#dealerry

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Eli sighs contently as she strolls along the sidewalk. The leaves on the trees are transitioning from their summery green to the warm yellows, deep reds, and burnt oranges. The sun is shining yet the air is crisp, the perfect weather for a sweater because the academic buildings haven’t yet turned on the heat.

It’s a perfect fall day.

Only, she isn’t wearing a sweater. Instead, she has on a fitted pink knit top that she’s paired with straight light-washed jeans and her classic white sneakers. Her tote bag rests on her shoulder, a sweatshirt shoved in there that she’ll put on after her little rendezvous. And, speaking of which, she’s approaching the designated spot and can already see her acquaintance waiting for her.

He greets Eli with a flirty grin that he seems to reserve only for her. He has plenty of other signature smirks and smiles, ones that he uses on other people, but only she receives this special grin, the ‘Eli grin’ as he likes to call it. “Hey, babygirl.”

She smiles back, for some reason feeling giddy. Actually, she knows the reason: it’s because he’s really fucking hot. he knows it. Everyone knows it. She can’t help but get a little flustered every time someone as gorgeous as him gives her a sliver of his attention. “Hey, Harry. How are you?” His tone is way too suggestive to say to someone who’s in a relationship, but Harry’s never been one to shy away from a challenge. “Much better now.” He walks toward her, meeting Eli halfway and lifting his arms. She walks right into him, hugging him around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. He gives great hugs; he’s firm yet gentle, and he always holds the embrace for a while. She’s pretty sure he only hugs her like this.

Eli inhales deeply, reveling in his signature scent of mary jane and Old Spice. Within the last couple of weeks, whenever she gets a whiff of that sweet scent, she thinks of him. Then the fluttery feeling usually (always) follows.

He’s looking especially cozy today, decked in a pair of baggy grey sweatpants, the bottoms cuffed and revealing white Nike socks that are scrunched down. He’s wearing a hot pink sweatshirt, the hood covering his curly brown hair, the words ‘Girly Girl’ printed underneath a rainbow on his chest—he had found it at the thrift store, and when he discovered it was in his size, he claimed it was “fate”—just like meeting her was “fate.” It matches his shoes, a pair of light pink Reebok sneakers to which he never bothers tying the laces.

Harry squeezes Eli tightly, until a strained squeak leaves her lips. He hums, treasuring the last few moments before letting go and stepping back with a soft, cheeky smile on his face.

She cocks her head to the side. “You seem tired.”

He nods, rubbing his eye with the knuckle of his index finger. “I am, baby. Spent all fucking night writing a stupid fucking paper for philosophy.” Then, he adds sheepishly (or, as sheepishly as Harry Styles can get), “I may have been really fucking high while writing it, but I already submitted it, so, fuck it.” He shrugs. “I feel like I’m at my fucking best when I’m high though.” He sets his hands on his waist and shifts his weight onto one foot. He nods at Eli with a serious expression on his face, letting her know that he meant what he said. “My creative juices are flowing faster than the fucking speed of light, ya know?”

“No.” She shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself to avoid shivering. Before Harry opens his mouth, she says forcefully, “I don’t want your sweatshirt,” which is a lie; she does want his sweatshirt, because she likes it and thinks it’s cute, but not in this situation where he’s asking only because he wants to be flirty with her.

He shakes his head. His backpack hangs in one shoulder, and he swings the pack around to the front of his chest to dig inside. “Don’t know why you didn’t bring a fucking sweatshirt. It’s cold, baby, you’ll get sick.”

He hands her the stash, and instead of saying thank you, Eli asks jokingly, “Do you know my name?”

He grins at her. “I don’t need to when ‘baby’ suits you just fine.”

She sighs, then slaps the cash into his open palm. He tries to close his fingers around her hand, but she wrangles it out with a sweet giggle that sounds like music to Harry’s ears.

“Well,” she stands tall, pushing her shoulders back and, consequently, her chest out. She can feel the soft fabric of her shirt shift against her nipples, the cold only making them more sensitive as they harden. She doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes drift down; it’s why she’s wearing this shirt in the middle of October. Harry gives her the “hot-girl discount” (his words), and she gives him a nice, personal “hot-girl thank you” (her words) in the form of her nipples peeking through her shirt. It’s a win-win.

Her boyfriend hates it, despite the fact that she never wears a bra anyway. Yet he claims she’s doing it for Harry which…she is, but it’s for the discount, and she doesn’t ever hear him complaining about the discount.

The corners of Harry’s lips quirk up into a smirk. Then he bites into his bottom lip. “Try not to get through this shit too quickly this time, hot stuff, yeah? I worry about you and your pretty little fucking lungs.”

“Yeah,” Eli says, deciding to play along. She pops a hip and plays with the hem of her shirt, pursing her lips. Her voice takes on an obviously forced tilt of innocence, laced heavily with flirty suggestion. “I’m not really sure I’m doing it right.”

Harry’s voice drops, the deep baritone sending shivers through her body. Her nipples could cut through steel right now. “Well, you know you’re always welcome at my place. I’ll show you how to do it all right.”

She tries not to snort; she may have accidentally revealed to Harry that her boyfriend isn’t exactly the king of the bed. He hasn’t forgotten about it—in fact, he’s continuously reminded her that he remembers, even in front of her boyfriend, who, thankfully, hasn’t realized. He’s picking up on it though, because Harry isn’t exactly subtle.

She sighs lightly, continuing the act of innocence. “Yeah, maybe. I’d really appreciate it.” Then her voice returns to normal, a genuine smile growing on her lips. Harry returns his own, and they take a moment to bask in each other’s presence before she says, “Bye, Harry.”

“Bye, babygirl. Can’t wait to see your pretty fucking face again.”

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