The Love Club

I find her on complete accident. I mean, of course I would. This is my life, where nothing comes easy.

Except this, and I put so much damn effort into it.

She won’t be an easy sell, that much is certain from the moment I lay eyes on her, boredly chomping on bubble gum behind a coffee shop counter.

“Can I help you?” she asks in a voice that suggests she’d rather do anything but.

She’s wearing a pair of joggers and a tight black crop top. Her dark hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing winged eyeliner on her murky green eyes, the likes of which still manages to be dark. Everything about this girl tells me she could care less, but I’m beginning to care. Oh, I am definitely beginning to care as I narrow my eyes at the girl who is making my heart sink.

Or I suppose, rather float. Because this bored-looking punk is Niall’s soulmate.

Of course.

It feels like a punch to the gut, a sort of breathlessness that drains all my energy from me. Because, dammit, it’s her. She’s here and she’s in front of me and I’ve spent weeks in a sweltering jungle in South America on a tour with five stinky, sweaty boys only to run into her in a coffee shop in bloody Sunderland.

Irony, thou art a cruel bitch.

“Can I help you?” she repeats, an edge to her voice.

I’ve fallen into a stupefied silence as I survey her from head to toe. She’s on the defensive now, sensing judgment, and I snap to attention as I remember my manners.

“I need two black coffees, a hazelnut macchiato, one cappuccino and one espresso, please,” I shoot off all at once.

She eyes me suspiciously as she punches this into her computer. I swallow nervously as I watch her finish up the order. With a leveled stare, she asks me if I need anything else.

“Um...”

I’ve done this so many times, and yet it’s always something I dread. With this girl especially, it’s difficult to tell how best to broach the subject. I sigh, telling her no as I chicken out. I hand over the cash as I run a hand through my hair and she figures out the change. At least waiting on the coffee order will give me a little time to figure out what it is I want to say to her.

I glance out the window at an idling black car as I make my way over to a nearby table. I left the hotel at the same time as the boys, but to keep up the personal assistant charade, Niall thought he’d send me out on a coffee run and meet them over at the stadium.

This place is about a block away from the hotel, a small cozy bed and breakfast that Harry found and insisted the band and crew both stay at. We’ve pretty much taken over the entire building, it’s so small, but I’m sort of in love with it. The rustic ambiance of it all feels warm, a welcomed change from the chain of sleek modern hotels we’ve been paraded in and out of since South America. It reminds me of my parents’ home back in Oxford.

For now, I’m content to sit alone at a round, wooden table, and smell the rich aroma of brewing coffee. The place isn’t very populated, which is probably why I chose it. It caught my eye late last night as I sat beside a snoring Liam in a cramped car that One Direction’s management insisted the boys drive up in. Niall had texted me last week, demanding that if he were going through the hell of a five-hour roadtrip without the decency of his tour bus (which seemed fundamentally useless for the UK leg of the tour at the very least), I was coming with them.

We’d just flown in from Dublin to Heathrow, and I was shuffled into a dark car with tinted windows before I’d even had time to protest I wanted my cat. When I’d turned to search for Gatsby, Harry held her carrier high in the air to indicate that he had her as he slid into a separate car. I let out a frustrated groan as I was shoved from the back by Louis, impatient to “get in the damn car and take a kip already”.

The worst part of the trip was that I’d spent five hours sandwiched between Louis and Liam, the likes of which were both passed out in a matter of seconds. The best part of the trip was that I was sandwiched between Louis and Liam, which meant Niall and Harry weren’t pestering me every few minutes to referee their useless arguments.

Five hours of peace and quiet as the darkened car made its way to Sunderland, two pairs of headlights cutting through the darkness that enveloped the countryside. Our car was in the lead, Harry, Niall, and Zayn trailing us in an SUV. I didn’t spend much time looking out the rear window, but when I glanced back there, a party seemed to be in full swing. The driver chomped on crisps and rolled his eyes at whoever was talking (probably Harry), while a member of their security detail wiped at his eyes sleepily and turned up the radio. I would have snorted if it wouldn’t have woken up Liam and Louis, and I was quite content to let them sleep. For a few hours, I fell asleep myself.

Hitting the city limits, I’d been awoken when we hit our first stoplight. The lack of movement was somewhat startling, and I jolted upright, accidentally waking Liam in the process. I apologized profusely, but he brushed it off easily. I tried to feel less bad as I pressed my shoulder against his and craned my neck to see out the window. I’d found the nondescript coffee house then, and decided at the very least I would stop in for a cup of tea, maybe a scone.

Surveying the area around me, I know now that it wasn’t the coffee house itself that had pulled me in. It was the girl behind the counter, fumbling with an espresso maker and cursing like a sailor.

Typical.

I tap my fingers impatiently against the table top, ignoring the buzzing from my phone. For the last twenty minutes, Harry has taken it upon himself to snap selfies to give me updates on his surroundings. He’s so childish and hyperactive sometimes, I find it easier to turn off my phone than deal with it. Right now, it feels reassuring as I try to get my shit together and figure out what to say.

I don’t have as much time as I would have liked when I hear the girl call out my order, eyes trained on me. She still sounds bored when she speaks, but I think something in me has perhaps sparked her interest as well. It probably has less to do with me and more to do with Niall, despite the fact that she doesn’t know anything about him.

I stalk up to the counter, trying to dig deep within myself to find any trace of courage I may have. The most difficult part about finding matches is the overwhelming anxiety that washes over me, not only out of fear that I might muck this up for all parties involved, but also a side effect of finally tracking down the one person I’ve been searching for. It’s all a part of that feeling I get when I’ve got it right.

“Listen,” I say before I can stop myself. I hope my voice sounds less forceful than the word I’ve just spoken to her, more soft than commanding. She pauses in pushing the drink carrier over to me, brows furrowed as she tries to figure out just what it is that I want from her.

“This is a really odd question, I know, but do you happen to be in a relationship currently?”

Her brows raise at the sheer blatancy of the words that have left my mouth.

“No offense, but you’re not really my type,” she tells me, and I resist the urge to grab one of the hot coffees and douse it in my face.

It’s this damn haircut. Every time.

“No, no. I’m not asking for me,” I respond immediately, trying my best to give her a winning smile. It’s not easy to do after the awkward mistake she’s just made. At her continued confused expression, I let out a sigh and bite the bullet. “I’m a matchmaker and I have this client...”

“Not interested,” she cuts me off before turning and walking away.

“What?”

The word leaves my mouth before I have time to think better of it. I’m in such a state of disbelief, I don’t know what else there is that I can say. I’m almost never rejected, and if I am, they usually start inquiring more information immediately afterward and end up changing their mind. Right now, I’m watching the girl continue to walk away, adjusting her apron as she pulls out a filter from a coffee maker and begins to clean it.

“I’m not interested,” she repeats, and after a few moments, she glances in my direction to take in my reaction to this information. Whatever my reaction is, it must break her hard exterior at least a little, because she lets out a huff of air and scrubs at the machine a little harder.

“Some people might buy into that matchmaking crap, but I know better. You ask a bunch of general questions and you get two people to believe they have chemistry, and then you collect your check and these two people go on pretending to be in love, maybe until marriage, and then it all falls apart and they’re both worse off than before. So whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

“It doesn’t cost you anything,” I sputter.

“Even so, I’m happy with my life right now. I’ve just left a committed relationship and I’m figuring myself out and I don’t need your help. You can’t just walk in here, spare me a glance, and try to set me up with one of your clients. At least give the pretense of a try for my personality.”

The thing is, it is as simple as walking in here and glancing at her, at least it is for me. But I’m fuming at this point, angry that she’s reduced me to this so easily. She might be right about some matchmakers, sure, but me? She has no clue what she’s dealing with.

“Can I venture a guess as to your personality?” I spit before I can stop myself.

She seems taken aback, but her face hardens a moment later. “Be my guest.”

“I think this guy you left – because I can tell you made this decision – fucked you up more than you’d care to admit. I’d say the relationship ended two to three months ago, but you still wake up in the morning and wonder where he is before you remember that the left side of your bed has been vacant for that long. So you get angry, and you make yourself a cup of mint green tea, and you put on your best clothes and decide you’re going to kick ass today. So you show up here, at your shitty job, in your winged eyeliner, and stare at your reflection in those shiny coffee makers and wonder what you’re doing with your life. Because you thought he was it, that this was the real deal, but you realized he was less of a prince and more of a frog and that scared the shit out of you because you’d been so busy making plans that you didn’t realize it, and that broke you. So now you’re scared and putting up a front, but you’re actually aching and trying to prove yourself to yourself. I know what I’m talking about, Tinley,” I say, squinting at her nametag. When I look up again and meet her eyes, angry yet hurt, I soften my voice. “Do you?”

When she makes no response, I use whatever adrenaline I have left over to scoop up the drinks and leave her a generous tip. “Have a nice day,” I add as an after thought, before scurrying toward the door and into the idling car on the curb.

I harrumph to myself as I fall into the seat, slamming the door shut and setting the coffees in the empty space beside me. The driver glances at me hesitantly before putting the car into drive and pulling out onto the street.

The thing about girls like Tinley is that they all go through that sort of thing. The first one hits the hardest, when that serious relationship comes along and sweeps them off their feet and tells them every pretty thing they’ve ever dreamt of hearing. These boys whisper these words like pearls, so many that they could be strung into a neclace kept close to these girls’ hearts, and it’s laid on thick and heavy. They’re shrouded in them like a fog, making it harder for the girl to see what a dick this guy really is, and by the time they realize it, they’ve reduced themselves to paranoid, broken pieces of the girl they were before.

I’ve seen so many of these types before, looking for validation in another man, and I ususally refuse to take them on. If it’s validation they’re looking for, they’re not in the state of mind for a relationship anyway. Only when they’re on steadier footing with their self esteem will I take on a client like that.

Tinley doesn’t know it yet, but she’s been forged from the fire. She’s got her head on straight, and she might be in that phase where she thinks she’s too good for any man I could throw at her, but she’s wrong. Now it’s my job to prove that to her.

When the car pulls up to the arena, I thank the driver and step out, shutting the door behind me with my right foot as I try to balance myself. A security guard I recognize as part of Niall’s detail barely spares me a glance as he opens the door for me. He’s techincally supposed to at least glance at my VIP lanyard, but it’s tucked in the crossbody I’m wearing and impossible to pull out with the amount of hot, caffinated liquids I’m balancing in my hands.

Sometime in the last two months, I’ve gotten used to the winding hallways of the arenas. I maneuver them with ease, following the the fluorescent lights that buzz overhead until I stop at a common room where the boys spend most of their time, especially if it’s too wet outside to play football like it is right now. I don’t bother to knock as I try to reach for the handle and keep the drinks steady in my arms. I barely make it through the doorway before a cross tattooed hand has grabbed the carriers from my arms. I stand and watch him in awe, Gatsby in one arm and coffees in the other.

“Well I know I look good, Mina, but you don’t have to stand there all day and stare,” Harry throws over his shoulder at me cheekily. I cross my arms and narrow my eyes.

“What are you doing?”

Louis snickers and elbows Zayn, who smirks and glances over at Niall and Liam. They’re both holding back laughter as Harry sets down the coffee and straightens up to look at me.

“What?” he asks, with the tone of a boy who knows very much what.

“Take that out immediately,” I tell him.

“I like it!” he whines.

“Lou!” I scream, surveying the area for the culprit. She’s slumped over in a chair, head down while she shakes her head and laughs.

“I told him not to! I told him!” she defends.

“You look like you’ve just woken from a sleepover with Louis’ little sisters with my cat in your arms and a braid in your hair. It’s not even long enough to stay!” I practically yell.

“I’m working on it!” he responds defensively.

“Don’t ever let this happen again,” I tell Lou as I cross the room and reach for his head. Before I can register what is happening, he has his long arms wrapped around me, locking my hands down by my side.

“You don’t think it’s sexy?” he teases.

I can’t help but laugh. With a single braid running down the right side of his face, not even held with a rubber band at the end, it’s already starting to fall back into its normal tendrils. He whips his hair forward to get a proper look at it, and sees this for himself. With a groan, he lets go of me and gets to work combing it out, muttering something about wanting to hear the opinion of his billions of fans around the globe. I let out a snort and give his chest a light shove, just enough to make him lose his balance slightly and stumble backward in an attempt to find it again. “Heeeeey!” he whines, but I’m already plopping down on an empty sofa cushion beside Niall.

“Drink your hazelnut macchiato, pumpkin,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes. “And shut up.”

Niall is already drinking his cappuccino, and I eye him warily as he does so. I’m beyond fathoming a reason as to why a boy as high energy as Niall needs more caffiene, but I don’t think it’s my place to chide him on his health habits. He pays other people to do that.

“Still raining?” he asks me, and I know he’s inquiring as to the football playing conditions.

“Still a pretty steady sprinkle,” I tell him, giving his bad knee a light pat.

He frowns and takes another drink. I pull my legs up on the couch and drape them across his lap. He frowns at this, and Liam looks slightly surprised at the sudden appearance of my socked feet laying across his legs. I’m approximately two members of One Direction’s laps tall.

“You’re being weird. What’s up with you?” Niall asks.

I want to wave him off. "Oh, you know. Side effect of meeting your soulmate is that now I feel all tingly and warm around you, too”, but I don’t. Instead I let my head fall back against the arm rest and close my eyes.

“Migrane.”

“Me too,” Louis says from one of the other sofas. “You forgot my scone.”

I blindly reach over for one of Zayn’s trainers and chuck it in his general direction, smiling only when I hear a satisfying thump and a dissatisfied sound pass Louis’ lips.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not actually your personal assistant,” I declare, then pause. “And I was never your assistant anyway.”

“What are you here for, then?” Harry mutters. “Besides stealing our spots on the couch and causing bodily injury.”

I open my eyes to see him taking a seat on the floor, beside the armrest my head is thrown over. His image is upside down, but I can’t mistake the smirk on his face as he crosses his legs and gets to work pulling off the lid to his hazelnut macchiato and blowing on it.

“I’m here to find you two some lucky ladies who will put up with your bullshit,” I reply. “The sooner the better, too. You smell.”

He gives me a smug look, like he’s not buying a word I’m saying. I ignore him as I aim the next part of my tirade toward Niall. “You know, such as girls with winged eyeliner and attitudes that work at coffee shops.”

Niall stirs beneath my thighs, and I lift my head to look at him.

“What?”

He’s caught between feeling excited and being utterly terrified by the information I’ve just told him.

“How do you know she’s not talking about someone for me?” Harry asks, but Niall ignores him.

I vaguely hear Zayn snort and mumble something along the lines of, “Like Mina would ever try to find a girl to set you up with.”

“Harry, a word?” Louis says, and a moment later Harry lets out a sound much like one Louis made a few minutes ago when I threw a shoe at him. I’m too focused on Niall’s sudden panic to pay any attention as to what is happening between Harry and Louis as they move toward the door that leads out into the hallway for a private discussion.

“You found someone then?” he asks.

“Oh yeah,” I tell him, and then collapse back into my previous position. “And it’s not going to be pretty, I can tell you that much.”

“What does that mean?” Liam inquires curiously.

“It means I know what I’m doing. I’m very good at what I do, and I’m positive this girl is the one. But she’s a little unwilling.”

“We’ll see how unwilling she is to date a member of One Direction,” Niall says. I lift my head to read his expression. The look of terror has disappated and a glint of determination can be seen in his blue eyes. I’m caught between slapping him and telling him a girl isn’t a conquest or a challenge, but I figure I can probably use all the help I can get when it comes to selling Tinley on Niall, especially after the mouthful I gave her this morning.

“Thundercats are a go,” I mutter, my head hitting the armrest a little too hard as I collapse again into exhaustion.

–

“Okay, which one is she?” Niall asks as we push through the door into the coffee shop.

It’s much busier now than this morning, which is slightly confusing since coffee tends to be more of a morning drink, but the temperature has dropped with the drizzle and after the sun set, apparently everyone in Sunderland decided they needed themselves a piping hot cuppa.

I’m surveying the area for a table, but Niall’s eyes are scanning the girls behind the counter, where there are at least four and a few men as well.

“Do they have dinner items on the menu, too? I really just hate shephard’s pie, and I tried to eat around the hamburger pieces, but I’m still hungry...”

“Mina,” Niall says with a roll of his eyes, but I’ve finally located a table and lead us there. He’s barely paying any attention to where he’s going, and he bumps into a passerby, knocking a tray of empty coffee cups and plates out of their hands.

“Shit,” he breathes, but it’s too late. Tinley is laying at my feet on her arse, looking a cross between extremely annoyed and immensely disappointed in the mess that has just been created.

Niall looks like he wants to offer a hand to help, but Tinley is too focused on the broken bits of china to pay him any mind. With a sigh and a glance in my direction, he begins to help her, stacking what he can on the tray.

“Leave it, I’ve got it,” she snaps, and Niall freezes immediately, looking over at her with the expression of a kicked puppy. She spares him a glance for half a second, and for a moment, she seems stunned, but she pulls it together and lifts the tray as she gets to her feet.

“Excuse me,” she mutters, pushing past him in the direction of the coffee bar.

“Whats her problem?” Niall grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as he watches her go. When he looks back at me, the expression on my face, his own face falls.

“Oh, hell,” he curses.

“I think she just looks tougher than she is, truly,” I try to console him, but he already has his lips pressed together in a firm line as he takes a seat.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at her before returning his eyes to me.

“Positive. Absolutely, one-hundred percent sure,” I answer without a second’s hesitation.

“Well what do I do?” he asks exasperatedly.

I shrug. “Go talk to her.”

He gives me a look of utter disbelief. I shrug again and he brings a hand to rub over his face. “Lot of bloody good you are.”

“I found her!” I defend, but he’s already standing and begining to slump over to the counter.

“What’s going on here?” A voice asks over my shoulder. I turn, a smile breaking over my face as I take in the sight of the girl behind me, a large steaming cup of tea in her hand.

“Mitchie!” I practically squeal, and she grins as she pulls up the seat Niall has just vacated. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” I tell her. She turns her head to take in the scene happening over at the counter, Niall trying to smooth talk another employee into getting Tinley’s attention for him. She seems wary, but sucks it up and taps Tinley’s shoulder.

“Looks like it,” Mitchie agrees as she brings the mug to her face and takes a sip. “All we’re missing is some popcorn.”

“Shh,” I hiss at her, eyes focused on Niall as I try to hear what he’s saying. It must be an apology and Tinley is shaking her head and telling him to get lost.

“I’m glad to have a viewing partner, but no commentary please. I need to evaluate what is happening and strategize from here,” I explain. She gives me an odd look and it occurs to me that Mitchie doesn’t know what I’m really on tour for, but right now isn’t the right time to explain all of that.

Tinley is a second away from turning to leave, but Niall reaches out to stop her, his hand landing on hers, which is rested on the counter. She looks down at it for a moment in shock before meeting his eyes. He has his most winning smile on as he leans on one elbow on the counter. I can’t be positive, but he might be offering a meal to make up for it.

His eyes flicker over to me for only a fraction of a second, as if trying to find approval in his approach. It’s brief, but unfortunately enough time for Tinley to follow his gaze.

And begin to laugh.

“Damn,” I curse as she gives Niall’s hand a light squeeze and pulls it from hers. She’s still laughing as she walks away, and Niall turns back to me, fuming.

I have nothing else to offer him but a shrug, and he stomps back to our table.

“Well the least you can do after that is give me my seat back,” he mutters to Mitchie, who looks horrified.

“Be a gentleman,” I tell him through clenched teeth. He looks at me with contempt, but doesn’t respond as he puts a hand on the back of my chair and stands rigidly at my side. “If you’re going to be an arse about it, it’s not Tinley we need to be working on.”

“How am I the arse in this situation?” he asks, his voice an octave higher than normal.

I deadpan at Mitchie, and she rolls her eyes giving a firm nod of agreement. Now that I have my work cut out for me, it’s a lot more than I had originally anticipated.

And I haven’t even gotten started on Harry yet.