"Is Harry Styles Done with Acting?
According to our sources, it would seem so. Harry Styles has rocked the silver screen for the past three years now, leaving us on the edge of our seats in Dunkirk, wiping our tears at Every Bunch of Roses, and lea...
"Flirty Francesca - Actress gets up close and personal with rumored beau Harry Styles!
Riding high off the tails of a successful opening weekend in the box office, our on-screen military hunk Harry Styles was spotted shopping on Rodeo with rumored girlfriend Francesca Westbrook.
The pair first met at the Basket Case premiere in early May, a movie in which Styles held a lead part. Francesca, an actress herself, attended the premiere, and the pair were spotted sitting close at SkyBar in downtown LA, chatting up a storm until almost dawn! Since then, we've seen them grabbing coffee, taking trips to the beach, and enjoying brunch at their favorite spot - The Copper Top.
What do you think, fans? Have private Francesca and Harry finally started to move into a serious relationship? Leave your comments below!"
-Linda Goffrey, The Daily Mail Online
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I had taken myself to the darkest party I could find. One that reeked of weed and was filled with rolled dollar bills and white powder. I was too old for this bullshit, but I needed to get rid of this energy that felt like shriveled up, molted skin hanging from my body. I had been passed a joint, packed heavily and rolled neat. I never knew what was laced in shit like this when I went to Hollywood parties, but at this point I didn't fucking care.
There were three things that always reminded me of Rowan: scotch, cigarette smoke, and The Kooks. The smell of weed wiped out any cigarette aroma that may have been present, I picked the sweetest, fruitiest drink I could find to wash away the taste of him, and house music was all that had been blasting, so I doubted I'd have to worry about hearing any indie bands.
My phone buzzed once, but I ignored it. I was quite content sitting just as I was, on a couch all by myself, away from the crowded kitchen and entertainment room, the bass of the electronically-generated music reaching me from a few walls away.
When the second automatic alert came through after I didn't read the message, I slowly reached for my back pocket. I was pleasantly surprised to see Francesca's name.
Are you at Patrick Ozun's party??
I looked around the room dumbly, as if the owner of this house would have their name painted on the wall or something stupid like that.
Not sure
I hadn't seen her since our most recent "date" at The Ivy, a popular restaurant in Los Angeles that frequently had paps outside hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity walking in or out. We'd had a nice meal with good conversation. I stared at her eyes and her lips and her collarbones from across the table, and left with a kiss to her cheek.
None of the coldness that she exhibited right before exiting the car at the end of the night of my movie premiere seemed to make a reappearance. But that also could've been because I carefully avoided the subject of Jacob Lynch or any of her other possible friends by association.
