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Summary
“Niall, who’s that?” Her hands vaguely flapping around to get her best friend to look at the field whilst her eyes were firmly following, like a hawk on its prey, to one particular player.
“Which one?”
Harry breathed in deeply, “Short hair, strong thighs, and is wiping her face—fuck,” she cursed breathlessly, mouth watering, gaping wide open at the same time.
Niall cackled, amused.
— Who knew a day out at a footie match would lead to Harry meeting the woman of her dreams and deepest desires.