A chance to love again

Chapter 2

He can't believe he's doing this. He's on a plane to fucking California to meet some random football player because he tweeted him a picture. Honestly, Louis doesn't even understand the damn sport and now he's going to have to sit through a whole game. Do they even use their feet? It's called football, so they have to use their feet, right?

Harry had DM'd him his number with a smiley face and told him he would have someone come get him from airport Monday morning. He had no idea what was going to happen after that, but he's got nothing better to do at this point. He's already ahead for the winter line, so he might as well go meet a fit American guy. Getting fucked wouldn't hurt him, either.

He's nervous, obviously, because he's going to meet a complete stranger in just a few hours and he isn't even sure how he got to this place. It's not like him, really, to get up and leave everything back home, but he thinks he's been lacking adventure lately. He isn't been properly fucked in months and he's been too alone. Maybe, even if Harry doesn't want to shag him, they can be friends. He thinks it might be nice to make some new friends, and maybe he can take some trips to California to get away once in a while. It might be good for him to get out of London every so often and get some sun and fresh inspiration.

He gets some sketches done on the plane, while replying to a few emails and looking through his new fashion magazine to see the comments about his new line. Everything seems positive and he hopes that maybe it's a good sign for what's to come with Harry.
~
"Where are we going?" Louis whines from the back of the car, his arms crossed and his leg bouncing with nerves.

"Are all English people this impatient?" the driver asks with a smirk.

"I don't know," Louis snaps. "This was a spur of the moment thing and I have no idea if this Harry Styles lad is trying to get me killed."

"Trust me, he definitely doesn't want you dead," the driver replies and Louis wants to ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, but then he's making a right turn into a long driveway.

"What is this?" Louis asks, gawking out the window at the large house in front of him. It's breathtaking, Louis will admit, and he can't even fathom the cost of something as big as this.

"This is Harry's house. He's just showering from practice, but he's expecting you," the driver says casually, parking by the four car garage. Four car garage, I can barely find space in the parking lot at my complex, Louis thinks to himself.

"Wait, what? I thought they we would just meet after his game, I didn't...I didn't think I was going to his bloody house right away," Louis says, exasperated. "Christ, I smell like plane and look like hell, I can't meet him in this state!"

"I'm sure he won't mind too much," the driver assures him. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind you hopping in the shower with him, honestly."

Louis gapes at this man, his eyes wide. Who even are Americans? Are they all so blunt about sex? Just saying whatever they want? God, he's so confused. He doesn't know how well he's going to get on with Harry if he's anything like this driver. But then again, maybe blunt sexual innuendoes from Harry won't be so bad. And really, Louis definitely wouldn't mind getting in a hot shower with Harry, even before they properly met. It's been a dry few months, so Louis is allowed to be a bit of a slut if need be.

He sulks for a moment before gaining the courage to get out of the car. He slams the door and gives the driver a little salute before walking towards the front porch. It's a gorgeous house, honestly. It's very homey and it looks like a place a big family would live with little ones running around, but as far as Louis knows, Harry doesn't have kids, or at least he hopes he doesn't. Wow, that would be awkward, opening the door to a little boy asking him where his daddy is because he really wants to be properly and thoroughly fucked by him. Louis shakes it off and reaches the front door, ringing the doorbell hesitantly and waits awkwardly, shuffling his feet on the welcome mat. He waits a moment, holding his breath, and then the door swings open.