Oh, That Frat Boy! (H.S.)

Chapter 3: My Friends are Leprechauns

It's been a couple weeks since I've seen Harry around. There would only be rare times when I would see his skinny jean clad butt walking around the school and I would duck behind Bart to avoid any contact.

Or there would be times when he would make my life a living hell.

Like today.

I work as a tutor in my college library and get paid pretty well. Having a good knack for history, math, all those subjects with -ology in them, as well as a good recommendation from my sociology professor landed me this job. Other than in school tutoring, I did private tutoring for a higher rate.

Get the mind out of the gutter. Don't bullshit me, it went there, didn't it?

On this lovely October day, I was tutoring a girl who had a particularly low attention span when it came to trigonometry.

And my patience was running low.

"Seriously, I just explained to you that the inverse of sine is cosecant, " I said, staring at the girl, annoyed beyond belief. " I also told you to come prepared for tutoring or I won't be able to help you."

The girl huffed, beginning to twirl a strand of red hair around her finger.

"I really hate whoever made math," she grumbled.

I rolled my eyes. "I doubt he'd be a fan of yours either, but who am I to say that, eh?"

The girl looked outraged.

Before she could reply, my boss beat her to it.

"Davenport! Get over here!" A young woman, Jesse, called me. She had a short blonde bob and always dressed as if she's from the 60s.

Happily, I walked over to her small desk, skipping a bit. Anything to be away from that girl.

"What's up?"

Jesse sighed. I could hear irritation in her tone. "There is a young gentleman here who said he requires private tutoring in liberal arts. And he specifically asked for you by name."

She jabbed her thumb towards the door. Turning my head, I felt my stomach drop.

Oh sweet Jesus, no.

Harry Styles stood in the doorframe, tattooed arms crossed over a halfway buttoned black button down, boot clad feet crossed in those skinny jeans. Good god, can his family jewels even breathe in those pants?

Oh, and of course, he was smirking at me.

"Hey, Harry!" I turned to see my pupil call to the toolbag by the door, waving her hand flirtatiously at him.

Sorority chick. Of course.

"Hey, Beth," he called back, his eyes not straying from me. "Can I talk to you, Soph?"

Turning to Jesse, I grumbled, "Dismiss her, I'll deal with him."

With a strong glare at him, I approached Harry.

"What do you want, Styles?"

Harry made an innocent face. "I need some tutoring in history."

"Bullshit."

"Kitty has claws," he smirked, re crossing his arms. It gave a nice view of the butterfly tattoo on his abdomen.

Wait, what?

"Yeah, and I'm about to scratch that smirk off your face if you don't stop bothering me at work," I grumbled. Beth walked by us, her hand brushing Harry's upper arm. He looked after her, eyes wandering to her legs.