World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

32.0

“Não falo Inglês,” she answers rudely. Whatever she said, she is not willing to give me an answer so I walk a few steps away from the crowd. Still not crying hottie around.

“I saw him,” an American accent calls my attention and I turn around to find something very interesting in front of me. The Hottie Reloaded. Wait, it gives me anxiety to use the same nickname on two people so I should come up with something else.

“What you looking at?” He talks again and I realize that I’ve been just staring at him for the past few long seconds.

“Um, nothing,” I stutter, “Did you see him? Where?”

“The one who was running away from a monster or something?” he smirks.

“Yup, that one,” I smirk back. Why am I trying to flirt? Don’t flirt now, Harold, don’t flirt.

“He went that way,” he points to the left, “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” I frown, “He just,” I try to find words but this guy’s good looks are kind of hypnotizing me.

“Were you two on a date?”

“No, hell no,” I snap, “I have nothing to do with him.”

“Is he your ex?”

“Nope,” I know I should be trying to find Niall but I can’t move away from this guy. Why is my mind blank? I need a nickname. What’s wrong with me today?

“Okay,” he starts the walk towards the direction where he said the hottie went, “He is not your ex and he is not your date. Are you just friends?”

“Kind of,” I walk next to him, “Why are you walking with me?”

“I don’t want a guy like you walking alone at night,” he smiles charmingly. And I thought he was good looking before, God, you should see him smile. “I’ve heard bad things about this city. I don’t want you to get raped or anything, that’d be a shame.”

“Nice one,” I’m still flirting and I don’t even know why.

“So he’s not your ex, he’s not your date and he is kind of your friend,” he takes a while to think, “Are you two somehow romantically involved?”

“No!” I yell, “We are not involved like that.”

“Hey,” he stops the walk, “I’m just trying to figure out whether you are gay or not. Help me out,” he laughs and there it is, God’s smile in the flash.

“Oh, so that’s what it is?” I act all charming and flirty. Someone needs to punch me in the face.

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“I’m slow when it comes to these stuff,” I lie. I’m faster than freaking Messi with a ball.

“Gay or not?” he insists, “We’ve walked for more than a block already. I need to go find someone else if you are straight.”

“Um, someone sounds needy tonight,” I tease.

“Well, what can I say? It’s something about the Brazilian weather or I don’t know but I’ve been horny since I landed here,” he admits.

“Too much information, dude,” I try to stop staring at him and I focus on the surroundings. Where the hell is the Irish fag?

“Okay, gay then,” he laughs, “You would have punched me already if you were straight.”

“True that,” I say without giving a confirmation. I might have started to come to terms with my sexuality but I’m not ready to admit it to random sexy guys I meet on the street.