You were never one to fall in love. You had never really wanted to. You weren't like every other girl that dreamed of a fairytale ending and a white night to sweep you off your feet because you knew the chances of that were slim.
You were more of a realist in your eyes. You saw things from a nonfictional type of view and you understood people could fall out of love just as easily as they could fall in love.
It just seemed Like a waste of time to you. Time that could be spent making a difference or a change for the better.
Calum, didn't want a relationship for the simple fact he didn't want to deal with everything it came with. He didn't want to handle the tears or the yelling or the late night phone calls. He wasn't good at that kind of stuff and if he wasn't good at it he didn't want to do it.
What he was good at though was charming the pants off any girl. Literally.
When he met you for an interview in your pencil skirt and four inch heels, you're wrist scrawling down notes so effortlessly while you recorded the session, he knew he had to have you.
You weren't as easy as he'd thought you'd be though. He expected a normal girl that swooned at his every move and dropped on their knees to kiss his feet, but he didn't seem to have that affect on you. You didn't druel over the attractive boy and you sure as hell weren't going to get in bed with him. That wasn't what you were like. You were a professional.
A professional that didn't want love in the first place and didn't want to even put herself in that situation.
You were that girl.
Calum didn't like it.
He didn't like the way you didn't blush when he complemented you. Or how you came off as icy and cold when he flirted with you. Or how you snapped back sassy comments when he even suggested anything.
He didn't like you.
But he wanted you oh so badly.
It is human nature to want what we can't have and that was Calum's problem. He wanted you and he didn't like how you knew it and used it against him.
You were always considered a "tease", because you always showed off but never gave a private show. You were provocative but professional. You were everything a guy could want and Calum noticed how you used that to your advantage. How if you wanted the latest scoop all you had to do was "forget" your pantyhose or remove your jacket in front of them and they were puddy in your hands. And he hated how he was the basic guy that fell for it everytime.
He constantly told you what you wanted to hear in hopes you would do the same for him. Only your words would stay private and not go all over a magazine cover. Your words would be for him and only him to hear. They would be full of passion and lust, said in the heat of the moment. They'd be whispered just barely enough for him to hear and the tip of your tounge would barely brush his ear sending a strange feeling down his spine. That's how it was supposed to be.
But that's not how it was, you never told him what he wanted to hear. You never told him anything. It took him months to pry your name out of you. You kept saying you were just a journalist, he didn't need to know your name, but hw didn't care. He wanted to know your name. He wanted to know more than just your name actually. He wanted to know how your body fit with his. How it would feel to have you underneath him. How you would look tangled up in his sheets. But he figured that your name would be a better start.
Finally after his persistent annoyance for your name, you finally gave it to him. "Y/N," you had snapped.
"What?"
