Tell Me a Lie
Chapter 2
"Oh my God," this girl ran up to me as I was walking, stopping me before I could even leave the airport. "Do you realize you were just talking to Harry Styles?"
"Ummm..." The name sounded so familiar. I couldn't place it though. Surely he wasn't famous, he couldn't be.
"Oh my God," she said again and shook her head at me, scoffing and walking off, and looking around frantically, ostensibly trying to find him. As if I was the scum of the earth for not knowing this Harry was Harry Styles.
Oh well. I didn't have time to look it up on my phone. I was already so screwed.
I walked out of the airport and hailed a taxi. I'd never ridden in a taxi before—there was really no need in Dallas, except for downtown, and even then they were pretty rare—and I had a feeling it was something I'd be doing a lot here, but for now it was something I could cross off my bucket list.
Someone was already in the taxi, but I figured this was his stop because the taxi stopped in front of me and he got out. “Here you go,” he held the door open for me. He was so gorgeous; he had short dark hair, bright brown eyes, a beautiful tan skin tone, and pierced ears. And a beautiful glowing smile. Oh God, this was a huge mistake. All these freaking British boys were going to be the death of me.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, moving to lift my suitcase into the now open trunk.
“Allow me,” he said quickly, taking my suitcase and lifting it into the trunk for me.
I was a little surprised, although I knew I probably shouldn't have been; I knew chivalry still existed. “Oh. Thank you.”
He closed the trunk—maybe I should start saying “boot” since I was in the UK now—and walked back to where I still stood beside the cab. I didn't know why I hadn't got in yet; I was a glutton for punishment, because at the moment I didn't even care about my new job considering all the glorious British boys I kept encountering.
“No problem.” Oh my God, that accent. He held out his hand and I shook it. “I'm Zayn.”
“Scarlett.”
“Welcome to London, Scarlett.” The beautific smile he was smiling at me was so infectious, I couldn't help but smile back.
“Maybe I'll see you 'round.” He flashed one last crooked smile at me, and all I could do was nod.
“Hopefully,” I finally mustered with a final weak smile. I slid into the back of the cab and slumped against the seat. Oh boy.
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I was really tripping myself out. I was not only worried about what the food would be like here, but I was meeting Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—for dinner. It wasn't even the fact that he was super famous and probably the most sought-after male out there right now—I figured out why the name sounded vaguely familiar and where I'd briefly seen him. When my work meeting was over—to which I was, in fact, late, but my boss was surprisingly understanding about the delayed flight—“I hate aviation,” he shook his head—and of course I obviously didn't say a word about the other delays that made me late—I went to my hotel room, unpacked my laptop first thing, and typed Harry Styles into the Google Chrome bar.
So much stuff came up, and my stomach sank. Oh my God. Holy freaking crap.
He was in the band One Direction. He was one of the biggest heartthrobs out there. I knew he looked familiar, but how did I not recognize him? Granted, I'd never actually watched one of their music videos or anything, but that was no excuse; they were on the news, even the local Dallas news, all the time. I wondered if Harry had wondered whether I'd recognized him, but then I figured he probably assumed I didn't because I didn't say anything about knowing his name already when he told me or acted like I was going to jump him.
Harry had texted me right as I was doing my Google research. About that drink...
I had practically choked on nothing. I hadn't thought he was serious at the airport; I actually never expected to see or hear from him again, the research was for my own benefit. I thought he was just a flirt, hitting on me under the circumstances, not that he was actually interested. Not even considering the fact that he was 'the Harry Styles', whatever that meant.
I replied, I don't drink, but coffee or tea would be okay. I knew they weren't as fond of coffee over here, but I couldn't get through the day without it. In a last ditch attempt to play hard to get, I added, As acquaintances, of course. I'm not interested in anything more with someone I don't even know personally.
So get to know me ;)
I was kind of tired of the flirting when I'd just made myself clear, so I made a snappy reply. Well, actually I know everything about you, Harry Edward Styles, born Feb. 1, 1994, from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire... need I go on? All this thanks to google and fangirls accosting me at the airport.
Touche. But, as you said, you don't know me personally. Facts will always be facts, but they're not all I'm made of.
Touche right back. I'll be honest though, Harold, I'm not interested in being anything more than friends with you for the foreseeable future, so please don't try anything. Not even taking into account that you're famous, I don't date younger guys regardless.
Ouch.
I think you might change your mind after one date with me ;)
Oh God, the winkey face again.
Kidding, he sent quickly, as if reading my thoughts. No funny business. Swear. And you would be the first girl put off by the fame thing. But I get it. So, just drinks, nothing more.
We were meeting up at 7. Honestly, I still had major jet lag and I could already feel the toll the time change was taking—6 freaking hours ahead, kill me; I wanted nothing more than to sleep. But I realized I'd need friends in this strange place unless I wanted to be completely lost, so I couldn't exactly brush this off.
As I was getting ready, I decided to branch out and listen to some more One Direction—I only knew two songs, “What Makes You Beautiful”, which was played on the radio every 5 seconds, and “One Thing”, which was played considerably less but still enough—on YouTube. “Tell Me A Lie” quickly became my favorite, with “More Than This” and “Moments” close behind.
Despite what I'd told him, I was scared because I still wanted to make an impression—he was really cute, I couldn't deny it even if he was about 2 years younger than me—and the fact that he was really really famous amped the need by about a million.
Once I finally convinced myself I was as ready as I would ever be (my makeup was done to meticulous perfection, but I still didn't like the look I'd chosen—honestly I wouldn't find any look suitable—natural shadow with cat eye liner only on the top lid, and I was wearing a cream tank top that showed just enough cleavage, with a “boob jacket” over it, black skinny jeans, and black flats. I considered putting on a black hat and then didn't at the last second) I headed out the door.
I waved at the doorman as I walked out of the hotel's main doors, and stopped dead. There was a limo in front of the hotel, and as the window slowly came down I saw who was inside and my heart dropped to my feet.
“Well, don't just stand there,” Harry said. “Get in.”
“You lied to me, Styles,” I said as I walked up to the limo—the third form of transportation to cross off my bucket list in one day—resigned not to fight in my excited awe, but still kind of pissed. “You said no funny business.”
He simply smiled crookedly, and I took a deep breath before stepping into the limo.
"Ummm..." The name sounded so familiar. I couldn't place it though. Surely he wasn't famous, he couldn't be.
"Oh my God," she said again and shook her head at me, scoffing and walking off, and looking around frantically, ostensibly trying to find him. As if I was the scum of the earth for not knowing this Harry was Harry Styles.
Oh well. I didn't have time to look it up on my phone. I was already so screwed.
I walked out of the airport and hailed a taxi. I'd never ridden in a taxi before—there was really no need in Dallas, except for downtown, and even then they were pretty rare—and I had a feeling it was something I'd be doing a lot here, but for now it was something I could cross off my bucket list.
Someone was already in the taxi, but I figured this was his stop because the taxi stopped in front of me and he got out. “Here you go,” he held the door open for me. He was so gorgeous; he had short dark hair, bright brown eyes, a beautiful tan skin tone, and pierced ears. And a beautiful glowing smile. Oh God, this was a huge mistake. All these freaking British boys were going to be the death of me.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, moving to lift my suitcase into the now open trunk.
“Allow me,” he said quickly, taking my suitcase and lifting it into the trunk for me.
I was a little surprised, although I knew I probably shouldn't have been; I knew chivalry still existed. “Oh. Thank you.”
He closed the trunk—maybe I should start saying “boot” since I was in the UK now—and walked back to where I still stood beside the cab. I didn't know why I hadn't got in yet; I was a glutton for punishment, because at the moment I didn't even care about my new job considering all the glorious British boys I kept encountering.
“No problem.” Oh my God, that accent. He held out his hand and I shook it. “I'm Zayn.”
“Scarlett.”
“Welcome to London, Scarlett.” The beautific smile he was smiling at me was so infectious, I couldn't help but smile back.
“Maybe I'll see you 'round.” He flashed one last crooked smile at me, and all I could do was nod.
“Hopefully,” I finally mustered with a final weak smile. I slid into the back of the cab and slumped against the seat. Oh boy.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was really tripping myself out. I was not only worried about what the food would be like here, but I was meeting Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—for dinner. It wasn't even the fact that he was super famous and probably the most sought-after male out there right now—I figured out why the name sounded vaguely familiar and where I'd briefly seen him. When my work meeting was over—to which I was, in fact, late, but my boss was surprisingly understanding about the delayed flight—“I hate aviation,” he shook his head—and of course I obviously didn't say a word about the other delays that made me late—I went to my hotel room, unpacked my laptop first thing, and typed Harry Styles into the Google Chrome bar.
So much stuff came up, and my stomach sank. Oh my God. Holy freaking crap.
He was in the band One Direction. He was one of the biggest heartthrobs out there. I knew he looked familiar, but how did I not recognize him? Granted, I'd never actually watched one of their music videos or anything, but that was no excuse; they were on the news, even the local Dallas news, all the time. I wondered if Harry had wondered whether I'd recognized him, but then I figured he probably assumed I didn't because I didn't say anything about knowing his name already when he told me or acted like I was going to jump him.
Harry had texted me right as I was doing my Google research. About that drink...
I had practically choked on nothing. I hadn't thought he was serious at the airport; I actually never expected to see or hear from him again, the research was for my own benefit. I thought he was just a flirt, hitting on me under the circumstances, not that he was actually interested. Not even considering the fact that he was 'the Harry Styles', whatever that meant.
I replied, I don't drink, but coffee or tea would be okay. I knew they weren't as fond of coffee over here, but I couldn't get through the day without it. In a last ditch attempt to play hard to get, I added, As acquaintances, of course. I'm not interested in anything more with someone I don't even know personally.
So get to know me ;)
I was kind of tired of the flirting when I'd just made myself clear, so I made a snappy reply. Well, actually I know everything about you, Harry Edward Styles, born Feb. 1, 1994, from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire... need I go on? All this thanks to google and fangirls accosting me at the airport.
Touche. But, as you said, you don't know me personally. Facts will always be facts, but they're not all I'm made of.
Touche right back. I'll be honest though, Harold, I'm not interested in being anything more than friends with you for the foreseeable future, so please don't try anything. Not even taking into account that you're famous, I don't date younger guys regardless.
Ouch.
I think you might change your mind after one date with me ;)
Oh God, the winkey face again.
Kidding, he sent quickly, as if reading my thoughts. No funny business. Swear. And you would be the first girl put off by the fame thing. But I get it. So, just drinks, nothing more.
We were meeting up at 7. Honestly, I still had major jet lag and I could already feel the toll the time change was taking—6 freaking hours ahead, kill me; I wanted nothing more than to sleep. But I realized I'd need friends in this strange place unless I wanted to be completely lost, so I couldn't exactly brush this off.
As I was getting ready, I decided to branch out and listen to some more One Direction—I only knew two songs, “What Makes You Beautiful”, which was played on the radio every 5 seconds, and “One Thing”, which was played considerably less but still enough—on YouTube. “Tell Me A Lie” quickly became my favorite, with “More Than This” and “Moments” close behind.
Despite what I'd told him, I was scared because I still wanted to make an impression—he was really cute, I couldn't deny it even if he was about 2 years younger than me—and the fact that he was really really famous amped the need by about a million.
Once I finally convinced myself I was as ready as I would ever be (my makeup was done to meticulous perfection, but I still didn't like the look I'd chosen—honestly I wouldn't find any look suitable—natural shadow with cat eye liner only on the top lid, and I was wearing a cream tank top that showed just enough cleavage, with a “boob jacket” over it, black skinny jeans, and black flats. I considered putting on a black hat and then didn't at the last second) I headed out the door.
I waved at the doorman as I walked out of the hotel's main doors, and stopped dead. There was a limo in front of the hotel, and as the window slowly came down I saw who was inside and my heart dropped to my feet.
“Well, don't just stand there,” Harry said. “Get in.”
“You lied to me, Styles,” I said as I walked up to the limo—the third form of transportation to cross off my bucket list in one day—resigned not to fight in my excited awe, but still kind of pissed. “You said no funny business.”
He simply smiled crookedly, and I took a deep breath before stepping into the limo.