#baseball!harry

Your Father was tucked away in the complex under the stadium, planning out his first practice that was scheduled for tomorrow. When you showed up with slumped shoulders and tired eyes, he merely handed you a bucket of baseballs and a bat before sending you out on the field. There was already a tee set up, and you suspected that your Father had spent quite a bit of time out here earlier to relive some of his stress. This was his first year coaching at UCLA, and he was extremely nervous about the number of eyes watching him this year. He wasn’t coaching high school ball anymore. College baseball was on a much bigger scale, which meant he had more to lose. 

You tried not to think about it as you set the ball on the tee, digging your beat-up sneakers into the sand before taking a deep breath. Baseball was in your blood. You spent more time on the field than you did in school as a kid, and you weren’t afraid of anything when you were holding a bat in your hand. Without hesitation, you twisted your body, driving strength into your hit with your hips and your shoulders. The cracking sound of the ball meeting the bat was soothing to your already frayed nerves. The only thing that was truly missing was the cheering crowd. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” 

A low whistle caused you to snap your head around, your eyes landing on a too-tall man wearing a UCLA hoodie and a baseball cap. Resting the tip of your bat to the ground, you narrowed your eyes. He shuffled forward, clearing his throat as an amused grin pulled at the corner of his lips. 

“I’m not afraid to use this thing on more than baseballs if you catch my drift.” You shifted back a little as he held his hands up. “Who are you?” 

“M’name is Harry.” He said. “Coach Willis sent me out here. He said there was someone else blowing off steam out on the field and could probably use a real pitcher.” 

“I’m fine.” You glanced towards the ground. “But if you’re here to blow off steam too, then I don’t mind.” 

“Okay.” He nodded. “I didn’t catch your name, by the way.” 

“I didn’t throw it.” You bent down, picking up the bucket of balls before shoving it at him. “I don’t want to talk.” 

“Alright, no talking.” He nodded, taking the bucket. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Monday; 9:00 PM 

By the time your father emerged from his office, you were dripping with sweat. 

Harry was the same, his hoodie long discarded, and his hat flipped around as he tossed another ball in your direction. The cracking sound of your bat hitting the ball was drowned out by your Father clapping behind you. Harry narrowly missed the catch, his body tumbling to the ground with his glove tucked into his chest as you smiled widely at your father. 

“I hate to admit it, but this kid is good.” Your father held out a water bottle, and you gladly accepted, twisting the cap off before taking a hearty sip. “Where did you find him?” 

“Community college out in Carolina.” He said. “Parents just moved from England, and he was getting into some trouble. They tossed him in a few leagues, and I scouted him and offered a full ride.” 

“I can see why.” You looked over at Harry, who was jogging over to the both of you. “Great pitching you did out there.” 

“Thanks.” He flashed you a grin before taking the second bottle your father offered. “Hey, coach.” 

“As much as I would love to watch this go on, I have to lock up.” Your father glanced over at you, his eyes playfully narrowed. “And you need your rest, young lady. You have early classes in the morning, and I don’t want the other teachers talking shit in the staff lounge.” 

“Yes, sir.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “Thanks for letting me come out here. I love you, dad.” 

“Love you too, bug!” 

He pressed a kiss to your cheek before you handed him the bat. You grabbed your bag from the dugout, slinging it over your shoulders as your Father and Harry continued to talk. As you were making your way past the locker room, you heard your name being called from behind you. When you turned around, you didn’t expect to see Harry chasing after you with a wide grin. 

“Hey, coach asked if I could walk you home.” He huffed out. “I promised I would return you to your dorm safely.” 

“I can walk by myself; you don’t have to babysit.” You mumbled, continuing until you reached the door of the stadium. Harry was right behind you when you glanced over your shoulder. “I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit the coach's daughter.” 

“I don’t, actually.” He let out a breathy laugh. “I’ve finished all of my schoolwork, and I don’t know anyone, so I’m free.” 

After a few moments of awkward silence, you finally spoke up.

“What are you studying?” 

“Um, Music.” When you turned to look at him, he had ducked his head down. “Minoring in Early Childhood psychology, though.” 

“Plan on being a music teacher?” Your brows arched on their own, your surprise clear as the night sky as you walked side by side

“Kind of.” He laughed softly. “If this whole baseball thing doesn’t pan out, at least.” 

“I think it will.” You said softly. “I’ve been watching my Dad coach since I was in diapers. You’re the best player I’ve seen.” 

“Thanks.” He said. “I appreciate that.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

The rest of your walk was filled with small talk. 

You learned that he was from Northern England and that his parents moved to the States two years ago. He had never played baseball a day in his life, more into music and tattoos than anything else. But he ran with a pretty bad crowd, and his Mum was extremely upset when he landed himself in jail for a night with underage drinking. After that, things changed for him. He promised his Mother that he would find something more productive to do with his life and that he would make her proud. Once he realized how big sports were in America, he decided to try his hand at baseball. He happened to be really good at the sport and his high school coach encouraged him to take it on full time. When Harry learned he could get a free ride to college, he dedicated his life to perfecting his craft.

“Sorry for talking so much.” He was extremely bashful, his cheeks still tinged with pink as you turned to look at him. “I don’t talk a lot, but I do tend to get carried away when I start.” 

“It happens to the best of us.” With a shrug of your shoulders, you offered him a reassuring smile as you patted his bicep. “I think you’re gonna kick ass, and I know that you’ll do well with my Dad. He’s an amazing coach.” 

“He truly is.” Harry nodded. “If you ever need to blow off steam again…” 

“Yeah,” You nodded at his unspoken offer. “Same goes for you.” 

“Thanks.” He smiled. “Um, have a goodnight, Y/N.” 

“You too, Harry.” 

October 31 11:00 PM

After that first night, you and Harry began blowing off steam together regularly. 

On most weeknights, you were out at the field with him. Your dad would hand you the keys, instructing you to lock up when you were finished. From there, Harry would pitch until his arm was tired, and you were so exhausted you could barely swing. Most of the time, he eased up on his throws. You could tell he was holding back just so you would get the chance to hit each ball clear across the field. You could tell when he really gave it his all, his whole body going into the throw as he grits his teeth. Those were a little harder for you to hit, but not impossible. You didn’t talk a lot during your time together, but on your walk home, you would indulge in friendly conversation. He would ask about classes, and you would ask about his life in a frat house. When you finally made it to your dorm, you would take at least twenty minutes to say goodbye to each other. 

And when you weren’t with Harry, you were thinking about him. Your mind was stuck on the way he laughed and the confidence he exuded when he was on the pitcher’s mound. You thought about his hands and his smile. The scent of his cologne and sweat was almost like an aphrodisiac and his laughter sounded like a song. You hated how hung up you were when it came to Harry. There was no chance that you would actually get to be with Harry like that. Not only were you scared of upsetting your father, but you were also scared of ruining your new friendship. 

But now you’re standing in Harry’s living room while his Frat brothers try to score with girls that are way out of their league. Your roommate had burst out of her shell a little, and she’d made a few friends. Her new friends were the reason you were standing with a solo cup full of vodka in your hand and a crappy costume that you’d tossed together in twenty minutes after your roommate begged you to come out. There were about twenty other girls dressed as angels, their outfits far cuter than yours, and their makeup flawless. You were still rocking the makeup you’d put on at six am, half asleep on your bed in the dark. As you pressed the rim of your cup to your lips, you heard your name being shouted somewhere from across the room. 

When you looked up, you didn’t expect to see Harry waving at you. 

“What on earth are you dressed as?” You looked over the sparkling L.A Dodgers uniform Harry was wearing, a plastic cup in his hand and a huge grin on his face. 

“I’m Elton John!” He cheered. “But also, I’m manifesting my dream to be a Dodger!” 

“Clever.” You pressed your lips together, rolling them over your teeth as you tried not to let your drunken giggle slip out. He noticed your face, his own falling as he stood up straight. 

“You don’t like it?” His voice slurred around the words, and your heart dropped. 

“I love it.” You said quickly. “I think you look really handsome, actually.” 

“Yeah?” He let out a breathless laugh. “Thank you, lovie.” 

“Of course.” You gave him a soft smile. 

“And you’re...an angel?” His eyes slipped over your costume in a way that didn’t make your skin crawl. “You did a really good job with your outfit.” 

“I didn’t know we were coming to this thing tonight. I just threw this together.” You waved your hand about, looking down at your white dress. “I’m not as….my costume isn’t as scandalous or fun, but it does the job.” 

“I think you look beautiful, lovie.” He cooed, shuffling forward as a group of guys rushed past him. When you pressed your hands to his arms, steadying him out of habit, he gave you that smirk. “I think you’re an angel already. Could’ve come dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and it would be just as perfect.” 

“Harry.” With a soft giggle, you ducked your head down. “You’re drunk.” 

“Still think you’re beautiful when I’m sober.” He hummed out, reaching up to press his thumb to your chin. He gently guided your face up, his face serious as he spoke. “I mean it, fuck do I mean it, Y/N. I swear I struggle every single day, trying to keep you off my mind. But it’s so fucking hard when you’re this beautiful.”

You didn’t say anything as he brushed the pad of his thumb over your chin, his glossy green eyes staring into yours. If you were completely honest with yourself, you felt the same way about him. Even when you were completely preoccupied with your schoolwork, you were thinking about Harry. The way he smiled, the way he walked, how he pitched with that look in his eyes, it was impossible not to think about the man that had wormed his way into your life. 

“I think about you, too.” You whispered. “All the time.” 

“Yeah?” The corners of his lips twitched, a soft smile forming. “Can we...I wanna go somewhere with you.” 

“Anywhere you want.” You whispered. “I’ll follow.” 

“Finish your drink.” He smirked. 

                                         **************

You didn’t expect to be in the outfield with Harry. 

When you realized what direction he was pulling you in, you groaned a little. Harry’s response was lacing your fingers together before pulling you into his side. He slipped an arm around your shoulder, turning his head to press a sloppy kiss to your forehead before he promised that you would enjoy his surprise. When you walked into the actual stadium, and past the infield, it was pitch black. Your father must have turned the lights off when he left for the night. 

“Look!” You pointed towards the grassy field, gasping. “Lightning bugs!” 

Harry let you go, watching as you ran into the field with your hands extended out. His heart was beating so hard in his chest as he watched you move freely, practically dancing in the grass as you tried to catch one. When you finally did, you turned towards Harry with a smile that rivaled the moon’s brightness shining down over both of you. He moved forward, peeking into your hand as you carefully opened it. The soft yellow glow had nothing on your giggles. 

“Dad calls me bug a lot because I used to love catching them when I was a kid.” You whispered, opening your hand up so that the bug could go free. “They’re so stunning.” 

“Lightning bug.” He let out a breathy laugh. “You remind me of one now that I’m thinking about it.” 

“How so?” You ask, turning towards him. 

Harry grabbed both of your hands, pulling you into his chest with a grin. 

“You’re so fucking bright.” He said. “You literally glow, and I don’t even think you notice it. Even when we first met and you were pissed off or upset about whatever, you were glowing.” 

“That’s called sweat, Harry.” You grimaced, rolling your eyes at his affection. “Do you really mean it?” 

“I really do.” 

Harry pressed his forehead into yours as his hands slipped from yours. He dropped them to your waist, digging his fingers into your sides as you basked in the moment. Your lips started to tingle with the need to kiss him, almost overwhelming your senses. You let your hands slip over his biceps as you push yourself back, clearing your throat, as if to bring you back down from the cloud he had you stuck on. 

“I really want to kiss you right now.” You whispered. “But I know that I shouldn’t. 

“Why shouldn’t you?” His brows pulled together as you took a step back. 

“Because you’re the star of my father’s team, and I can’t get in the way of that.” You felt your lips falling into a frown. “I can’t do that to him, and I can’t do that to you.” 

“Are you saying you expect us to fail?” His brows shot up. “Before you even give us a try?” 

“I don’t want to be the thing that stands in the way of you and your dream.” You confess. “What if things did go wrong between us? We hardly know each other, Harry! You can’t be certain-”

“I know enough about you, Y/N.” He let out a confused laugh. “But, the fun thing about relationships is the learning part! It’s okay that we don’t know everything about one another.” 

“You’re not scared at all?” You asked. “What if we break up and it’s one of those really bad breakups? I wouldn’t be able to go to games anymore to support my father, and he’s going to ask why.” 

“I refuse to let it end poorly.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I’m pretty determined about getting what I want, and I want a chance to love you, Y/N.” 

Love.

That warm, ooey-gooey feeling that would slowly take over your entire life. 

Love. 

In a few moments, you could see it all flash before your eyes. 

Your first date with Harry. 

Your first time. 

Your first fight. 

Your first, I love you. 

Seconds later, you were launching into his arms. 

When your lips pressed against his, it was messy. You put too much force behind your kiss, and you nearly knocked him onto his back as he wrapped his arms around you. When you pulled away, it was only for a second. You pressed your lips back into his with more purpose, a gentle kiss slowly sending that warm feeling up your spine. You didn’t care about the consequences or the rules at this moment. All you could think about was how great it felt to go after the one thing you really wanted. 

Harry. 

“Easy there, lovie.” He pulled back, pressing a breathless kiss to your nose. “We’ve got plenty of time, I promise.” 

“You can’t promise that.” You dropped your head down to the crook of his neck. “But I’ll take it for now.” 

Harry chuckled, softly squeezing you in his arms before he pulled back. 

“Lay with me?” He asked. “I wanted to show you the stars when I pulled you out here.” 

“Oh.” Your cheeks grew warm. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “It was worth it.” 

After you rolled your eyes, Harry plopped his but down on the grass. 

Seconds later, he helped you down with his hands on your waist. You lay down next to each other, your fingers laced together as you looked up at the night sky. The silence that washed over you was almost therapeutic. You were mesmerized, amazed that you could actually see the stars clearly, no smog blocking your view of the bright lights. 

“Is that the little dipper?” You lifted your hand up, pointing at the constellation. 

“Yeah,” Harry said softly. “That one over there is the big dipper.” 

“Wow.” You whispered. “It’s breathtaking.” 

“When I’m done walking you home, I always come back.” He said softly. “I lay out here for hours, mostly thinking about you, and my family, and this wonderful opportunity I’ve been gifted.” 

“You think about me when you’re thinking about all of those things?” You turned your head towards him. “That makes me sound like I’m special.” 

“You are.” He said. “You were the first person I met here, besides your Father, and...I don’t know. Something about you just makes me feel so happy and so full. I don’t feel so homesick when you’re around.” 

“I know the feeling.” You smiled softly at him. 

You moved your body closer to his, resting your head against his shoulder. 

I’d gotten to the ballpark early enough to have dinner, get settled, and do a few promotional shots with Mark, the faithful cameraman who’d been giving me pointers and tips since I’d started at NBC Los Angeles. The crowd was already pretty full--which wasn’t shocking for game three of the World Series--and I was constantly trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

“Relax,” Mark said, looking up from the camera he held. He’d set it down on a seat nearby--adjusting a few settings as fans filed down the aisles around us. “You’re doing fine, you’re gonna be great.”

I appreciated his words of encouragement, mostly because my boss had made it clear that they were taking a chance by sending me to game three. Ilana Perry--the usual sports girl they sent out to the sidelines--had come down with the flu and was unable to do the gig.

Lucky for me, I was young, bright-eyed, and obnoxiously asking for bigger and better and more assignments since I started with channel 4 in May.

They’d liked me well enough--they liked my highlight reel and my resume was impressive for someone my age. I’d had access to amazing equipment and good stories at UCLA, so getting the job offer from NBC was like hitting the jackpot. I accepted immediately.

“I know, I know,” I said to Mark, holding my microphone and papers close to my chest. In a minutes, we’d head to the locker room to do a few interviews before the start of the game, but Mark needed to fix whatever technical issue was occuring.

“Alright, I think we’re good,” he said, lifting the camera off of the seat and inspecting the side of it once more. Mark, a 55-year-old man who was old enough to be my father, had been working for channel 4 since he was my age. His regular reminders about my on-air charm and my ability to sniff out a good story helped in moments like these--moments where it felt like my career was on the line.

I nodded at him, allowing him to take the lead as we made our way down into the concourse. We strolled passed vendors, past fans in face paint and the long lines at the bars, until we found the unmarked door and security personnel who granted us access into the locker room.

Thankful for the laminated pass around my neck, I stepped in behind Mark, and seemed to take my place behind fifteen other journalists and reporters.

Beyond the other microphones and recorders, I could see his brown hair peeking out beneath his hat. He chewed on a piece of gum, nodding at the person in front of him who scribbled down whatever words he was saying.

Harry Styles, the young and questionable player from England, of all places, was somewhat of an interview favorite. He’d been with the Oklahoma City Dodgers last season, and after another player had surgery, Harry was brought it and immediately made a difference.

No one expected him to be so good, and no one expected him to be so funny, so charismatic, and so friendly.

“If we can talk to him, we should,” Mark muttered under his breath, standing beside me as we stepped forward in the line. A few other players milled about, but it was clear, everyone wanted to get a chance to speak with Harry.

“I know,” I nodded. “I’d love to ask him about that game in June when he hit for the cycle and came into home with a bloody nose.”

Mark let out a laugh--he always liked it when I came up with good questions, or conversations that seemed out of left-field. Everyone tonight would be asking how he felt--only 24 and playing in the World Series. He’d expect it from me--he’d expect the blonde girl with channel 4 to ask him if he was nervous, if he was excited.

But I knew the game better than that--I knew the amazing feat it was to hit for the cycle, and I’d rather talk to him about something unique. If I really wanted to know how nervous he was for tonight’s game, I could easily watch KTLA in the morning, or just about any other news station.

I watched the man in front of me ask him the same old questions. How’s the weather here compared to London? What’s it like to be in the World Series? You’re so young, are your parents proud?

He answered the questions with a grace, nodding and smiling and making an effort to be approachable--he adjusted his hat and locked eyes with me when the man walked away.

“Hi, Nicole Pearce, channel 4, NBC,” I shook his hand, smiling up at him as Mark moved around me, trying to find a good angle to get the shot.

“Harry Styles, outfielder, Los Angeles Dodgers,” he smirked back, his accent was thicker than I imagined, his eyes were a shade of green that couldn’t even be captured on TV. “How are you?”

“Good,” I nodded at him. “A little overwhelmed, I only started back in May.”

I didn’t know why I was telling him that--the last thing I needed was for him to think I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was talking about. He didn’t actually care, he was just being nice and making conversation while Mark got everything set up.

“I know how that feels,” he laughed. This was his first season in LA, he was young and bright-eyed and ambitious, just like me. “Sometimes when I get nervous, though, I just pretend everyone else is naked--that usually helps.”

I laughed, feeling a flush come to my face when his eyes went wide.

“I mean, not now, like--I’m not nervous now, you’re making me very comfortable,” he said, his words rambling into a run-on sentence to avoid any awkwardness. It might have been too late.

“Alright,” Mark looked up, a smirk tugged at his lips as he looked between us. “Ready?”

Harry only nodded, his cheeks still tinged pink from his accidental innuendo, but then he looked at me to start us off.

I cleared my throat when Mark gave me the count--3, 2, 1.

“Nicole Pearce live from Dodgers Stadium with outfielder Harry Styles,” I spoke into the microphone, focusing on the lens in front of me. “Harry, I’m sure most people are asking you the typical questions tonight--are you nervous, how’s it feel? But I’ve actually got a question for you about that game in June, if that’s alright.”

He immediately knew what I was talking about, fighting a bit of a smile that tugged at his mouth. He nodded, waiting for me to continue.

“You’re the youngest player to hit for the cycle in your first season with the Dodgers, but that Tuesday night game--how’d you get a bloody nose?”

He gave me a full smile now, chuckling a little as he nodded. I hoped he appreciated the humor, I hope he was thankful that I didn’t ask him the same thing that everyone else had asked.

“I’m not sure, really,” he shook his head. “It was totally out of the blue and couldn’t have been worse timing.”

“I’ll take it there was no celebration after that home run, then? No high fives or anything?”

“No, definitely not,” he shook his head, “I went straight to the locker room with a trainer--but it stopped, I was alright.”

“And Los Angeles is thankful for that. Good luck tonight, Harry. From the locker room, I’m Nicole Pearce, channel 4 sports.”

Mark pointed in our direction to let us know we were out--I looked back up at Harry, who’s eyebrows were somewhat raised. He chewed his gum still, but I couldn’t read the expression on his face. For a second I was worried that I’d bothered him--was he embarrassed, was he annoyed that I didn’t focus on tonight’s game?

“That was good,” he nodded down at me. “It’s always nice to get a break from the same old questions.”

“I was hoping it’d be a welcomed break,” I said honestly, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Will you be here after?” He asked suddenly, Mark watched on as he held the big camera in front of his torso.

“Here? In the locker room?” I suddenly felt aware of the line of people behind me--the other reporters who were waiting to get a piece of him, waiting to ask him a question and get some insight into his mind.

He nodded, crossing his arms as he looked down at me again. His uniform--the white and blue--complimented him well. Despite his newness to the team, he had an air of confidence that I could tell was genuine. He knew he was good, he knew he was making me a bit nervous.

“Yeah--I’m here all night,” I answered.

“Good to know,” he smiled. “I’ll try to find you later.”

**

I knew that being in this line of work meant uncertainty. It meant flexibility and it meant doing a lot of things on the fly. I had no idea, however, when I walked into Dodgers Stadium at 6pm that night, that I would be there until the next morning.

The game went 18 innings--the equivalent to a double header and the longest game in World Series history. While the fact that Mark and I stayed to cover the whole game was good for my career, it was anything but for my sanity.

At the 13th inning I was sure we were going home--the Red Sox had scored and our luck wasn’t great. I’d almost resigned to another loss, until we tied it again.

The longer the game went, the longer I watched Harry play and make catches and celebrate with his teammates, the more intrigued I was about our conversation.

He was friendly, that I had heard from other reporters in the field and other people I knew from work. I’d never met him before, but the way he smiled at me and said he’d find me later--it made me not as mad about sticking around.

Then again, it wasn’t like I had much of a choice--it was my job, after all.

I brushed on more makeup in the media bathroom, hoping to cover the circles under my eyes and make it seem like I wasn’t so exhausted. My schedule at the station had my sleep all over the place--some days they’d want me to do the morning shift and cover for one of our main anchors. That had me up at 2:30am and in the office by 3:30.

Things like this--games, sports, the thing I really wanted to cover--had me reapplying makeup in the middle of the night. I’d already done a sideline interview with the manager. Apparently he recognized Mark as one of the usual suspects nearby and offered a few seconds--that was one of the perks of working with Mark.

I’d watched Harry, out of the corner of my eye, make his way out of the dugout when they’d won--they all stormed the diamond to congratulate their teammate who’d hit a walk-off homerun. I think they were just as happy as I was that it was finally over.

“Excuse me, sorry--NBC, excuse us,” I muttered, hoping to push through some of the people at the back of the locker room. It was smellier than before, all sorts of scents wafted through the warm room. There were plenty of players who’d already been in and out of the shower, but the heat from the bodies and their exertion still clung to the air.

“Want to talk to Styles again? He played pretty well,” Mark asked, taking a second to hoist the camera up to his shoulder.

I scanned the room. I needed to be professional--I couldn’t let the flush on my cheeks or the skipping heart beat take over, even if the Dodgers’ youngest star player had possibly pictured me naked. That wasn’t the point.

“Sure, yeah, we can find whoever,” I shrugged my shoulders, hoping to just forget about the entirety of my conversation before. I needed to take this seriously. Covering this game was huge, I didn’t need to fangirl over someone just because he was a professional athlete.

We made our way to stand in the group of people near Max Muncy, I shoved the microphone through the crowd of recorders and iPhones, hoping to catch whatever he said. He was appreciative, he was excited, I managed to ask him a question about how he feels heading into game four, and then it was over.

The locker room was thinning out most of the players had changed and talked for a few minutes, they were likely heading home for what was hopefully a good night’s sleep.

I was standing with Mark, who was just about to power off the camera and gather his belongings, when I spotted him near his locker. His name was plastered above it, he stood, bent over, as he packed up his things. He smiled and offered a handshake to one of his teammates, the same smile on his face that I’d seen much closer early in the night. I cleared my throat when Mark, with raised brows, caught me staring.

“Relax, I was just seeing what he was doing,” I rolled my eyes, annoyed that Mark was clearly amused by my crush.

“Sure,” he laughed, dropping his Sony HXR into the bag he toted around. “I heard him say he’d find you later. I can give you some space.”

“Oh my god,” I rolled my eyes again, falling into step with him quickly as we headed towards the door. “Please, I’m going home, too. I’m exhausted.”

He opened the door back into the concourse and paused when we were outside. He took out his cellphone, looking at the time. “I’m in lot five, where are you?”

I pointed down the main hall and frowned. “Lot ten,” apparently the senior media got the better lot. “But have a good night, I’m back in on Sunday.”

He clicked his phone shut and put it back in his pocket. “Have a good night, Nic.”

I waved him off, draping my own bag over my shoulder as I began to trudge down the hallway. The walk to my car wasn’t terrible, but it was long--especially in the heels I’d been wearing for the last 18 innings.

I scrolled mindlessly as I walked, watching the array of tweets come in about the game, the score, the insanity of the entire evening. I was about to turn down the hallway that would bring me out to the parking lot when I heard voices approaching behind. The whir of a golf cart quieted, causing me to turn around.

“Hi,” Harry Styles smiled at me--clad in athletic shorts and a sweatshirt. The man driving looked familiar, maybe one of their trainers, maybe a teammate. “Nicole Pearce, NBC 4, right?”

I nodded, feeling a flush rise on my cheeks. His hair was brushed back under a Dodgers hat, which sat backwards on his head. He smirked at me. “Need a ride?”

“Oh--I’m fine, I’m in lot ten,” I said, pointing over my shoulder to motion to where my car was parked.

“You’ve still got a ways to go,” he informed me, the corners of his mouth still pointed upwards. “Come on, get in,” he motioned to the backwards facing seat behind him. I looked up and down the hall, wondering if this was something that I’d get in trouble for.

Since I didn’t know the answer, I figured I was allowed to feign ignorance. “I hope I don’t lose my job because of this,” I said quietly, climbing up and taking a seat--my feet were immediately grateful for the relief.

“If you lose your job because of me, I’ll personally call your boss and give him a very stern talking to,” he nodded solemnly.

I laughed, running a hand through my hair, hoping that my cheeks weren’t so pink that he could tell I was nervous.

“Are you local, Nicole?” He asked as we lurched into motion--the driver took the turn down the hall for lot ten, I nodded in response to his question and cleared my throat.

“I went to UCLA, grew up in Sherman Oaks. Now I’m in Studio City.”

He was twisted around to see me, his arm on the back of my seat. I could see the stubble on his face, the way it grew up his chin and on his jaw line, the way it sprinkled his upper lip. He was tan--all the playing in the sun must have changed his skin tone a bit, but he smiled at me.

“Bit of a drive in rush hour from here, no? How was your drive out?”

I shrugged--the 5 was always a mess, but I’d left from the studio after Mark and I had gotten the equipment we needed, so the route was more direct. “It’ll be better now at almost 1:30am.”

He smiled still, his eyes just scanning over my face as if he had something to say as we exited out the stadium and into the dark parking lot. I kept eye contact for a minute, though self-conscious about the heavy makeup I wore. It looked fine on TV, but in person it always seemed obnoxious.

The gold cart slowed to a stop. “A couple of teammates are headed back to my house just to hang out, have a drink, if you’re not doing anything.”

My eyes must have went wide, he laughed and shrugged. “Or not--if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I appreciate that,” I said quickly, cursing my overly expressive face and my inability to ever play it cool. “I just, it’s late, I figured you’d all go home and sleep.”

He laughed again, taking the baseball cap off of his head to smooth out his hair before replacing it. “Yeah, we will eventually. Hard to go straight home after a night like that,” he threw a thumb over his shoulder back towards the stadium.

I nodded--it made sense. It’d be hard enough to sleep at all after the events of the night. I stared at him, his eyes scanned my face once more, a smirk tugged at his lips and he shrugged his shoulders, as if asking me why not?

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”

**

When I found myself seated on a plush beige couch in Harry Styles’ living room, directly next to Joc Pederson and Walker Buehler, I knew that I could definitely lose my job for this.

I mean, it wasn’t like any of them cared who I was or even really asked. I’d walked in with Harry, thankful that the ride from the stadium to his house was only 25 minutes. I’d abandoned my car at the stadium, he said that of their trainers could drive it out later for me or I could get it in the morning.

I pushed the fear out of my head--I wasn’t the type of girl to do this, but something in me told me that it’d be a night to remember, a night that only comes once in a lifetime. I think I was right.

There was enough beer to furnish three college frat parties, a few of Harry’s teammates swatted a ping pong ball back and forth at a table near the kitchen, a few of them were watching replays of the night’s biggest plays on the TV in front of us.

Harry, who’d disappeared into the kitchen to get me another drink, returned and handed it down to me. “I can give you a tour, if you want,” he held a hand out, helping me from the couch. I stood, surprised at the height difference between the two of us now that I was without my heels.

He was tall, that was clear. He had broad shoulders, white teeth, curly, messy hair that was still tamed beneath his backwards hat. I followed him out the living room, away from the people and down a main hall.

He flipped on a light switch and stepped aside so I could see in. “Guest room,” he said. “Normally where my mum stays when she comes out.”

I smiled, picturing his family from the U.K. coming out to experience America’s past time. “How often does she come?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “A few times a season. She’s out now with some of my aunts and cousins, but they’re all in a hotel.”

He flipped the light off, shut the door, and led me down the hall. “Bathroom there,” he pointed into a dark door.

“Yep, I used it already,” I laughed, watching him offer a smirk over his shoulder as he continued to lead me towards the stairs.

The foyer through which I’d entered was impressive enough as it. Beautiful dark wood end tables lined either side of the room, a second floor was visible, wrought iron railings lined the stairs and the overlook above.

“You saw the kitchen and the living room,” he said, climbing the first few steps. I climbed behind him, keeping enough of a safe distance. Sure, my job had allowed me access to a few celebrities here and there. Once I got to go to banquet where Demi Lovato gave a speech, there was even the time in college where I’d gotten to go to a journalism expo where Katie Couric and Don Lemon were, but I’d never experienced this.

I’d never been invited into someone’s home who’d I’d interviewed only a mere hours ago.

Harry led me down a hallway that seemed to have an end in sight. “Bedroom there, office there,” he pointed at two doors on either side of the hall. “There’s a bathroom with that one, it has a really nice tub.”

I laughed, following him down the dark hallway until he stopped at a set of double doors. “This is the master, my room,” he pushed the doors open, revealing a king sized bed clad in gray sheets and a gray duvet. He had a few jerseys framed above his bed--names I didn’t recognize but teams that I did.

One of the Yankees, one of the Astros. “Isn’t is kind of against the rules to have these?” I teased, walking closer to his bed and pointing up at them. I could hear the people downstairs, the cheering at the TV when they saw themselves do something amazing. He flicked the light switch on but kept the lights dim.

I turned around to see him, his lips were tugged into a smirk once more as he shrugged. “I mean, maybe--but they don’t spend a lot of time up here,” he motioned to his teammates downstairs.

“And this,” I looked to the protected bat that was mounted on the wall, signed by David Ortiz. “This is incredible, have you met him?”

“Unfortunately no,” he rolled his eyes, coming closer to examine it beside me. “He retired the year I got drafted.”

“My dad has loved the Dodgers forever, but he loves David Ortiz.” I said mostly to myself, still taking in the shiny bat that hung on the dark red wall.

I looked over to him to find his eyes on me once again--his eyes scanned down my face to my lips, and before I knew it, my body was pressed to his. His lips were unbelievably soft, his hands felt rough from gripping a bat, but soft as the moved down my size. I let my hands reach up to his face, feeling the stubble on his chin against my palms as he kissed me harder.

It was crazy--all of it, really. A typical night at work became a historical game and now it was surely something to remember. I let Harry push me towards the bed, he pulled away slightly when we toppled down, a smile on his face as he looked at me.

“Sorry--I hope that wasn’t too forward,” he paused, a look on his face almost told me he was now embarrassed, as if he felt bad for the way we’d pressed ourselves together.

“It’s fine,” I giggled, he held his weight on his elbow as he stared down at me. “Forward isn’t a bad thing.”

He brought his lips back to me, less feverishly this time, kissing me deeply and letting his hand trace down the hem of my dress. Stupid work dress--it was the least sexy thing I owned. If I had known this would happen, I’d have gone with the black one with the questionable amount of cleavage.

His fingers pushed the fabric of my dress aside, trailing up the skin of my inner thighs. I heard laughter erupt from downstairs, but Harry didn’t budge. His fingers crawled up to the fabric of the thong I wear, which he quickly pushed aside to allow himself access.

I let a moan out against his lips when he middle finger grazed over my clit. He smiled into me, letting himself rub at my center harder as I arched my back into him. Something about the uniform, the accent, the way he’d smiled at me in the locker room--all of it made me want him more than I’d ever wanted anyone.

He pulled away from me quickly, his lips red from blood flow. “D’ya want to take that off?” He pointed to the dress as he knelt on the mattress. I nodded excitedly, reaching back to tug at the zipper, but he ultimately brushed his hand against mine when he pulled it along my spine.

He pulled it off of me, leaving me in my bra and thong on his mattress. He pulled his own shirt over his head, removing the hat along with it. He brought his lips to mine once more, his left hand moved down to cup my breast, grasping me over the fabric.

I let my hand reach down to his shorts, feeling the bulge that grew beneath them. He let out a whimper when I palmed him over the material, he shoved a hand beneath me to remove the bra from between us.

His lips moved quickly to my nipple, he swirled his tongue in circles as I let me fingers grasp into the hair at the nape of his neck. He was good at this--which I think he knew, but he was surprised when I pushed him off of me.

“Go down on me,” I said suddenly, a smirk crossed his face as heat flew to my cheeks. I wasn’t necessarily one to be bossy--but I knew what I wanted and he seemed willing to do it. He moved his way down the mattress to the edge of the bed, looped his arms under my thighs, and pulled me closer to him.

“Gladly,” he raised his eyebrows as he pulled the black fabric from my hips, bringing it down to my ankles before I flicked it to the ground. He pressed a kiss against me first, just a light sucking and a gentle heat left me wanting more--enough so that I reached a hand down and pressed him into me. He laughed lightly, letting his tongue make contact with my clit, I let out another moan as he worked at me.

I don’t know if it was the fact that there were people downstairs, the fact that this was definitely against something in my contract, or the fact that I’d be sure to see him again, but something about the whole situation made it hotter.

He brought a finger up to slide in and out of me, his mouth still connected to my center as he licked away--my back arched off of the mattress and his name escaped my lips.

He liked that, apparently, because he pulled away from me and smirked. I sat up, reached forward to grab at his shorts, pulling him closer to me and pulling the fabric away from his cock in one swift motion.

His knees jerked a bit when my hand clasped around him, he let out a deep breath when I took him into my mouth. I giggled, smiling up at him as I let my tongue slide up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, Nicole,” he said, his eyes closing for a second as he leaned his head back. The sound of my name on his lips made me work harder--I wanted to hear it again. He was in my control, he was only thinking about me in this moment, and that felt good.

I sucked at the head, my hand cupping his balls for a minute, but soon, he placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me a slight push. “Can I just fuck you?”

I laughed, appreciative of his question as I shifted back on the bed. He crawled forward on top of me, stepping out of his shorts altogether. He grasped a hand around himself, bringing it to my core and letting a shiver rake through my spine as he teased me with his tip.

“Please,” I said, through a cracked voice. He smiled, pressing himself into me and letting out a groan.

He let himself come closer down to me, brushing a piece of hair out of my eyes before letting his lips find mine once again. “Fuck,” he said, a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his forehead.

I couldn’t believe it--his eyes were closed as he thrusted in and out of me, and not only did it feel amazing to have him fill me, but I couldn’t help but marvel at my own luck.

“Harry,” I said lowly, he opened his eyes to make sure I was okay--but when he realized I was as pleased as he was, he kept moving, his cock moving against my clit in the perfect motion.

“I’m close,” I said, arching my back again to let him rub against me more.

“Yeah, baby, come on my cock,” he said, his eyes open to watch my face as he thrusted harder. It didn’t take long, and hearing him call me baby didn’t seem to hurt, either.

“Oh, fuck me,” I whimpered, feeling myself tighten around him.

“Fuck, Nicole,” he said--seemingly as close as I was. I reached my hands up, cupping his face and bringing his lips to mine, in an effort to keep both of us quiet.

He moaned against my lips, I could feel his orgasm only a few seconds after my own subsided.

He pulled his lips away from me, I opened my eyes to catch him smiling, a laugh escaped his lips. He was panting, his breath still short as he pulled himself out, I propped myself up on my elbows as he climbed off of the bed.

“Would you like to take a shower?” He asked.

I sighed, hoping to calm my own heartbeat before standing. “Sure,” I said.

He offered me a hand and pulled me off of the bed, pressing another kiss on my lips once I was stood in front of him. I followed him into the bathroom, where he turned on the shower, and let me step in first.