HARRY STYLES
"You're serious? A chocolate milkshake? That's what you choose?"
Camden laughed as she used her small white towel to wipe down the bar. "What's wrong with that?"
"Cam," I pinched the bridge of my nose with a disappointed sigh. "You can only eat that for the rest of your life. For every single meal. You want a chocolate milkshake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?"
She stopped to think about it, then nodded. "Yes."
I shook my head with a quiet scoff. "You're insane."
"Okay, what about you? What do you choose? Onions?"
I matched her sarcastic smile with one of my own. "No, not onions, but that's clever, thank you."
"What's your choice, then?"
With my whiskey raised to my lips, I narrowed my eyes and tried to think about it. She waited for my answer with arched brows and her hands on her waist, wearing much of the same expression that she did when we met.
"I don't actually know."
"Oh my God!" She pointed at me. "You gave me shit and you don't even have an answer to your own question!"
I laughed with her but waited as she acknowledged a guy who came up to place a drink order. He was younger than most of the men that were usually in there, likely closer to our age, and his gaze was positively fixed on Camden's ass in her shorts as she turned to grab a bottle of vodka. I guess it didn't help that she was wearing one of her bra-tank top things tonight either. The outfit promoted stares, which I knew was her plan all along.
"Are you single?" He asked her straight up as she accepted his card.
"I am," she turned to swipe it on the screen and asked him over her shoulder if he wanted to leave his tab open. He said yes with a little smirk on his paper-thin lips.
"Can I have your number, then?"
"No," she answered quickly with a smug smile of her own, and I couldn't deny the immediate relief I felt even if I knew she wasn't saying no for my sake, but for her own. She must not have found him attractive enough.
"Alright, well what's your name?" He unfortunately took the stool next to me, going as far as to set his elbows on the bar so that I had to move mine.
"Camden," she looked away from him to turn to a girl who came up on the other side of me, asking for a vodka soda.
"Where're you from?" He persisted. "Not from 'round here, I'm assuming."
Camden didn't answer him with her back turned, but I did see her briefly roll her eyes through the mirrored wall in front of her. I guess it made me feel good to know that when I hit on her the first time, she didn't have this same attitude. She seemed to be more amused by me than anything else.
"Where did you say?" He asked again.
With a subtle sigh, she said, "I am from the United States of America, the land of the free and home of the brave."
I smiled into my drink at her sarcasm. She told me once that the UK was steps ahead of her own country in a lot of ways, and that she didn't think she would ever move back there after living in England.
"What brings you to London, then?"
"This job," she lied, and he saw right through that one.
"Right," he huffed. "You didn't move here from America for a pub job."
