The Bar Owner's Daughter

Clarke Stevenson is the daughter of the owner of the popular bar in London. Ever since she was 16 she would watch a local guy, Harry Styles get drunk and get into bar fights. One night after a violent bar fight Clarke takes care of Harry. They later develop a friendship that know one seems to agree with.

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35. Maybe

Harry's P.O.V

"Harry I can't." She pushes me away.

"Why?" I ask. Her skin is so pale that it glows in the dark.

"I have a boyfriend." She looks away. Those words make me cringe.

"A boyfriend?" I grab her arm and turn her towards me.

"Yeah."

"Who?" I tower over her.

"He's my editor." Clarke crosses her arms and looks away.

"Who?" I say a bit more harshly.

"We met 2 years ago and-"

"Who is he!" I finally yell. I don't want to details, I want the name.

"Dylan Anderson." She's says shyly. That mother fucker.

"What the fuck!" I curse.

"You had your chance." She says. Like that makes me feel better. I knew I had my chance! Now I regret it! Is she happy now!

"I know that!" I grab her arms tightly.

"Harry you hurting me." She looks at me in the eyes.

"Sorry." I let go of her.

"Listen-"

"Did he touch you!?" I ask.

"Harry-"

"Did he fucking touch you!" I yell. She crosses her arms and looks at me, excepting me to know the answer.

"We haven't done anything really." She looks at me.

"What have you done?" I say a bit more calmly.

"Don't make me say it out loud." She feels uncomfortable and I know it.

"Say it Clarke." I take a step towards her.

"We've felt each other." Clarke says awkwardly. I pace back and forth.

"So no fingering or blow jobs right?" I say.

"Right." She rolls her eyes.

"Clarke, I wanted to be the one touch you first, I wanted to be there when you published your book, I wanted to be with you!" I yell at her.

"You little fucker! I gave you that choice! You left me there Harry! You left me! You didn't just leave me! You left Kennedy too! You two were good friends remember!" She yells back. I keep forgetting about Kennedy.

"Where is Kennedy anyways?" I try to change the subject a little.

"She's in Scotland with my aunt and uncle. She's practically a prisoner there. My dad found out that she was hiding Zayn. He sent Zayn back to prison for battery, and beat Kennedy then sent to her to Scotland." Clarke says it as if it was her fault.

"Where were you?" I ask.

"On the plane ride to America."

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