The day after our disastrous lunch, Friday, I sat in my creative writing class feeling moody and tired. I just didn't have it in me to care about much. I was so mad at myself. I felt like I had gotten another shot to get to know you, and I had well and truly blown it. And then that turned into me beating myself up over all my failed relationships. I just didn't understand how to be the sort of man a girl would stick around for. Why wasn't I worth it? Abigail walked away. Cassie didn't care when I did. Caroline would barely look at me after one encounter. And Fern. Fern had seemed to fight for me. She didn't want me moving all the way to LA. But she wouldn't come with me either. Living her comfortable life, all her bills paid by daddy, was more important to her than me. To be fair, I suppose chasing my dream was more important to me than she was.

Mind you, those were the relationships. That doesn't even account for the girls I tried to chat up and failed even to get a number, or at best a first kiss. Sometimes I think you girls have it easy. You get to be chased. We guys have to put ourselves out there, to risk and often endure the humiliation of rejection. It's ego-shattering.

Anyway, there I was, lost in my self abuse, when the professor told us our next poem had to be in partners. Who writes poetry in partners? I was so irritated. (Yeah in retrospect, I realized duh. Songwriters do. Lennon-McCartney. Jagger-Richards. But in that moment, I was too defeated to come up with answers.) And because I was sort of out of it, pretty much everybody was partnered up already.

Except this one girl. Samantha. She impressed me in the first workshop earlier in the week. Her writing was powerful, emotional. She was usually quite sassy in class, giving tough but honest feedback to our classmates, but right now, she was shy as she approached me.

"Hey. Um. I'm Sam." She stuck her arm out awkwardly. Sam's all limbs and lips, long tan arms and legs and thick pouty lips.

Maddie, don't get jealous, okay. She is pretty. But I never ever had any interest in her. In fact, when I noted that she was attractive, my first thought was that I should introduce her to Louis, who'd had a very long dry streak after a really bad break up. (But then, as you know, he sort of got caught up in his flirtation with Becca.)

"Yeah, I know. Hi," I smiled, shaking her hand. "Harry."

"Yeah, I know." She rolled her eyes. What was it about me that had girls rolling their eyes all the time?? Seriously, please explain this to me. "You wanna work together?"

"Yeah, sure. All right."

We sat down and started bouncing ideas off each other. By the end of the class, we had most of the poem written, and to my surprise, I actually really loved it. We stayed just a bit longer than the rest of the students to finish it up.

"I'll type it up and send it to you," she packed her notebook into her overly large bag as she spoke.

"Great, thanks," I said, pushing in both of our chairs and collecting our trash.

We said goodbye and headed our separate ways. I had to meet Liam and Louis in the music room to go over new lyrics. When I got there, Liam was a babbling mess. His face was blotchy and his eyes were all wild.

"What's gotten into you?" I asked, sitting in one of the plastic chairs.

"You've just missed Maddie Turner," Louis smirked. Fuck. What the fuck. I instantly regretted staying behind to work on the fucking poem. "She and Liam had a moment. Hugged and everything."

No fucking way.

Liam is my best mate, has been for almost a decade. So please don't get me wrong. But goddamn it, I wanted him dead in that moment. I knew that girls loved the adorable sensitive boyfriend thing he just seemed to exude naturally. If I were into guys, I'd fall for him. And I just knew you would too.

My heart ached, my whole body ached, fuck, my fucking soul ached as I listened to them recount the "moment." This might sound melodramatic, but Maddie, I had feelings for you already. And I don't mean my teenage fantasies. I mean, just in the couple of times I had met you, I was completely enamored. You were more beautiful than I ever imagined in those teenage fantasies. And there was just something about you. In those little moments you thought no one was watching, I saw your façade slip. I saw the real you, clever and sarcastic and so very sad, underneath the charming "America's Sweetheart."

And so my sour mood followed me to work that evening. I was grumpy as I assembled sandwiches for customers, perhaps a bit too roughly. It went from bad to worse when I took my dinner break, making myself a quick sandwich and retreating to the back room.

"What are you doing?" Sal snapped from the doorway.

"Taking my break. What does it look like?" What the fuck now. I shook my head in irritation.

Sal slapped his hand against the wall. "No. Harry. You do not speak to me this way. One: I am your elder." His Greek accent was thick when he was angry. Sal is my mother's brother's wife's brother. So he is not my actual blood relative. "Two: I am your boss. You must give me respect."

"I'm sorry, Sal. I've had a rough day. I don't mean to disrespect you, but I--"

"No buts."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I knew I would lose anyway. I snapped it shut.

But he wasn't done. "Did you pay for that sandwich?"

At the store in the valley, the manager allowed us to make our own sandwiches for dinner. It was no big deal. We threw out more food than we would ever use in a sandwich. Sal hadn't been around the last couple of weeks when I had dinner, so I had no idea this was a problem. I assumed it was his policy.

"I thought--"

"You thought," he shook his head, his arms gesticulating wildly. "No, you didn't thought. That's the problem. You pay for what you take. Food doesn't grow on trees." I bit my tongue. I wanted to snap at him, to yell. Of course it fucking does. It literally does (maybe not these sandwich ingredients, but come on). But I didn't. I kept my head down and my mouth shut. He's family, but he wouldn't hesitate to fire me. "You want to give me cash, or should I take from your wages?"

I didn't even have any money on me. I wasn't sure I even had any at home. "Wages," I muttered. I wrapped the damn thing up and stuck it in the small fridge in the back room. I had completely lost my appetite. What a miserable fucking couple of days I'd had.

"Are you done?" Why must he always be so brusque? I nodded. "Good. Go cover the front."

I leaned against the counter behind the register, staring at nothing. When the bell on the door jingled several minutes later, I glanced up to see you pushing into the deli with a frown on your face. You were wearing black skinny jeans and a striped gray and black shirt that hugged your curves tantalizingly, with your hair up in a messy ponytail. I snapped my gawping mouth shut just before you looked up at me.

Jesus.

You smiled. But it was like, this almost smile. A smile you were trying to fight, for some reason. And all I could think was that for the second time in two days you looked at me and smiled. That twice I watched your face transform from irritation or anger into a smile. Seeing me there made you smile. A smile, I noticed, that went all the way to your eyes, even though you were biting your lip to keep it from showing. I could barely breathe. It felt like my lungs were being crushed by my heart, which was beating so hard. You were so beautiful. You are so beautiful.

And then I started screaming at myself in my head, say something you fucking moron. I had no idea what to say. "Ms. Turner," I finally managed, shooting for professional.

"Mr...Harry," you laughed. God almighty. Your smile, your laugh, my name on your lips. My mood was quickly improving.

"Wh--"

Sal interrupted, "Oh, Madelyn, darling. Your usual?" What the fuck. I couldn't help glaring at his back as he reached for bread to make you a sandwich. I was furious. I finally had a chance to talk to you, and he barged in and fucked it all up.

"Yes, please," you flicked your eyes over to me, your long lashes hypnotic.

I can't just let her go again, I told myself. I decided to try lighthearted teasing. "And five more?" I asked, trying to hold in a smile.

"Oh, leave the girl alone," Sal smacked my arm then turned back to you, waving the spatula full of tuna in the air. "Harry went on and on about how you brought them sandwiches." What the fuck. Goddammit. This fucker was throwing me under the bus. "Oh, Madelyn, did you know that Harry is my nephew?"

And now I looked like an asshole who couldn't get a job without his family's help. I wanted to murder him.

"Here you go, darling." Sal handed you the food and you walked right out the door without paying.

I was enraged. He had gone too far. He ruined my chance to talk to you. He made me look a fool. And finally, after giving his own family crap for not paying (and he knew how broke I was after the move), he just gave a wealthy actress food for free. I could not understand what the fuck was wrong with him. "You just give her food? I'm sure she can afford it. But me, no I can't have a sandwich. I have to pay. Are you kidding me?" I was so angry. My whole body was tense, my teeth clenched. I was shaking.

Sal patted my face, so condescending. I wanted to slap it away. "Harry, son," his eyes were soft, gentle. He was calm where I was angry. "I meant to tell you about our tabs. There are a handful of regular customers who have credit cards on file, who dine with us all the time. We simply add the orders to the tab, and it gets settled once a month." He opened a drawer under the register and pulled out a small book. "It's by last name, see. So, Turner," he flipped to your page. "And now we add the tuna on sourdough, $8.95, and that's it. No big deal. You see?" I didn't understand why he had been so harsh earlier but was kind to me now.

But I felt like an idiot. I was ashamed. The truth was, I was having a bad day anyway, and had taken my anger out on Sal all afternoon and evening. "I'm sorry, Sal. Really. I'm out of sorts today."

"It's okay, my boy, we all have bad days. But you can't raise your voice to me like that, you understand?" He patted my cheek again, and this time I knew it really was affection. I nodded, relaxing. "Why don't you go finish your dinner."

"All right, yeah, thanks." I walked towards the back.

"One time only, on the house, okay?" he called.

"You don't have to."

"Of course I don't. I want to. I could have been kinder after you'd already said you had a difficult day."

I nodded and retreated to the back to eat the rest of the sandwich. And while I ate I thought of you. To be honest, I thought of you in pretty much every free minute I had. I kept replaying that moment when your eyes registered my presence and the scowl dissolved into a smile. It gave me hope.

I was exhausted by the time I got home, to find Liam and Louis reviewing their run in with you again and again with Niall and Zayn. I bit my lip, holding back the details of my own chance meeting, but your smile broadened again and again in my mind's eye.

"Oh and she told us about this showcase at this club down in Hollywood," Liam carried on babbling.

Louis chewed at the edges of his nails. "We were thinking it would be good to go in for it. What do you say?"

"Yeah, absolutely," I said. Obviously. Obviously I wanted to go where there was any chance you might be. Again, Maddie, please don't get freaked out by this. You joked about being stalker-level obsessed, but I think I really lived up to the concept. I'm not a creep, I swear. But I was definitely obsessed with you. I am still obsessed. You are all I think about. God, I really hope this doesn't make you feel smothered or something.

I took a quick shower and collapsed into my small bed utterly exhausted--both physically and emotionally. I just wanted this week to be over.

But alas, I had to work the next day. Miserable. I desperately wanted to sleep in, but I was on a morning shift. I got up early--just before 6 am--and found Louis still awake and playing Fifa on the game console downstairs. I raised my hand in a silent greeting.

"Your job sucks," he said matter of factly.

"Truer words..."

He paused his game. "Hey, so I mentioned you to her."

"To whom?"

Louis rolled his eyes. I wasn't sure if it was the content of my question or the grammatically correct structure. "Your hot Hollywood actress." I winced at his use of Fern's terminology.

"Louis, don't. Please don't say that."

"Sorry, mate. I didn't think it was still so fresh."

"It's not. I mean, it stings a bit. But it's more than that. She's not mine, she's not property. It, like, it objectifies her, ya know?"

Louis raised his eyebrows, ready for a verbal spar. "And the posters all over your wall don't?"

I cringed again. "Fair enough." I considered pulling them down. I shook my head. "I've got to go. I'll see ya later, Lou."

"Haz, come on. I'm just poking at ya. I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

Something in my tone must have caught his attention. "No, really, mate. I'm sorry. Have you heard from her at all?"

"From Fern?" As he nodded, I looked at my feet, my vans scuffing against the cheap tile entry. "Nope. She doesn't answer. Doesn't call me back."

"I'm really sorry, Harry. I just wanted to tell you... I brought your name up when we saw Maddie. And she smiled when I did."

Now I raised my eyebrows, my hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, mate, yeah. I'm with Niall on this. I think she's interested. You should move on already." My heart started to beat faster. I wondered what would make him think that. Just a smile? One smile? It wasn't enough.

"You don't think she fancies Liam?"

"Nah. She's nice enough to him, but he blubbers too much. She seemed uncomfortable. And the other day at lunch, man, she could not keep her eyes off you."

"Maybe she was just trying to see around me to get a glimpse of Liam."

He shook his head definitively. "No. No way. I'm telling you. She's interested." He threw a pillow at me. "Now get on, you git. You're late for work."

I laughed the whole way down the hill.

Weekend mornings were super busy at Sal's. He did these amazing breakfast sandwiches that were right popular. Bacon, egg, cheese. Everything. Plus, of course, there were the usual pastries and bagels that go like gangbusters. Well, you know. You've had his breakfasts. I was so tired when Sal waved me over to tell me about this huge phone order toward the end of my shift.

"Harry, I've got a big delivery for you. It's just right up the hill here so, if you want to walk it up instead of take the van, you can go home early, after."

"Yeah, all right."

He prepped the food himself, making notes in the ledger where the the running tabs were kept. When he was wrapping the last of the sandwiches, he waved at me. "This is a big order. Let's throw in some pastries for a good customer." He pointed at the take away containers. "Load up a dozen."

I taped the container shut, then grabbed the bag of sandwiches from Sal. He gave me directions up the hill, past my place. Make a left. A right. Another left. It will be there on the right hand side, he said. I made the walk in fifteen minutes. Not bad. I knocked lightly on the door. A young man opened the door and led me into the kitchen. I set everything down and then...

"Shit," I whispered when you walked into the room, my breath leaving my body in a rush.

You looked so fucking hot in that black and red dress. I couldn't help my eyes wandering down your body, down to your bare feet on the white marble floor and back up. God, your fucking thighs in that tiny dress sent a jolt straight to my cock. And the top. Good lord it was tight, your breasts pushed up over the top. I tugged at the legs of my jeans, hoping to loosen the crotch and hide my aching hard-on. I looked into your eyes, holding your gaze, not wanting to ogle you any further. Ashamed of the pure lust I felt.

"Harry," you smiled. Fuck. You broke eye contact to look at my mouth. And then my arms.

I set down the tray of pastries. "Ms. Turner." When you looked back up, you again stared at my mouth, while I tried to look you in the eye. I touched my lip for a second, self-conscious, worried my mouth was just hanging open. You blushed, it seemed, and looked away. Victory. I thought maybe Louis and Niall had the right end of this stick, and I was fucking thrilled. "The sandwiches are here," Ha! Yes. You watched my mouth as I spoke again. If we were alone, if I weren't working, I might have gone in for a kiss. "And these are various sweets, on the house."

You frowned, but I read it as confusion.

I shrugged, "Sal insisted."

You looked away again, and it was like I could see your wall going up between us. "Okay, thanks." The atmosphere had changed. From electric and wild to cold and distant in a flash.

You handed me a twenty. "The sandwiches went on your tab," I said, frowning. Why had you gone so cold? (Of course, now I know why. You remembered me accusing you of getting freebies.)

But then you smirked at me, and it was like that switch got flipped, the electricity turned back on. "Yes, well, maybe you guys do things differently in England, but it's customary in America to tip your friendly local delivery guy." It seemed like you were flirting.

And God, I loved your sarcasm. I chuckled awkwardly, moving toward the door. Fuck. Say something clever back to her. "Right. Well, thanks," fucking moron. You held the front door open for me. Desperate to keep this going--whatever this was--I blurted, "Nice dress."

You smiled so widely, so genuinely, I thought I might just pass out on your doorstep. You put one hand on your hip, pushed it out to the side for effect, and asked, "It doesn't read too harlot-ish?" What? Who even uses that word anymore? I let out a low laugh.

But goddamn. It was like an invitation to ogle you.

I laughed again, nervously, and let my eyes soak in your beauty. You looked so sexy. Dominant. You looked like someone who wouldn't take any shit from anyone. The dress was definitely edgier than anything I'd ever seen you wear, either in person or on tv. But in a way, it was everything I'd ever seen you be. Strong. Beautiful. Brave. A little dark (sarcastic).

"It's just harlot enough," I finally managed to say. Walking back down the hill was going to be a challenge, with the ache in my crotch. I was painfully hard. Oh god, I really hoped you couldn't see how excited I was. I pulled the door closed and, before moving off, quickly readjusted so I could walk home.

Ten minutes later, I was back at my semi-detached with a fully erect cock. Thank god all the guys were out. I hurried up to my room, unzipping my pants as I went. My boxers were damp with precum. I was throbbing, I was so hard for you. I stood in my room, looking at the picture of you in the almost see-through tank top, rubbing my cock fast and dry. Fuck it hurt, but I didn't care. I needed release. But now instead of looking at that picture, which had certainly served me well over the years, I closed my eyes and thought of your tits bubbling over the top of that dress. Oh, fuck, they looked so soft and full. And your thighs, thick and toned. I imagined them wrapped around my head. I came so fucking fast, grunting your name.

Yep. It's official. I'm a fucking creep.

A fucking creep with another throbbing hard on. Except this time I get to wake you up... xx.

~~~~~

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Ack. We're getting to the good stuff. I'm curious to know which moment from the other one you most want to see from Harry's pov?