Siren

Chapter Thirteen

HARRY IS PISSED WHEN HE HANGS UP THE PHONE. He sighs dramatically and pushes his fingers through his hair, pushing it all back away from his forehead.

"Fuck." He mutters, glancing over at me.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't freak out, please?" He asks.

"I'm calm," I giggle, placing my hand over his as if it's the most natural move for me. I feel like he is not the kind of guy to freak out over nothing. I should be worried about whatever it is that phone call was about but for some reason I'm not. I slept so well last night and since my interview with Tammy three days ago, I have felt like an entirely new Noah.

"Last night, when I brought you here, there must have been a photographer outside of the building. There's a picture circulating of you and I walking in," his phone vibrates in his hand and he opens whatever he just received. And then, he hands the phone to me.

I take it hesitantly and look at the screen. And there I am, my Carmel brown hair blowing in the wind, Harry Styles' hand on my waistline. The photo screams booty call and I would love for the ground to swallow me whole. How incredibly embarrassing. I've been apart of this world for all of 32 hours now and already I'm front page news: Late Night Styles?

"Oh my god." I hand him back the phone and bury my face in my palms. This cannot be good. I need to talk to Tammy, as soon as possible. I know that she was pretty happy about Harry chatting me up and then calling me the next day, but I doubt she wants my face published anywhere.

Harry's phone rings again and he steps away to answer it. I watch him retreat into his living room and fall heavily into the couch.

I need to leave. I pick up our plates and wash them quickly, placing them on the drying rack just like we did together last night. I pad past Harry in the living room and search his bedroom for my clothes and shoes. By some miracle I find every item of mine and manage to change back into them, hating that I don't have a fresh pair of panties to wear.

"You're leaving?" Harry scares me as I'm walking out of the bathroom. He is sitting on the edge of the bed again, looking up at me.

"I think that would be best, don't you?" I say.

"Can I call you again?" He asks as he follows me out of the bedroom and into the living room.

I stop and turn to him. He actually seems worried that I am leaving for good. How can he be so thick?

"Of course you can," I grab his hand and pull him towards me. "I had a good time last night, as frustrating as it was." I push up onto the tips of my toes and press my lips against him. I can still taste the syrup on his tongue and I love the feel of his warm hands pressing into the back of my neck.

"Now, how do I get out of here?" I say when we pull away.

"Ah." His lips turn up into a new smile, a boyish one that I have yet to experience. "That is easy. Let me change."

He jogs back to his room. Crap. He's going to take me back to Tammy's apartment and I still haven't told him that I am apparently looking to move elsewhere.

I run to my purse and shuffle through all of the crap in it until I find my phone. I have about ten missed messages that I have no time to look at right now. I text Tammy and tell her I am on my way back.

"Ready?" Just as I hit send, Harry is back and holding his keys. He's in another pair of tight black jeans but this time is wearing a navy sweater that is probably a size or two too big for him but somehow works.

I walk over to him, hopefully not showing how guilty I feel in my face.

Please God, let Tammy see that text in the next ten minutes.

We take the elevator down to the lower garage levels and I find myself amongst some of the pricer cars that I will never have in my possession. Harry clicks something on his key chain and a huge black Range Rover in a back corner roars to life.

He opens my door for me again and then runs around the back of the car.

"I don't think anyone is out front, but this is how we get out to be safe." He explains as he backs out of his parking space.

We are both silent as we travel back up into the world. Will there be paparazzi waiting to try and get our picture? I am not ready for this type of thing. I was supposed to ease into this world and stay in the background, take it all in and write about it. I wasn't supposed to be center stage!

We pull out of the garage without any drama and ride around the block. As we pass the street the front of his building is on, my jaw drops. There are at least fifteen photographers outside, sitting and waiting for one glimpse. This cannot be real. How do people live like this? Always sneaking around?

Harry reaches across the center console and grabs my hand as we both turn our attention back to the road. We escaped that this time but whose to say we will be so lucky next time?