sharkbait \\ h.s

1

(disclaimer: this book is a work of fiction. characters, names, events, and places are from my imagination; any similarities between these ideas and ideas portrayed in other media are coincidental. harry styles is not connected to the character he is in this book. the ideas for this story are mine, so please do not steal or plagiarize them. be aware that this book contains language, along with sexual themes later on.)

My sandwich drips with melted cheese, making me gag. Didn't I tell the waiter the first time that I didn't want cheese?

All of me wanted to call back the waiter, like asking for a new sandwich without cheese wouldn't be so bad, yeah? But none of me did. None of me wanted to be in this restaurant in my condition, let alone inviting a staring fest over to my table.

I felt my fathers eyes on me. "Cal?" He says. I don't respond. "Cal, you okay?"

I mumble back an "mhm" because I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to look at him. He's too old and his shirt is probably wrinkly and if I were to even take a single glance I'd be up and out of this restaurant.

"Cal."

"Cali." I meet my eyes with his for the first time since he picked me up from the airport. His eyebrows scrunch. "Why do you call me 'Cal'? I never told you to call me that."

"I didn't realize-"

"Yeah, clearly." I have to look back down; he looks like a bulldog. "But you should've."

For a minute it is silent, which part of me appreciates, but the other part wants him to say something, even if I'll just end up blowing him off again.

It's hard, though, to be here with him, to be here at all, really, but with him especially. He looks sad all the time, which I guess makes sense after what happened, but it's been three years. Wouldn't any normal person be over it by now?

"You should eat."

I lean forward and point at my plate, looking at him again. He still looks like a bulldog, but he's my dad after all. "I don't like cheese." Which you should know, I feel like adding.

"Well then..." He lifts his nub before I can protest and within seven seconds there is a tall-- and attractive-- waiter standing too close to me. "Harry!"

Obviously he's been here plenty of times.

"Hey, Mick," the waiter-- Harry says.

"Cal- my daughter here doesn't like cheese, yet there's some on her sandwich. You wouldn't mind..."

Harry nods before taking away my plate and disappearing into the crowd of people I hadn't noticed had formed. I find myself happier for a moment, but it is cut short when I catch my dad looking at me again.

"Can you stop staring at me?" I snap.

"Sorry."

I sigh. "Look, okay, I know you still feel bad about what happened, I get it, but I'm not dead, so please, while I'm here, try not to look at me like I've grown an extra head." I look at the floor again-- I have to admit I am growing quite fond of the shiny hardwood-- right as a pair of large boots pop into my view. I snort accidentally.

"A new pastrami sandwich, sans cheese, for the lady."

Studying him is probably a really bad idea at the moment, but I do it anyways. To say he is beautiful would be the understatement of the century. His jawline is sharp and his hair is pulled back in a ponytail with a braid weaved back with it along the side. It's this weird, kind of hippie energy that was drawing me in, and I had every intention on letting it happen.