I’m just going to go out on a whim here and say that Harry Styles might just be the most attractive man I’ve laid eyes on. Well, except Ashton Kutcher. And the rest of One Direction... okay so I exaggerated a bit, but he is hot. Plain and simple. Harry Styles is hot.
And as hot as Harry is is about the same amount of nervousness I was feeling when Harry finally tossed his bags in his trunk to start our ride to his mom’s house. I wasn’t quite sure it was humanly possible to produce the amount of sweat that was building up in my palms. Or if I should go to a doctor and get and ultra sound to see if there were actual butterflies flying in my stomach because lately I was starting to think that I had some freak disease that would wind up as a TV special.
So with my nerves, my lack of sleep from the nerves, and Harry licking his lips whenever he would glance over at me made me a complete mess.
“Are you nervous?” His tongue ran over his lips after he spoke. Again.
“What?” I pushed out some kind of laugh. “Not at all.” I shook my head. My eyes were glued on the road in front of us as I ran my sweaty palms down the denim of my pants and folded my hands back in my lap. Where they would just collect more sweat and the process would repeat itself.
The joys of being Scarlett McVay.
“Because it’s normal for a person to wipe the sweat from their hands every minute.” Harry laughed as I could feel myself blush. I knew he would notice. What doesn’t he notice? I looked up at him.
“Of course I’m nervous.” I blurted out. “It’s just... I don’t know-nerve racking.” I struggled to find the right words. Something that seems to happen to me daily.
“You have nothing to be nervous about.” I laughed out loud at Harry’s cliche response. I think what he is trying to say is he has nothing to be nervous about. He is going home to a family that misses him and loves him and supports him. While I’m going to a home full of strangers and with a famous boy...