World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

37.0

“No!” I yell, “We didn’t do it! At all, I promise.”

“What did you do then?” he frowns, “Make out?”

“No, we didn’t,” I say but then I stop talking because I might be starting to realize that I’m not as smart as I thought I was.

“Tell me at least you kissed the guy,” he covers his mouth with his hands so he doesn’t laugh.

“Why am I feeling stupid now?”

“Because I think you are, bubu,” he is officially laughing at me. I don’t like this guy.

“But he kissed me here,” I point at my neck, “And then he touched my… you know,” I pout, “And then I kind of touched him like this,” I put my hands on his body but he pushes me.

“Oh no, Harold. You don’t get to touch this masterpiece right now,” he warns me.

“But you said you weren’t mad,” I insist, “I just wanted to show you how it went.”

“Yeah, right,” he smirks.

“It was cheating! Stop saying it wasn’t. I was cheating in my mind!”

“Well, I do it with Brad Pitt in my mind like three times a day but that doesn’t mean I’m a cheater,” he laughs.

“No, but he was close to me and he was touching me and I touched him back. I was seriously considering it and he was so insisting.”

“Where did all this happen?”

“At that square I told you!”

“I knew it!” he points his finger at me, “Why did you even go?”

“Because I’m a bad person. I know I shouldn’t have done it but he offered caipirinha and, for a second, I thought Niall could be there so I did it.”

“You are not that innocent.”

“I’m not,” I sigh, “I was horny. He came up with this theory that being with him was a good idea because it would take sex away from my mind so I could continue my relationship with you.”

“Aw, you talked to him about me?”

“All the time,” I admit, “I told him you didn’t deserve someone like me.”

“Bubu,” he rests his head on my shoulder, “You are so lame.”

“Am I?”

“You are lame and sweet,” he laughs, “That’s why I like you. You are so transparent. I can’t even believe you told me!”

“What? You wouldn’t have told me?” I look at his face.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he turns serious, “I would have talked about it if something happened.”

“You don’t see this as cheating but if someone touches you the way the cutie touched me and if I ever see you touch someone the way I touched him,” my breathing gets heavier just by picturing it, “I’ll lose my shit. Even by just imagining it. I want to punch someone!”

“First: Aw, that’s sweet and second: You gave him a nickname!” he points his accusing finger at my face, “How dare you giving him that nickname? Now I’m pissed. Why is he the cutie? I should be the cutie!”

“No, you are the beauty,” I laugh because I amaze myself with my awesomeness all the time, “Bum, the beauty. Sounds like a Broadway musical.”

“It’d be bigger than The Lion King.”

“Your bum?” I try to hold my laugh, “Or the show?”