Harry Styles Magazine Another Man Novels & Stories

“What flavor do you want?” “Huh?” I turn back to him. “For your pity party,” he lifts his hand in the air. “You're so stupid, you know that?” “For someone who is trying to cheer you, I'm offended,” “Suit yourself,” Something catches my eye in the magazine. “Is that your name?” I ask, at the same time taking the magazine from him. “Paul Hughes' name appears on Forbes as one of New York’s billionaire bachelor's, for the seventh year in a row,” I tilt my head, “Wow! Someone is reading about their self,”

In his hand, he gripped a handful of glossy magazines and two paperbacks, covers that still made heat rush to my cheeks. Millie had slipped them into my hands behind the gym a couple weeks back, winking and whispering, "Trust me, you need these more than I do." The magazines were filled with shirtless men in low-slung jeans or nothing at all, their skin glistening and eyes smoldering as they gazed into the camera.

pressured by the fact that she was so young; maybe she'd see him as an old man and wouldn't want to continue. What had Harry meant about being less himself? He didn't see anything wrong with how he was. He was a successful man with well-educated children and was highly respected in his social circle. His image was impeccable, serious, and admired by many. He was in a good position and was an excellent catch for any woman. Harry was very wrong... right?

I always wore a tie on my wrist so I used it to style up my hair in a low pony tail. I took two more puffs before I tossed the cigarette on the floor besides my leg and stomped on it. I watched as the little flames scattered before i turned to face Harry. His face was flustered from the cold. He must have a very sensitive skin. His blonde hair was brushed back and his black eyes bigger than ever. He wore a white T-shirt and fancy green knicker. His eyebrows were thick and he had long lashes with a well defined body that showed under his shirt. One could consider him as attractive

Why the hell did his friend always have to be right? Serving coffee as she was getting used to since that old and sweet woman made the decision to help her, Adamaris smiled at every new client that was visiting the cafeteria. Suddenly, she saw a man in a black suit who hadn’t ordered yet. It was strange, Adamaris had passed by that table several times and hadn’t seen that man there. The man was wearing sunglasses and in his hands he had a magazine about women’s underwear. He looked like a businessman. “Good morning, sir, are you ready to order?”

He leaned back against the counter, flipping the cover open. On the first page, written in bold, uneven handwriting, were the words: “A Secret Collection of Male Confessions.” Adam let out a quiet breath, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Confessions?” he murmured. “What kind of confessions…” He turned the page. The handwriting inside was rougher, heavier, different from one section to the next, like multiple voices trapped in ink. Different men. Different stories. His curiosity sharpened. He kept reading.

Ruby said out loud from where she was. And the journalist turned to her. Ruby was struck by how handsome this man was. He was African-American, by the color of his skin, and his hair had been trimmed expertly in a stylish fade. He was dressed boyishly, too, with a blue jacket, matching jeans, and black boots. He was obviously a man in his early twenties, much younger than her by ten or eleven years, depending on how far away he was from Ruby's thirty-three years, but regardless, Ruby began to feel a knot in her stomach.

He wondered how Sebastian’s face would look with that ugly scar on it after he successfully took Ramona away from him. He gave out boisterous laughter while in the bathtub, cooling off with the fresh water. Soon, he plodded out of the bathroom looking whiter than before. He does not have much time to waste. He called the man from yesterday and told him to come to the company instead since he was heading there already. The man complied. Standing before the mirror, Harry primed his hair to a perfect style and preened his Brioni vanquish suit till it fitted perfectly on his body.

Raiden. We entered the store when the girl Raiden bribed for a date glared at me. Excuse me?! Excuse you! What did I do?! "She's got one hell of a competition, oopsies!" Ione whispered. This girl! "Shut up Ione!" I rolled my eyes for the nth time. "Guys, what's your avatar name?" Ione asked them. "Harry Styles." Harry said nonchalantly. "HAHHAHAA Really? The Harry Styles? What originality!" I bursted into laughter because of how creative he is, jeez! "You, Arthur?"

Just as I expected, I had media rounds and, of course, a fucking exclusive couple interview with Anne. “Yes, over there,” the new stylist, Miles, whom we hired last week said. A man in his early twenties. He had purple-dyed hair and wore a transparent shirt, with a feminine manner. “Good.” He rolled the stack of clothes to the living room, looking over them one last time before turning to my side. I sighed. This was going to be the usual trial and error we always do for my interviews and media rounds. I put the clothes on and he decides if it fits the vibes we’re looking for.