But the next morning she's not at the gym. Or the morning after that. Or the next series of mornings. I've put an alert out for the gym staff, letting them know that there's a 1,000£ reward for the person who calls me first should they see her. But either the incentive isn't enough or she stops going to the gym because no one calls me. Shockingly, the story doesn't leak to the tabloids either, although I'm not sure what the headlines would have said: "Harry Styles Seeks Woman At Gym"? Would people really be surprised at that headline?

Mum tells me I'm being mopey when I see her on the weekend, and when she suggests I go work out to "let off some steam", I nearly combust with the waves of lust that wash over me. My cock twitches just thinking of HER and how I started carrying a condom in the little pocket of my towel just in case.

If it were only a case of blue balls and shower wanking, I wouldn't mind so much. It would be fairly easy to find another warm body to fulfill my sexual desires and appetites. But there is something about HER. Something that intrigues me, ignites my soul, and makes me want to sit and listen to her talk for hours on end. Her eyes. Her facial expressions. Her intense way of listening.

After a week of trolling the gym day and night, I try looking through the listings for psychologists, but there isn't a way to search by first name only. In the second week of missing her, I search instead for her friend at the gym, the woman she called her receptionist, but apparently they both stopped attending around the same time.

Briefly, I think about taking out an ad in the newspapers to search for her, or adding something to my website, but either would be a betrayal since she made it clear that she doesn't want to be publicly associated with me. And even though I'm losing hope that I will ever see her again, I don't want to ruin any chance we might have should I find her. I'm convinced that we aren't finished with each other yet. There will be more to come. There HAS to be.

It's on Nick's show that I let something slip, and I hold my breath to see if Nick catches the innuendo and presses me on it, but he's either got his subtext radar off or my comment was completely innocuous. In either case, she will probably never hear about it.

==============

"You had to work out quite a bit to prepare for 'Dunkirk'," Nick asks Harry in the interview, "So now that the filming is over, are you going to get lazy again?"

Harry's laughter across the radio waves makes your spine tingle and your shoulders stiffen as you await his response, dying to hear his husky, sultry voice again. All night you've been fretting over listening to this interview, even rescheduling your first patient. Another great business practice that will surely build clientele, you think, rolling your eyes.

"I'm still working out," Harry says, "Sometimes if I'm lucky, I get very steamed up after a workout."

Your mouth drops open because you catch the reference. Mentally you cross your fingers and toes that Nick doesn't pick up on the undertone, breathing a sigh of relief when Nick asks about the single which has now been playing everywhere for a little over a week. As the interview continues, your heart pounds and your hands become sweaty.

Knowing it's the right thing to stay away from him and actually following through are two very different things.

Although it had been hell listening to his new song nonstop, you welcomed the torture and pain. Through at least the first ten times you heard it, you cried. His throaty singing voice washed over you, causing your breathing to quicken. And since the song is being played everywhere now: radio stations, restaurants, your new gym; you cannot escape his voice and presence. To be fair, you likely could reduce some of the Harry-mania if you quit watching his television appearances and reading his daily press.

You firmly admonish yourself. Your fledgling practice would not have survived had you continued seeing him, especially with the extra hype right now. But your congratulatory stance is cold comfort considering how much you miss him. God. Just hearing his voice on the radio makes your panties wet again, and when you see him on telly, the memory of his face when he came in your throat, watching you swallow, clouds your vision.

Angrily you turn off the radio. You don't need to do this to yourself anymore. The decision is made, and now you will stick to it.

==================

Damn it. Why had I tried doing that dance move last night on Graham Norton? If only that adorable Leslie Jones from SNL hadn't been there and challenged me to dance with her. She makes me laugh so hard, and I can never deny her any request. Did you see what she had me do when I was on SNL with Fallon? Shit. My back hasn't hurt this badly in months. Luckily, I was able to get an appointment with this new physiotherapist for today because I've got to get back on the circuit tonight. His office is in one of the newer medical buildings with all of the state of the art equipment, and a variety of other medical services available.

So there I am, standing in the lobby, inspecting the list of professionals in the building, looking for Mel Izza when I see her: the friend -- receptionist -- stepping into the elevator. I'm so stunned that I don't react until the doors start closing. "Hold the elevator!" I call as I attempt to dash across the large lobby, but my back reminds me that I am here for a different reason entirely. Slowing down, I focus my eyes instead on the floor numbers to see if I can find where the elevator stops. Unfortunately, it stops on floors 6, 9, and 14. Damn.

Glancing at my watch, I know I don't have time to visit all three floors looking for her. Besides, the woman might not work here. Maybe the receptionist is visiting for her own medical needs. Damn. Damn. Damn. Guess I better get to my appointment instead of wasting time here. But as soon as I get finished with physio....

======================

You're hungry. Probably not for food because you ate plenty of yogurt and fruit for breakfast just a few hours ago. So just what would fill that empty space inside of you? That's what you're pondering as you press the lift button for the lobby. It's lunchtime, and you have a lull in your day before your next appointment.

In the elevator, you glare at the teenager who has her headphones on because even though she's wearing the ear protection, you can clearly hear the voice of one Harry Styles escaping from the space around her ears. Unbidden, your eyes fill with tears. Biting your lip, you turn away from her towards the back wall of the lift in an attempt to staunch the flow. The lift stops at the next floor, and you hear someone get on. The girl gasps, pulling her headphones from her head, assaulting your ears with Harry's new single. For fuck's sake, you really hate that damn song!

When silence suddenly permeates the space, you clamp your hands over your mouth, realizing that you spoke out loud. Cautiously, you turn around, expecting the teenage girl to be staring at you, horrified. But you are the one who is horrified instead when you face a smirking Harry Styles.

Harry cannot believe his luck. He was on his way down to the lobby to search the names of psychologists on floors 6, 9, and 14 after getting a massage from his new physio on floor 11. And now he surmises that your office must be on the 14th floor. When he entered, you had been facing the back of the lift, but he recognized the curve of your neck and the messy bun piled on your head, as well as your black and gray clothing which he would call your "uniform". The teenager was unexpected, and obviously a fan, so Harry was signing a scrap of paper for her when you made your pronouncement.

Harry wants to giggle at your vehement hatred of his song. Honestly, he would want to giggle right now no matter the circumstances. Gleefully, he adds an extra heart to his signature on the appointment reminder for the young girl. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined running into you in such a chance encounter. All of the work he's done looking for you, and all it took was a quick dance with Leslie on Graham's show for him to wind up in the lift staring at you.

With your hands still covering your mouth, you make eye contact with Harry as he finishes talking to the teenager. She's overjoyed at the opportunity to meet Harry Styles and asks for a selfie. He complies, but when the doors open at the lobby, neither of you move as the girl exits the space, super excited to have met her idol. It won't be 30 seconds before that selfie is posted on social media.

As the doors start to close again, you are unable to move, as if some spell has frozen you in place. Your throat is dry, your gaze fixed on Harry. At the last minute, someone tries to hold the doors. Harry glares at the offending party, and the man quickly withdraws his hand. The lift doesn't move as Harry maintains eye contact with you, the silence deafening in the absence of the teen's music.

Your heart is pounding, and you frantically debate your next move. Should you attempt to leave the lift, passing by him? Should you pretend you don't know who he is? Should you scream and faint? That last one sounds like a pretty safe option right now because no matter what happens next, you wouldn't be awake to experience it. But then you realize that he would just wait until you woke up, and you would still have to deal with the consequences of your previous actions.

Moments later in the tense quiet, the door dings again, opening at the lobby. Without looking, Harry presses a button for one of the top floors, and the doors close.

Meanwhile, you haven't moved from your place at the back of the small metal box. Your hand has roamed to your neck as you check your pulse to make sure you are still alive. Fuck. This is completely unexpected. It's been nearly three weeks since the episode in the steam room, and you never expected to be face to face with Harry again. Neither of you speaks for the longest time until finally Harry clears his throat.

===========

"Missed you," I whisper as I stare at her. It's the most honest thing I can say, as I've been obsessed with finding her and talking to her, hearing her explanation.

She looks amazing, although slightly worn out, dark circles under her eyes. I cannot believe how fortuitous it was to climb into the same lift as her. But now I don't know what to say to her. She ran away. Which has been her modus operandi since I first saw her.

"You ran away." I state, and she nods. My mouth gapes a bit at her admission because I was sure she would deny everything. I watch as she swallows nervously, and the movement of her throat reminds me of the last time I saw her swallow. My balls contract at the visual, and my cock starts to harden.

I want to hear her reasoning, but she says nothing as tears begin to run down her cheeks. Reaching out to pull her into my arms to comfort her, I freeze. She's made it clear over the last three weeks that she wants nothing to do with me, and I can't help but feel hurt anew by her disappearance.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I'm a terrible human being." Although her shoulders aren't heaving with sobs, the trail of wetness over her cheeks reveal her anguish.

Her words combined with those tears break my heart, and I want to embrace her and reassure her that everything will be okay. But I know it's not true. Not right now anyway. Before I do anything, I look around the top of the lift for cameras. Sure enough, there is one, but it's right over her head, so the view can't be very clear from there. I cross my fingers that no security guard is watching this lift at this moment because I cannot wait one more minute without touching her.

============

Without warning, Harry is suddenly grasping your upper arms, leaning in to kiss you. And it's confirmed that you're a horrible person because you allow him to press his mouth over yours, his tongue tracing the line across your lips until you separate them, allowing him entrance. His tongue tangles with yours, and your tears fall faster because you've missed him with every fiber of your being.

Wrapping your arms around him, you tighten them, holding on lest he disappear in the blink of an eye. Logically, you know he can't just vanish from the lift, but you don't want to take the chance. It's been too long, and your mouth devours him as though he were an oasis filled with water in the middle of the desert.

He's got your back pressed into the corner of the lift as his mouth slants again and again over yours, like a drowning man gasping for air. His leg slides between yours, and you allow your center to rub along his thigh as you seek the release you need. Your libido has jumped from 0 to 60 in the seconds it has taken him to twine his fingers in your hair, framing your face with his thumbs rubbing over your cheeks. Your nipples recognize his scent, and they bead painfully inside your blouse. Stroking his tongue with yours, you feel at home and at peace for the first time in three weeks. His taste is like a tranquilizer for you, relaxing the knotted muscles that have wreaked havoc on you lately. You are like putty molding to his body, and you can feel that he's already semi-hard as you continue to slide along his thigh.

When the lift pauses and does that slight bounce it does arriving at a floor, you come back to yourself, pushing Harry away from you before the door can open and expose you. His heavy lids and swollen lips are mirrored by your own. You're both panting, looking at each other as your cheeks flush with heat and desire. Fuck. It's been too long. And not nearly long enough.