Was it All an Accident? (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction, Book Three)

Part Thirty-One: Just Say It Already.

(Caleb’s POV)

Her laughter fills me and it’s like my own personal drug because with it all around me feels like I’m high, not that I know what being high feels like.  Not personally. I promise. Okay, now I’m just sounding weird. Again. Anyway, about her laughter. It’s making me turn into a sloppy mess. The last time I let a girl turn me into a sloppy mess, I made her my best friend. Who still hasn’t called me, but I guess it’s acceptable and understandable considering she’s on her honeymoon right now. I should probably be worrying about college soon, considering I have to go back in a few weeks. This is just amazing.

            On the Brightside? My new girlfriend is attending this one. I won’t have to follow Whytnie around everywhere back in London. I won’t have to deal with her and Harry always all over themselves. Okay, so they aren’t, but still. When no one is looking they probably are. I don’t even want to know what they’re doing right now.

            Instead, I zone back into the girl beside me. She’s rambling on, but I don’t even care what she’s talking about. I just want to hear her talk. “…so then I was like, dude, you didn’t have my back! And he’s like, you’re the one that left your back open to the door for the zombies to come through! I was like, dude, this is a team thing! Can you believe that?”

            I don’t know why, but I did. I laughed. It wasn’t even funny, and I could tell she was upset about it. But she didn’t mind. She started laughing with me. “I know it’s mean, but I mean, come on! It was a team effort! He totally didn’t even have my back!”

            “How many times did you have to save him?”

            “Multiple times!” She was kind of hysteric.

            “And how many times did he have to save you?”

            “Zero!” We high-fived and continued laughing. Instead of putting my arm back down on my side, I stretched it out around her. She didn’t seem to mind. Or pay any attention. Instead she was going off about how much she “owned” last night playing the new Modern Warfare. I laughed and didn’t zone out like I did when other girls talked to me. No, for her, I listened and paid attention to every single word. The way her head tilts when she’s leaning toward me. The way her hair falls to the side when she moves it out of her way. The way her lips turn when she’s telling a story and trying not to laugh. How slowly she blinks when she’s thinking. How she plays with her hands when she’s nervous.

            I never noticed this about her when we were in high school together.

            I guess I never noticed much of anything until I met Whytnie.

            Before? I would just do what I want and when I wanted to do it. I didn’t care about how others felt. I didn’t want to get closer to someone on an intellectual level. I’d date a girl, get what I wanted, and move on. Ignore when they called, ignored them when they’d see me across the halls at school, and ignored them when we accidentally bumped into each other outside of school.

            Now? I’m listening to her stories about the latest Black Ops and how she’s been doing since we last saw each other on graduation day in high school. She’s been doing well, finished up in community college and has worked her way that much closer to her bachelor’s degree in Architecture. She wants to design houses, live in a beach house on the beach, have two children, play COD during her downtime, and own a Jeep Wrangler. Yeah, I could tell you everything about Whytnie too (except what she’s doing at this exact moment, probably too graphic).

            “So, Caleb Ian Mitchell, how long have we been dating?” she asked, leaning in towards me so that I could smell her fruity perfume. She’s like Whytnie in that situation, always going on about how much they hate the smell of actual flowers. Whytnie will at least wear vanilla, but Cori, my new girlfriend (I hope), can’t stand the smell of vanilla. I actually like vanilla.