When Zayn's sister, Reyna, decides to move in with her brother, she never expected to be intertwined with his band. But one day when her brothers best friend, Harry, hears her singing and suggests that she be the lead singer of the band, she can't h...
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I'm laying in a bed that feels like a cloud when I wake up. I don't open my eyes though, trying to prolong this comfortable feeling. However, the sharp pain in the front of my head is definitely disturbing me. I open my eyes with a groan, determined to find some type of painkillers. But that's when I notice I have no idea where I am.
The large bed that I am on is not in a normal bedroom, instead it is taking up space in, what seems to be, a studio apartment. From my spot on the bed, I can see a couch and television near the entrance of the space. Off to the side, is a small kitchen which also has a table with four chairs squeezed around it. When I look to my other side, I notice a dresser and small piano.
I sit up on the bed and instantly get a wave of nausea. I hold it back though, as I am not sure where the bathroom is. My legs swing over the side of the bed and my bare feet hit the cold, hardwood floor. I creep around the space and try to find my clothes as all I am wearing is some random big shirt and my lace underwear. It's no use though, I can't find it. I notice that there is a small door next to where the bed was, and as I step closer to it I hear the sound of a shower running.
As much as I would like to know who the hell I went home with, I would also really like to leave. I scan the apartment again and find a shopping bag near the door. I open it up, expecting to see my clothes from last night or mens clothes. It's not mine, but it's definitely women's clothing.
My brain tries to narrow down why this would be and it has come to two conclusions.
One: I'm at a woman's apartment, which isn't likely because I'm straight.
Or two, and the most likely possibility: the guy I slept with has a girlfriend.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," I repeat as I pace around the room.
I contemplate just running out the door in only a shirt when the bathroom door finally opens. I feel my heart drop as I see who walks out.
"Oh, you're awake," Harry says, his long, damp hair making the material of his black t-shirt wet. His legs are covered in soft looking gray sweat pants.
"No," I say mortified.
"You're not awake?," Harry questions.
"Please tell me you don't have a girlfriend."
"I don't have a girlfriend," Harry's eyebrows furrow together.
"Then why do you have a bag of women clothes?," I ask.
Harry walks over to the couch and sits down, "It's for you. Figured you'd want some clean clothes to go home in so I ordered it this morning."
"Oh," I say, slightly relieved, "Thank you."
"Of course."
"Listen," I start, "Whatever happened last night, it can't happen again. Zayn would kill both of us if he found out and it would just complicate things."
