Two weeks with Mr.Selfish

Part 21

Part 21

It was as if God wanted to play some sort of twisted, sick joke on me. I wanted to regurgitate the warm coffee I’d sipped on with Vic just an hour before, wanted to rip my hair from my scalp, wanted to scream. To cry.

I had no chance to further react to the horrifying revelation presented through neatly-printed ink on the slip of paper before me, however, for the sound of the door at the front of Liam’s apartment echoed between us. Heavy, steady footsteps followed the noise of the door closing and moments later, the Devil himself appeared across the room from his bewildered band mate and myself.

A smile spread across his mouth as his eyes locked on me, and I felt my chest clench painfully as he reached for the expensive, deep red patterned scarf draped loosely around his neck. He pulled the material away swiftly, the motion making a soft swishing noise as he dropped it onto the back of the leather sofa adjacent to him. He then proceeded to unbutton his jacket, sliding it off his arms with ease and dropping it to join the scarf. I closed my eyes tightly, turning away from him as the scent of his pricey cologne wafted into my senses. Even as the rage continued to boil away within my veins, disbelief flooded through my mind as a realization hit me. I was still reacting to the scent of him, the sight of him, the general presence of him being so close to me. My heart still hammered erratically and the ability to breathe comfortably diminished. I hated him – but I was still in love.

“I did the impossible,” Liam spoke as Zayn approached the kitchen. He grinned proudly, nodding at the plate sitting dangerously close to the car receipt I’d discovered just moments prior.

Zayn’s eyebrows furrowed as he narrowed his syrupy gaze at the arrangement of muffins scattered across the ceramic plate. “What are – “

“Muffins!” Liam grinned, clapping his hands together lightly. “I made them! No help at all!”

“No you didn’t,” Zayn murmured, his head shaking slowly as he continued eyeing the muffins with undeniable suspicion. “There’s no way, you can’t even make a bowl of cereal without messing it up.”

“Shut up, don’t be an ass,” Liam snapped, pushing the plate roughly towards his friend. “I did make them, ask Sam.”

My eyes closed again as I attempted to maintain a composed breathing pattern. My fingers were sprawled flat across the car receipt paper, anger bubbling within me as I tried to ignore the fact that the two of them were acting so casual around me. Both knew they were fooling me – lying to me, and Liam especially recognized that I’d been bothered by the revelation of their identities. He knew something was up by the way I’d reacted to finding the paper yet here he was, joking light-heartedly about some fucking muffins he’d probably baked out of a quick-mix boxed good.

And then there was Zayn.

Oh, how there was Zayn.

He’d not only kept it a secret that he was an international popstar, but he’d blatantly lied to my face for the past month about the supposed damages I’d inflicted upon his precious little car.

Seventy-five dollars.

Breathe, Sam, I told myself. Breathe.