how you get the boy

eleven

I woke up the next morning with a pounding in my head as though I hadn't slept at all.

A night of piss-poor sleep had turned the mildly irritating into infuriating, or in another word, I was in a proper sour mood. It didn't help that everyone in the lecture hall was narking me by their inability to keep their mouths shut and that the girl sitting next to me couldn't stop shouting the wrong answers to our professor. Other days I would appreciate her effort, but not this morning. Not when her voice made me want to bang my head against the nearest wall.

As soon as we were told that class was over, I hiked up the strap of my tote bag on my shoulder and made a beeline to the exit. The only thing that I could think of at the moment was how badly I needed a good cup of coffee. And that's why instead of getting it from the campus' cafeteria, I decided to take a ten minutes walk to go to The Cup.

It wasn't until my hand had pushed open the door and I was inside of the coffee shop that I finally remembered why I had avoided coming over here before I went to my first class like I usually did: Harry.

Though I was certain that the two of us had a rather serious conversation last night when I decided to drop by his place, I wasn't entirely sure what it was about, thanks to the alcohol I consumed at the party.

Nevertheless, as soon as my eyes found him, standing behind the counter as he tied his apron, bits and pieces of the words he said to me returned. A part of me wished that I was drunk enough not to remember a thing. Alas, I wasn't and somehow that thought didn't bother me at all.

Colours blooming my cheeks, I ducked my head and was about to turn around and leave The Cup when his voice halted me in my tracks. Instead of calling me with another ridiculous nicknames that he usually made up on the spot, he called me with my real name.

"Tenley? S'that you?"

Shit.

A soft sigh escaped my lips and I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear before I looked up and waved at him, pulling my lips into a smile. "Hi, Harry," I said once I had reached the counter, fingers drumming against my jeans clad thighs. I chose to ignore the way my heartbeats increased when I could smell the scent of him – something fresh, something musky – as he stood in front of me and chose to focus on the list of drinks this place served instead.

"Caramel macchiato?" He asked with a kink of an eyebrow.

I shook my head, "Black coffee, please."

The infamous smirk slowly made an appearance, dimples indenting his cheeks. I hated how that look no longer infuriated me; in fact, it awoke the butterflies inside my stomach, the ones that usually fluttered when Louis looked at me. "Tough morning, huh?"

"Yeah, you can say that," I answered with a nod of my head as I searched for my purse in the tote bag. Just as I was about to hand him my money, he pushed my hand away, shaking his head. "What, you don't want my money?"

He let out a breathy chuckle. "S'on me."

"What?" I gaped at him, to which he chuckled once more. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Despite my frequent visit to this coffee shop, not once had he ever paid for my drink before. Besides, even if he offered, I wouldn't have believed him or taken his offer because I would have thought that he was just messing around with me. "You sure?"

He nodded, shooting me a sincere smile before he walked away from the counter to prepare the black coffee I had asked for. Looking around The Cup, I noticed that the place was slightly quiet and empty than usual. I had grown used to coming over when it was swamped with people – students, mostly – that it was almost strange not to hear the chitter chatter of people around me.