this shit round on me. You know exactly how I feel about you."
I stand and lift my hand to run it through my hair before dropping it lamely when I remember that it's up. "No. No, you know what, Harry? I don't have a fucking clue because you've never actually told me. So until you're ready to tell me, don't sit there and tell me how I see you. Don't sit there and fucking berate me for not telling you how I feel when you haven't done it yourself."
I turn and walk to the door, grabbing my phone and keys from the kitchen counter as I do.
"Who's the one who fights going on a date, Liv? It isn't me!"
I yank his door open and look at him over my shoulder. "Dates are what you do with someone you're interested in getting to know. And until you know why I fight your dates, don't sit there all righteous and fucking judge me."
His door slams loudly behind me, echoing in the empty hallway. I step into the elevator, my hands shaking, my heart pounding, my lungs constricting tightly.
I clench my fists and press my knuckles into my eyes. Breathe. One to ten. Breathe.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.
The elevator doors open.
Ten.
I glance around, stupidly expecting him to be here although he has no reason to be. Why would he be? Sex. That's what we agreed.
Except I really never should have agreed. It's because of that split-second decision that I now can't breathe. It's why I have tears burning the back of my mind and my fingers are itching to press the buttons on the elevator.
Why every part of my being wants to travel back up there and run into him and beg him to glance over all my crap, just for now, and stay.
Why my stomach is twisting with the thought of not touching his skin, not hearing his voice, not having anything to do with him other than official wedding duties.
It's why my addiction is taking hold, clamping down on me. Trying to force me to do what I know is wrong.
I stand in the middle of the lobby for what seems to be the longest few minutes of my life. I ignore everyone around me, ignore the doorman asking me if I'm okay.
Then I look up, I turn, and I walk out of the door.