(No Control - 66. One Thing)

"I love how you can just click your fingers and get exactly what you want," she says, walking slowly towards me.

"Perks of being rich and famous," I tease. "I didn't think that ever applied to you, though."

Since when have I ever been able to click my fingers and get what I want from her?

"Are you kidding?" she says, in disbelief. "One smirk from you and I'm wrapped around your little finger."

I love it when she admits stuff like this. It does wonders for my confidence.

I gently turn us both around and push her back against the wall where I was just leaning.

"I'd rather your legs were wrapped around my waist," I murmur, my face inches from hers. I can smell her perfume and it makes me feel safe and comfortable.

I brush my lips against hers and press my body up against her, squeezing her small waist gently. She runs her fingers through my hair and her tongue slides against mine in the most erotic way. I'm getting hard.

She sighs softly and I press my boner against her, letting her know what she does to me.

"Harry Styles!" she chides me, with a smirk. "What is that you're poking me with?"

I dip my head and plant a few soft kisses on her neck, making her body tremble. "Do you want to see?" I ask.

"I don't need to see to know what it is," she breathes.

"So why did you ask?" I whisper, and kiss her again so she melts against me, breathing hard.

Her hands slip into my jeans pockets and she pinches my bum and pulls me towards her so my boner digs into her again.

"Mmmm, squidgey," she remarks, but I'm too turned on to care too much.

"Stop calling me that," I murmur.

"I wasn't calling you that," she grins. "I was talking about your bum."

"You called me Squidge in front of your brother," I remember with embarrassment. And he kept calling me a knight in shining armour. Why am I always the butt of everyone's jokes? No pun intended.

"So? It suits you," she says breezily, and kisses me again, her fingers trailing across my chest this time, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Our kisses become faster and more urgent, and I can feel myself getting carried away, dropping my hands to her thighs and gently gliding my fingers up her left leg.

"What are you doing?" she pants.

Seriously?

"What do you think I'm doing?" I tease.

"Sailing close to the wind!" she says, her voice all high-pitched and squeaky. "What if someone sees?"

For fuck's sake. We're completely hidden. Who's going to see?

"Not this again," I mutter, pulling away from her.

"No, not like that," she says quickly, and I look into her eyes. "Well... sort of like that," she corrects herself. "I mean there is a photographer in the bar and the street outside is crawling with paparazzi. Do you really want a photo of you with your hand up my dress plastered all over the front page of every newspaper tomorrow morning? Because I don't."

"No one is going to take a picture of us," I say dismissively, and try to kiss her again but she pushes me away.

"I'm sorry, have we stepped into some sort of parallel universe?" she frowns. "'No one is going to take a picture of us' ?! That's all they ever do!"

"Not here," I argue, pulling her into my arms. "We're completely hidden."

"Until a pap scales the wall on the offchance of a story, and hits the bloody jackpot," she argues back. "It's not worth the risk, Harry. Especially as we're not public yet. Your management would go crazy if this came out the day before our meeting."

Why all the excuses?

"Fine," I say, shortly, feeling rejected, and I turn away from her so she can't see my face.

"Oh, Harry, don't be like that," she says, gently. "It's not because I don't want to. I just know it isn't worth the risk of being caught. I'd be saying this whether you were famous or not."

"Really?" I challenge. "If I was just some guy you were going out with you'd honestly be pushing me away in case someone saw?"

Is that what she wants? A non-famous boyfriend? Someone with less hassle?

"Well.. OK, maybe not, but 'just some guy' wouldn't have paps hot on his tail, would he?" she says, and my stomach flips over nervously.

"Is that what you'd prefer?" I blurt, voicing my stupid insecurities. "Someone less complicated?"

"Of course not," she sighs. "I thought we'd sorted all this out? I want to be with you. You know that."

I'm being a fucking dick, aren't I? Why do I always do this?

I know from experience that once I've started on this track I don't stop until I ruin everything. I need to apologise and make this right.

"Sorry," I mutter. "I just had a wobble. I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."

"Don't be silly, of course I haven't. You know what I'm like over you," she whispers, slipping her arms up around my neck and smiling at me. I can't help kissing her; she's just so beautiful.

It escalates straight away and within about three seconds I'm pressing my hips against her again.

"Come back to my place," I suggest, breaking way from her lips briefly.

"I can't," she protests, in between kissing me back. "I've got work in the morning and I haven't got any stuff with me."

"So?"

"So, I can't roll up at my office tomorrow wearing this dress with last night's make up on!"

I sigh and let my arms flop to my sides. "OK."

"Look, I know it sounds like I'm making excuses but I'm really not," she says, trying to catch my eye but I refuse to look at her. Is she playing hard to get or something? I don't get it. I'm going to be back on tour in just over a week. I want to spend every minute possible with her.

"It's fine," I say brusquely.

"It's clearly not," she says, raising one eyebrow at me, challengingly. "But I can't just drop everything and come to your house just because you've asked me to. I'm here with Callie and her mum. I can't just abandon them."

"Always keeping me on my toes," I mutter under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear.

I don't know why I'm being childish. She doesn't have to back if she doesn't want to.

Why doesn't she want to?

"I'm not trying to keep you on your toes," she says, defiantly. "I know you're used to clicking your fingers and getting what you want but I'm not one of your staff you can order around. And I may be wrapped around your little finger most of the time but that doesn't mean I will obey your every whim. I'm not going to change my plans just because you're horny."

What the fuck?

I don't order my staff around and I don't expect her to obey my every whim. And this is not about me trying to get her into bed. Is that how little she thinks of me?

I can feel my anger rising in me and I take a step back to glare at her.

"Is that what you think this is?" I snap, furiously. "You think I want you come back to mine for a quick fuck because I'm horny?"

"No," she says, blanching at my aggressive tone. "I didn't mean it to sound like that. That came out all wrong."

"Because I could have any girl for a quick fuck if that was all I was after," I hurl at her, unable to contain my fury at her for failing to understand how much I fucking love her.

"Woah, I'm sorry, what?!" she says in disbelief. "What did you just say?"

"Oh shit - I didn't mean that," I backtrack, seeing the hurt in her eyes.

Why oh why did I just say that? What is it with my determination to ruin a good thing?

"Fuck you, Harry," she says miserably, and turns away from me back towards the door to the bar.

"Jess - I'm so sorry - I shouldn't have said that," I apologise quickly, grabbing her wrist, but she twists it out of my grip.

"Get off me," she mutters, and I feel suddenly annoyed that she is just going to walk away, like she always does, without giving me a chance to make this right.

"No," I say, firmly, hooking my arm around her waist gently. "You're going to hear me out, for once in your life, and not storm off."

It's like red rag to a bull.

"What the fuck... how dare you!" she breathes. "You don't get to throw comments around like that and then demand I stay and listen to your pathetic attempts to weasel out of it. That was a fucking horrible thing to say and I don't even want to look at you right now."

"Well tough, because you're going to have to," I say, bluntly. "I'm sorry, ok? I shouldn't have said it."

No - that wasn't sincere enough. I can tell by the look on her face that I need to grovel harder. I know how women's minds work. Some of the time. Occasionally.

"No, you fucking shouldn't!" she shouts, and I realise with a jolt that she is crying. "You shouldn't have even thought it! Do you know how hard it has been for me to trust you, Harry? It has taken everything I have. And you've just destroyed it all with one thing. One thing. One nasty, spiteful jibe."

Wow, she must be pissed off. She didn't even pick up on the One Direction song she just referenced.

"I didn't mean it," I say with a sigh. "Not in the way you're taking it, anyway. I didn't mean I wanted anyone else."

I'm so frustrated at myself, and her for getting the wrong end of the stick.

"No, I know. What you meant is, you could have anyone you want and I should be fucking grateful to you for choosing me," she says tearfully.

Oh fucking hell, how can she think that? That's not what I meant at all.

"No, I didn't mean that, either," I say, pleadingly.

"Well what did you mean then?!" she shouts huffily.

"Well if you'd stop yelling at me I'll tell you!" I shout back, and she folds her arms and glares at me, tears staining her cheeks. Even now, she is far more beautiful than any woman on this earth. How could she possibly think I want anyone else?

"I don't want you to come back to mine just because I'm horny," I explain, mimicking her stance. "I want you to come because I miss you when I'm not with you, and in just over a week I am going to be back on tour and missing you even more. So I want to spend as much time with you as I can before I go."

I say all this awkwardly, and without the emotion I am feeling inside. I want to shout at her that I love her, but I don't want to say these words for the first time in anger and frustration.

"That's not what you just said," she points out.

"Well sorry if I'm not as eloquent as you," I retort, and then soften my tone. "And I'm sorry for that shitty comment. You're right - I shouldn't have said it, or thought it. It just came out before I realised what I was saying. I certainly didn't mean it as a threat."

I'm an arse for even thinking that.

"I'm really, really sorry, Jess," I say, sadly, and I put my arms around her shoulders.

She doesn't unfold her arms, so I hug her awkwardly, feeling more and more remorseful as the seconds pass.

"Please don't be angry with me," I beg. "I don't want to waste what little time we have left arguing."

"You should have thought of that before you threw my biggest insecurity in my face," she mumbles into my chest.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, my lips brushing the top of her head. "I wish I could take it back."

She pushes me away but I tilt her head up with my finger to look at me.

"Don't let this ruin tonight," I plead, softly.

"Fine," she says, darting her eyes away. "It's fine."

It's not, though, is it? I can tell it's not.

I reluctantly drop my hand and shuffle awkwardly.

"Sorry," I mutter again.

"Let's go back in," she says flatly.

"K," I mumble, miserably.

What the fuck is my problem? Why do I wreck everything just when it's going well?

"Wait," I call as she's about to walk back inside. I need to kiss her, and for her to reassure me that this will be OK, and I haven't destroyed her trust completely.

She turns around to face me and I kiss her gently, cupping her face delicately in my hands and waiting for her body to respond to me, but it doesn't. After a minute I break the kiss and stare at her, my heart pounding with nerves, and a sick feeling creeping into my stomach.

"Let's go back inside," she repeats, in the same defeated tone, and I follow her meekly through the door and hang back for a moment until she is safely back with her friends so it isn't obvious we've just been together, but to be honest I don't really care who sees us right now. I just want things to be OK again.

When I walk back through the door I go straight over to Jess, who is pulling her jacket on.

"Are you going?" I ask a small voice.

"Yeah, I've got work in the morning."

"Jess, I - " I begin, but she interrupts me, not meeting my eyes.

"Just leave it, Harry. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"OK. I'll get Paul to bring the car round," I shuffle uncomfortably, and pull my phone out and text Paul.

I look back up again so see Callie staring at me with her arms folded and her eyes narrowed.

"What have you done now?" she snaps, and Jess looks up in surprise.

Wow. I guess girls don't always tell each other everything.

"Been an idiot," I sigh.

"Nothing new there then," she says waspishly.

"Callie! Leave it," Jess scolds, and takes Callie by the arm and leads her towards the door. I stare after her glumly, and when she glances back at me I pout miserably and mouth, "Sorry." She gives me a weak smile in return before disappearing outside.

"What's up with your face? Where have you been? Why are you wearing lipgloss?" Gemma asks, appearing at my side.

I look at her in confusion and hastily rub my mouth with the back of my hand.

"I had a fight with Jess," I mumble.

"Did you fuck up?" Gemma sighs.

"Yeah."

"Then for fuck's sake get straight round to her flat now and make it up to her," she says immediately.

"I don't think she wants to talk to me," I mutter, staring moodily at the floor.

What if she wants to cancel our meeting with Modest? Fuck.

"Trust me, if you want to sort this out, go after her," she says firmly.

She's right. Of course she's right.

What is it with women always being right? My mum's the same.

I find Dale, and he gets me out the back door to my car, and once I have assured him I haven't touched a drop of alcohol, he hands me the keys and I drive across London to Belsize Park. I pull into her car park and decide to ring her first, to test the water, but she doesn't answer, so I text her.

I'm sorry about tonight xxx

She replies immediately.

I know. I don't want to talk about it x

Oh. Well, this is awkward.

I was sort of hoping you would, though. I'm outside xxx, I text back, and unbuckle my seatbelt and step out of my car. I see a light come on, and I look up to see her peer out of the window at me. We hold each other's gaze for a moment, and I decide I'm going to make her listen to me whether she likes it or not. I walk quickly to the front door and she is already buzzing me in. I take this as a good sign.

As I walk up the stairs I see her waiting at the top for me, and I notice with an inward smirk that she is wearing a One Direction tshirt from the Where We Are tour.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Grovelling," I say, bluntly. "Nice tshirt."

"Thanks," she says, sheepishly.

"Can I come in?" I ask awkwardly.

"I suppose," she shrugs, and stands back to let me through the door, closing it behind me.

"I'm so sorry," I say sincerely. "I'm worried I've ruined things between us."

"So am I," she sighs.

She is what?

"What, sorry? Or worried?" I ask.

"Worried," she says, and I feel sick. "And sorry, I guess," she adds.

She's going to break up with me again, isn't she? She's done it before, she could do it again.

"OK, now I'm even more worried," I say, nervously.

"Do you understand why I'm upset?"

"Yeah," I say uncertainly, because I know this is the correct answer for this situation, but I can't help thinking she overreacted a little.

"OK, just imagine for one second that the roles had been reversed tonight, and I'd said to you 'if I want a quick fuck I'll just call Gary'," she says. "How would you feel?"

What the fuck?

Is this her way of telling me she fancies Gary? Would she sleep with him? Has she slept with him?

My heart is pounding.

"Would you?" I ask, fearfully.

"Would I what?"

"Would you - do you fancy Gary?"

She rolls her eyes.

"No of course not. But you've just proved my point, far better than I could have done," she says, with a hint of triumph. "Your first thought when I said those words was whether or not I actually would call Gary for a quick... you know. Which, by the way, I would never do. Or threaten to do. But you doubted me, just like I'm doubting you."

Oh, fuck. I fell into that trap, didn't I?

"I didn't exactly threaten to do it," I try and explain. "I was trying - badly - to get my point across, and I managed to sound like an egotistical dickhead in the process."

"I won't argue with that," she retorts.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't," I smirk, and she smirks back, before I give a deep sigh.

"Look, baby, I didn't mean what I said," I say, truthfully. "I was cross because you seemed to think I only wanted you to come back to my place because I wanted to have sex, but it wasn't about that. I wanted you to come back so I could spend time with you before the tour starts again. If I was the type of guy who just wanted sex then surely anyone would do... but I'm not like that; I've never been like that. And you are far, far more to me than just a... a quick fuck."

I love you.

Can't you fucking see?

Why can't I just say it?

I know why - because I know she's still angry and I need to be sure I'll hear it back when I do say it. I know that sounds selfish but I can't help it.

"OK," she sighs.

"OK as in... I'm forgiven?" I ask hopefully.

"OK as in I understand you weren't trying to be a dick," she clarifies. "And I understand what your intentions were. But you need to stop assuming I'm just going to jump every time you click your fingers. I probably don't help matters because most of the time I do exactly that. But you can't get arsey every time I say no to you."

"So don't say no to me," I can't resist teasing, now we seem to be out of the danger zone.

"You're on thin ice, Styles," she glares, but I know I'm home and dry.

"You know you're really sexy when you're annoyed," I grin, sliding my arms around her waist, but she yanks them away.

"I mean it!" she says furiously, but I can't wipe away my stupid grin.

"I know you do, and I mean it when I say I am really, really sorry for messing things up again. I thought I'd lost you this time."

I bite my lip, my grin sliding off my face at the thought of losing her.

"I thought you were going to call off tomorrow's meeting," I admit.

"It crossed my mind," she says softly. "But then you turned up here grovelling and made me realise you weren't as much of a dickhead as I thought you were."

She just called me a dickhead, and meant it. I can't pretend that doesn't hurt.

"Ouch," I mutter.

"Just being honest," she says, with a shrug.

"I suppose I deserved it," I concede.

I mean, I told her any girl would do if I wanted a quick fuck. That was a dickhead move.

"Yes, you did," she agrees. "You deserved a lot worse. But I won't hold it against you."

A horrendously cheesy chat up line comes to mind; one I once used on a girl when I was about fourteen and didn't know any better.

"If I said you had a gorgeous body would you hold it against me?" I leer.

It seems I haven't learnt much since then.

"That is the worst line ever," she states.

"But would you?" I press.

"NO," she insists. "I'm going to bed now."

Oh. Well I guess that's me told.

I'm not sure if I'm invited to stay, so I hover in the hallway, and she turns around to look at me.

"What are you waiting for, an invitation?"

"Well... yeah, kind of," I admit.

"You can stay if you want," she says casually, and I'll take it.

She slides gracefully into bed and I pull my clothes off clumsily and plonk in next to her. As soon as the light goes out I roll over onto her and kiss her, but her hand plants firmly on my chest, pushing me back.

"We are not doing that," she says.

Oh God. She's never, ever refused me before. I feel sick again.

"W - why not?" I stammer.

"Because I'm tired," she says.

That is the worst fucking excuse in the book.

In other words, she's still pissed off and making me pay for my fuck up earlier.

"Let me guess - you have a headache, right?" I snap, and roll away so my back is to her.

"No," she snaps back. "I'm tired, I just told you."

"That's bollocks," I hiss. "It's never bothered you before."

"Are you seriously trying to pressure me into having sex with you?" she growls, and it's the last straw.

"What?" I yell, turning over, furiously. "Are you seriously asking me that? Of course I'm not! I'm pissed off because you're making excuses. If you don't want to it's fine, I would never push you, but you could at least admit that the reason you don't want to is because you're still pissed off with me, not because you're tired. I'm not stupid, Jess. And I'm not a bastard."

I'm breathing hard and adrenaline is coursing through me. How could she accuse me of something so horrible? Sometimes I feel like she doesn't know me at all, and she thinks I don't know her. Well I do fucking know her, more than she gives me credit for.

I know she gets giddy when Gemma talks to her. I know she turns to mush when I stare deep into her eyes and make my voice go all husky. I know she doesn't like strong tea, and I know she drank every cup of strong tea my mum made her last weekend because she was too scared to admit she didn't like it. I know she hates the little curves of flesh above her hips because she thinks they make her look fat, when in fact they give her the shape of a real woman, and I love her even more for it. And I know right now she is fobbing me off with excuses because she is still angry with me.

"I know - I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," she says meekly.

"It's fine," I reply, abruptly. "You think I don't know you, but I do."

"I know," she sighs, looking into my eyes. "You're right, I am pissed off. But I'm not saying no to try and punish you for hurting me. I'm just not feeling it."

Woah, a new smack in the face. They just keep on coming.

"What do you mean, you're not feeling it?" I repeat in horror.

"I'm just not in the mood," she mumbles. "I'll be alright tomorrow. Sorry."

She's not feeling it.

She's not feeling it. What does that even mean? She doesn't want me? She doesn't love me?

I suddenly feel small and vulnerable, and I slide across the bed to pull her into my arms, and feel slightly reassured when she rests her head on my chest and slips her leg over mine.

I kiss the top of her head and she gives a deep sigh, and within minutes she is asleep.

I lie awake, thinking about this evening and replaying everything in my head, from my stupid comment that started our argument, to her rejection just now.

I cast my mind back to my relationship with Nadine, and consider the similarities between the two. I always thought Nadine had no reason not to trust me, but it's happening again with Jess now. Is it me? Do I create this situation myself? I don't think I do, but maybe it's subconscious?

I still haven't told Jess I'm seeing Nadine in a couple of weeks. I haven't told anyone. I don't know how to bring it up with her. I wish I'd told her as soon as Nadine had texted me, but I know how Jess struggles to trust me, and this would probably have caused another row, and I can't be arsed with that. And if I come clean now, it will look like I've been hiding it from her, which will make her more suspicious. I'm between a rock and a hard place.

I hate lying to her but it's not really lying, is it? I just haven't told her yet. And I'm only meeting up with Nadine because she said she needs someone to talk to. It's what friends do.

I'd fucking hate it if Jess did this with Gary, though. I know I'm being a hypocrite. But I'm scared to tell her the truth now, especially after tonight.

It's gone 4am before I finally switch off my thoughts and fall asleep.