The remaining part of Saturday and the majority of Sunday is spent doing homework and trying to not think about Harry. One minute I'm freaking out about him because I simply can't get John's stupid voice out of my head, ominously telling me that I should be wary of Harry and all his mysteries. Then the next minute, despite all my suspicions regarding Harry, I'm gushing over my phone at the cute snapchats he keeps sending me. Why can't this just be simple flirtation where I don't have to worry if Harry is playing me?

That'd be too easy, my subconcious reminds me, and I scoff out loud at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. I should just throw caution to the wind for once and allow myself to have a bit of an adventure with this. Yep, I think that's what I'll do.

When Sunday morning arrives, I struggle to get out of bed to keep writing that damn english essay. I would put it off until tonight, but since I'm supposed to see Harry at around lunchtime, and I don't know what he's planning, I think it best if I do myself a favor and just get the paper over with.

So, after too many undeserved breaks and an entire bag of M&Ms, I finally submit my mediocre essay to TurnItIn and start to get ready for lunch with Harry. He said to dress casually, so I throw on a pair of jeans and nice shirt and try to fix the monstrosity that is my hair. Nothing is really seeming to work for my hair right now, so a french braid it is. After slapping on some mascara and filling in my brows, I get the text from Harry saying that he's here.

Checking myself one more time in the mirror, I walk outside and immediately regret wearing jeans. One would think that afer all this time living in the South that I would learn, but apparently I'm an idiot who wants to impress a boy bad enough that I'm willing to roast alive. It's stupid, but I can't help it.

Harry's truck is sitting outside my dorm, its glossy, black paint shining in the sunlight. Before Harry, I don't think I was ever a huge fan of trucks, but I don't know, seeing him sitting in one makes a redneck truck like this seem like the only car I could possibly want a man to drive. I know, I hate myself too. Harry just looks that good in it.

When I climb inside, Harry flashes that dimpled smile at me that makes my heart flutter. Ugh, why is he so gorgeous?

"You look nice," Harry compliments me, starting the car and driving off.

I laugh, thinking back to the last time he saw me with my hair a mess and the pervious night's makeup smeared across my face, "Thanks, much better than yesterday morning, I hope."

"Oh, definitely," Harry says in a very serious tone that is meant to offend me.

I playfully roll my eyes at him and stare out the window at the moving pavement, "Careful there, you sounded a little too adamant about that one."

A soft laugh falls from Harry's mouth and he glances over at me, "Hey, I think I can give you a hard time about it after you got your makeup all over my clean sheets. I had to wash them again."

"Fair enough," I concede, sneaking another glance at Harry and that adorably amused smile of his. "So, what is that we're doing today?"

Harry grins at me from the driver's seat as we roll to a stop for a red light, "Well, I figured we could have a cooking battle. After you practically couldn't shut up about grilled cheese sandwiches for nearly half an hour the other night, I simply needed to try this supposedly superior grilled cheese of yours... if you're up for it?"

My initial response to this plan is one big hell yes. If there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that making grilled cheese sandwiches is a passion of mine. After years of experimenting with different cheeses and breads, I have undoubtedly created the perfect grilled cheese for any occasion. Of course, my drunk self told all this to Harry the other night. I had forgotten until just now.

"That sounds like so much fun!" My words come out a little too enthusiastically, so I try to conceal my absurd levels of excitement and ask Harry what he means by a cooking battle.

"Well, I like to think that I'm a pretty good cook, so I think we should go to the store, pick out the ingredients, then see who makes a better grilled cheese." Harry then turns his face to look at me directly, a smirk forming on his lips as he speaks, "It'll be all in good fun, I promise, but I must warn you that I will probably win."

Harry winks at me, and I roll my eyes at him yet again, "We'll just have to see about that, Styles. I don't think you realize just who you're up against."

We pull into the grocery store parking lot and Harry shakes his head at me, clearly amused, "Challenge accepted, then. Loser cleans up the kitchen."

Climbing out of the truck, we both approach the store and I turn to him, "What does the winner get?"

Harry thinks for a moment and then a rather mischievious look appears on his handsome face, making him resemble a troublesome schoolboy, "Winner gets to make out with the loser. Now, choose your weapons!"

With that rather shocking final statement, Harry darts away from me and plunges into the many aisles before me; meanwhile, I am left by the automatic doors that keep half-shutting then opening again because I'm still standing there. With my mouth literally wide open, I kind of just stare at the mango display as I try to process what he has just said to me. I guess that either way, Harry and I are going to kiss again at some point today so I'm really just freaking out a little bit. I mean, I've obviously kissed him before, but the thought of doing it again both terrifies and excites me.

Suddenly, I realize that I'm supposed to be finding ingredients for my grilled cheese, so I run off in a random direction just hoping to find bread at some point. I've never been in this store before, so this might take a while.

Luckily, it only takes me about fifteen minutes to find all that I need, so I make my way to the front of the store and stand in line to check out. Moments later, Harry giddily joins me, holding a plastic bag full of his ingredients.

He looks down at me and laughs, "Is that fucking pancetta?"

"Yeah, so?" I stare at him, hoping that he's intimidated by the sophistication of my food choices. Harry may think he has a chance at winning this thing, but he is about to be very disappointed.

Harry shakes his head, and I notice his eyes glancing down to his bag in a rather concerned manner, "Nothing... I just– you weren't kidding about the grilled cheese thing."

With a smirk and rather dramatic step forward, I place my items on the conveyor belt, "Grilled cheese is not game to me, Styles."

After the clerk finishes ringing up my food, I take out my card to pay, but before I can swipe it, Harry swipes his own and smiles annoyingly at me, "Nice try."

I would be frustrated by this obvious display of masculinity or whatever, but you know, free food is free food, so I really can't find it in me to get mad at the patriarchy just now. At this thought, I realize that Harry has essentially tricked me into making him a sandwich. How sexist... is what I should be thinking. Unfortunately though– and ladies, don't get mad at me– all I find myself thinking is how thoroughly I enjoy making sandwiches, so I really can't even get mad at that either. Smooth move, patriarchy, you've got me cornered.

Harry tries to carry my bag to the car, but I refuse and sprint there without him so he can't try and take it from me. I realize he's just trying to be a gentleman, but the sandwich thing is making me think a little irrationally at the moment.

After what seems like ages, Harry finally reaches the truck and unlocks it, shaking his head and softly laughing at my rather childish outburst. He puts on some Rolling Stones music and we're off to his apartment to compete in a rather aggressive cooking battle.

As we're standing in the kitchen side-by-side and assembling our masterpieces, Harry absolutely refuses to let me see what he's doing. To enforce this no-looking rule, he sets up a wall of cereal boxes so that I can't see his side of the counter. How childish.

As I'm grating my cheese and buttering my bread, Harry keeps intentionally bumping into me with his hip. By the ninth time, I'm no longer laughing about it. He's not being cute, he's sabotaging my sandwich and that is one thing I absolutely do not tolerate. I'm just kidding, he is being cute, but still, the sandwich thing is relevant too.

Finally, after several jabs at each other's cooking skills, one too many singalong anthems on the stereo, and a shit ton of cheese, we are both finished with our over-glorified culinary creations.

With two plates sitting in front of each of us, Harry forces me to go first and says in his best "Chopped" announcer voice, "Chef Camryn, what have you prepared for us today?"

Laughing at his ridiculousness, I decide to play along and respond in the best cheery and professional chef tone I can muster, "Today, I have made a grilled cheese with a bit of a twist. It has smoked Gruyere with aged parmesan, as well as a few pieces of Italian pancetta. The bread is an artisan sourdough, accented with butter and a touch of garlic."

I grin contentedly at my grilled cheese and then look to Harry, who appears to be holding back the biggest smile, "Chef Harry, what have you prepared for us today?"

Harry takes a deep breath and can barely contain his laughter as he describes the sandwich he believed would beat mine, "Here we have white Wonderbread with Kraft singles.. and butter."

I bite the inside of my cheek and try not to laugh, "Shall we judge, then?"

"Yeah," Harry's voice comes out higher than usual and his eyes widen in embarrassment.

"I mean, yes," he says, deepening his voice to be way lower than it should be. "Ladies first."

With that, we both pick up my grilled cheese and begin the taste test. I'm not gonna lie, my sandwich is just as good as I remember, maybe even better. The nutty flavor of the cheese with the saltiness of the meat is just a perfect combination, and I think that Harry is thinking the same thing.

"Oh shit," Harry gasps after taking his first bite. He stares at the sandwich in his hand then glances down to his sad creation for just a moment. "Yeah, we're not even going to try mine. This is amazing."

I laugh, picking up his version of the sandwich and observing the nice, crispy edge, "I'm sure yours is good. See, it has a very notable crisp-factor."

As I am about to take a bite of his sandwich, he snatches it from my hand and throws it in the sink.

"Nope, that's an embarrassment to my good name. You're not allowed to try it," he says adamantly, taking another bite of my creation. "You already won."

I look at him in dismay for just a moment before just giving up and eating my sandwich. Mine is probably better than his anyways.

"So," Harry says, tossing his napkin in the trash can. "I guess I'm the loser then."

Oh no. Suddenly, I am reminded of what Harry said about the winner of our little game making out with the loser. The cocky expression on his face tells me he's thinking of exactly the same thing.

"I guess you're cleaning the kitchen then," I sigh teasingly, trying my best not to concede to his attempt of making me nervous. I mean, I am really nervous, but he doesn't have to know that.

Harry stands from his seat at the counter and comes to stand beside me. With his face mere inches from mine, I feel my breath hitch in my throat as he so huskily whispers, "Yes, but you're the winner, and now you get to claim your prize."

•••

Lol so today at work, this kid asked me if he could play this game in the pool, but I had to tell him no bc of how many people were there. So, in a very relatable response, the kid walks away and screeches at the top of lungs, "I am... DEPRESSED!" and then continued to sit on the side of the pool and stare at the water, I laughed so hard lolol

Sorry bout that annoying story.. also, the video at the beginning is the song I sing whenever I make grilled cheese so enjoy

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-Kate