~Cassidy~

“Come on in,” I forced a smile the next afternoon, as Mr. and Mrs. Jansen stepped through my door. Their heads craned up to look around my house, and I smirked—they’d already been in here countless times, so why did they always act like it was a new experience? Granted, I was at their house far more often, but still.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Mrs. Jansen gushed, and I snorted, amused by how sweet she was.

“Mrs. Jansen,” I began, smirking good-naturedly at her, “I enjoy spending time with you guys,” I craned my neck to look behind her at Mr. Jansen, and flashed him a thumbs up sign, “And Mr. Jansen. Baseball game on today. Rays versus Orioles.”

“See Poppy?” Mr. Jansen shook a finger at his wife, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled, “This is why I love her.”

I grinned widely and Mrs. Jansen let out a small giggle. Mr. Jansen just chuckled as they both slipped off their shoes.

“To the living room?” I assumed, smiling. Mr. Jansen nodded enthusiastically, making me laugh. The three of us made our way into the living room, and Mr. Jansen sat down on the couch.

I sat down beside him and Mrs. Jansen sat beside me. I reached for the remote and flicked on the TV, proceeding to change it to channel twenty-two. The game was already in session, top of the first inning, and Tampa Bay was already in the lead, with one run being scored. Mr. Jansen and I whooped and focussed all of our attention on the screen.

Then I remembered that I was being impolite, and I made a disappointed sound at myself, turning towards the woman on my right, “Mrs. Jansen, I’m so sorry, I’m being rude. Can I get you a coffee?”

Mrs. Jansen beamed up at me, “That would be lovely dear. Two creams and two sugars please.” I nodded and turned towards her husband, whose gaze was fixated on the television as Nelson Cruz came up to bat, “And you, Mr. Jansen?”

“What?” he looked up at me blankly, which made me chuckle, “Oh, just a black coffee for me, my darling.”

“Alright then,” I nodded and ducked my body as I passed in front of the television screen, not wanting to annoy Mr. Jansen. I walked into the kitchen and exhaled, grateful for my neighbors. They took my mind off of other things that were bothering me, but now I was alone again, and I couldn’t stop my thoughts from steamrolling.

Why had I even almost let him kiss me? I hated him. I hated him so fucking much. But drunk Harry had been so sweet and cute, and my thoughts had been all jumbled, not knowing what to do or what to believe, so I’d simply gone with the first option, not bothering to think shit through.

Yeah, that turned out so well for me.

And then he’d rejected me. He’d actually fucking rejected me. I remembered the feeling of last night, the drop in my stomach that I’d felt, feeling as though I couldn’t breathe, as though I was drowning all over again. I couldn’t think about anything else other than how close—how fucking close—we’d been, and it had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

I honestly still couldn’t believe it had happened.

I pulled out two mugs and grabbed the instant coffee from the cupboard. I put the small packet in the machine and turned it on, setting one mug under the dispenser and waiting.

I’m stupid. I’m so utterly, absolutely fucking stupid. This is what I get for beginning to develop mixed feelings about Harry. I’m done with that. From now on, I hate him. I hate him with a passion that can’t even be explained, and I’d be wasting my breath if I tried. Things were supposed to be this way, fuck; he pulling away was a sign, wasn’t it?

The first mug was full, so I switched it out and replaced it with the second.

As little droplets of coffee sluggishly dripped into the ceramic container, I pulled the cream out from the fridge and the sugar from the pantry, adding two spoonful’s of sugar and two of cream, deciding that this would be Mrs. Jansen’s cup.

I couldn’t help but to wonder why he couldn’t kiss me, though. But I can’t…the words rang in my ears. I’m sure he simply meant it in the metaphorical way: we were supposed to hate each other; we couldn’t go around acting like this. But a small part of me wondered if there was more to it. I just didn’t know anymore.

“God,” I breathed, just as the machine beeped to alert me that the second mug was full.

I left that one as it was—Mr. Jansen wanted simply black—and walked back into the living room, grasping the necks of the two cups. I smiled as I re-entered, even though it was totally fake.

“Here you go,” I told the elderly couple, handing them each their own mug. They both thanked me, and Mr. Jansen sipped his coffee calmly, still focussed on the screen.

“What’d I miss?” I asked, easing back into my previous position on the couch. Mrs. Jansen just shrugged, smiling at me, which I returned. Mr. Jansen, on the other hand, spoke intently, his eyes never wandering from the television.

“Cruz hit a double. Machado hit a single. But we struck out Pearce and then got a double play, so it’s top of the second, still one-nothing.”

“Sweet,” I whistled, leaning back on the couch. Just then, the doorbell rang, and I groaned dramatically, “Can I ever catch a break?”

The Jansens laughed at my over-exaggeration and I stuck out my tongue good-naturedly, disappearing into the doorway to answer the door.

The doorbell rang again, and I gritted my teeth; I heard you the first time, douchebag.

I swung open the door, itching to get back to the game, and my jaw dropped.

“Hi,” Harry said, his eyes blazing, yet he was chewing on his bottom lip, “We need to talk.”

My gaze raked down his body. He wore black skinny jeans, black combat boots, and a white, cottony V-neck t-shirt, so thin that I could see the outline of various tattoos on his body through the material. His cross necklace hung from his neck, resting on his chest, and his hair was pushed off of his forehead with a white bandanna. I immediately tensed up, back to wanting nothing to do with him.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I managed to get out tersely. He shook his head, a faint smile curving his mouth. I wanted to slap it right off of his face.

“There is,” he insisted, and he stepped inside, forcing me to take a step back.

My jaw dropped at how forward he was being, yet I didn’t yell at him, because I didn’t want the Jansens overhearing. Worse, I didn’t want Mrs. Jansen to come in and say something that would just most likely embarrass me.

“Dude, get out,” I hissed, crossing my arms over my chest. He shook his head, stepping closer to me, which I matched with a step back. His face contorted into a pained expression and he let his hand reach up to tug at his hair, probably trying to figure out how to best word this—this thing.

“It’s coming back to me,” he said quietly, gazing up into my eyes, “Slowly,” he added, and then he made an exasperated noise, still looking into my eyes, “Cassidy, I am so sorry. I was such a dick, I should have never—,” I cut him off.

“Look,” I held up my hands, “I don’t care. It happened, but it’s done. Just leave me alone.”

I tried to get him to step back so that I could shove him out the door, but my plan backfired horrendously on me. When I stepped forward, trying to prod him, he didn’t budge, resulting in our bodies brushing. My breathing hitched in my throat lightly, and he grabbed onto my elbow to steady me.

“Be careful,” he murmured; our faces only inches apart.

I stepped back and wrenched my elbow from his grasp, “Fuck off.”

He chuckled, fiddling with the necklace that hung from his throat, “Good to know that kiss didn’t change your language.”

“We didn’t kiss, Styles,” I said immediately, not wanting him to get the wrong idea, but also saying it to myself. We didn’t kiss, and that was all that mattered, “Okay? Don’t go twisting shit around. It really fucking annoys me.”

“What doesn’t?” he teased, and I tensed up, just wanting him to leave.

“Cassidy?” Mrs. Jansen called out from the living room, “Who’s at the door, dear?”

I cleared my throat and called back, “No one, Mrs. Jansen. I’ll be there in a minute.”

I turned back to Harry, a frown etching itself deep into my face, and I knew immediately that he had to leave. As in right away.

He wore an amused smile, “The Jansens are here? Should I say hi?”

Holy fucking shit.

“No,” I said abruptly, and he chuckled. I glared at him.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” I seethed, crossing my arms over my chest—I was afraid that if my hands weren’t busy doing something, I would lash out and most likely kill him.

“It’s a quality that most women find quite attractive, I’ll have you know,” he retorted, smiling cheekily at me. I felt a muscle in my jaw twitch.

What an arrogant bastard.

Okay, now I was reminded of why I hated him so much. Shit happened in life, and Harry Styles was definitely not making my life any easier. The other night had been a slip, a crack in my armour, a mistake. That being said, it was never going to happen again, because I didn’t care for him in that way.

I thought it had been pretty obvious, but he clearly couldn’t get a clue.

And that pissed me off.

It pissed me off a lot. I just wanted him to disappear from my life right now. That was all I wanted.

“Please just go,” I resorted to pleading harshly with him, not wanting to seem vulnerable, “We’ll talk about this later tonight,” I added, not meaning it but just wanting him to get the fuck out of my house.

I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, and he complied reluctantly. He stepped back outside, turning to me with a hopeful look in his eyes, but I just sighed, reaching for the doorknob.

“Cassidy,” he said suddenly, looking at me sternly. I shifted my feet, really agitated that he wouldn’t just leave me alone. That was all I wanted at the moment—I wanted him to quit bothering me and let me live my life.

“What, Styles?” I asked tiredly. I held onto the doorknob, ready to slam the door in his face if he decided to say anything that would just annoy me further. Why couldn’t he get a hint and turn around and walk down my steps?

Jesus.

His jaw clenched when I called him by his last name. I internally whooped—maybe he’d leave me alone now, if I annoyed him with that name enough? I didn’t know, but I was definitely willing to try it.

“We’re going to talk about this,” he told me firmly, and I tightened my grip on the knob, mentally screaming at myself. Without another word, I closed the door, and leaned my forehead against it, blowing out a relieved sigh.

“Cassidy?” Mrs. Jansen called out from the living room again. Exhaling profoundly, I turned around, leaning my back against the cool wood of the door and willing myself to get my shit together.

I waited a moment before answering.

“Coming!”

Notes

Sorry for being MIA these past few days :)

Let me know what you think! I really was inspired by all of the comments I got the last chapter, so let's keep that up, because they make me so happy, honestly. Vote too! Can we reach 45 votes? It would mean the world.

This upcoming week is very busy for me, because school's starting again :( I probably won't take more than a week to update though, I will try to get a new chapter up ASAP. Until then, bear with me, loves! VOTE, COMMENT, SUBSCRIBE!

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