Putting on a Show (L.S)

Chapter 10

Needless to say, I'm very close to using either the pool stick in my hands or the vase in the corner of the room to hit Harry with, because he's getting on my nerves more than usual.

And not just because he's ahead of me, rather close to winning.

"I don't get you, Styles," I say, at a tone somewhere between a mumble and my normal pitch.

"Well, you haven't exactly taken the time to," he muses, leaning over the pool table slightly to angle his shot.

"Well, yeah, because I don't like you."

"Could I ask why?"

"I mean, it's simple, really," I shrug, cursing under my breath as he successfully makes his shot.

"Go on then."

"Well, for starters, your music."

He raises an eyebrow, standing up, no longer leaning over, and is looking at me, as if telling me to go on. "What's wrong with my music?"

"It's so, just, weird. Some is sad and some is stupidly annoying-"

"So you've listened to my music enough to decipher that?"

I narrow my eyes, "Don't get ahead of yourself."

He holds his hands up in defense, "My bad. So, what else about me is so hard to get, so I can break it down for that small brain of yours."

"First of all, ouch. But, just, you in general, stuck up with your career and all the money you make, I'm sure. Plus, there's no way you're actually a nice guy. I mean, we haven't even had a proper conversation- that one of us has enjoyed, I mean."

"How am I suppose to have a conversation with a guy who thinks so poorly of me?"

I tilt my head slightly, "Fair."

"I'm a fair man, Louis. You aren't. It's simple, really."

I roll my eyes, stepping aside so he can walk around the table to make another shot, this time hitting the cue ball slightly off angle and the ball he was aiming for misses the hole by a mere inch.

"And by the way," he adds, "I'm not one of those stuck-up celebrities, I think of myself as a nice person. You might not, but that's alright."

"Yeah, whatever," I mumble.

The game continues, Harry being a lot better than I had anticipated, and he's also quite competitive.

I figured he's really set in winning this bet that we have going on for this game.
But, I did notice how every time he passes me, his hand would brush against mine, or he'd make our shoulders bump.

I was not going to admit, at least not aloud, that my face felt hot when he did.

"You're up," he mumbles, motioning to the table.

"Didn't realize," I mock, slightly leaning against the table and angling the stick to make the shot.

I grin as it goes in, and so I find my next shot, which I also make.

Harry rolls his eyes as I look at him smugly after making a third ball in, and I frown as I miss on my next shot.

But at least now I'm winning, not only the game but our little bet.

Now Harry is up, and I narrow my eyes at him as he makes one in, and then another, and then trick shots it- making two in.

"Styles, what are you doing?" I ask, my eyes still narrowed at him, hoping to practically burn holes through him.