Chapter Three

Annoying Auburn: you never answered my text messages

Annoying Auburn: so again, how was your flight?

 

You know, I think its common protocol to feel flattered when Simon Cowell checks you out.  However, someone forgot to tell me that.  I spent the elevator feeling uncomfortable, which seemed to amuse him further.  He walked me to my door " eek, he now knows where I live " and said that if I needed anything, anything at all, I could call him.

 

I did not even mention that I don’t have his number.  Doesn’t seem important.

 

After insisting that I did not, under any circumstances, need his help unpacking, I ignored my sister’s text messages and took a nap until I had ten minutes to get to the studio via skateboard.  Not even checking my appearance in the mirror, I grabbed my turtle helmet, courtesy of my best mate, and was out the lobby.  Not before I waved to the doorman. 

 

Got to love old people.

 

Baby Joshua: I know how you are about doors, so when you walk through the main one, it’s down the stairs and the third (that’s not the first or the second) door on your right.  Feel free to waltz in; I’m alone

 

I follow my best mate of twelve year’s instructions, which he sent approximately nineteen minutes ago.  Whatever.  I may be a tad late, but he is the one who called me on such short notice.  He’s lucky I’m not, well, busy.  Ever.  Because I had been waitressing lately, so I could have chosen to be unavailable.  And then what would he have done?

 

Find someone else?  Probably, but that’s not important.  What is important is that he chose me, his best mate since we were eight years old charging people to play with the class’s dinosaurs.  I could hear him tapping his drumsticks on the floor, making some mystery beat, so without thinking I dropped my things and burst through the studio doors, screaming.

 

Only it turns out that I was wrong, and instead of someone tapping their drumsticks, they were making popcorn.  Talk about my mistake.  I stop screaming immediately, apologizing to the attractive blonde boy who I had probably just scared the living daylights of.

 

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” I say hurriedly, frowning at my behavior.  “I thought you were Josh.”

 

“S’okay,” he shrugs, his khaki covered legs swinging back and forth from his seat on the counter.  I blush immediately, ducking my head.  “I’m used to people being unhappy when they realize it’s me.”

 

I gape.  Sort of frozen in my spot.  Is this kid for real?  I don’t know who would ever be disappointed to see Niall Horan standing " in this case: sitting " in front of them.  I’m more disappointed in myself for making a scene and causing his ears to bleed.  I don’t have the loveliest voice in the world, I’ve been told.  Usually by Josh.

 

“I’m sorry, what?” I question, venturing further into the room.  It appears to be some sort of makeshift kitchen area type thing.  Complete with counters, cabinets, a fridge, a seating area, and a microwave. 

 

“I think Josh is further down the fall,” he tells me, turning away.

 

I sort of stare at him for a while, a bit like a sketch.  I will admit.  I’m not usually one to creep on boys, but this one is more attractive than anyone I have ever seen.  Long blonde hair with brown roots.  Clear braces.  The brightest downcast eyes I have ever seen.  Perfect skin.  I reach over and snatch his Transformers hat right off his head, placing it over my unruly brown hair.

 

He stares at me in surprise.

 

“You know,” I say, jumping onto the counter next to him, “I talk to Josh all the time.  I think I can wait a few minutes to go find him.  Especially when in the presence of such a handsome gentleman.”

 

His answering laugh is so loud and inviting that I feel proud for causing it.

 

“I’m a handsome gentleman, aye?” he teases, making me blush.  “Does that make you my fair maiden?”

 

I snort unattractively, laughing at the noise.  Of all the times, in all the places, and in front of all the people, I had to do that in front of the Niall Horan.  He giggles at me, shaking his head.  When the microwave beeps and the popcorn is finished popping, he scurries off the counter and quickly away from me.  I watch him pour it into a bowl, basically shoving his face inside and inhaling it.

 

It’s kind of cute.

 

“You want to sit on the couch?” he asks me, not even bothering to look over his shoulder as he settles down in front of the tele.  “I’m sure there’s something we can find to watch.”

 

Popcorn and the tele?  Count me in.  I settle in next to him, noticing a scent even more enticing than the salt and buttery popcorn.  Is that " is he wearing cologne?  And why does it smell so delicious?  And since when do I even like cologne on a guy?  Especially Giorgio Amarni Mania?  Why do I know the name?  I remember buying it for Josh once as a gag gift.

 

“So, see anything you like?” he asks, wrapping his arms protectively around the popcorn.

 

“Other than you?” I tease.  He laughs loudly again, and I use his distraction to grab the remote and change the channel to an episode of American Ninja Warrior.  Auburn showed it to me during Christmas break, and its safe to say I have become obsessed.

 

“You little lass, need to watch yourself,” he smirks.  “I might take one of your comments for flirting.”

 

“And if that’s what they’re meant for?” I ask, biting my lip.

 

Okay, okay, hold up.  Pause.  And rewind.  Who is this sexy vixen that can actually speak words around someone of an attractive caliber?  Certainly not Emory Clark.  She gets flustered and stammers and might begin to dry heave if the situation is nerve wracking enough.

 

Which this is.

 

“Then I would say it’s a shame I don’t know your name,” he replies cheekily.

 

“And you might never learn if you don’t share your popcorn,” I tell him seriously.  The look on his face is absolutely priceless.  He looks like I just asked him to cut off an arm or something.  Which I may as well have the way he is cringing away from me.  He reluctantly holds out the bowl, squeezing his eyes shut.  And I make a decision in that moment.  “You know what, keep it.  I can make myself a separate bag.”

 

“Really?” he asks, brightening up immediately.  “And if you have extra I wouldn’t, you know, refuse to have some.”

 

“Oh, there won’t be extra,” I laugh.

 

Seriously, I don’t think I have ever not finished a bag of popcorn.  In fact, I could probably eat two.  Or three.  Or four.  Well, maybe not four.  Unless I paced myself.  Then anything is possible.

 

“You like food?” Niall asks, perking up.

  

“It might be the only thing I like more than Star Wars,” I admit. 

 

“It’s settled, we’re getting married,” he tells me.

 

And even though I know he’s joking, I swear my heart stops.  What are these and why am I feeling butterflies in my stomach?  I don’t fancy blokes.  I stare at hot guys and fantasize about marrying my favorite characters from the tele.  Who are usually over what, thirty?  Forty?

 

“The only way I would become Mrs. Niall Horan is if you promised not to eat the entire wedding cake,” I tease, smirking a little, “and I don’t think you can do that.” 

 

“I promise, I’ll try!” he exclaims, jumping up and going into Superman pose.  I burst into a fit of giggles, hiding my face behind my hair.  “Nothing can stop our love, not even food!”

 

We’re both laughing so hard we don’t notice someone has walked into the room until they clear their throat.

 

“What’s this about my two best mates and love?” my favorite person in the world asks, raising an eyebrow. 

 

“JOSH FREAKING DEVINE!”

 

Maybe the screaming was overkill.  To balance it off, I tackle him to the floor.  He lands on his back with an over-exaggerated “oof,” coughing up a frizzy curl of my hair.  I tighten my grip on his cheeks, smothering his face in sloppy kisses.

 

“Where have you been?” I ask in my best Umbridge impression.  “Becoming twitter famous?  Without me?”

 

“Gerrof,” he grunts, slapping my hands away.

 

“You’re going to have to work harder than that,” I say, licking his cheek.

 

“OFF,” he groans.  “Bad dog.”

 

I vaguely remember Niall, and the moment I do, my head snaps up to see him closing the door.  Well, he could have said goodbye.  I thought we were getting on well.  Quite well, actually.  And maybe I should try having more than one close mate.  Ah, new resolution!  Thought its not like I need anybody else.

 

“I’m rather offended,” I tease, settling in on his stomach.  I start feeling around his chest, gasping in mock surprise.  “Has Baby Joshua been working out?” I coo, tickling him.  He hates to be tickled.  And touched.  And everything else I torment him with.  “What is this?  A six-pack perhaps?”

 

“Seriously, leave me alone,” he huffs.  “No one likes you.”

 

Little secret for all of you: Josh is much meaner in person.  Really.  He tries to play me off, like he doesn’t actually love me more than life itself.  Usually in front of his mates and slash or family.  But I know how it really is.  He just isn’t a fan of public displays of affection.

 

“Except you,” I grin, ruffling his chocolate brown hair.  He smacks my hand away again.  Since when has he cared about his hair?  “You love me don’t you, Joshy?  That’s why we live together isn’t it, Joshy?”

 

“I told you not to call me that,” he hisses.

 

Even through my blurred vision from awful contacts, I can see his lips twitching.  He’s trying to keep a straight face.  Key word being: trying.  Josh may act like Mr. Tough Guy, but whom is he kidding?  He’s nothing more than a softie inside; you just have to know how to work him.  Chocolate helps.  And peanut butter cups.

 

“Really?  Must have forgotten,” I wink.

 

“And you wonder why you have no mates?” he asks, supporting his weight by leaning on his elbows.

 

“Actually, I don’t,” I shove him on the shoulder.  He pretends like it hurt.  Unless I’m getting stronger… which I doubt.  Try as I might, I have never been able to beat him in an arm wrestling contest.  And I do try.  We used to wrestle on a daily basis, until our mums told us we were too old for that.  Still did it in secret, sometimes.

 

“You look good,” he comments, twirling a lock of my dark brown hair around his finger.

 

“Nope,” I tease.  “You’re looking quite dapper yourself though, young lad.  I saw your brother a few days ago.  Now he is looking good.  What are you parents feeding him?  Hot peppers?  Get it, because he’s hot?”

 

I snort unattractively.  No one is as funny as I am.

 

“I’m being serious, Emory,” he grins. 

 

Josh knows that I don’t take compliments well.  Hate them, actually.  Never quite know if I should say something back, or just say “thank you.”  Like a proper young lady, which I’m so not.  Which is the reason he always gives them to me.  Seriously.  He compliments me only to see me blush and squirm.

 

“Why so serious?” I ask, making my best ‘Joker’ face.  He raises an eyebrow and I sigh, flinging myself completely on him, lying on top of him with my head in his neck.  “You aren’t as pudgy as you used to be,” I complain.  “So not comfy anymore.”

 

“Now I remember why I didn’t miss you,” he tells me.  I pout, even though he can’t see me.  Josh, not missing me?  Impossible.  “You’re so great at making people feel good about them selves,” he says sarcastically.  “It’s a real talent.”

 

“Why thank you, kind sir,” I giggle. 

 

We lay in silence for a moment.

 

“You’re oddly generous today,” he muses.  “Haven’t even yelled at me for forcing you to go on an eight hour flight on such short notice.  Or putting you on the phone with Simon without a warning.”

 

“Or making me ride in the car with him,” I add.

 

Don’t mention how he was checking me out, if I’m not mistaken.  Again, doesn’t seem necessary.  Even though it made me feel a little uncomfortable, I can sort of see why.  Simon is single and clearly has a ‘type.’  Unfortunately, I fit into that category:  Short.  Tan.  In need of rich sugar daddy to straighten me out. 

 

“Right, that too.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t call myself generous.  I expect some major groveling,” I tell him, tapping a finger on my chin.  “And a chocolate cake.  Or two.  And maybe some Reese’s.”

 

“But, but, but,” he protests, “You don’t even like chocolate… anything.”

 

I lift my head up, showing him my huge grin.  “Yes,” I say, “but you do.  And that is why it’s such clever punishment.  You can see me not enjoying your favorite desert.”  I pause, thinking.  “And I want Pokémon cards.  The latest Halo game.  Two light sabers so that we can battle.  Money for my World of Warcraft account.  And…”

 

“There’s more?” he asks, frowning. 

 

“Not yet, but there will be,” I promise, settling back into him.  “There will be.”

 

“I don’t doubt that, love.  Unfortunately.”  He pauses.  “I meant what I said though, Miss Emory Clark,” he shifts around, wrapping his arms around my bare waist.  Curse you crop top.  “You really do look good.”

 

“I know you’re lying,” I smile, cuddling into him.  “But you look good, too.”