AUTHOR'S NOTE:

What's kickin', lil' chickens? xo

TWITTER: @lovethedinklage

dedicated to Georgia8Rose
who actually replies to my tweets!
*does happy dance like on Charlie Brown*

:p

*****

I jump off the bed and stroll casually toward the door, abruptly turning to face him from the threshold. I notice his eyes dart from my ass level to my face.

Before I exit, I ask him, "Any last words, Styles?"

"Yeah," he says, "I love those panties."

*****

SHERRY

I'm able to return home sooner than expected Saturday morning due to Mr. Twist resolving his Friday night business early and catching a redeye back to London.

Upon entering the apartment, I'm surprised to see Kate and the long lost Niall on the sofa eating donuts. Ooh la la. Looks like Kate took advantage of having the apartment to herself.

"Niall?" flies out of my mouth before I'm able to control it since he's been absent for about two weeks.

"Hey Sherry," he nods as Kate makes her way over for a hug.

"I ran into him at a party last night," Kate says over my shoulder. "You are not going to believe what happened." There is strangeness to her voice I can't quite pinpoint.

"What do you mean?" I ask, checking my options in the donut box and choosing one with chocolate icing.

"Well," Kate begins as Niall looks on, nibbling on one of his fingernails, "You know why Niall wasn't in class?"

I kick my shoes off and flick them in the general direction of my room and sink my ass into this awesome overstuffed chair we'd found at a yard sale. "Umm....no. How would I know that?"

"You didn't ask Harry?" Niall questions.

I'm confused. "Harry? No. Why are ya'll so serious?"

"Niall was in jail. They kept him for days, but ultimately they couldn't find any hard evidence to hold him." Kate spills the news.

"Jail?" That's a shocker, but then again, we just met Niall. What do we really know about him? "So what does that have to do with Harry?"

"Harry didn't tell you about the accident?" Kate asks as I snag another donut, powdered sugar this time.

"No. Well, I've been told that he doesn't remember the accident, but we haven't talked about it yet-," I begin to explain.

"You haven't talked about it yet? Shit," Niall interrupts. To say he appears stressed would be an understatement.

"Yesterday was the first day I've seen him awake. He was surprised that I was going to be his caretaker and almost didn't let me to stay," I defend myself. "I didn't want to rock the boat by bringing up the accident so soon. He can't even walk, Niall." I'm starting to get pissed.

Niall and I are at odds when Kate intervenes, speaking in a slow, smooth tone, "You don't understand, Sherry. Let me explain. Everyone try to relax."

The stress makes me want another donut, but I resist the devil force that tries to pull my eyes toward the box on the coffee table.

"They think I was driving the car," Niall says, "Harry wasn't driving that night."

"Did you go with him on the beer run?" I ask, trying to piece things together. "I thought that Zayn guy was going?"

"No, I didn't go with him. The store was just down the street, so when he didn't return right off, I ran down there and, and..." Niall's voice breaks and he buries his face in his hands, distraught.

Kate takes a seat next to Niall, stroking his hair to console him as she explains, "Harry's car had smashed into another vehicle parked along the roadside. The passenger side of his car was mangled, and the driver's door was left open."

The entire time Kate is talking, I stare blankly and wait for something she says to make sense. My mind races but it somehow seems like the finish line is getting further and further away. What does any of this mean?

"I don't understand what the fuck ya'll are talking about," I take a third donut after all. Fuck it.

"Sherry," Kate says, softer now, "Whoever was driving with Harry that night, when they crashed, they were able to just walk away."

"So Harry's all bashed up, and nothing happened to the driver? Who the fuck was it?" I demand.

A sniffly Niall answers, "They're trying to pin it on me 'cause I made the 911 call. They told me some bullshit statistics about how the person who reports the crime is often the perpetrator. Whoever was driving-"

"You mean... they left him there?" My brain finally awakens after three donuts, and now it's my turn to interrupt. "Whoever was driving just ran away, and left him to die?"

Nothing.

"Did you hear me? Are you saying they fucking left him there?"

I cannot wrap my mind around this. I am so pissed over this situation that the floodgates open against my will. I hate when I cry out of anger. It makes others think I'm weak, but really I am so infuriated that the tears physically must come out to prevent me from popping a blood vessel. The fact that whoever did this walked away unscathed and left Harry behind without a second thought is beyond me. What kind of a person could do such a thing?

Niall swiping away tear drops from his red cheeks triggers a realization within me, and his face expresses sudden concern as I scramble across the room to him.

"Niall," I speak through tears, throwing my arms around his neck. "You probably saved his life by going to check on him. Thank God for you."

As I wash my donuts down with a fair share of coffee, we discuss the charges against Niall further. Turns out whomever was driving Harry's car wiped the steering wheel clean of prints before exiting the vehicle. The police were able to lift prints from other areas of the car, such as the radio, door handles, etc., but the problem was they'd found so many that they were unable to pinpoint a suspect. Harry apparently was pretty generous in allowing his friends to drive his vehicle. Based on my observations, it seems Harry would let almost anyone drive it since even Paige's ex, Zayn, felt comfortable enough to ask him.

*****

That evening, with Kate and Niall out for dinner and a movie, I'm home trying to get ahead on a little coursework. The upcoming week will be the first one that I'm "working" at Harry's every evening, and I doubt I'd get much of my own work done with someone that cute to distract me. Since Harry was going to need my help catching up on his own coursework, I wouldn't have a moment to spare during the upcoming week.

I get a little accomplished, but finally give up because my mind keeps returning to the shocking news about Harry's accident. Then I begin thinking about how cute he is, and how that sneak managed to see me in my panties. Pervert.

My thoughts apparently drift to Harry telepathically through the cosmos because my phone buzzes with a text notification.

Harry: I'd like to put in a request please. Would you mind wearing some of those "days of the week" panties next week? I always thought the idea of those were kinda hot.

ME: Surely you've suffered an undiagnosed head injury.

Harry: So panty requests are not an option?

ME: That option is only available via website when the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars.

Harry: Did you really think you could slide those 70's song lyrics by me?

ME: 1969, love.

Harry: Played it 'til my fingers bled, back in the summer of sixty-nine. *grins*

Harry: So you refuse my panty request and then you bring up sixty-nine? It's a little early in our relationship to use sex as a weapon, isn't it?

ME: Thinkin' of ya's workin' my appetite, looking forward to a little afternoon delight. Or at least, some froyo, yo. BRB

Harry: FROYO? OMG. Large vanilla with strawberries and bananas, please. *bats eyelashes*

ME: But I'm off tonight. *evil, sinister, 666 laugh*

Harry: But I'm paralyzed. Bed-ridden. An invalid with a broken arm who may never recover. Once my spirit is broken, I WON'T EVEN HAVE THE WILL TO CARRY ON. *sobs uncontrollably*

HARRY: ((Is this working? Even a little?))

ME: Shut UP. I'll see you in 30.