Taylor ducked into the back seat of her black Mercedes limo. She felt glassy-eyed.
"Where to today, Miss Taylor?" asked George, her chauffeur. George was tall and chocolate-haired, and, although he never spoke about his age, Taylor suspected he had to be in his mid-thirties.
Tay stifled a yawn. "The usual," she said heavily, her voice taking on a vaguely sad tone. "Joe's place." George nodded at her in the rearview mirror.
"Don't mind me, George," she added, "I'm going to listen to music."
"That's fine, Miss," George replied.
As George backed out of the garage and into the street of Beverly Hills homes on which her beautiful estate stood, Taylor fished through her purse for her Air Pods. Naturally, they were in the same pocket of her favorite Hermes bag as they always were. Routine, routine, routine.
Stuffing the Pods into her ears, she turned on her phone. The picture of her and Joe glared at her from the lock screen. She had looked so happy in that picture.
Why wasn't she happy now?
Taylor scrolled through her Spotify music, tired of everything she usually listened to. She was sick of every song she used to love.
Here are some stations we think you'll like, blinged Spotify. A long list of various artists' stations ran across the screen.
What the hell, thought Taylor with a shrug. She ran through the stations, disgusted as she realized they were all the same singers she normally listened to. Suddenly, she froze, eyes glued to the picture of one them.
HARRY STYLES. Her blue eyes lingered on his photo. He stood with his back, rippling with muscle, to the camera, damp hair framing his lusty-gazed face. A green light shone on the slick, bare skin of his shoulder as his dark eyes burned. He looked just as she remembered. His soft mouth was slashed by the razor-sharp jaw, lips parted, jaw slack. It was the same face he used to make when she loved him in the bedroom until the world spun and everything was made of their pleasure.
She couldn't help it. Her perfectly manicured finger tapped on his station.
It's not like he means anything to me, Taylor thought to herself. It's been practically a whole decade since we've seen each other. The beginning notes of Sweet Creature played, and Taylor stiffened involuntarily. She had always suspected that Harry had written this song for that stupid, stuck-up Kendall Jenner. Tay didn't know what he had seen in a Kardashian of all people. But Taylor forced herself to relax, to pretend that Harry had written this song for her.
I don't care about him anymore, she chanted in her head. And then it soaked into her ears-- the sound of Harry's sweet, rich voice drawing out the notes. Memories flashed through her mind-- vivid images of him singing love songs to her softly as she lay in his strong arms. Pictures of his fingers scraping down her bare back. Flashes of legs tangled up in sheets as the room filled with their heavy moans.
Taylor ripped the Air Pods from her ears. Hands shaking, she pressed Selena Gomez's station instead. Tay stuck the Pods in again, taking a deep breath.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, sweeping her sleek, blond hair over one shoulder. "I should be over that bastard."
She gazed out the window as Beverly Hills flashed by. Taylor wasn't paying attention to the music. She only watched absentmindedly while green grass and blue sky blurred with streets and stately homes. As a familiar chorus played, she was suddenly brought back to the present.
You got that James Dean, daydream look in your eye, and I got that red lip, classic, thing that you like...
"No, no, no," mumbled Taylor. "Not this song. Not now!" She scrambled for her phone. "Where the hell could it be?"
George's brown eyes flicked to her from the rear view mirror.
"You alright back there, Miss Taylor?" he asked, settling his gaze on the upcoming stoplight.
...We never go out of Style, we never go out of Style...
"Yeah," Taylor stammered, sweeping her flaxen locks from her eyes. "I just can't find my phone."
As she patted her dress, the seat, and even the floor, feeling for her phone, she squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the line she knew was coming and what it would do to her.
...You got that long hair slicked back, white T-shirt, and I got that good girl thing and a tight little skirt...
Soft, brown locks of hair wafting across her face as he moved on top of her, sweaty and breathless. Her ripping that filmy, white shirt off his muscled chest. His hands slipping up that black, hip-hugging skirt she wore.
Cerulean eyes filled with tears Tay thought she had finished crying eight years ago. Her fingers swept between the seat and the door, finally grasping purchase on the cold metal of her phone. She halted the music and spent the rest of the drive in silence.
George pulled up in front of Joe's tall, lovely mansion.
"Here we are, Miss Taylor," he announced. Taylor slung her Hermes bag over her shoulder.
"I know," she smiled absently. "Thanks, George. You can pick me up at noon," she added over her shoulder as she left the car. George nodded.
As Taylor headed towards the front door, George couldn't help but worry about her and her uncharacteristic lack of energy.
Joe flung open the door, a huge grin on his face.
"Hey, love," he murmured, burying his face in her hair. To her horror, Taylor realized that Joe's accent was taking her back to the Harry days of 2012.
"Hi, darling," she said, plastering a smile on her face. Hopefully Joe wouldn't notice something was up.
These past few weeks with Joe had been tiring. The sex was good, but it was always the same. He never seemed to hit her g-spot, and Joe always wanted to do it in his bed. There was no adventure. Nothing new. Tay couldn't help but remember the fun she had had with Harry.
Despite the lack of excitement, Tay had to admit her boyfriend was both good-looking and a good person. His face was beautiful, but so was his heart. Sure, he might be a bit tame for Tay's preferences, but she endured. Joe loved her, which was more than she could say for... No, she wasn't thinking about him anymore. There was no need to relive something that had gone so terribly wrong. Even though Taylor had wanted to forgive Harry, she just couldn't. His crimes were too severe. Joe, on the other hand, had always been perfect.
"What do you want to do today?" Joe asked politely, even though he already knew what Taylor had in mind. She was a very... sexual creature.
Desperate to soothe the ache in her heart and in her body, Taylor shoved him back, entering the house. She slammed the door shut behind her. Her fingers found his starched collar, and yanked him up against her body as she pressed her back against the wall. Joe let out a lusty breath, his pupils dilating severely. Taylor laughed breathily. Her tongue flickered out to run along his lower lip. Joe let out a soft moan.
"You wicked creature," he whispered, breathless. Taylor flashed him a sly smile, and then pressed her lips against his.
"Fuck me here. Against the wall," she begged in a heavy whisper, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Joe flushed.
"I don't know, Taylor," he said, the British accent laced with reluctance, "I don't really feeling comfortable doing it here."
Tay deflated ever so slightly. "Okay," she acquiesced. Joe swept her off her feet and carried her off to his bedroom as Taylor hid her face in his shoulder, trying to hide her disappointed expression. Bed sex was better than no sex, she supposed.
"Joe, wake up," Taylor whispered. She lay on the soft mattress of his king-sized bed, the blood red sheets pulled up around her collarbone. Joe was splayed across her chest, his face buried in her covered breasts. Taylor ran her fingers through his fine, blond hair, which stuck to the sweat still on his neck from their... exertions. He groaned, and the sound sent another wave of heat blazing through Taylor's lower abdomen.
"Why?" he whined, nuzzling his face deeper in her cleavage. Taylor couldn't help but smile.
"Because it's twelve in the afternoon already, you silly goose," Taylor breathed, rolling on top of him. "I've gotta go. George'll be here any minute!"
Joe moaned. "Fuck George," he mumbled.
"So-o-orry," Taylor sang playfully, leaping out of bed. Her breasts bounced cheerfully as she ran around the room, collecting her clothes, which lay scattered all over the place. Joe watched the motion of her chest in interest.
"Don't forget your panties," he mentioned, gesturing towards the foot of the bed. He grinned as Taylor unknowingly gave him an excellent view of her ass when she bent over to pick up the red, lacy garments. Tay inspected the underwear, an expression of disapproval evident on her face. She tsk-ed.
"You ripped my panties to shreds," she sighed. Joe grinned broadly.
"Then I suppose it's a good thing you have your own drawer then, isn't it?" he replied, without any trace of remorse. Taylor rolled her eyes, opening the bottom drawer of Joe's tall dresser and extricating another pair of delicate underwear.
"I guess so," she said sardonically. Taylor threw her clothes on just as Joe's phone dinged, notifying him that there was movement at his front door.
"That would be George," Taylor said brightly, running to the side of Joe's bed. She pecked him lightly on the lips.
"Mm, bye," Joe said through the kiss. Taylor smiled against his mouth.
"Bye," she echoed. As a parting gift to her own eyes, she yanked down the red sheets for a full glimpse of his bare body. Then, giggling wickedly, she ran out of the room with her bag as Joe shouted after her playfully from the bed.
Taylor jogged down the sloping driveway to where George waited for her in the limo. She smiled at him, wiggling into the backseat.
"You seem to be in a better mood now, Miss Taylor," George noted, backing out onto the wide street. Taylor grinned.
"I think I am. I was in a weird funk this morning, wasn't I, George?" Taylor said. George smiled wanly, knowing that he couldn't honestly answer that question without relatively substantial risk to his occupational position.
Taylor turned up the volume on her Air Pods as she set them in her ears and decided to give the Selena Gomez station another chance. She gazed out the window as Lose You to Love Me played. It seemed like a sad song, but Taylor was decidedly sure that this was the perfect song for what she had been feeling earlier this morning.
George drove slowly down the shaded road of Taylor's street. As he pulled up to the driveway of her estate, Tay caught sight of the red SOLD sign on her next-door-neighbor and close friend Emma Stone's front lawn.
"Did Emma finally sell her house?" Taylor murmured, mostly to herself. Em had had the FOR SALE sign up for at least two weeks.
"Looks like it, doesn't it, Miss?" George said. "Would you like me to let you out on the sidewalk?"
"Sure," Taylor said, peering out the window. She pushed open the door of the black Benz and straightened on the sidewalk. Emma stood, hands on her hips, in the walk up to her front door, talking with the man who had evidently bought the mansion. When Em's eyes landed on Taylor, she waved erratically.
"Hey, Taylor!" she called. "Come on up!"
"Hey, Em!" she shouted back. Curious, Taylor approached, her hand resting on the strap of her bag. "Hi," she called to the man, who was just turning around. "I guess we're neighbors now!" As she came close enough to see that he looked vaguely familiar, the man spoke. An English accent assailed Taylor's ears.
"Holy shit, is that you, Taylor?" he exclaimed in surprise. Taylor froze, confused. Did she know this guy? She walked closer, her hand extended in a handshake.
"Have we met before?" she wondered aloud. The man raised the sunglasses that had rested on his fair nose. Strikingly familiar, jade green eyes gazed at her.
"Yes," Harry grinned. "Yes, we have."