8. Surprise
—— Charley blew her hair out her face in frustration as she threw her pen across the room. She had only exchanged a handful of texts with Harry in the two weeks that had passed since the whirlwind trip to London. All the texts she had received had indicated he was writing and he would try to see her soon. He hadn't called her, and she hadn't wanted to interrupt his process, but she itched to hear his voice again.
The initial hype in the media surrounding their relationship had died down, and she'd stopped seeing her face on front covers of all the magazine stands as she passed by them on her morning runs. It had been an interesting first week back, running each morning and being pursued by at least three or four paparazzi. They weren't as fit as her, though, and it made her smile watching them huff as they tried to keep up and get a shot.
Young girls had stopped her every day asking for a photo and Charley had politely smiled and obliged, then continued on. She always gave the same answer, saying yes, Harry was very nice in real life, and no, she didn't have an Instagram account to follow. The woman at the coffee cart where she got her coffee every day had tried to shoo the paparazzi away from Charley as she was served, telling them to leave her alone. It was very sweet, but unnecessary. She just ignored it as best she could and continued on with her life.
The one thing that was truly starting to bother her, was how much she missed the physical contact with Harry. Sex with him was unreal and she seemed to have developed an unhealthy addiction to it. She missed his cheeky behaviour, slow smiles and intelligent conversation too, but right now her need was a little more base than that. Without any pressing deadlines to take her mind off it, he was starting to feature in almost every fantasy she'd ever had.
Charley knew Harry was busy with his album, the intensive writing process incredibly important to him, and she got it. She wasn't remotely concerned about that. She was just...horny. Really horny. Wasn't he horny, too? Was it just her?
Fuck, this is ridiculous,
she thought, feeling like a sex-crazed lunatic as she thought about the heavy weight of him above her as he stroked into her.
Exasperated, she got up to pick up the pen she'd just thrown into the kitchen. To start with she'd been fine, working hard all through the first week home to achieve her deadlines. Then, once everything had returned to normal, she had started to have the erotic dreams again. Unable to sleep as she thought of Harry's hands on her body, she tossed and turned in frustration each night, until she had pulled her vibrator out the dresser drawer in defeat. She'd used it nearly every night to help her sleep a little better, picturing Harry going down on her and their electric night outside in London. It helped, but it was only a stop-gap. The unique chemistry they experienced together had probably spoiled her for life. She was always going to know that it could be like this, and now she knew it did exist, she wouldn't want to accept any less.
"I've turned into a sex addict," she groaned out loud in her apartment to no-one as she considered using her vibrator in the middle of the day.
A Harry sex addict,
she corrected herself inwardly. She didn't crave anyone else. Just him. The texts he
had
sent were sweet and flirty, but nothing in his words hinted that he felt as deprived as her.
An unwelcome thought occurred to her suddenly.
Was
he sex deprived? They hadn't actually said they were exclusive. Maybe he was sleeping with other girls. Could he be? He was a pop star - he could have anyone. A different woman every night if he wanted. The thought of his hands on another woman's body made her feel physically sick, her stomach turning.
Stop it,
she scolded herself.
You don't have any claim on him, not really.
Somehow she knew Harry wouldn't do that to her. Would he? No. She was just ridiculously horny and it was messing with her brain.
"This has to stop," she said out loud to try and snap out of it. Abruptly, Charley put the pen in her hand on the kitchen counter and made a decision. She stood erect, shoulders back as an intriguing thought crossed her mind.
This is a modern world, right? Why does it always have to be the guy who wants and initiates sex? Why can't it be the woman? Why do I have to wait until he's ready to see me?
As she held onto that thought, Charley determinedly showered and put on her sexiest pair of lingerie - a black lace, barely-there, thong bodysuit. She looked at herself in the mirror and gave herself a pep talk out loud.
"Come on, Charley, you look hot. What guy wouldn't be lucky to have this?" She fluffed up her long, black hair, boosted her breasts with her hands and gave herself a sultry look in the mirror, turning to check out her exposed bum. Then she rolled her eyes at herself.
Okay, you idiot, You can't pull arrogance off. Honest assessment time
.
Can I pull this off?
She'd never worn it for a guy before, never feeling confident enough.
More seriously, she stood in the lingerie and tried to look at her body objectively. Her skin was smooth and a light olive colour. Her entire body was toned from her workouts, so she was confident in it. She put her hands on her hips and turned to look at her bum again. It wasn't small and perky like Caroline's, but it was quite shapely and definitely curvy. No guy had ever complained, anyway. She shrugged. Harry certainly hadn't.
"Get dressed, Charley, you can do this," she muttered, turning away from the mirror and heading to the wardrobe. She selected a navy blue and white polka dot wrap dress, that had short sleeves, and tied around the waist. She'd always put a double knot in it due to the dangerous nature of it - pull the tie and she'd be fully exposed. This time she only put a single knot and bow in it. The whole point being easy access after all, she decided with a grin.
Putting light makeup on and sliding on black ballet flats, Charley grabbed her purse, and without another thought lest she change her mind, left her apartment. Arranging an Uber from the elevator, she felt butterflies fill her stomach. Would he be home? It was Friday afternoon. Harry had replied to her message asking what he was doing earlier that day, by saying he was still writing and would text her tomorrow. It had been softened with a kissy face emoji and he'd said he missed her.
She didn't want to interrupt his writing process, but surely he needed a break? He'd been working almost two weeks straight. She was pretty sure he hadn't even left his house once in that time. Well, she hoped he hadn't, her mind resisting the thought he could be with another woman.
Tapping her feet nervously in the lobby, she waited there until the Uber arrived, not wanting to give any waiting paparazzi the opportunity to waylay her. The app on her phone dinged and she noted three photographers, all distracted, eating lunch and chatting. Taking the opportunity, she rushed out the front and hopped right in. She hunched down as the Uber left the curb, then surreptitiously glanced back, breathing a sigh of relief that they hadn't noticed and were still eating their lunch, chatting with each other.
Guiding the Uber to her destination, she had a good twenty minutes to reflect on how stupid this was, her fingers constantly itching to text Harry and let him know she was coming, and opening her mouth to tell the driver to turn back around.
