Natalie's POV
Monday's are widely known for being the worst, and this particular Monday is going in the record books as the longest one in history. Every time I look at the clock I'm convinced it's moving backwards. That, and I kinda feel like I'm gonna throw up. Not in a bad way - I didn't eat any questionable seafood or chicken, nor am I coming down with the flu. I've just never been this nervous, or distracted. My four pm date with Harry today looms ahead, and seems heavily weighted, based on how we left things last night. The only thing that prevented us from taking things to the next level was a disgruntled four-year-old. There was no doubt or hesitation. There was no brushing off our actions or attributing them to being "in the heat of the moment." We both wanted the same thing. I know that the significance for him was not nearly the same, at least the physical aspect, but the fact that I was openly ready to give myself to him, after everything I've experienced and despite every obstacle, made our interruption all the more frustrating. Like working up the nerve to go skydiving, only to find at the last minute that the plane has been grounded. I know Harry will not be expecting anything tonight, as he's shown himself to be a gentleman. However, I'm not sure I can say the same thing for myself. I not only want him, I need him. He's managed to work his way into my life, unearthing a small bit of the person I once was, and is unlocking my ability to build a connection with someone. NOT taking the next step right now could potentially send me stumbling two steps back. Part of me is sorely tempted to just cut to the chase, and show up in a trenchcoat and lingerie. Knowing my luck though, I'd knock on his door, in full seductress mode, only to find out that he actually made romantic dinner plans. Regardless, like a good girl scout, I plan to be prepared for anything that could happen...which may, or may not, include a trip to Victoria's Secret and a waxing appointment. Better safe than sorry, yeah?
As I will the clock to move faster, I'm thankful that most of my clients this morning have been relatively simple and low maintenance, as I've been far too scattered to deal with anything complicated. Although at one point, I mindlessly washed one woman's hair three times before she cleared her throat rather loudly, bringing me back to the present and alerting me to my mistake. Laughing it off, she appeared to take it in stride. I breathed a sigh of relief at that, but that didn't fool my manager, April, who's suspicious and narrowed gaze has been following me around the salon for the past couple of hours. Now, catching her stinkeye for the fifth time, 45 minutes before I'm scheduled to leave, I realize that I better get my nerves (and libido) in check before I end up out of a job. Smiling tightly back at her, I return my focus to the trim I'm currently finishing up. Brushing off the errant hairs, I remove the smock with a flourish, spinning the chair around so she can get a good look at her cut. Her wide smile tells me the day has not been a complete waste. Nevertheless, I all but push her towards the cash register, eyeing the clock the entire time. Smiling as genuinely as I can manage, I send her a quick farewell as she walks out the door, then immediately spring into action, setting a land speed record cleaning up my station, then running to the break room to grab my things. Shouting a goodbye to everyone, I rush out of the salon, carefully avoiding April's stare. It's going on noon now, leaving me just enough time to make the necessary stops, before running home to shower and get ready, and then get to his hotel by four o'clock. Fuck. Thankfully, my mother decided to pick Emily up directly from pre-school, saving me the trip.
After an eventful waxing appointment (where my aesthetician asked me who I was planning to impress with my "pretty kitty," making me want to die a thousand deaths), and a boundary-crossing trip to Victoria's Secret (those sales clerks seriously have an issue with personal space), I was finally home and hopping in the shower. I really had no clue what I was doing, so I used my entire arsenal of girly, smelly stuff, from exfoliating body scrub to body oil, and everything in between. Wrapping myself with a towel afterwards, and buffed to within an ince of my life, I gazed at my reflection, my lips plump and rosy, and my skin glowing. So far, so good. Slathering myself in copious amounts of body lotion, I make my way over to my bed, where my outfit selections are awaiting final approval. Now, I'm faced with a dilemma. I bought a sexy black lace bra and panty set, which I plan to wear under my clothes, just because, but I feel the evening demands just that bit more. So, to the right lays my other purchase, a sheer black babydoll with matching panties. Covers just enough to leave a bit to the imagination, classy but not trashy. But, is it too much? I obviously can't wear it under my clothing, so I would have to change into it. Do I look like I'm trying too hard to be sexy? I mean, theoretically, the bra and panties could be enough - he'd rip my clothes off to find an awesome surprise. On the other hand, while romantic movies always make undressing your partner look super sexy, in reality somebody usually just gets their shirt tangled around their elbows, or trips over a pant leg. SO not romantic. Going with my gut, I put the baby doll set into my duffle, folding it carefully to avoid wrinkling it. After blow-drying my hair into soft waves and adding my toiletries to the duffle, I throw on a pair of dark blue skinnies, gray booties, and a flowy patterned button up, with the sleeves rolled to my elbows. I leave just the top couple of buttons undone. If I lean forward, he's gonna get a peek at today's purchase. The thought makes me grin a bit. Eyeing the clock, I see it's about half past three. Taking one last look at myself in the mirror, I set my shoulders back, mustering up as much confidence as possible, grab my things, and head out the door.
Arriving at the Palazzo, I head quickly to valet, not wanting to hike through a parking garage in heels. The guy grabbing my keys gives me a very flattering once-over as I step out of my car. While I obviously have no interest in him (I mean, with Harry Styles waiting for you, who would?), it's just the self-esteem booster I need. I send Harry a quick text, letting him know that I've arrived. He must've had his phone in his hand, for his answer arrives immediately, providing me with the security clearance information so I can go directly to his room. Reality sets in and my heart gives a painful thump, my nerves threatening to overwhelm me. BREATHE Natalie. I can't show up shaking with sweaty palms. This is just a date. Whatever happens, happens. Stepping into the elevator, I decide to use the time to practice some deep breathing exercises. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my mouth. And repeat. Before I know it, I'm standing in front of his room, raising my fist to knock. However, I never get the chance as the door springs open, to reveal a somewhat breathless, and ridiculously sexy, Harry. Slightly startled, I can't help but jump back a bit, allowing a nervous giggle to escape. We seem to stand there, staring at each other, for an eternity. When I feel my hands start to fidget, I hurriedly shove them in my pockets. His eyes darting down at the movement, I see him bite his bottom lip, trying to hide his grin. I narrow my eyes slightly at him, which he ignores, preoccupied with inspecting my outfit from head to toe. Wilting under the scrutiny, I huff quietly as I go to cross my arms over my chest. In a flash, he's in front of me, stopping my arms. Leaning down, allowing his lips to brush the shell of my ear, he says gruffly, "I wasn't finished...but I think I like this better." I'm so close to him, I can almost see the subtle pulse of his heartbeat under his skin. I'm eye-level with his collar bone, barely able to catch a breath as my lips tremble slightly. I don't dare look up. He doesn't give me a choice however, dropping his right arm to press his palm flat against my lower back, pulling me impossibly closer. With his left hand, he tilts my chin up, whispering a quiet "hi" before smiling briefly and capturing my lips with his own. The kiss is leisurely, two people savoring the moment, who know there's no rush. His tongue skims my bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth, and I can feel my knees start to wobble, my fingertips tingling. All too soon, he pulls his lips away, and I can barely keep myself from whimpering. Closing his eyes, he seems to take a moment to collect himself, putting a bit of space between us.
"I was thinking...since I'm pretty new to Vegas, you could give me a proper welcome and show me around a bit? We could grab a bite to eat as well?"
Wait. What? The surprised disappointment must show on my face, as I see him quickly try to cover up his smirk. Really Harry? That's how you're gonna play it? I want to tell him to give it up. That if he wanted to have me sitting up and begging for it, mission accomplished. No need to wine and dine me or impress me with sight-seeing. But then I realize I sound like a horny teenage boy, and probably need to kick it down a notch before I hump a door frame. Coughing, I infuse my voice with enthusiasm, "Sure! Is there anything in particular you wanted to see? If we grab a cab, we can head over to the Bellagio to look at the fountains and the conservatory. They also have the largest chocolate fountain in the world. We could go across the street and check out the Ceasar's Palace shops, or one of the restaurants. Bobby Flay's place is pretty good..." I realize I'm rambling and snap my mouth shut when I see the amusement on his face, his eyes twinkling. "Well," he starts, taking my bag and heading into his suite, encouraging me to follow, "as intriguing as a chocolate fountain sounds, I think I'd like to stay close by. Just in case, you know?" When he turns back around, after setting my bag down, he can't quite meet my eyes and his cheeks look slightly flushed. There's an implication in his words that I don't miss, making the air in the room feel charged. I decide not to comment on it, instead turning away, pretending to check my make-up in the mirror while I calm my racing heart. "Ok," I respond, going for an air of nonchalance, and hopefully beating him at his game of cat and mouse, "to the Venetian it is!" Refusing to take the bait, he grabs his hotel room key and heads toward the door, holding it open for me with a shit-eating grin on his face. We both know what the other is doing, but we're both too stubborn to give in first. "After you," he says cheekily, gesturing grandly with his arms. Brushing past him, I reply airily, "You just want me to go first so you can stare at my ass." When I don't hear a response right away, I turn around to see him grinning widely, checking to see the door is secure. I continue to stare, waiting for his comeback. Sidling up next to me, he tangles his fingers with mine, heading toward the elevator. When the doors open and we step inside, he finally looks down at me.
"What? You weren't lying..."
Cheeky fucker.
* * *
We spend the next couple of hours window-shopping and grabbing dinner at a quiet little restaurant in the Venetian. While the conversation flows easily, full of flirty banter, Harry keps a respectful distance the entire time. To most women, this would be the mark of a gentleman. I knew the truth though. While I don't like the hands-off policy, I understand it. However, after leaving his hotel room hand in hand, I can't deny that it stung a bit when he stepped far away from me as we arrived on the main floor. There was a part of me that wanted to be snarky, and point out that to truly avoid detection, we should've taken different elevators from different floors. I knew though, that he was doing it for me, for us. I had to accept it, but I didn't have to like it.
After dinner, we gradually start making our way back to the Palazzo. We see a lounge playing live music, so we decide to stop and grab a drink, for which I'm grateful -- the alcohol quickly helps settle my nerves. As Harry orders a second round, I vehemently insist on treating, which he quickly refuses. When I press the matter, using the fact that he paid for dinner as my argument, he abruptly leans over and kisses me soundly, effectively shutting me up. Alarmed, I pull back and start looking around for cameras, but his lips at my ear quickly put my mind at ease, "Don't worry, nobody is paying us any mind." Turning back toward him, I can't escape his intense stare, and I'm mesmerized as I watch his eyes darken. Barely above a whisper, he lays down the gauntlet, "Now that's taken care of, I think you need to kiss me. I've been good all evening." Emboldened by the vodka running through my veins, I lean in but keep my lips slightly out of reach, "Okay, but only if you take me upstairs." I get a bit of satisfaction as I watch him swallow convulsively, his eyes going impossibly wide. Without warning, he launches himself out of his seat to go find the waitress and settle our tab. I down the rest of my drink and gather up my purse, standing as he arrives back at the table. I have to stifle a giggle as he all but drags me out of the bar.
Your ball Harry.