The air between us is so still, I almost forget to say anything at all. Thankfully, the back door opens and a thirty-something-year-old man stands there, so I don't have to say anything.

"Come on, Styles. Get in here," the man says, and 'Styles' follows his command by stepping away from me and towards the door. Without thinking, I follow him into the building and the man holding the door rolls his eyes at me. What is going on? Why is 'Styles' leading me in and out of back doors? Is this one of those super cliche moments where I just so happened to meet the owner of the bar? God, I hope so. He'd be loaded if that's the case.

While my brain goes down an absolutely insane rabbit hole of possibilities that will never be true, we walk through the store room and out to the floor. I immediately see that I am right in my assumption that this is the bar I had been eyeing earlier. There are three pool tables in the back of the large space and there is a stage against the left wall, though it appears to be empty at the moment. Opposite the stage is the bar, at which there are conveniently two open stools. As we make our way to the bar, I can't help but notice how much more pleasant this place is than the last. The chatter is quiet and the music is– for lack of a better word– chill. The lighting is low and the people here are significantly less sleazy, save for myself in my scrap-of-cloth outfit that somehow passes as a dress.

When we approach the bar, the man in the gold, silk shirt slides the stool out for me and he takes a seat in the one beside it. I sit down and adjust my dress for the millionth time.

"About those drinks," he says expectantly with a cocky grin plastered across his face. It's in this moment that I notice the dimples that pop out at the corners of his mouth, and I can't help but blush because of how damn attractive this guy is. His stupid beautiful face is distracting me. I pull myself out of my probably creepy stare and fully process his words. Drinks? As in, plural?

"Whoa, I said I'd only buy you one," I counter, crossing my arms in front of me and putting on my best attempt at an intimidating expression. I've been told my bitch face is my most effective talent, so hopefully, I don't look too stupid.

He laughs, leaning his elbow on the bar and propping his head up in his hand. As he does this, a clump of his brown curly hair falls over one of his eyes, but he takes no notice, "You nearly tackled me twice, so that warrants two drinks."

I scoff at him as the bartender walks up to us and asks us what we want. With a roll of my eyes, I sigh, "Give him whatever he wants. I'll have a water."

He groans beside me, "Oh, don't be boring. Get something on me."

I contemplate his offer, though it seems like a bad idea. One drink won't impair me enough to where I can't drive, and besides, I'll have the water with it. Fine, I shall do this thing, but I shall be careful about it. Clearly, I have a wonderful way of maintaining my resolve.

"Fine. I'll have a shot of Red Stag and a water," I say confidently, looking at the grinning idiot next to me. He nods in approval and orders 'my usual, John.' I guess he comes here a lot if he has a usual and he's allowed to use the back door. When the bartender walks away, he grins at me again. "What?" I ask, a little irritated that he keeps staring at me.

"Nothing, I just didn't take you for a shot person," he shrugs, turning his body to face me.

"Oh?" I raise one eyebrow at him and turn myself to to face him too. "And what kind of person did you take me for?"

"Well, given your attire, which is lovely by the way," he smiles, for the first time actually looking at my exposed chest, "I would have assumed you liked to get drunk on wine or margaritas or some girly drink like that."

I clench my teeth at his boldness, but decide to not reprimand him for it. With how low-cut this dress is, I'd be shocked if he didn't look. The bartender returns with my shot and a glass of dark liquid. I swear if he's a scotch drinker, he's the most predictable person in the world.

"Well, I used to like those kinds of drinks, but I find that shots are much more effective in getting the job done," I say, taking the small glass in my hand. He raises his eyebrow at me and nods hesitantly before picking up his own glass.

"Here's to getting the job done then," he says with a smile, raising his glass to clink with mine before taking all the dark liquid in his mouth and swallowing. I do likewise and try not to make a face at the foul-tasting drink as it slides across my tongue and down my throat. Placing the glass on the counter and dabbing at the corners of my mouth, I look up and see that he is watching me yet again. "Impressive," he says with a soft laugh. "You didn't even make a face."

I look on the counter for my water, but it is nowhere to be found. It is in this moment that my cover will be blown because my mouth feels like it's on fire, and I'm honestly prepared to be a wimp about it.

"Yeah," I say hesitantly, already readying myself for this guy's torment. "I wish I were cool enough to not need a chaser, but I'm dying inside right now." As I expected, he laughs at me and waves over the bartender to request my water.

"So," he says, watching me drink the water eagerly like the child that I am. "Now that we can actually hear each other, I think it's about time we catch each other's names, yeah? I'm Harry, and you are?"

"Camryn," I say, darting my eyes away from his handsome face as I continue sipping the water.

"Camryn," he says with a smile. "I like that name." The way he says my name somehow makes the name sounds sexy, though it never has before. I hate myself, but I'm a sucker for British accents so this situation is becoming increasingly dangerous for me. Why dangerous? Well, I won't be able to say no to him.

"Thanks," I mutter, unsure of what else to say. I suppose I could ask him about why he's so well-versed in the back doors of this area. "So, are you here a lot then? I don't know many people who have a usual at bars around town."

A playful smirk graces his pink lips and he seems to move closer to me, "Are you asking me if I come here often?" His voice is low, very much like it was earlier when his face was so close to mine. My heart begins to race as I keep my eyes locked on his. I don't think I've ever seen someone look so intense yet so inviting all at once. It's a good thing I'm never going to see this guy again because I can just tell that he would be some serious trouble for me if I did.

"I– I guess I am," I reply, trailing off at the end. What even does one say to something like that? Im no good at flirting so that's not an option. I guess I shall have to stick with my classic move: being awkward.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but he is cut off by a man wearing a suit, "Styles, you gotta go."

Harry looks at him and frowns, "Yes, sir. I'll be right up." The man nods curtly and walks away; meanwhile, Harry curses under his breath and looks up at me. "I'm really sorry, but I have to go. Do you want me to walk you back?"

Confused, I shake my head, "No, I'll be fine. Thank you, though." He stands up from the bar and I do the same, taking out my wallet to pay for his drink. He stops me by putting his hand over mine and I shamelessly shiver under his touch.

"No," Harry looks me in the eyes, "You can buy next time." Next time? I wouldn't say that I don't want there to be a next time, but I also wouldn't say that having a next time is a good idea. Either way, I have just confused myself and am yet again at a loss for words. "Do you have the Snapchat?" he asks, completely serious.

At this, I laugh in his face, "The Snapchat? How old are you anyway?"

A bit of color fills his cheeks, but his confident composure is nonetheless maintained, "Hey, I'm not that old. I'm only a senior. You're lucky I even have a Snapchat."

A senior? A hot, British senior who wants my Snapchat? What even is this night?

"Oh, so now I'm lucky to have met you, then?" I attempt to tease him, but my comment seems to only inflate his ego. Classic. This happens every time, only this time, I don't really mind. He's too hot for me to care about my dignity all that much.

"Oh, I definitely think so," he hums, biting his bottom lip and moving his body to be closer to mine. Again. Again. That's, like, the third time. "So, do you have the Snapchat or not?" At this point, I can't even laugh at him for his wording. His interest in me has blinded me in all ways, so making fun of him is not exactly at the top of my to-do list.

"Yes," I sigh, taking out my phone. "I do have the Snapchat."

"Good for you. I'll see you around, Camryn." Wait, what? I watch in complete dismay as he turns and walks away from me. He goes behind the bar, whispers something to the bartender who rolls his eyes, then walks out through the same door that he led me through when we arrived. I am left standing there confused, somewhat humiliated, and did I mention that I am entirely confused? What the actual fuck? Who does that? Who asks for a girl's Snapchat, then walks away before attaining said Snapchat? Apparently, this guy. What an asshole. I can't believe he wasted my time like this. More importantly, I can't believe I let him waste my time like this.

I have to make a conscious effort to close my mouth before turning to leave the bar. But, before I can make it past the last bar stool, I hear the bartender calling after me. By name. What the fuck?

"Camryn," he calls, evidently annoyed. Unsure of what the hell is happening, I turn around to face him and see that he is holding a napkin which he seems to want me to take. "You forgot this," he mutters lazily as he hands the napkin to me. With that, he walks away and I am left holding a napkin with a bunch of scribbled writing on it.

"Meet me here on Friday at 9. You won't regret it.
H. x"

•••

Lol yeah, if a boy did this to me I'd probably cry then pee my pants

-Kate🖤