Waiting for Prince Harry by Aven Ellis

catwalk, looking hot and glamorous and completely like they were ripped from the page of a Vanity Fair photo shoot.
    When they get toward the end of the runway, Harrison stops and takes off his jacket, and the screams are deafening. Ashlea cocks her head back and rests her hand on his chest, and then they pause and look straight at the cameras.
    As I take a picture to tweet, I realize Harrison is a pro at this. Like he has modeled a gazillion times before and this is natural to him.
    Then they turn and walk back up the stage.
    I instantly tweet that photo out, and I notice our Twitter followers are skyrocketing. Ever since I posted that photo of Harrison, in fact.
    My God. He really does live in a different universe than I do .
    I continue to snap pictures and tweet, but the ones with Harrison are the ones that are getting massive retweets. I anxiously wait for him and Ashlea to appear at the end to close the show.
    Other local celebs glide up and down the catwalk, but none have the impact of Harrison and Ashlea.
    The music changes to “Scream & Shout.” And Harrison appears a second time, much to the delight of every female in the audience, this time in the long-sleeved leather shirt. But instead of wearing the Superman logo shirt underneath, he put on his bridge T-shirt!
    I grin broadly. I love that he did that. He struts again with Ashlea, who has changed into a skimpy, short, black spaghetti-strapped dress.
    They walk to the loudest cheers of the night, and when they get to the end of the runway, the cameras go crazy, the clicking sounds just one after another after another.
    They go back up and exit, and then all the models appear and take one final walk on the catwalk. And of course, Harrison gets the loudest screams of the night.
    I tweet a few more pictures, knowing the girls are going to go insane over the leather shirt and jeans. Then Laurel comes up and closes the show.
    I try to make my way toward Harrison, but I immediately see that he is surrounded by press and giving interviews.
    I watch in the wings for a bit. Suddenly a female reporter brushes past me, and bumps my arm.
    “Could you make way? I need to get up there,” she snaps, tossing her glossy brown hair over one shoulder.
    I furrow my brow, as saying “excuse me” would have worked just as well, but I’m in too good of a mood to let one reporter’s rudeness ruin my night.
    “Um, sure,” I say, stepping aside.
    I watch as she makes a straight line right toward Harrison, her cameraman following right behind her.
    “Harrison!” she yells, sticking up her manicured hand.
    Harrison sees her. I watch as a smile crosses his face.
    Oh God. Seeing him smile like that—at a gorgeous woman—makes me feel queasy.
    “Cynthia,” he says, nodding at her. “Hold on.”
    My chest draws tight. An uneasy wave crashes over me. I watch as Harrison finishes an interview, then goes over to Cynthia, giving her a big hug. He towers over her, as she is petite. Petite, with curves in all the right places and a gorgeous mane of shiny, perfectly highlighted chestnut hair—
    “My phone,” Laurel snaps, interrupting my thoughts.
    I blink and turn to her. She holds out her hand, expectantly, in that ever-annoying way she has.
    I hand it to her.
    “Thanks,” she says. I turn my gaze back to Cynthia and Harrison, feeling rather uneasy as I watch the familiarity between them.
    “Ah, Cynthia Burke,” Laurel says in a knowing voice.
    “Who’s she?” I ask, turning to Laurel.
    Laurel’s lips curve up in smug smile. “Local sports reporter. And former Miss California. I believe she was third runner up in the Miss USA pageant a few years ago.”
    Oh God.
    I look over at her and Harrison, and she keeps touching his arm, making him laugh, and they appear very comfortable together—and this isn’t even part of the interview. It’s just Harrison talking to Cynthia.
    And seeing how right they look together sends my heart into a tailspin.
    “She was very excited to