Love to Hate You (A Harry Styles Love Story)

Chapter 8 - It Really Is on You

A/N: I guess I lied, guys. :L It's a fairly normal length chapter. OH, WELL. At least I updated :D This chapter may be a bit mature for some people. Don't worry! Nothing TOO bad. Enjoy and don't forget to vote and comment, pretty please! ^_^

 

- Autumn's Point of View -

I glared at him as the limo pulled up in front of the club.

"Couldn't you think of something better to do?" I hissed at him.

"Hey," he shrugged, "We made a deal. You have to go along with me all night."

He then playfully nudged me and wiggled his eyebrows, the pervert. Just then, the radio, which was on full blast, began playing the lyrics "I've tried playin' it cool.."

"Oh, no," I groaned.

"Oh, yes," he said and began bobbing his head up and down as he walked out of the limousine, grabbing my hands and pulling them like he was dancing.

"You're so lame," I laughed as he began doing a dance move he had 'invented' a while back called The Phelps. "You're dancing to your own song....in the middle of the parking lot."

The music was so loud you could still hear it from outside. Some people were giving us weird looks as they walked into the club or waited in the line.

"AND FALL INTO MY ARMS INSTEAD!" he sang at the top of his lungs, grinning and trying to grab me by the waist.

"Ew. Get away, boy band member!" I ran to the other side of the limo as he chased me.

He wrapped his arms around me, despite my attempts at kicking him in the you-know-whats-its. He squeezed me in a forced hug, bringing his head to rest on my shoulder from behind. He sighed in content, like he was having one of those picture perfect moments. He was so close, I could smell his aftershave.

Oh, God, Autumn. You're smelling him, for crying out loud. How much creepier can you get?

Shut up, conscience. Let me enjoy myself.

"You know," he said from behind me, grinning crookedly, "You're really pretty."

I could feel the heat on my cheeks rising. Hey, no matter who it comes from, being called 'pretty' is fantastic. And if it comes from a world famous boy band member who girls swoon over/your worst enemy, throw a party, kid. The peak of your self esteem deserves it.

"You look like a tomato," he chuckled, putting his fingers on my cheek.

I couldn't help but feel shivers. Strange, I know. I should be used to Harry being so touchy-feely, since he's always been a very physical person, but.. I'm probably just cold. Nothing to worry about.

He slowly dropped his hand to intertwine it with mine and pulled me toward the entrance of the club, "Come on, ketchup-face! Let's go clubbing."

I laughed at his comment, my face probably becoming even more rubicund as he said it. Almost immediately, we were let in by the jumper at the door. Fame has its perks, after all.

As soon as we got in, we were greeted by the not-so-lovely smells of perfume, alcohol, and sweat. I wrinkled my noise and could hear Harry groaning in distaste as he led me to the bar area. Coming to think of it, we're 18, and this is America. How is he going to get a drink? Right when I was thinking it, a bartender turned to smile at Harry and said, "Welcome back, Mr. Styles."

Okay.

So we're good.

Harry sat on the barstool and before I made a comment on how he wasn't being a very good gentleman, he pulled me onto his lap.