Playboy » L.S

Chapter 31

Zayn's pov.

"Ever since Louis came here, the crowd is never as exciting to me," Harry huffs once he enters his dressing room, in which I'm already seated in, eating a small bag of chips that I got from the snack table in the main room. "Like, if he isn't here then I'm barely even excited, let alone focused on any damn thing."

"Dick whipped," I sing, raising my eyebrows at him. He rolls his eyes and throws his bow tie at me.

"I'm taking a shower, asshole. Go break a leg on stage - literally, please," He teases before throwing a towel over his shoulder and entering the bathroom.

Ron peeks his head into Harry's dressing room and then sighs deeply, "I swear, I can never find you guys. Anyway, you're on in five, Zayn, be ready."

I quickly stand and throw the bag of chips down onto Harry's vanity, not bothering to throw them away or anything. I stick my hands into the front pockets of my dress pants, wiping off the crumbs so my hands aren't slippery against the pole.

One more appearance check in the mirror and I'm set, exiting Harry's room and slowly walking down the hall. I don't know why I'm feeling so hesitant - maybe it's because of that Liam guy - but it's strange for me. I don't necessarily enjoy going on stage, but I don't hate it either, so why am I dreading tonight?

I stand behind the curtain with my hands in my pockets, the intro of my song beginning to play: Wicked Games by The Weeknd. Slowly, the curtains begin to rise, and I raise my chin to the crowd that's being revealed one by one.

As I begin walking towards the golden pole, my eyes lock with a certain caramel brown seated in the back row. Liam is leaning back against the seat, his strong arms crossed over his broad chest, that simple little smirk already playing at his lips.

In the middle of our heated stare, I take notice of the song lyrics for some reason:

I left my girl back home,

I don't love her no more.

And she'll never fuckin' know that,

these fuckin' eyes that I'm staring at.

I swallow harshly and tear my gaze away from his, wrapping my hand around the pole and slowly swinging around it, closing my eyes and focusing on the way the crowd begins to erupt in cat calls and whistles.

During the entire fucking song, for some annoying reason I'm unaware of, my eyes keep locking with Liam's. Near the end of my dance, I catch his gaze again, and I'm surprised to see his large hand resting over the crotch of his blue jeans. The sight makes a shiver run down my spine, and it disgusts me how excited I'm getting just by looking at him palming himself. Fuck - I'm straight, damnit! This is complete bullshit.

The second my song ends, I'm practically sprinting off the stage. I barely catch Ron's praise about my dance before I'm throwing open my dressing room door and quickly slamming it shut. I'm breathing heavy, my chest heaving up and down as I press my back against the cool wooden door. 

When I look down, I take notice of the small tent in my dress pants. What the hell? Why am I like this? What in the actual fuck is happening?

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of somebody knocking on my door, my body quickly whipping around. "Who is it?"

Nobody answers - did they leave? I place my hand on the brass knob and slowly turn it, pulling open my door. My eyes widen as Liam lunges forward and places his hands on either side of my face, his lips pressing roughly against mine.

The feeling of kissing another man is foreign and strange to me, but I find myself throwing my arms around his neck and pushing my lips into his. One of his hands leave my face to reach behind him and slam the door shut, secluding us from the rest of the world.