alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

2.0 ➢ Stalker.

"How did you get my number?"

I try to ignore the smirk on his face and the slow, careful way that he turns the pages of the book in his hand. Yet it's difficult for me to process anything other than Luke's smug expression, for he's made it painfully obvious that he isn't going to be giving me a straightforward answer anytime soon.

"Luke,"

I might as well be calling him Ashton at this rate, maybe even Calum. He's not moving and the only few gestures he cares enough to make is with the pen in his right hand, highlighting a sentence or two every now and again.

"Luke!"

"You know, the more you say it, the more he's just going to ignore you," Sadie calls from behind the counter, spritzing the marble with a bottle full of liquid before wiping it down with a yellow rag. I groan, folding my arms.

"Oh, no," she chuckles, watching me with a raised eyebrow, "Don't do that,"

"What?"

"It'll fuel him on,"

"Is somebody about to throw a tantrum?" Luke's voice pipes up, and my gaze is directed back to the smirk on his lips and the way he's now gesturing towards my stance. I consider unfolding my arms just to prove a point, but don't in fear of caving in. "You might as well stomp your foot and let out a little scream while you're at it,"

"You're such a-"

"Careful. He's got a thing for brats," Sadie chuckles, somewhag merrily, somewhat warningly. As Luke settles on silence, I watch as she disappears behind the kitchen doors the frown on my face settling.

It's an odd comment, jarring, but it doesn't stop me from doing the only damn thing that seems to come to mind.

I plop myself down on the spare beanbag right next to him, folding my arms to further fuel my act of stubbornness. And I can't tell whether I've just made a big mistake or a very great one.

"You know, it's a little weird how you just got my number like that," I note, scoffing, hoping to get to him in a way other than begging for the information. He doesn't avert his gaze at all; Rupi Kaur has his full, undivided attention still. "A little stalkerish."

I'm speaking nonsense, reciting rubbish. Luke Hemmings has, by far, some of the best connections in all of New York— to think that he isn't beyond capable of obtaining a simple thing such as my phone number would just be foolish.

He knows that I'm not making any sense too and I can tell, for although his expression stays blank, his lips stay in a tight, upturned curve. A smirk that's initially a smile, but coming from him, it's definitely more on the smug side. I'd give anything to wipe it away.

I should probably get out of his face, stop bugging him for a little while. I highly doubt that he wants me pestering him for however many minutes I decide is enough until I get bored. But there's something about his everpresent, cocky expression and the twinkle in his eyes that convinces me that maybe, just maybe, Luke doesn't mind me much as he claims to.

Not that I care, obviously. I don't.

I'd probably still try to irritate him even if he had a plethora of threats coming at me from right and left.