TIAAN - Devils Touch (With Lyrics)

“Hi, I’m Harry.”

Looking down at the extended hand in front of me I wanted to laugh; instead, I reluctantly shook it before quickly snatching my hand back.

“I know who you are.”

Harry Styles. Billionaire pop star, serial womaniser and Mick Jagger wannabe. I’d read all about his girlfriends in the paper, many of them much older than him, but his baby faced, dimpled smile didn’t impress me one bit. He wore a grey suit with a black shirt, and the mass of dark curls on his head added to his cherub like charm.

“Ah! Harry! You’ve met my wife.”

My husband Will appeared through the crowd and handed me a much needed glass of champagne before sliding his free arm around my waist. Harry nodded but didn’t ask my name, despite me having not told him and Will assuming he already knew it. My cool and slightly rude manner had obviously put him off and, despite a flashing moment of guilt for being so rude, I was glad. 19 year olds were not my cup of tea.

Will’s company was responsible for building the set for One Direction’s latest tour and was also the host of this party I’d been bribed into attending. I hated parties with Will; I was always left on my own or stuck talking to one of his lecherous business partners who’d spend the whole time talking to my bust. Either way I’d end up drinking way too much wine and wake up with a sore head.

I switched off and tried to think of all the better things I could be doing rather than being there, but Will’s voice droning on about lighting and ramps and god knows what else was too much to drown out.

“Honey, I’m going to go get some fresh air, leave you two to talk.”

Will gave a quick nod in acknowledgement and let me slip out of his hold without any protest.

“Nice speaking to you, Layla.”

Harry’s voice was quite loud as I walked away. I turned to give a reluctant ‘you too’ and saw he was already back to talking with my husband. I hated these parties.

I grabbed a large glass of white wine from the bar and headed for the outside area. Pushing through the smokers as they crowded near the door I went and sat as far away as I could from them. The night was cool and despite how much I’d wanted to get away from the crowds I loved hearing the chatting and laughing while I sipped my wine and wrote a long and guilt inducing text to my best friend, Rose.

Rose had meant to be come with me. We’d planned on setting ourselves up at the bar nearest to the hottest barman and take full advantage of the free drinks, but then she came down with the flu. Her night consisted of tissues, a pharmacy and an array of Tom Hardy movies while mine was being hit on by teenagers and being ignored by my husband. I wished I’d got the flu too.

*’I’m so bored! Why didn’t I stay at home? Pop stars are so boring! Not even a hint of cocaine being passed around on a tray!’*

A text came back instantly. The first message was a picture of her with tissue stuffed into her nostrils making her look like a cartoon angry bull, her face sad and shiny from the fever.

*’Are the 1D boys no fun then?’*

I sent a picture back of my own sad face, holding my wine glass up to my lips.

*’They’re literally children! Will is too busy schmoozing so I’m outside on my own with a large glass of wine.’*

Waiting for her reply I sipped some more wine, enjoying the crisp, bitter taste, and looked around at the typical club garden: chrome and wood furniture with large heated umbrellas, mini palm trees and spider plants, and spotlights in the floor. My phone buzzed against the table and I picked it up again.

*’Harry seems so much fun though! And he likes the older ladies.’*

I rolled my eyes and informed her about our brief encounter.

*’He could have shown you where the cocaine tray was, you scared him off!’*

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that”, a deep voice spoke into my ear.

Switching my phone off and twisting in my seat to check I hadn’t imagined it, I came face to face with Harry who immediately stood back up then took a seat next to me, despite having a whole table to choose.

“There’s no coke tray I’m afraid. This is, after all, a business party.”

“It’s considered quite rude to sneak up on people and read over their shoulder.”

My heart raced with mortification. Why hadn’t I noticed him?

“Well,” he smirked, his eyes locking with mine so I couldn’t look away without looking weak, “it wasn’t me who was rude first.”

I exhaled loudly and nodded, “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“See how easy that was?”, he grinned and took a large drink from his glass.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”, I laughed as he frowned. I couldn’t help but think he was kind of adorable when he was offended, his mouth parted slightly, lips protruding.

“Yes I am, thank you very much! Aren’t you out past your bedtime?”

“I was about to say the same thing to you.”

We both giggled and I felt myself relax; maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. He wasn’t going to charm me into bed but I was happy to talk with him rather than sit by myself.

“Why are you out here?”, Harry asked, suddenly quite serious. “I was surprised that Will didn’t seem at all bothered that you left him.”

I eyed him with curiosity. It was something personal and normally I would tell anyone who asked me that question to get stuffed and mind their own business, but he seemed genuinely interested and surprised by Will’s behaviour.

“Do you often pry into other people’s marriages? Is that how you get all these older women into bed?”, I teased, hoping to keep the conversation light and jokey. He was too young to hear about my marriage troubles, but his expression was more serious than ever.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers about me, I’m not the person they paint me as.”

There was a brief awkward pause which was broken by the arrival of two other people I recognised as Niall Horan and Liam Payne, Harry’s bandmates. They talked loudly as sat down, Liam smoking while he spoke to Harry.

“We’ve been looking for you! What you doing out here?” He subtly glanced in my direction trying to hide his smile as if he knew full well what Harry was up to.

“Lads, this is Layla, Will’s wife.”

The suspicion and boyish grins disappeared knowing who I was, both of them turning to me and saying hello.

“We thought Harry was trying to work his magic”, Niall laughed loudly, winking at Harry, his cheeks red from drinking.

“He tried!”

They talked amongst themselves for a little while I texted Rose an update on my situation. She must have been half asleep because her reply was simply three sunglasses wearing emojis. For my so called best friend, she was not very helpful on some occasions.

Harry’s attention was elsewhere so I tried to leave to go back inside, but as soon as my behind left my seat his hand shot out to my knee planting me back down with surprise. He was still listening to Liam talk but his hand remained on my knee, his warm palm burning against my naked skin. I felt my cheeks flush and my stomach flip; I knew it was simply because no other man other than Will had touched my knee in such a fashion for years, but I couldn’t help the tingle racing up my thighs.

When Liam and Niall got up to go back inside, Harry’s hand slid away. He waved it at his bandmates as they joked about the two of us being alone, then we both watched them walk away in silence.

“I’m sorry,” Harry turned to me, face innocent. “I just didn’t want to stop talking to you yet.”
“Do they really think we’re up to something?”, I asked, changing the subject.

“No, they’re just winding us up!”

And there it was again, his hand on my knee to reassure me, a little further up this time. I wordlessly looked down at the large hand, enjoying briefly seeing how his fingers covered my not so tiny thigh before he snatched it away, aware that his action was inappropriate.

“I should go back inside.” I stood up before he had the chance to stop me again. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, Layla.”

I walked away to hide that I was starting to shake. I was annoyed that I’d started to fall for his boyish charm; I was 29 years old, I should know better!

In the back of the taxi, driving home with Will, we sat in silence while he typed away at his phone, sending and checking emails. I took the opportunity to look at him properly for the first time in what felt like years. He was the complete opposite of Harry: his blonde hair straight and styled the same way he wore in university, and he’d started to put on a little weight, his middle aged spread hitting him earlier owing to his office lifestyle of client dinners and afternoon drinks. He was every bit the ex public schoolboy who didn’t have to work hard for anything–something I’d admittedly found fascinating and impressive when we were first dating, but now I wish he knew what it was like to struggle a little.

I closed my eyes to try turn off my thoughts; I was drunk and emotional, letting the momentary attention of a teenager mess with my head. Gladly by tomorrow morning my run in with Mr. Harry Styles would just be a short and vague drunken memory.

Notes