2. Usually You Have Clothes On...

"I swear to God," the woman pouts, snapping her fingers ardently. "If I don't have a latte in my hand in three seconds, I'm going to hop over that counter and rip that ponytail right out of your pretty little head, you hear me?" She extends three fingers with bright red nail polish coating her aciculate fake nails.

I panic

"I'm sorry for the delay ma'am but your beverage will ready right away" I choke out, frantically jamming buttons on the coffee machine. It sputters and steams, but emits no beverage.

Another manicured claw shoots down. Pink lips bare a hideous expression and bejeweled sandals tap rhythmically against the leg of her chair, sending my pulse spiraling up to another gear.


"Come on, come on," I spit through my clenched teeth at the uncooperative piece of machinery crap. It falters once again.

Suddenly one digit is left standing, the other four tucked neatly into a bony fist. I watch that finger as well, narrowing her sharp brown eyes.

"Hey, Kay-"

"Oh, thank goodness," I shout, throwing my arms around Wren blithely. "Miss porter here would like a latte and I can't seem to get the machine working."

"Oh, I can do that," Wren smiles politely at out fuming customer, nudging me gently with her soft elbow. "How about I take over here, and you can do my rooms for me?"

I can't contain my exasperated sigh.

"You know I hate doing rooms," I hiss, wiping the sweat accumulated on my brow from the stress and the piercing tropical sun across the terrace. Wren shrugs.

"I can't do both Kay" she replies. Without another word, I slip out of the bar and from under the pointed wooden awning defeatedly. My flip-flops slap the sun-soaked tiles as I make my way towards the main building over the quaint walking bridge shielded by looming palm trees with blossoms clinging to the railing. The resort is gorgeous, and often I am forced to pinch myself as I descry Brad Pitt casually lounging by the pool or Britney Spears ordering a coke.

Damon greets me at the front desk, leaning over to plant a sloppy kiss on my cheek. "What can I do for you babe?"

"I'm cleaning Wren's rooms for her while she covers for me at the bar," I explain bashfully to my towering boyfriend. He nods, passing me a master key.

"Cabins four and eight," he instructs, "and we're having dinner tonight."

"Okay" I reply with a grin, gyrating the key ring around my index finger and starting towards the broad exit. "Seven o'clock?"

"Yep" he says, turning away as a guest approaches. I march towards the supply closet, digging out the cleaning materials and shoving them onto the cart where they teeter dangerously. Wheeling the cart outdoors and down the path, I observe the few guests we have at the moment sprawled on the pool deck. I've never interacted with visitors much-after all, there's no point making friends if they're just going to check out and never speak to you again in a week. That's why I have Wren and Damon, the two staff members relatively close to my age. Damon asked me out two weeks after I started, catching me profoundly off guard. He's a nice enough guy, perhaps slightly possessive at times and with a tinge of aggression, but sweet enough despite a few incidents.

Average is perfect for the resort though. We're not supposed to be as pretty as the guests. Staff are in background, simply there to serve when needed.

I probably should be lots better at this job than I am.

Hauling the equipment up the few steps to the door of cabin number four, I rap forcefully, editing patiently before knocking a second time. When there's no reply, I unlock the door and shuffle in, breathing a sigh of relief as I see the room hasn't been to badly rattled. Opening the windows to air out the scent of musky smoke, I commence my vacuuming, listening to the tiny clicks of dirt shooting up the cylindric tube. I stop my distracted work and shut it off instantly as the machine releases a painfully pitched squeal. There's a reason I never clean my room.

Down my knees attempting to get whatever it was I was not supposed to suck up from tangled reach of the vacuum, I hear a noise.

A noise that means death.

Not literal death, of course, but potentially professional death, which on this minuscule island might be even worse.

A tap closes, a toilet flushes. Someone is still in the room.

By the time I realize my mistake, it's too late. The bathroom door swings open silently, a figure shuffling out as my eyes widen in horror. He turns around, stark naked, green eyes locking with mine.

"Well, then," he places his hands on his exposed hips as I try onerously to keep my eyes anywhere but the perfect V formation below his abdomen wainscoted with a strip of dark hair leading to where I can't help but flash an awkward glance. He clearly notices, a smirk writhing across his rosy lips.

"I'm sorry" I sputter, feeling my ivory cheeks flush crimson.

"Don't be" he says quietly. "I don't mind if you don't."

"I do" I mumble, shielding my face with hands trembling frailty. I feel warm digits pulling my palms from my horrified expression, chiseled dimples floating cheekily before my gaze.

"You shouldn't" the man whispers close to my ears, still clenching my wrist tightly. "Millions of girls would be losing their minds right now."

"I'm not one of those millions" I declare, thrashing to vellicate my arm free, but his grasp holds tight. "I'm sorry I didn't know you were in here."

"Well my love, it seems you know now."

I finally squirm free, stepping away from the stranger.

"I'm so sorry" I say, making my way towards the door. He catches my arm.

"Stay" he demands. "Clean I don't mind. This room really in need of servicing."

"I have other rooms to-" I start, but he silences me.

"Go ahead" he grins, sitting on the couch and swinging his legs onto the glass coffee table.

"What's your name?" He inquires after a moment of my fiddling.

"Uh Kay" I reply, quickly turning back to the vacuum.

"Why you don't have to sound so uncertain my dead" he remarks. "Kay what?"


"Your surname, I mean" his expression is bemused. "What is your last name Kay?"

"McEnroe" I mumble. "Kay McEnroe."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Kay McEnroe" he says. "I'm Harry Styles."

"Harry Styles?" I ask "as I'm Harry Styles the rockstar?"

"Ah so you've heard of me" Harry flashes his pearly white teeth.

"Who hasn't?" I reply giving up on the vacuum and commencing to empty garbages.

"Well you didn't seem to recognize me"

"Usually you're wearing clothes" I shrug. "I can see where your band got their name."

"Naked?" Harry asks curiously. "No actually we-" he shakes his curls violently. "I don't care to explain right now."

"I don't know if I want to hear anyway" I answer, wiping down the table. "Do you mind putting on some clothes? It's kinda bugging me."

"Why?" Because you don't like being able to look not touch?" Harry smirks. "Because, darling you're more than welcome to touch." He narrows his eyes seductively. "Wherever you'd like."

I suppress a shudder. "No way."

Harry just laughs.

"You know, beautiful, I'd love to get to know you better" he says in a throaty mutter. "What time do you get off work?"

"S-six" I stutter, shocked that I actually DO want to spend time with him.

"Perfect I'll meet you down by the beach at quarter after."

"I'm really not supposed to-" He cuts me off with a wink, closing the door to his bedroom gently.

Cursing silently, I fumble to piece together what just surpassed. 6:15 on the beach... For what? Swimming? Dinner? A walk?

Coming to decision I will show on the beach solely to explain I don't become close with guests and then vanish for dinner with Damon, I finish scrubbing the toilet and the counter and consort my belongings down the steps outdoors again. The sun is suspended subjacent to earlier by the time finish scrubbing the mess that is cabin number eight until it's suitable for the next person. I get back to the front desk to return the key to find it just after six, Damon already replaced by Cheryl for the evening manning. I drag my sore legs back down the path to staff cabins, much farther past the guests. Our cottage is tucked back from the trail, through a narrow lane of tropical plants. The house itself is small with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and an open concept living room\dining room\kitchen combination. It's cozy,for sure, but we don't spend much time in there anyway.

I stare in the mirror at my reflection, my chaotic locks flattening themselves against my head sweat.

"I don't give a fuck" spills from my lips, tearing myself away from my face and slipping out of my uniform. I pull on a tattered tank-top and denim shorts, brushing my semi-greasy sandy strands back into a ponytail. Checking the time, I allow my legs to carry myself at a expeditious pace towards the beach, screeching to a halt to catch my breath and compose myself just after my toes touch the sand.


I whip around, trying to control my panting from my brief sprint. Harry stands behind me bemusedly, common smirk-bearing and- thank the lord- fully-clothed this time.

"Hi" I smile cautiously. "Look, Harry, I-" My breath as he slips an arm around my shoulders. "Uh..."

"What are you doing?" My arm collides with his chest hard. "If you're trying to get into my pants it not gonna work you know." He jumps back, raising his palms defensively.

"I was just being friendly!" He insist,a stunned expression scrawled across his face. "I would never dream of it."

I shoot him a doubtful look.

"What?!" He exclaims innocently. I wave him away.

"So Harry" we start down the beach, my sandals sinking into the sand with each step. "I don't think I should be hanging out with you. I try-"

"You're dumping me on the first date?" Harry twists his face into a mock-offended gape. His words drip with jokiness, but they're enough to stop me dead in my tracks.

"Date?" I half-shout angrily. "You think we're DATING? Harry Styles, one: I have a boyfriend, two: you are so not my type, three: you know absolutely nothing about me. We met a few hours ago."

"Whoa, sorry, I'm just kidding!" He snickers without a single falter if confidence. "You're right though I do know nothing about you."

"First thing you should know is that I never become friends with guests" I state firmly. "And the second thing is I'm meeting the capital 'B' capital 'F' soon and have to go." I break into a gentle jog, just trying to get away from this persistent boy but, of course, he snags my wrist again.

"Well, Kay" he says holding up his index finger. "First thing you should know about me is that I think your beautiful. Second thing is that I really, really want you to stay with me." He pronounces it so matter-of- factly all I can manage is a silent stare. The waves splash against the sand, then are dragged back out to sea. He looks back at me earnestly.

I can't stop the giggles.

"The third thing you should know about me" I chortle. "I hate cheesy stuff like that it makes me laugh."

"Do you like laughing?"

"No I hate laughing." I jeer sarcastically. "Of course I like laughing."

"Well, that's a relief" he smirks. "Because my so-called charm and womanizer effect is based solely on my curls and about a dozen corny lines that I drop at random times." My heart flutters as he chuckles inwardly, his voice is deep and raspy. "And that's the thing you should know about me your turn." He takes my hand, pulling me down under the shade of a palm tree, looking at the diamonds shimmering across the ocean stretched along the horizon.

"Okay, number four," I yank my hand away, thinking for a minute. "I'm severely allergic to peanuts and I'll go into anaphylactic shock if I eat one." I pause. "It's inly happened twice. Once when I was seven and once last year. My face swelled up to be the size of a watermelon." Way to go, Kay, tell the cute boy about your watermelon head, that's sure to make a great conversation starter.

Harry laughed.

"It's not funny," I point our. "I could've died."

"I know" he hangs his head ashamedly "sorry."

I poke his bicep, trying to ignore the perfect shape firmness. "S'okay. Your turn go."

"I have thirty tattoos" he announces without a pause. "Go"

"Wait, wait, wait" my hand waves in his face. "Not enough tell me about your favorite." His chin supported by his oversized palm thoughtfully.

"I don't really have a favorite" he shrugs. "I wouldn't have gotten it if I didn't like it." My eyes roll towards the blue sky. "What?"

"Lame answer." I snort. His pink lips pout.

"Hey" he wines. "It's not lame it's true. I could make up a sob-story, but I'd rather not lie to such a beautiful face." I cringe. Leaning forwards on his elbows, he bats his green eyes at me. "What else can you tell me? How old are you?"

I play with the end of my ponytail. "Eighteen."

"Oh" he winks. "Legal age." Noticing my expression, he continues sniggeringly. "I mean for drinking,of course."

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes again, I press my feet low in the burning sand, then raise then so only the fluorescent hues of my toenail paint poke out of the pale brown grains. Harry rotates his head back, inhaling deeply, and watching his serenity for a few minutes catches on, enveloping me in a moment of peace like a favorite old sweater. Breathe in, hold salty air in my lungs for as long as possible, release. I follow the rhythmic pattern, eyeing his long slender legs crossed at the ankle, his large feet sprinkled with loose patches of sand.

I think it's the legs that cause me to loose my mind.

" I have two fathers" I blurt


"That's my fifth thing" I'm quiet suddenly, embarrassed. I feel my cheeks saturate with flames, a warm heat flushing over my body, drawing moisture from my pores. "My dad's got divorced when I was seven, and I lived in Canada with Papa until my eighteenth birthday when he shipped me off to Dad who worked here." He's staring at me. WHY IS HE STARING AT ME?

"I was wondering about your accent" The star admits, brushing back a curl flown astray. "I also thought you were a bit young to work here." He's lost in thought for a second, then pulls right back. "That's a long move... Must've been hard." His tone is wary and cautious, nervous he's balancing on dangerous ground. Little does he know that I was far over move before I even changed my phone to proper time zone.

"It wasn't that bad" I say. "I like new places Australia's neat."

"Neat is an understatement" He gestures to endless expanse of ocean. "This is brilliant. I made a good choice to stay here while..." He trails off, avoiding eye contact.

"While..." I press intently. "While what? Why are you here?"

His emerald eyes flash with an emotion that disappears too quickly for me to identify. He shakes his head, a clear sign of not wanting to discuss it. "Ever seen a kangaroo?"

The sudden change of topic catches me off guard. "Uh, yeah actually once." As I throw my self into the story, his eyes restore to their usual gaze, watching me through an amused tint. The conversation continues to twist, but never fades. At times it feels like I'm talking to any other twenty year old boy, but usually there's something about him that's difficult to understand, giving him a complex aura. He can be demanding and adamant, snapping sexual remarks and being plain cocky, then the next minute he's being cheeky whilst grudging some cheesy monologue that makes me laugh so hard I swear I'm gonna piss my self.

It's not something I understand or is easily explained, but something is slightly off with this sex god, I just can seem to pinpoint it with my finger.

"The sunset sure is nice" Harry interrupts me in the middle of a tale about my old cat falling out of the second floor window. I follow his eyes to the blue sky belting into melted layers of pink oranges, reflecting off of the sparkles of water.

"Sure is nice" I parrot, stuck at a sudden loss of words when the glowing light fading day catches in his dark curls.

"Pull yourself together!" Something screeches from the back of my mind. "You have a boyfriend!" That's when my heart freezes in the back of my throat.

"Shit, shit, shit" I bound to my feet, jabbing a finger at the wrist watch strapped around Harry's arm. "What time is it?"

He angles it to his face. "Nine o'clock."

"Fuck!" I curse, pounding down the beach with my sandals clenched in my hand. Late for dinner with a terrifyingly temperamental boyfriend was never an ideal situation, especially with your reason being you got distracted talking to a world famous hottie on the beach. Not a great excuse.

Wren grabs me as I race through the lobby, eyes warning.

"Kay, what's going on?" She hisses, pulling me by the sleeve out of the route of an elderly woman. "Damon came in all pissed, saying something about you standing him up for dinner to spend time with someone else." She clicks her tongue. "Kay, you know Damon."

"It wasn't into an expression that could either make me look constipated or convey my confusion. I was hoping the latter. "Harry Styles and I were talking and I lost track of time."

"Harry Styles?" The musician?" Wren touches my hand softly with dainty fingertips. "And are you feeling alright?" She lowers her voice. "You look as though, uh, your bowels are in pain."


"I'm fine" I groan, stepping away. Where's Damon go? I need to talk to him."

"I sent him to your place" she smiles apologetically. "Tried to convince him it wasn't you he saw and you were at home ill." She shrugs "it seemed probable at the time."

"Thanks." The automatic doors whoosh closed behind me, a muffled call of "good luck!" resounding through glass. I take my time down the familiar path home. Damon is already upset, a few extant minutes won't worsen anything.

Sure enough, the blonde built like a tanks sits on my front steps, red-faced and sweating before approaching.

"There she is" he calls through gritted teeth. "My girl's late, but finally here."

"I'm so sorry, Damon" I insist, throwing my arms around his solid waist. "I lost track of time."

"Doing what?"

I'm used to my boyfriends constant interrogation. "Talking to someone."

"Where?" He asks, raiding a furry fair eyebrow. My sandals kick at the dirt.

"The beach."

"I knew it," he mumbles, hands curling into fists. "I saw you with a guy. Who was he?"

"A friend" I snap he's persistent.

"What's his name?" He crouches down to my height, but I avoid his glare. With an exhale, his tone becomes more soothing and relaxed. "Come on, Kay I'm not going to be mad. I just want to know who."

"Harry Styles" I murmur, turning away from him. His blue eyes harden. Whoever has ever said it's cute when guys jealous has obviously never seen Damon when he becomes envious. His cuteness level rivals Godzilla's.

"Harry Styles" he echoes coldly. "You're mine, though right? You're my girl." His lips attack mine, tongue diving aggressively into my mouth. I kiss back lazily, enough to keep him satisfied, but hopefully enough that he gets I really just want to go inside and lie down with a Duck Dynasty marathon.

He doesn't get the message.

Within second he has led to my room, kissing me more urgently now. By this time I'm exhausted, making close to zero effort, kinda like making out with a dead fish. Damon doesn't seem to mind. I allow him to toy with the frayed ends of my worn yellow top, but as soon as his rough, weathered hands slips beneath the fabric, I push him away.

"Sorry, Damon" I say. "Not now not in the mood not ready." He doesn't reply just heads hungrily for my lips again. This time when he goes under my shirt and I resist, he fights back, moving his lips down my neck, pinning me beneath him on the bed I hadn't even noticed we were lying on. I struggle, but he pushes his hands farther up, playing with the bottom of my bra.

"You're my girl, aren't you?" He smiles down at me greedily. "You're all mine."

"We're dating" I clarify, trying to slip away and failing again. "Seriously, Damon, stop go home."

He just repeats "mine" in a throaty whisper as he slips my tank top off my upper completely against my consent. I squirm uncomfortably as his hands trace my stomach trailing down my chest.

"Damon, please stop" I try using my manners, but it still doesn't work. His wide fingers tug at my belt loops, inching my shorts down my thighs. "Don't." I fumble to pull them back up, but he pins my arms back, winking at me in a way that makes me feel sick.

"You're not going to forget who you are now, are you?" He growls, my short slipping off my ankles despite my thrashing legs. "Hold still, baby it's okay."

"It's not okay!" I protest, watching his eyes flutter to my red underwear. "Stop!" His clothes fall to the floor next to mine, my enormous boyfriend wish hong me down with two hundred pounds of pure muscle and very little brains.

"Are you ready baby?" He whispers, fiddling with the waist band of my panties. "Are you ready for this?"

"No!" I shriek, shoving and kicking and trying all I can to get him off and away from me. "No, no, no! Stop!"

This isn't how it's supposed to happen.

"It's going to be good, baby" he assures me in a creepy low rumbling. "Trust me. Don't be nervous, big daddy's going to take care of you."

"Big daddy'?" I repeat, disgust clinging to the lining of my stomach and threatening to pour out of my parted lips. "Get the fuck off of me, Damon stop." I knee him where I know it'll hurt most, killing his moment and causing him to roll off the bed with a groan of pain.

"What the fuck was that?" He stumbles to his feet, tenderly clutching between his legs.

"What the fuck was that?" I holler, shoving myself up to his face. "What the fuck was THAT?!" It wasn't the first time we almost done IT before, and I still have yet to actually almost feel ready.

Three times, most while he was being angry possessive and weird, he dragged me to his room, my room, a vacant guest cabin, and ignored my objections to his hands. The previous times he had eventually stopped and I hadn't actually had to cause him bodily harm, but this time was too much.

"Damon get out of my house" I spit, piercing a finger through the tension towards the front door. "Now."


"Now!" I shout, rattling the structure of the tiny shelter. "Damon, leave we'll talk about this in the morning just go."

"I love you" he says. I pull on my pajamas, curling up on the sofa and dragging the curtains closed. I try hard not to cry,but for some reason the scent of Damon crawling on my skin. A few tears drop from my eyes. There's a tap at the door.

My first thought is if my frustrated boyfriend, blood freezing in my veins as I creep to the peephole and press my eye up close. A distorted Harry stands patiently, examining the establishment out of boredom. The deadbolt slides open and I click the lock, ushering the rockstar in urgently.

"You're not supposed to be here" I point out.

"You're not supposed to be crying" he resorts, flopping on the couch. Whipping around the mirror, I spot my smeared mascara and blood-red whites, sighing heavily. Harry eyed the blaring television. "Care to tell me what's up?" He pauses. "And no stupid excuses about it being a sad show, because the only thing sad about this is their neglected razors." He adds, patting the couch beside him. I decline.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, crossing my arms. He turns to look at me.

"Well, you ran off on me without giving me an explanation" he says, running his hands in fascination along the red throw pillows. "And I forgot you had a date, so I went to the lobby and talked to Wendy-"

"Wren" I correct. He shoots me an irritated look.

"-and she told me where you were and that she was worried" he continues with an extreme lack of melodramatic emphases. "Basically, she offered me free drinks for my whole stay if I went to check on you because she had a pie in the oven at home or something."

I frown. "That really wasn't that interesting of a story." Harry shrugs.

"Your turn what's going on?" He asks concernedly, pulling his gaze from the television to my fidgeting. When I don't answer he gnaws on his lower lip. "It's okay you don't have to tell me if you want."

Alright, I'm officially confused. This dirty-minded celebrity guitarist/ singer is here. In my house. Spending time with ME,of all people, just because I might've happened to accidentally walk in on him naked.

I stare at his bitten lips for a long time, then inhale, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. "I thought Damon was going to rape me." The words are nothing but a mere whisper, but the undeniable sight of Harry's encouraging dimples shrinking away and eyes turning to stone prove he heard loud and clear.

"What?" His hands curl into fists. "Where is he?"

I swallow back into tears. Somehow saying the words out loud made it hurt even more. "Please don't."

"I'm not going to hurt him" Harry promises calmly. "I just want to talk to him about how to treat other human beings."

"It's okay" I murmur softly letting my chin sink ashamedly into my chest.

"It's not okay at all" Harry's voice grows in volume, his rich accent becoming choppy and clipped. It's so fucking wrong." He notices my trembling as I struggle to hold in a sob, immediately popping to my side. "Oh God, are you okay? Kay,love, are you alright? Should I call someone?" Panic builds in my guy, hysterical laughter bubbling out between my lips. As I begin hyperventilating, Harry crouches before me, resting his hands on my knees. "Breathe, Kay, shh, it's okay now."

"What he did wasn't okay" he explains gently, anger diminished to a low throbbing racing pulse through his palm to my leg. "You're okay, though, you're safe."

He wraps a blanket tightly around my shivering shoulders, making tea in the kitchen where he can keep an eye on me. I've never been a huge fan if the beverage, but I slurp it down, grateful regardlessly. The tall boy sits beside me, knee touching my own bobbing leg.

"What time does your father get home at?" He asks after a full episode of dreadful reality tv.

"Eleven" I reply hoarsely. I clear my throat and try a second time with a regular voice. "Eleven."

"He should be home in five minutes" Harry says, slipping a glance at his watch. "I really should get back. "Will you be okay?" He waits until I nod before standing up. "Lock the door, get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yep" I call, drawing my knees up to my chest as the door opens and closed once again, slamming to a silence.

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