Just a Roommate (H.S)

Chapter 27

Harry Styles

I tuck my laptop into my book bag, and zip it shut, before slinging it across my shoulder. My eyes felt heavy. I had a long night and I was planning on skipping calculus, but a part of me told me to go just to see her.

I knew she had to be pissed off at me for leaving the other morning. Fuck. I'm such an idiot. 

Why the hell did I tell her I wanted to be more than friends? 

I've been asking myself this question for days. I'm not sure why those words slipped from my mouth. It was the heat of the moment. It was how hot Aria looked that night- that had to be the reason. 

Fuck. 

What is it about her? I could get all the pussy I wanted with the snap of my fingers, but for some reason I wanted her. 

The uptight, privileged brunette with annoying blue eyes who unexpectedly showed up in my apartment. A girl who wore hideous cardigans and jeans my mother would wear. A girl who would rather write her literature paper than party. 

She wasn't my type at all.

I like blondes - always have. I preferred brown eyes on women; I loved the way they turned into a pool of honey in the light. I like it when they're over-confident. Girls who knew what they were doing when we fuck. Girls who aren't scared to have a good time.

But it's the way she instantly folds beneath my touch. The way she moans my name when I just barely touch her core. The way she blushes when I mention anything sexual in front of her. Fuck, I could just look at her in a certain way and those cheeks of her turn a gorgeous scarlet.

It's the way she glares at me when I say something even slightly rude. The way she laughs at the dumbest things, showing off a singular dimple in her right cheek. The way she zones out into her own world during classes. The way she cuddles on the couch and watches annoying shows. 

I walk past my reflection in one of the mirrors in the main lounge and cringe at the stupid smile playing on my face. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I pull my phone out of my pocket, trying to distract myself from my irritating roommate. I reply to a few messages, but ignore the vast majority. Especially those from my dip shit of a father. My thumb hovers over her name, but I refrain myself my clicking it. 

Why hasn't she text me yet? 

By now they always text me. Wondering my whereabouts. Wanting to meet up again. Wanting my attention. Wondering if they were good enough for seconds. 

But she has yet to text me. 

Not once. 

I scowl at my phone. God, she pissed me off. Why couldn't she just text me? Why can't she obsess over me like the others? She plays so hard to get and at this point it is just frustrating. 

A notification pops up and I look down at the screen desperately only to see a text from Bri. Jesus. Not this bitch again. 

From Bri: Meeting up at 7 tonight, right? 

Shit. I forgot about tonight. I wanted to try to spend some time with Aria tonight; makeup some bullshit story of where I was this weekend, have her forgive me, and get her in my bed again. Guess it will have to wait.

I quickly type a reply as I walk outside into the cool October air. 

To Bri: Yes, don't be fucking late this time

I turn off my phone and slip it back into my pocket as I start my walk to my calculus course. I pull out a cartoon of cigarettes from my jacket and use the tip of my thumb and index finger to slide a singular white stick. I don't smoke often. In fact this entire cartoon has lasted me a good month and a half now. But this past weekend has gotten me more stressed out than usual.