The cold London air bit my cheeks as I felt my phone vibrate in my jeans. I pulled it out breathing into my scarf.
"Hey, what up?" I ask my friend Ali.
"What songs did you want in the playlist for the party?" He said bluntly.
"Thanks for asking how in doing. Kay. Well pretty much everything in Made in the A.M. except for Perfect. I don't want that one. I want Perfect by Hedley." I rush as I start to make my way down the stairs in the town square.
"Which ones that?"
"You know. Perfect?" I impatiently ask. The silence on the other end tells me he still doesn't understand.
"Like the one that goes 'Im not perfect but I keep tryin?'"I sing softly.
"Ah, gotcha man. When are you coming? Ive been at the damn theatre for like half an hour yo" Ali says starting to sound annoyed.
"Almost there. See you in a bit" I hang up making my way to the bottom of the steps and on the last step I feel a sharp pain in my ankle.
"ARRG" The most inhuman sound wafts out of my mouth and before I know it Im sprawled out on the snowy ground.
"Shit!" I mutter under my breath. I feel cold ice in my mouth as my face buries itself in the snow.
"Are you okay?" I hear another person with an accent ask. No surprise. They're all British. 'What do you expect your in England stupid. Not Canada.'
"What was that?" The same person asks. Damn. I need to stop talking to myself.
"Uh. Nothin. Its fine I got it. Its all g. " I say still not looking up. I try to stand but end up back on the ground clutching my ankle. Sharp pains shooting up through my leg.
"You sure about that?" He says. I can practically hear him smirk. 'Is that possible?'
I start to look up.
Shit. Is this some kind of game.
Am I being Punk'd?
Not funny. You can come out now. I think looking around.
Brown curls. Green eyes. Slight stubble. And god. That jawline.
Its Harry Fucking Styles.
