Shift ☆ Louis Partridge

9 | "The Girlfriend"

☆

[y/n]

_

WE'RE GOING TO MAKE COOKIES.

After the sketching by the Thames, Louis came up with the idea to bake desserts because 'he was hungry'—which is a very valid excuse, mind you—so I wholeheartedly agreed. He drove us to his house an hour later, and now I was wandering around his kitchen like a lost puppy.

"I hate you," I sighed dramatically, leaning against the marble counter, "this kitchen is bigger than my entire living room! The audacity."

Louis slid a carton of milk towards me. "Is someone jealous?"

"Totally not."

"Don't lie to me, Tewks," he grinned, "you're easier to read than a picture book."

"And you're just as childish as one."

As soon as my retort left my mouth, I immediately regretted it. Sliding over the stools, Louis somehow ended up right behind me, wrapping his arms to trap me from slipping out of his hold. I could hear him laughing proudly.

"Admit it!" He urged.

I shook my head. "No!"

"Admit that you're jealous!"

"You can't make me!"

There was a pause, where Louis loosened his arms from around my shoulders, but I knew better than to think it was over. That was a rookie move. I'm more proficient when it comes to knowing him.

"Oh, I can," he smirked.

And suddenly, I found myself being dragged towards the door of the kitchen backwards. 

"What are you doing?" I pressed.

He shrugged. "taking you home."

"What? why?"

"Becuase if you won't say you're jealous, you have to go home," he noted devilishly, "I've decided to make that the rule."

"Rubbish!"

"Call it all you want, but you're the one who doesn't get to make cookies."

I wanted to pretend like the denouncement of food wasn't a big deal, but when I thought of Louis getting to bake mouth-watering chocolate-chip cookies by himself, I was filled with newfound rage. No one can rob me of food. 

"Okay, fine!" I gave in, wrestling out of his grip, "fine, fine, fine, I'm jealous of you."

Louis looked far too smug for my liking. "Now, that wasn't so hard to say, was it?"

"Don't push it, Lou," I smirked, "it's not like I envy your every move, I was just wondering how on earth anyone could live in a house as pretty as this."

"Well anyone could live here," he smiled, cocking a brow, "if their last name was Partridge."

I blinked, nearly knocking over the milk carton as I flinched at his words. Thankfully, he was busying himself by searching for a cookbook, so he didn't see my awkward reaction.

Was he flirting with me?

No, he couldn't be.

He has a girlfriend, and I just interpreted his sentence in a more-than-friendly-way because I see him in a more-than-friendly-way. Stop overthinking, [y/n]. That gets you nowhere, and all you should be focusing on right now is the fact that you are about to bake cookies with Louis Partridge.