Paired With The Player (Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter Two: Butterflies.

• JASMINE •

"JB?" I question.

He smirks. "Yeah, why not? I mean your first name's Jasmine, and your second is Brooks. It makes sense."

"Okay..."

"Guess what my last name is."

"I know it's Styles." I roll my eyes at him.

"How do you know that?" His smirk grows. He's deliberately trying to piss me off. I should've known. That's why he agreed to actually help me out on this. That stupid, spoiled bastard only wants some fun. You know what? If he wants to play, I will. Bring it on, Styles.

"Let's just start." I don't let the irritation I'm feeling show.

"Sure. What do we need?"

"I'll just get some pencils and stuff."

He nods, bored as I leave the room. Running up the stairs, I take the opportunity of being out of his line of sight to slip the garage keys in my pocket. Why? You'll have to find out.

I grabbed some books, paper, pens and pencils before jogging down the stairs. Harry's slumped in his seat, flicking through channels on my TV with the remote.

I cleared my throat to get his attention. His head swivelled round, eyes locking with mine. I gave him a small smile, holding out the stuff. Neither of us said anything.

He set the papers on the table, skimming through our Science textbook. I drummed my fingers on the table, waiting.

"Can you not do that?" He spoke, clearly irritated. His eyes were glued on my fingers rhythmically moving up and down.

"Do what?" I ask innocently.

"Drumming your fingers. Stop. It's annoying."

I stopped for a second, waiting till his attention was back on the book. Then I started drumming again, this time hitting my nails on the glass of the coffee table to create more noise.

Harry lets out a frustrated sigh, hand slamming on top of mine, flattening it. Ouch.

"Oi!" I grumbled, rubbing my hand. "No need to get physical."

"Then just fucking help me."

"Don't swear." I scolded.

Harry's lips tipped in a smile. "Wow. You're one of the first sixteen year old freaks who don't like swearing. That's good."

Freaks? That stung a little, but I didn't show it. Glowering, I replied, "and you're one of the first sixteen year old douchebags who admire that. That's good."

"Touché." He responds. "But I'm not a douchebag."

"Whatever." I decide to change the subject. "What are you writing about?"

Harry's pen was moving across the paper at an ascending speed. "The Krebs Cycle."

"That's boring."

"That's Science."

I laughed, then paused. Was HE actually working? That's new. Mostly what Harry did in class was daydream, then ask me to explain it. When I was bothered, I did. When I wasn't, I just have him the finger and left him to do it himself. He should pay attention. For once.

I stretched my legs out, waiting for Harry to finish. It was cute the way his pink lips were pursed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Wait, what? He wasn't cute, he was vile. Stupid curls.