I stared blankly at the coffee cup in my hands. The TV continued to broadcast the talk show in between obnoxious commercial breaks. My mind was racing; I couldn’t shake the thoughts of him. How did I let it get this far?

-------

I was running late that morning, and had ten minutes to get from my apartment to school, which is normally almost a twenty minute drive. Sitting at the edge of the parking lot to my building, I saw that traffic was awful, as usual, so I decided to speed on the back roads instead. Unfortunately, there are stop signs littered throughout the back roads. The constant stopping and going was driving me insane. At what seemed like the hundredth stop sign, I felt a jolt and my car rolled forward a few feet. My eyes snapped to my rearview mirror where I saw a blue SUV a little too close for comfort. Motherfucker. Emitting a loud sigh, I burst out of my car and stomped over to the driver who was climbing out of his ridiculously expensive BMW X5 M.

“Um, do you not know what a STOP sign is, asshole?” I spat at the blonde chum who had gotten out of the vehicle.

“Sorry, I hadn’t seen it, I guess,” he mumbled in some sort of accent. Great, a fucking foreigner; just what I wanted to deal with right now. He probably didn’t even have insurance.

“Well, mate, here in AMERICA we consider a large red octagon the symbol to hit the fucking brakes.” I knew I was being more malicious than necessary, but this prick was just adding on to my tardiness for class.

“Whoa, simmer down there! I’m sure we can get this all sorted out,” he smirked as he spoke. Simmer down? I was ready to kick this guy’s ass.

He pulled out his Blackberry and began searching for someone to call. While he spoke to said person, I looked around to survey the damage. Eavesdropping on his conversation simultaneously, I could hear he sounded Irish, and by the shamrock tattoo that graced his collarbone, I was going to assume I was right. He wore a gray Commes des Garçons crew neck t-shirt that looked like it had been sent through the wash a few too many times, his jeans were baggy, and on his feet were white Nike high-tops. I rolled my eyes at the frat-boy wannabe and continued to inspect my car. The entire back bumper was smashed in, and my license plate was incomprehensible. That stupid son of a bitch. My job as an athletic assistant was not going to cover this damage. Looking over to shoot Lucky the Leprechaun a death glare, I saw him end the phone call.

“Alright, thanks man. I’ll let you know when he’s here.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at me. He had really nice bright blue eyes – for a pretentious asshole that just ruined my car. “I’m really sorry about this. My manager is calling AAA and they should be here to tow our cars. My friend is coming to pick me up, and we can give you a ride if you want. Oh, and I can pick up the charges for the damage. It’s the least I could do.” He flashed a toothy grin at me. Manager? Okay, this guy was turning into a real piece of work, but I was also taken aback by his offer of paying for my car.

“Uh, okay? Why can’t we just trade insurance information like normal people?” Fucking foreign asshole.

He looked at me, slightly defeated. “Okay, ya got me – truth is I don’t have insurance. I’m here on VISA and opted out of the car insurance plan. Smart decision, huh? Anyway dealing with it that way would just be Hell and a waste of time for the both of us.” I laughed on the inside. I knew he didn’t have insurance.

“Alright,” I began as I started to chew my bottom lip, “well I was just heading to the USC campus up the street. But I can call my friend -- ”

He cut me off. “No, please. I feel downright awful about this, so it’s the least I could do. Everyone is always telling me I’m a bad driver and unfortunately it took me till now to see it. I’m really sorry.” I couldn’t help but slip a small smile. He gave me that toothy grin again and began to examine my vehicle. “Nice Chevy Malibu! I love the green.”

“Thanks, I thought the green was the prettiest.” Prettiest? Seriously? I was starting to sound like a five-year old now. “Um, but your Bimmer is ten times nicer. What year is it?” Shit, a BMW costs a fortune to repair in the U.S. I was actually beginning to feel sorry for this idiot – who despite his awful driving, was actually kind of attractive.

“It’s a 2014, only the best.” His face lit up as he looked at his prized possession. Okay, well there went all my sympathy. Little rich prick, how did he have all this money?

“But it’s not the best anymore now, is it?” I bit my lip as soon as the comment slipped out. His face completely faded. Oops.

Just as I was about to suck it up and apologize, a huge black Range Rover pulled up, blasting Def Leppard. The driver stuck his head out of the window. He was wearing a black beanie on top of his brown curly mop of hair.

“Heard someone needed a lift?” I inwardly groaned. This guy sounded like a Brit, and just as cocky, if not more, than the prick that was standing next to me. Sir Shamrock jumped in excitement and headed for the car. But before eager beaver could get into the passenger seat, I grabbed his arm. He looked at me, clearly expecting me to get into the backseat and not sit there holding onto him.

“Sorry, it’s just…we never even exchanged names.”

“Oh, right.” He opened the back door for me. “What’s your name then?”

“Charlie,” I said, confused as to why he didn’t tell me his name first, seeing as howIwas the one who asked.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Niall.” He stuck out his hand, and from that point on, my life was more fucked than I could ever imagine.