AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm still alive! Prairie and Slight Pressure coming soon. I hope y'all are still with me and not too damaged from Harry's new SOLO SINGLE & SNL APPEARANCE. AS FOR ME - MY VAGINA HAS BEEN COMPROMISED.

Twitter: @styles_orama

SHERRY:

"I saw you there. In the coffee shop. Bitching about something or other to Kate. You were passionate. Beautiful. I imagined an argument with you. Then I imagined make-up sex with you."

I got nothin'.

Harry continues, "They called your name for coffee – when you stood up I knew it was yours – and before I'd even thought it fully through, I'd stolen it. On purpose."

SHERRY:

Early morning hours are spent fetching coffee, talking to Mr.Twist, and obsessing about Harry. He was in surgery for less than an hour getting his blood clot lasered into oblivion, and now we're just sitting by his bedside, waiting for his sexy ass to awaken.

Despite hardly getting any sleep, my mind is chugging along at ninety miles an hour. I know I should be channeling my thoughts and prayers into positive energy for Harry's recovery, so when my focus drifts to less urgent Harry matters, I do my best to reign it back in.

Robin and I both verbalize gratitude over the fact that Harry's mom didn't show up for the surgery, as her presence would only create more stress. Not possessing the emotional capacity of a "normal" mother, surely she's not going to waste her time sitting here worrying with us common folk. Nope, I expect her to hold off her appearance until Harry is fully awake so she can bitch and moan about the fact that he isn't up on his feet ten minutes after the anesthetic's worn off.

Being in the hospital again causes me to stress about the accident and the fact that it still isn't solved. Who abandoned Harry and ran off like a coward? If he wasn't driving the car, how did his right arm get broken? Why haven't the cops figured this shit out? Did they try hypnosis?

I haven't asked Harry too much about the accident. I don't want to make him more uncomfortable than he already is. Since I'm a new girlfriend (and technically an employee), I don't want to come off as a nag by hounding him with a billion questions. I could ask Robin for an update while we're waiting, but I can tell by his drooping eyelids that he's likely to be asleep within the next two minutes, so I don't say anything.

I keep thinking back to last night and the few seconds I stroked Harry's erection before it dissolved. Afterward, I was kicking myself for touching him too soon, but the way he groaned into our kiss lit my horny hope fire, and I instinctively reached for his cock. My pulse grew erratic as I imagined the stretch I would someday feel from his girth. A combination of his moans and my greed spurred me on in such a way that I didn't know what I wanted more - to feel his velvety shaft beneath my fingertips, or to hear his whimpers of pleasure. When my hand found its way into his boxers and I realized all was lost, there wasn't a moment to devote to my own self-loathing because I was immediately consumed with Harry's consolation.

We talked, cuddled, listened to some music on my phone, measured whose fingers were longer (duh, his), figured out who could crack more knuckles, who could touch their tongue to their nose, and who could make a fart noise with their armpit.

My heart had done a little pit-a-pat when he'd admitted to deliberately taking my coffee on the day we met. And to think that whole day I'd griped to Kate about what a dumb jock he was, when really he'd just wanted to meet me. And fuck me. Just the thought of him between my legs makes me wet. I can't figure out why the notion that he wanted to fuck me before he even knew anything about me is so appealing. Maybe it makes me feel less slutty for wanting to blow him in his closet at the frat party.

When I hear Robin's snores, I slide my chair closer to Harry's bedside, and slip my fingers beneath his own. I tuck a curly bit of hair behind his ear that had come loose from his hair tie and stroke his cheek. He appears peaceful except for two small brow wrinkles that appear and disappear at random, making me wonder if he might be dreaming. It's not often I get to look at him without his green eyes monitoring me as well, so I take full advantage of this time to drink him in.

I unfold his fingers and look at his nails. A few have been recently nibbled, and I'm reminded of doing his manicure that first night at his house. I hold back a laugh when I remember his surprise over me being one of his caretakers, and how we'd argued about whether or not I was allowed to stay.

Somehow it seems like a lot has happened in the short period we've been together. Goofing around last night, I was overcome with feelings for him. Touched by his awkwardness, kindness, and silliness, my heart had generated feelings strong enough that they almost tumbled from the tip of my tongue to his adorable little earlobe. It didn't seem like the right time, so I held those suckers in. Harry's priorities are getting back on his feet and ensuring that his velvety shaft is in operating order. With his self-confidence in a battered state, the last thing either of us need is for him to believe my emotions are fueled by pity.

Exhausted, I fiddle with Harry's fingertips and daydream about a huge coffee that isn't from the crappy cafeteria. Pulling my fingers from Harry's, I text my request to Kate since she'd promised me a morning check-in.

My fingers aren't away from his for thirty seconds before he begins to stir. His slight agitation causes the furrows between his brows to become more pronounced. As his lips part, I rise from the chair and lean against the bed rail in an effort to hear him speak.

Harry's eyelids flutter open; his green eyes meet mine with a piercing, emotional gaze.

"Paige." Harry's voice is a dry whisper as a now-awake, equally surprised Robin sits bolt upright in his chair.

"I want to see Paige."