Burn Me Like the Sun

“Let’s go out into the corridor,” Margaret told me, engulfing my shoulders with her arm and guiding us towards the double doors. It was kind of hard for her though, considering there was about a half foot between us. “Just a quick chat.”

“You’re not giving me the sack, are you?” I mumbled, wringing my fingers as I stared at my feet.

Margaret only squeezed my shoulders before pushing the door open.

“I’m not angry, if that’s what you’re thinking,” was the first thing she said as I followed her down the corridor. She stopped in front of a large oil painting, some still life portrait of an apple and an orange in natural light. “In fact, I’m mostly just amused.”

I stopped in my tracks, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Come again?”

“Valenti covered the basics.” She took in a deep breath and counted off on her fingers, “International pop star plus purple car equals nosy paparazzi.”

“Basically,” I muttered. I glanced at Marge, but she was back to staring at the oil painting, her arms wound tight in front of her chest.

“But what I can’t figure out is where you come into all of this.”

She looked at me over her shoulder, her face nearly blank. But I could see she was trying hard to hold back a smile, the dimple that sat just under her eye coming to life.

“Non-staff in my kitchen aside, I really couldn’t care less about what you do with your personal life, Blake.” She turned around to fully face me, her arms still crossed. “Just as long as it doesn’t interfere with the events we cater.”

I steeled myself, nearly bursting at the seams with the explanation I’d been planning in my head since we started out the kitchen. “I told him to wait down the street, I swear—”

She held out her hand, and I stopped talking. I could feel my cheeks burn up as I bit my lip.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t mind. He can pick you up from work, even. As long as he’s not here during the events and he doesn’t disrupt the guests, I’m okay with it.”

She smiled once, then started back for the kitchen, but stopped right next to me, her shoulder brushing mine. I let my eyes fall to my trainers as she honed in her gaze on me and braced myself, still waiting for her to explode. Even though Margaret was friendly enough with me, she was still my boss. I was just waiting for her to let me have it, mostly because I knew she would do the same with almost anyone else, except for maybe Val and Fran and a manager or two that had worked for her since she first started up Veal on Wheels.

“And it doesn’t hurt either that those paparazzi might’ve snapped him next to our van,” she added, chuckling once as she shrugged.

She was nearly at the kitchen door when I called out her name, still glued by shock to my spot next to the fruit painting.

“I wanted—needed to ask you about the summer holiday.” I licked my lips, still staring at the floor like it was the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I glanced at Margaret, gauging her reaction, but she wasn’t revealing a thing. “I was wondering if I could—”

“Go back home, I know.” She nodded and smiled again, but softer this time. “If your friend doesn’t cause us trouble, then I’ll definitely consider it.”

I let out a whoosh of air I’d been holding in, and whipped around, nearly swaying in my spot as I balanced on my feet, finally facing her. “You mean it?”

“Hell yeah,” she said, reaching for the door. “Now are you going to help clean up or do I just need to get it over with and sack you now?”

“Yeah… yeah, of course.” I started down the hallway, nearly tripping over my own feet with how slow I was walking. I finally reached the kitchen doors what felt like minutes later, a light sheen of sweat dotting my forehead. I wrapped my fingers around the door handle and pulled it open, completely forgetting for a moment what was waiting on the other side in the kitchen.

Louis would still be there, unless he figured how to apparate all of a sudden and got himself out of the kitchen before I could smack him over the head with a frying pan. Then there was Fran, who hopefully had calmed everyone down enough so I wouldn’t be bombarded with questions the second I stepped foot in the kitchen. She was probably frazzled half to death, bless her heart. And then there was Valenti, one of my favorite coworkers, and even one of my best mates, come to think of it. I had lied straight to his face about getting coffee with Louis, an actual A-list celebrity, the kind that made Val giddy like a child any time he even so much as spotted one while driving. His blood had probably turned green with jealousy, not to mention he was probably cross with me as well for not telling him the truth.

But what surprised me the most when the double doors smacked shut behind me was how Louis was sitting on top of one of the stainless steel prep tables, his legs pretzeled underneath him, as his mouth flapped away and his hands flew about. Valenti was leaning against the table to Louis’s right, a grin permanently attached to his face as he folded his sinewy arms against his chest. Peter stood across from Val, his hands stuck in his pockets, as he listened to whatever Louis was on about. Sydney was nowhere to be found, nor was Morgan, and I nearly said a prayer since I didn’t have to deal with the two frontrunners for Biggest One Direction Fanatic at Veal on Wheels at the moment.

Fran was with Peter and Val, too, standing directly across from Louis, her bum planted firmly on the cart that Valenti used to carry around the big plastic wash bins. She was eating up every word, the corner of her mouth pulled up in an amused smirk.

“...and I swear I nearly pissed my trousers, mate. I couldn’t stop laughing, it was so embarrassing for him. But it was well hilarious.” He snorted, reaching up to rub the stubble on his cheeks. “Not to mention, the thousands of girls in the audience had a proper laugh, too. God, it was perfect.”

Valenti’s shit-eating grin grew even wider than I’d ever seen it, even wider than when he got a high five from Harrison Ford through the van window while stuck in the middle of a traffic jam last winter.

“Hey. Blake.”

I snapped my eyes from the partly exposed tattoos on Louis’s ankles, as the folded cuffs of his jeans had ridden up when he sat down.

“Margaret let you stay?”

Louis nodded, intertwining his fingers and setting his finally still hands in his lap. I could feel Valenti’s eyes nearly burning holes into the side of my head with curiosity.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Louis asked hesitantly.

I shook my head. “No. Not really.”

Louis only shot me a flat smile before clapping his hand on Valenti’s back. “Well, it was nice meeting you all. But I think with the look Blake’s giving me, I’ll take my chances and skip out before she can smash in my skull with a frying pan.”

And with that sentence, I realized that Louis was starting to get good at reading me. The thought itself made my brain go into overdrive. Coupled with the fact that if Louis was adamant on keeping me around, I’d have to figure something out to keep him away from the catering events, I was dangerously close to keeling over. I just couldn’t risk him bringing a cavalry of paparazzi every time he wanted to pick me up. I missed Newcastle too much for that. And I didn’t exactly want to tell him to keep his distance, as I had already pushed him away enough for one lifetime. I knew he was nearly sick of me. And, as much as I hated to admit it, I kind of liked having him around. He was completely different from Fran and even Valenti, and even though I was starting to get to know him better, I still found him bloody interesting. I couldn’t risk offending him like that if I was thinking about letting him stick around.

Valenti laughed, shaking his head at me. I gave him a quick apologetic look, the one where my eyebrows would slant upwards and my chin would dimple as I pouted just the slightest. I usually reserved the look for when I knew I was being an arse to Valenti when actually I was just fed up with idiotic clientele, or when I bummed a quid off him when we went out for food. It usually worked but right now I wasn’t so sure. Thankfully enough, Valenti just nodded when he saw it, clicking his tongue and tossing me a quick wink in exchange.

I sighed and smiled, but the half-hearted expression was soon wiped off my face. I backtracked, crossing my arms and looking at Louis expectantly as he hopped off the table. “You’re leaving?”

“Of course. I know that look you’re sporting means you’re ready to commit a felony.”

I glanced at Fran, and then Valenti over Louis’s shoulder. Both of them were giving me matching looks, their eyes wide and foreheads wrinkled in utter confusion. I couldn’t believe what came out of my mouth next.

“I don’t want you to leave. Not just yet.”

“Oh?” Louis looked almost smug, his brow shooting up once as he bit back a grin.

“Don’t look so chuffed with yourself.” My arms became tighter around my chest as I steeled myself. “I’d just rather ride back home in that posh car of yours. Valenti’s driving is shit.”

Louis smacked a hand to his chest like he’d been shot and threw his shoulder back. “You only like me for my Beemer? Ugh.” He shook his head disappointedly. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

Valenti looked like he’d burst out laughing as he looked at Fran, his cheeks puffed out and verging on pink. I gave him a pointed look as Louis rounded next to me, nudging my shoulder with his.

“You can ride with me as long as I get some food.” He actually whined a little, and threw his head back. He brushed his fingers over his stuck-up bangs, even though not a single hair had even moved. I could still smell the hairspray on him, even in the kitchen with all the leftovers and dirty dish water. “I’m starving, Blake. Famished, even.”

“You’ve already caused enough trouble, you smarmy bastard.” I nudged his ribs with my elbow, and he shot out a squeaky protest, his voice hitching as his hands flew to his side. I only barely caught Fran’s pointed nod to the front of the kitchen, where Margaret was standing, her face stony and her arms crossed against her chef’s outfit. She was looking at the five of us, her eyes narrowing just the slightest. It nearly felt like my dad was staring at me, a punishment at the ready, with the way her eyes were trained on us.

“I think I’ll get back to work,” Peter mumbled, pushing himself off the edge of the table. Fran and Valenti followed soon after, mumbling their agreement, Val adjusting his snapback as he went. He shot me a short grin before he disappeared behind a stack of large serving platters behind Peter. I knew I’d have to deal with him later, but I could only hope he wouldn’t be as nosy as Fran was when I came home from my first coffee with Louis. But I was just kidding myself, really, as I definitely wouldn’t hear the end of it the next time Valenti had me cornered in the van on the way to an event.

Before I could grab Louis by his skate ramp hair and steer him in the direction of the exit, Margaret was already standing in front of the three of us, her arms still folded menacingly and her face devoid of any tells. But her lips suddenly split open to reveal her teeth in a wide grin, and she offered her hand to Louis.

“Margaret Cho,” she greeted, giving his hand a firm shake. He was smiling, too, though it looked more like a grimace. Margaret had that tough-as-balls aura about her. She could make almost anyone feel as small as she was herself, standing at only a meager five feet. “I own Veal on Wheels,” she explained.

“Oh,” Louis sighed, nodding. “Louis Tomlinson. Sorry about the, erm, the paparazzi. I didn’t mean for them to follow me.”

She waved him off, shaking her head as she continued smiling. “Bygones.”

He sighed again, deeper this time, his expression smoothing into one of relief. “Erm, your… your food looks great. Though I was just telling Blake how I’d love to try some out. She’s told me loads about your business.” He grinned brightly, his words picking up pace as he laid on the charm. “I’m impressed, to say the least.”

That was a lie, as he had only just found out I worked in catering when he called me back not an hour ago. Honestly though, it didn’t surprise me. Louis was obviously a people pleaser. In the least, he didn’t like others thinking badly of him if he could help it. But I still felt my fingers buzz as I shot a sour look at the back of his head.

“Thank you!” Margaret practically beamed then turned around, scanning the kitchen. Most of the supplies had been carted off or cleaned up, but she spotted a stack of trays still covered in plastic wrap just a couple of serving tables over. “Looks like you’re in luck. I’ve got some grilled pork if you’d be interested in trying it?” She turned back around, her face soft and eager, the same look she used if she was trying to impress a prospective client. I’d been to a few tastings she’d host at the beginning of the summer and near Christmas holidays, as those were her busiest times for catering. She knew how to sell her food even though it practically sold itself.

“Of course I want to try some.” Louis politely smiled again, and followed her to the stack of trays. I stayed glued to my spot, shocked that Marge hadn’t already kicked him out of the kitchen for being so shamelessly glib, and only followed them when Louis beckoned me over eagerly, like I was some rightfully scared little child he was trying to goad to meet Santa Claus.

Margaret pulled a box cutter from her pocket and ripped the plastic wrap off, tossing it aside on a table. She pulled out one of the trays and set it down, pushing it towards Louis as he leaned against the table, his palms pressed against the edge.

“Well. Go ahead,” she told him, pushing the tray just a few centimeters closer. “Roasted and grilled. Too many herbs to count.” She smirked, nodding her chin at me as I leaned my hip into the table next to Louis. “It’s actually Blake’s favorite.”

I rolled my eyes at her, my arms firmly crossed against my chest. She was right, I’d take bullets for grilled roast leftovers whenever we had some, but I knew she was just trying to sell it to Louis.

I was sure she had already realized his potential before I did: he was a proper A-list celebrity, the kind with the fancy car and doting paparazzi and model-good looks and an address book to die for. He probably attended a fundraiser event not unlike the one we’d just finished working every month, if not more. If she could get him to like her food, she’d just be one step closer to the big leagues of corporate catering. Not that she didn’t deserve it; honestly, Margaret was an ace chef, and she was the best boss I’d ever had. But I wanted to barf at the idea of catering at some important event where Louis clones would be sniffing around. My skull would probably burst by the end of the night with all the clientele I’d have to wordlessly serve.

Louis tentatively reached out for a slice of the roast. His fingers danced playfully as he considered which piece to take, and I was just able to catch a glimpse of a pair of quotation marks tattooed on the inside of his wrist. With the rate I was going at, I probably wouldn’t ever stop finding new tattoos on Louis.

He brought the pork up to his lips hesitantly, giving me a smirk before he tossed it right in. He wiped his hands on his jeans and chewed slowly, his forehead wrinkled as he focused hard on the food in his mouth. I probably had a look not unlike Marge’s on my face as he stood there for a moment once he swallowed, folding his arms and tapping his chin. It was always fun to see new employees try Margaret’s food for the first time. Watching Louis, as teasing as he was, wasn’t any different.

“Don’t let me mum hear this, but that was one damn good roast. Better than hers, honestly.” He sucked on his teeth, and reached out for a second piece, giving Margaret a questioning look, a smile tugging on his lips. She nodded, but took the tray back after he plucked another slice off the wax paper.

“You know what?” he said between bites of roast. I stuck out my tongue and groaned, and Louis rolled his eyes at me. “I’ll give my manager a call. See if she can’t get the word around.”

He licked his fingers, but the bile rising up from the back of my throat made me want to smack him upside the head. But I resisted, as hard as it was, and reached out to grab his wrist instead, effectively plucking his fingers from his mouth.

“Steady on!” he berated, shaking me off but grinning all the same. “I can lick my fingers if I want.”

“You’re a child,” I told him, grimacing.

“Seriously, though.” He reached behind me and wiped his fingers on the terrycloth towel hanging from my back pocket, ignoring my protests, and kept on talking to Margaret like I wasn’t there. I shoved his hand away as it brushed against my bum. “I’ll see if they can’t set something up. I’m always going to those charity things, and the food always sucks, but this…” He chuckled and nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Your food is brilliant, Margaret.”

She finished putting back the grilled pork and wrapped the plastic back around the trays. “Thank you,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. She gave him her best smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “That means a lot to me, Louis.”

“I hope to see you at the next charity event I’m dragged to.” Louis reached out his hand, but instead of taking it, Margaret surprised both Louis and me and pulled him in for a hug, one which he easily returned.

“I think we’re pretty much done here, so you can leave whenever you like.”

I stepped around Louis, eyeing Margaret cautiously.

“You sure?”

She rolled her eyes as she wrapped her hand around the stack of trays. “If you feel guilty enough, you can help out Valenti next time with breaking down.” She pushed the trays along, calling behind the stack as she rolled them across the kitchen, “I have no use for you now!”

I glanced around, making sure no one was in earshot, before I rounded on Louis, who was still licking his fingers.

“I’ll sneak you a whole grilled roast and even some macaroni and cheese if you promise to never come ‘round to pick me up again.”

He stopped licking his fingers, his perfectly plucked eyebrows shooting up and crinkling his forehead as his middle finger dangled from his lips.

“You’re having a go at me, aren’t you?”

“No,” I said, giving him a once-over. “Did you really think you’d be able to lose the paparazzi by parking on the street in that car of yours?” Louis opened his mouth to respond, but I was quick to cut him off. “I have a chance at having part of my summer holiday off so I can go home. Marge said that if you—I mean, if the paparazzi interrupt anything, I’m done for. So if you want to come ‘round again, just please promise me you’ll, I don’t know, drive some rusted, piece of shite car so I can visit Newcastle after my semester’s over?”

I only hoped I had softened the blow of the truth for Louis, but the way his face fell kind of put me off. But before I could count to five, he was smirking again, his eyes bright. He stuck his hands into his jeans, which rode dangerously low with the weight of his fists.

“I’ll try to find something more inconspicuous.”

I sighed as my eyes slipped shut. “Thank you.”

“Harry has a Range Rover. Would that be normal enough for you?” He was smirking, narrowing his eyes at me. “Or I could always ask Zayn if we could borrow his Porsche. I’ve been meaning to try it out some time. Of course, Niall does have that motorcycle of his, the one with a side car…” He trailed off, not meeting my gaze as he tapped his chin in thought, his lips puckering.

I balked and smacked his shoulder. He was teasing me. And he was enjoying it as well, especially with the way he was getting a reaction out of me. I couldn’t help it, I was playing right into it.

“Well, it’s not like I drove me mum’s Toyota all the way down to London!” He tossed up his hands and smacked them against his legs, still grinning like none other. “But I’ll keep away, alright? Don’t want you wringing my neck.”

I ran my fingers through my short hair, pushing my bangs off my forehead. “You don’t have to keep away. Just… try to be a mite more careful, alreet?”

He nodded. “For you.”

I ran my teeth over my bottom lip and stuck my hands into my pockets. “So…”

“So,” he repeated lamely, leaning back against the serving table. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking me up and down.

“You still up for a coffee?”

My last few words were taken over by the sudden crooning of Robbie Williams coming from Louis’s pocket.

“Bear with,” he mumbled, fishing out his phone. The corner of his mouth screwed up when he saw who was calling him, and he unlocked his iPhone and pressed it to his ear. He didn’t have time to even mumble a greeting before the person on the other end started yelling, so loud that I could almost make out what they were on about. I could definitely hear the word “late” be thrown around a couple times.

Louis looked almost embarrassed, a pale blush sprouting underneath his stubble. He gave me a fleeting look and tangled his fingers through his hair. As expected, it bounced right back up after he mussed it up.

“I forgot, Macey.”

I couldn’t help the amused look I had on my face. Either Louis was quite the player and was blowing off his rebound girlfriend, or he was ignoring some high-up PR rep that he had to answer to, all just to pick me up from work. Either way, this Macey was pissed off beyond belief.

“I’ll be there by…” He glanced at the leather watch on his wrist, which looked shiny enough to pay an entire year’s worth of tuition at Met. “Half seven, alright? I’m… I’m sorry.” He sighed, dragging his eyes up to me as he spoke. “Tell Liam to hold ‘em off, okay?”

He pulled his mobile from his ear not a moment later, grimacing at the screen.

“Should I even ask?”

Louis heaved a sigh, and stuck his white mobile back into his jeans. “Label meeting. Macey’s kind of like, I don’t know, my wrangler?” He shrugged, rubbing his palm over the shorter hair on the side of his head. “She’s not as high up as Giles, Syco’s PR, but I respect her as much.” He threw his head back and groaned, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I can’t believe forgot. I’m such a wanker.”

“You are, but I won’t hold it against you.”

The corner of his mouth shot up as he glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

“If, em…” I cleared my throat, reaching up to tug at my shirt collar. “If you can’t take me home, that’s fine.” My voice hitched just the slightest and I silently cursed myself for being such a shit liar. I was disappointed and I couldn’t even hide it.

“No, I’m taking you home,” he asserted, pointing a finger at me. “I owe you that much, especially with all those paps crawling around. But rain check on that coffee, yeah?”

I nodded, and with the lag in conversation, I turned around, taking a look around the kitchen. I couldn’t see anyone lingering about, but there was still another stack of trays near the exit. The door was also perched open, a cinderblock holding it ajar as the sunlight seeped in.

“Pull ‘round to the back.” I pointed to the door. “Think you can find your way?”

He nodded and shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry. Again.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. You’re fine. I’ll be waiting in the back. They’re just about done, so make it quick.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he said lowly, already backing out of the kitchen. He looked like he was half-considering peeling out of the parking lot in a flurry of exhaust fumes. I couldn’t exactly blame him with how I’d been so brusque with him since the moment he arrived, even with the couple of laughs he had.

I struggled to toss him a smile before turning on my heel and making my way to the back lot. When I glanced over my shoulder as my feet hit the exit, Louis was already out of the kitchen, the double doors swinging wildly behind him.

Once I stumbled outside, I saw Valenti struggling with Peter to lift the trays of leftover grilled pork into the back of one of our vans, his dress shirt drenched in sweat. Apparently, Margaret had forgone the ramp at the front where the paparazzi were laying in wait and had the two strongest guys on staff lift the rolling carts from the steps where I was standing to the caravan in the back.

I spotted Fran halfheartedly flipping through one of Valenti’s many gossip magazines as she sat on the edge of our usual van, the sliding door wide open. I jogged up to her and snatched the magazine from her hands before she could register who’d nabbed it from her and tossed it over her head back into its pile.

“I’m gonna leave with Louis. He’ll pull up any minute.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing me up and down suggestively.

“What?” I ducked my head and scanned the front of my dress shirt. “Do I have a wicked stain or something?”

“No, but you’re not exactly the picture of perfection.” She sniffed once, smirking. “And you’re not exactly the scent of perfection, either.”

“I just got off a four hour shift, Fran.” I instinctively pulled the towel from my back pocket and patted my face again, but reeled back when I smelled the garlic from when Louis used it to wipe off his hands. I wasn’t one to feel so self-conscious out of the blue, and Fran wasn’t helping at all. “But way to bruise my ego, mate.”

She laughed and batted a hand at me. “Oh, you’re fine, love.”

I reached over and flicked her arm, and she pinched my wrist in retaliation.

“Oi, a girl fight.” Valenti came up behind me, his arms lining up with mine as he smacked the backs of my hands. I shoved my elbow back, aiming for somewhere near his ribs, but I couldn’t move much as Valenti’s bulky arms nearly had me trapped.

“‘S not nice to fight,” he scolded, dodging one of my elbows. He laughed and finally let my wrists go, dancing around me and plopping himself down on the van next to Fran. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged it off, complaining about the smell as he chuckled.

“I knew something was up, you know,” Valenti claimed, licking his chapped lips. “I mean, exactly how long did you think you could hide one fifth of One Direction from me? I was bound to see the coffee shop photos at some point.”

“Yeah, you can practically sniff out celebrities yourself, mate,” Fran teased, nudging his side with her elbow. “All the sex and lies and hairspray.”

“I live for the drama,” he mused, shrugging as he smiled at Fran.

“Do you forgive me?” I asked him, kicking the toe of his boot with my trainer.

He pinched his shirt and waved it against his chest. “Course, Newcastle. Speaking of which…” He nodded behind me, and I whipped around, nearly smacking my nose into Louis’s chin.

“Hiya,” I muttered, stumbling back.

“Hello,” Louis laughed, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around my arm. I settled back on my feet and brushed Louis’s hand away. Not skipping a beat, he nodded to Valenti, who tossed him a small wave. “See you around, mate.”

Valenti’s eyes were bright, and I could tell he was struggling to hold back an ear-splitting grin.

“You’ll still be getting coffee?” Fran asked, reaching back into the van to fetch her magazine that I tossed in the back.

Louis shook his head, pulling out his phone as he quickly checked his texts. “Something came up. I’m just dropping Blake off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Fran didn’t sound surprised at his vague explanation, but I brushed it off, and instead turned around, taking a quick gander in search of Louis’s Barney-colored car.

“No worries. I made sure the paps didn’t follow, babe,” he said, sticking his phone back into his pocket.

I could feel a blush instantly creep up. The last thing I wanted was to be a hassle for Louis, but with the way everything was panning out, I didn’t stand much a chance of that now.

“That a-way,” he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

Louis had parked next to Margaret’s personal catering van, the cleanest of the three and the only one that still had all the seats inside. She was usually the one that drove the servers and prep cooks home as long as they pitched in for petrol, as most of them lived on the south side of the Thames. Val’s van, along with another eight-seater, was usually used to drive around the food and supplies instead, which was why Fran and I always struggled to stay put on the milk crates strapped to the floor of Valenti’s van.

Louis’s purple two-door beeped twice, and I could hear the doors unlock as I crept towards it. Already I was weary of any photographer that may have hopped the gate and stood in wait for the pop star to come back out.

Louis barked out a laugh when I jumped at the clacking sound of a few camera shutters going off. The flashes followed soon after, but they were so far away behind the wooden fenced gate that I barely paid them much mind after my nerves calmed down from being so easily startled. I slid right into the car, a hot blush painting my cheeks, and Louis followed in suit after giving the paparazzi a friendly wave and a bright grin.

When I first sat inside Louis’s car on Monday, I was surprised at how neat and tidy it was. I’d thought, especially with how Cooper always left the bathroom in the mornings and perpetually smelled like a cemetery, that any male under the age of forty lived like they had their own maid on speed dial. I was sure Louis had a doting housekeeper, but he didn’t seem to act like it, at least not from what I’d gathered. Every time we’d met, his clothes were immaculately clean, like he had just snatched them straight from a fabric steamer. His nails were closely trimmed and his hair was well kept, and he always smelled nice, like soft soap and ginger. And his car? Well, it was just as organized as his wardrobe. He had a stash of wet wipes in the glove compartment, along with a bottle of hand sanitizer. The carpeted floors were spotless and his dashboard was dust-free, the leather so polished that I could even see my reflection. And believe it or not, it still smelled like it was fresh off the lot, even though Louis had mentioned he bought it with his first paycheck a few years ago.

Which was why I was so surprised when I nearly stepped on a small duffle bag on the floor just in front of my seat.

“What’s… what’s this?” I picked it up, and a couple nappies spilled out from a side pocket. I scrambled to pick the diapers back up, still feeling flustered by the paparazzi. My nerves were grated like some ridiculously expensive soft cheese. “Don’t tell me, you have a love child the press has yet to discover.”

Louis snorted and reached over, helping me stash the nappies back in. He zipped it back up as I held onto the bag, then plucked it from my hands and tossed it in the space between the rear windshield and our seats. He started the engine, the roar loud enough that it nearly caused me to have an aneurism. “No, it’s nothing like that. ‘S just Lux.”

“Lux?” I repeated lamely, eyeing him tentatively as he guided his car to the automatic gate. Everything happened so fast that I barely had enough time to brace myself for the handful of paparazzi that scrambled to the fence to snatch some photos. Louis waved to the photographers through his windows even though they were dark enough that he swore no one could ever get a shot of the interior.

“The band’s makeup artist’s daughter. She’s just a toddler.” He smiled at me, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he turned onto the street. Then his face went soft, just only briefly, and for a moment I thought he looked almost sad about something. “She reminds me a lot of my own sisters, actually.” He beamed then, practically using his whole face, and I rushed to duck my head to hide the blush that was crawling up my cheeks. I felt so intrusive just hearing him talk about his personal life. I was sure people always pried, and I didn’t want to scare him off by making him uncomfortable.

So I settled with teasing him instead.

“Who knew celebrities were actual human beings?” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I tried my damnedest to bite back a grin.

“Oi, I wasn’t raised with a silver spoon in my mouth. Not that it’d matter if I was.” He glanced at me as he drove, both of his hands gripped tightly around the wheel. “Don’t be so harsh, babe. This is all still pretty new to me, you know.”

“Fine, I’ll give you that. At least you’re not some robot.” I paused, glancing out my window at the buildings that surrounded us. “Well, not yet anyway.”

He laughed at that one, then reached over to nudge the air conditioning up. He slowed down behind a long string of cars, the tail end of the usual afternoon traffic.

“Wait, so how many sisters do you have?”

“Four,” he mumbled, flipping open the arm rest and pulling out a stick of gum.

I winced. “Oi, four! How did it feel to grow up surrounded by women who loved boobs as much as you?” I laughed to myself and shook my head. I reached for the gum before he could close the lid to his armrest, and he nodded. “Thanks, mate. And that just sounds horrible, four girls? Just… Ugh. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged, his eyes lingering longer on me this time. “Sometimes it was stressful, you know. They could be a handful. But I love ‘em too much to care.” He reached over and flipped through the saved stations on his stereo, a frown pulling at his lips when all he could find were commercials. He shut it back off, then shrugged again, settling back into his seat. “Same with Lux. I love her. She’s just a joy. Adorable.” He reached up and pulled out a pair of Ray Bans clipped to the visor and slid them up his nose. “So. What about you?”

I steeled myself immediately. I should’ve known he would’ve wondered about the more intimate details of my life, the ones I purposefully kept on the backburner. Especially when I could learn all about his personal life with just a few clicks on my laptop, not that I’d cheat him like that.

I ran my tongue over my lower lip as I eyed Louis tentatively. “What about me?”

“Siblings, parents, pets, traumatizing childhood events. You know, the basics.” He glanced at me again, but barked out a tight laugh when he saw the disapproving look that had melted my features into nearly a snarl. “C’mon, now, babe. I’m bored. Amuse me.”

“I’m sorry if the last thing I want to do right now is amuse you,” I spat back.

I was already putting up my walls. I couldn’t really help it; it had always been my automatic response. I didn’t like opening up to people. Really, any time the spotlight would be on me, I’d squirm and sweat and try to turn the attention to someone or something else. I hated talking about myself to others. I’d rather they figure it out for themselves.

For instance, when my dad sent me to therapy after the fistfight I had in grade school, I gave Dr. Carter hell the first few months. It got so tedious that my dad had to come into the sessions with me in order to ease me into talking to him. I was like a sick clam with a pearl’s worth of information that I’d never let go. And I never grew out of it, either. The only time I ever really opened up to Fran was when I got drunk our first week that we moved in together. Even Valenti, as much of a friend as he was, didn’t even know what I was studying at uni, of all things. I just really liked to keep some things to myself.

I crossed my arms, but only belatedly did I realize I looked like a small child being ushered away from a candy shop after a rather large tantrum. I balled my hands into fists and set them into my lap, keeping my eyes focused on my feet. But Louis had already noticed me tense up and laughed as I sat next to him, all flushed and nervous.

“Do I need to tease you into submission? Because I think it’s starting to work.”

“Sod off,” I mumbled, throwing him a v. He chuckled again, tossing me a cheeky grin.

“‘S just a few questions, Blake.” He licked his lips, lightly backhanding my shoulder. “C’mon. You got any siblings?”

“A brother,” I forced out behind gritted teeth.

“Just a regular old run-of-the-mill brother?”

I huffed, but went on. “Just a younger brother. We’re not very close, though, I suppose. It’s just… You know those people that you just can’t help but never get along with? Like, they’re human-shaped toenail clippings. They just refuse to be civil.”

“What, besides you?” I frowned. He laughed. “I don’t know. I… guess?”

“What?” I offered up an amused chuckle, shaking my head as I thanked the high heavens that I was able to turn the topic of conversation to Louis so quickly. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those people that just gets on with everyone.”

“Well… no. I mean, I guess. I don’t know.” His voice wavered, like he was almost unsure of himself or the answer he halfheartedly gave.

“You don’t know if you get along with everyone?”

“No! No, it’s just…” He reached up and brushed his fingers over his stubble, glancing at me over his shoulder. “I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.”

I snorted. “You’re delirious. You do know that you’re a pop star, right? People probably take advantage of you ninety-nine percent of the time, mate.”

“They don’t.”

I balked, thrown off by how sure he sounded. “You must have really bumped your head good at boot camp if you sincerely believe that, Louis.”

“You underestimate most people, love.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his aviators riding up against his forehead. He sighed and gave me an unreadable look, one so cryptic that I was sure even if he had tossed his sunglasses aside, I still wouldn’t be able to read him. “Most don’t have the guts to even try. But when, God forbid, someone does use me, I notice. I’m not a complete idiot, not like some would try to have you believe.”

“Just because someone can’t tell sincerity from flattery doesn’t mean they’re an idiot,” I shot back.

Louis finally tore his gaze from mine, a guarded look crossing his face before he was drawn back into reality by the cars inching forward around us.

“So. Your brother,” he prodded. “Tell me.”

I sighed and shook my head, deciding to give up since he wouldn’t let me hear the end of it until I got out of the car or changed my mobile number. “He’s 16.”

“And?” he stretched out, not paying my seething self any mind.

“He lives with me dad in Newcastle.”

“And your mum?”

I cringed. “This isn’t Twenty Questions, Lou.”

He started, his hands pausing halfway down the steering wheel as he slid them across the leather stitching. “Lou?” he deadpanned.

I bit my lip, weary of his delayed reaction. “What?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t know we’ve resorted to nicknames, is all.”

“Ah, of course you weren’t, babe,” I mimicked in my best sultry Yorkshire accent, dipping my voice.

He simpered, his brow quickly shooting up once, far enough that I could see his eyebrows go up past his sunglasses. He kept his eyes on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel like he was driving the Queen herself. “You don’t mind, do you?”

I shook my head, worrying at my lower lip. “I actually quite like it.”

He scooped his chin forward, humming to himself. “Good.”

The car remained mostly silent for the rest of the ride back to my flat, at least until he turned on the radio again when we were a few blocks away. He started flipping through the stations, but steadied his finger at the first song he came across.

It was One Direction.

“Tell me – honestly, now.” He licked his lips and pointed to the radio, where “Kiss You” by One Direction was scrolling across the screen. “What do you think about our music?”

“Do you want me to be honest or are you just looking for some compliments free of grammatical errors and marriage proposals?”

“Both.”

I scoffed, training my eyes on my fidgeting fingers in my lap as I thought it over. “You’re all cheesy as shite, but I guess it’s not too grating to the ears.” I shrugged, tossing him a annoyed look. “But with the way the same two singles of yours get played over and over, it makes me want to smack that Grimmy bloke and all those other DJs in the face. I mean, I know yous are the biggest pop act since the bloody Spice Girls, but the fine folks of the United Kingdom could use a break every now and then.”

Louis barked out a laugh and actually smacked his knee. “Holy crap, Grimmy’s gonna get a kick out of that when I tell him.”

I did a double take, my brow curling tightly. “You know him?” I tossed up my hands, letting them smack against my thighs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“He’s one of Harry’s best mates,” he explained quickly. He reached for the radio and bumped up the volume, then suddenly starting singing along, catching me off guard.

As much as I hated to admit it, gooseskin actually prickled at my arms when he belted out part of the verse. He stopped suddenly, though, as his voice cracked. For his sake, I bit back a laugh that crept up my throat.

“That’s not your solo, is it?” I wondered aloud.

He shook his head, and I could just spot an uneven splotch of pink peeking from behind his stubble. “No.” He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Zayn’s solo in this one is one of my favorites, though. No one sings like him.”

I only nodded, as I couldn’t even remember which of the four other blokes was Zayn, let alone what he sounded like when he sang.

“You don’t listen to us, do you?” he asked a moment later, eyeing me as I played with a fraying thread sticking out from one of the buttons on my shirt.

“Now really, what gave you that idea?” I joked, setting my elbow on the arm rest on the passenger door. “No, I don’t. Not really. Fran does, though.” I looked out the window, eyeing Louis’s reflection in the glass. He stared at me for a moment, slightly longer than I felt comfortable with, before turning his attention back to the road.

“I don’t blame you.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like we’re not much more than a bunch of fancy haircuts on some box of biscuits.”

I snapped my head back, nearly breaking my neck with the force as I watched him. “Who told you that?” I asked softly.

He started, his lips twitching, but paused and shook his head. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. “No one did. But you can’t really help think it, though, you know?” He licked his lips and gestured to the radio, then gave me a pointed look. “Sometimes it feels like we’re more like a product than… Well, than a group of artists.”

I breathed out a low whistle. “Shite, if I had known you’d get all depressing on me, I would’ve made you stop for some tea before we left.”

Louis smiled at that, then bumped off the radio. “I’m sorry again, you know, about… About bringing the paps along with me. I know it sucks.” He sighed, shooting me a resolved look. “From now on, I promise to wear a cap and some bloody wig every time I come ‘round to your events. Alright?”

I giggled at the thought, but nodded nonetheless. “Alreet.”

Louis smiled to himself, then pointed up ahead at the next crossroads. “A left at this street, yeah?”

“Actually, it’s a right.” I shot him a smile, one which he quickly returned, his forehead wrinkling easily. “But no worries. You’ll have plenty of time to memorize the way to my flat.”