KNOCK OUT [LH]

Chapter 12: 2015 Called...

A sudden jolt wakes me from my nap.

Stretching out my tight arms and legs from their curled up position against my body and beneath my blanket, I wipe away the bit of hair plastered to my face by drool and blink up at the bright blue winter sky, squinting slightly at the fast moving clouds above me.

Now, that doesn't seem right.

It's when I hear the familiar rumble of an old engine, and the muffled voices of One Direction that I remember exactly where I am.

After Luke Hemmings kicked me out of The Rumble last night I, for the most part, followed his instructions: straight to the car, then home.

Except I didn't stay home...

No, instead the second I pulled into my driveway, I texted my parents that I would be spending the night at Calum's, and planned to be back the next day before Christmas Eve dinner. After that, I drove myself directly to Luke Hemmings' apartment complex, where I luckily found his red truck already parked in the lot, so I grabbed a blanket from the backseat of my car and hopped into the back of the open bed trunk.

The boxer had mentioned he had somewhere important to be in the morning, which naturally meant I planned on tagging along; especially with how things went last night--I needed to get our blossoming relationship back on track.

Sitting up, I wrap the blanket tightly around my body and over my head, probably resembling something close to the 80's alien E.T. as I rub the sleepiness from my eyes and inspect the unfamiliar rows of the quick passing, snow covered trees along the icy barren road.

Clearly, we are no longer in Meredith.

Twisting around to peer through the back windshield, I'm ready to make the boxer aware of my presence, but freeze momentarily when I'm met with the cringe worthy sight of Luke Hemmings belting out the lyrics of One Direction's 'Best Song Ever' as he animatedly dances the best he can in the confined space of the driver's seat, throwing his head every which way, allowing his blonde curls to bounce freely around his head.

But knowing the man quite literally listens to Disney Channel bops at the gym, I shouldn't be too surprised by this.

With my palms pressed into the cold glass, I watch Luke pump a fist up and down a few times before doing the unthinkable... hitting the dab.

Oh, the horror.

But he doesn't stop there.

No instead, alternating arms, Luke continues to bust out dab after dab, as if he's some kind of prepubescent middle school boy from 2015.

"Hey!" I shout, frantically beating my fist against the glass in hopes of getting his attention. "Luke!"

But the boxer only pauses his vicious dabbing to reach over and turn the volume up.

With a huff, I tighten the blanket around my body and carefully stand up in the trunk. With one hand securing the warm fabric, the other grips the back of the truck's roof for support. We aren't driving too fast, so I'm pretty sure this is safe. Plus, I've seen people do this in movies loads of times.

What's the difference, right?

Using my free hand to pull myself up onto the roof so that I'm belly down on the cold metal, I army crawl toward the front of the vehicle, while the crisp winter air beats my face, fully waking me from my groggy state.

When I reach the front of the truck, I waste no time to pop my head over the edge, peering inside the front windshield just as Luke Hemmings is about to smash out another dab, only before he can, his twinkling blue eyes dart away from the icy road and upwards toward my face, which is no doubt, beautifully scrunched up in focus as I try my hardest to keep a steady grip on the moving vehicle.