HARRY STYLES
For my last New Year's, I woke up still drunk from the night before with two women in my bed. One of them was completely naked, while the other had her heels and dress on. I still couldn't completely remember exactly what happened that night, and I didn't bother asking them the next morning before they left either.
But now, I was sitting on my bed, plucking at the strings of the custom guitar my girlfriend bought me while she was finishing up her makeup in my bathroom. She wore a black dress just long enough to cover the important bits, but short enough to show off her never-ending legs in her sheer black tights and pointed-toe heels with thin straps around her ankles.
The sleeves on her dress were long, but the neckline dipped down low to show off a bit of her sternum and cleavage, and the silver sequin embellishments had me completely mesmerized each time they reflected the light with every micro movement she made. She also chose to wear her hair in a slicked-back ponytail higher up on her head, accentuating her stronger facial features.
I had one of those borderline pathetic moments then, wondering how in the hell she was in my bathroom, and how the hell I managed to convince her to be my girlfriend. Never had I ever looked at a woman and thought she was out of my league, but I felt like I was just waiting for Camden to laugh and ask me if I really thought she meant it when she said she wanted to be with me.
After a quick sweep of blush across her already prominent cheekbones, she smacked the compact closed and dropped it into her makeup bag. I watched her turn her head from side to side to take one last look at her reflection before she shut the light off and walked into the bedroom.
"So you love it, huh?"
I cleared my throat. "What?"
"The guitar," she gestured to it with a nod.
"Oh," I looked down at the glossy espresso-colored wood, "yeah, I love it."
"Good," she smiled, standing beside me to take a sip of the bourbon cocktail she made me. I was too busy staring at her to remember to drink it while she was getting herself ready. "So should we get going, then? Are you ready?"
I stayed sitting in place, looking her over again. "Are you sure you even want to go? New Year's Eve parties are a bit overrated, aren't they?"
"Harry," she tilted her head, "I bought a dress for this, and it took me three tries to get this winged liner even on both eyes.
"Yeah, okay," I sighed, standing to mount the guitar on the wall with the others, and pulled my phone out to get an Uber.
Usually, it was me throwing the New Year's Eve party, but John so graciously asked me if I'd like him to take it off my hands this time around. The reason I liked having the party at my house was so I didn't have to deal with traffic or go out anywhere, but I'll admit I was looking forward to coming back to a clean home with Camden tonight. No broken bottles or glasses, no smushed food on the hardwood floor, no vomit on the rug. That would be a nice change.
"You really do look great," I said, following Camden down the stairs once the car had arrived.
"Thank you," she smiled to herself as she grabbed her smaller purse from the kitchen counter, only big enough to hold her phone, cigarettes, and lighter. "So do you, I like you in a suit."
Per her suggestion, and given what she was wearing, I decided to dress up a little more than I usually ever do in an old Saint Laurent suit I once wore to the Grammy's a couple of years ago. The mostly gold and black hexagonal pattern on the jacket and matching trousers gave it a cool kind of illusion, and I figured I might as well give it more than just one wear.
