14. are you a virgin?

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"Ashley, you can't leave me alone with him,"

"To hell I can't. I've done my shopping for the day," Ashley tells me, and I just groan. "Now it's your turn to have some fun."

"I won't know what to say-"

"You don't need to. This is your first time meeting the guy, you could literally talk shit about lemons and it'd be okay,"

"It's not that easy," I whine, sounding like a child. Ashley rolls her eyes.

"Then bring up random crap like, I don't know, your Instagram account," the slight mention of my account makes me feel sick to my stomach. Especially since just this morning, I posted a picture with the caption of, 'I miss my Daddy'. For once, I didn't tag Luke, and thank fuck for that.

Which, looking back on it now, I severely regret on the basis of the facts that 1. I don't have a fucking Daddy to miss, and 2. Luke liked the picture within the first few seconds of me posting it.

"But-"

"No buts, Soph. You've got a hot guy waiting outside for you outside and you're here in the women's restrooms, hiding in a fucking cubicle," she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms.

I'm about to object, to say anything that'll help stall and give me a little bit more time, but Ashley holds up a hand to silence me before I can.

"Get out, or I'll make you."

She wasn't kidding when she said that. I end up getting shoved out of the restrooms not too long after, earning a few annoyed looks from the girls making their way inside.

I just give them all sheepish looks, my heart hammering in my chest as I turn down the hallway, head a fuzzy haze of all the possible things I can say to Luke.

Luke. Luke Hemmings. It couldn't have been Luke from my English Lit class, or Luke the janitor with the weird mohawk and the shiny gold tooth. It just had to be Luke Hemmings.

"You okay?" he asks me, looking at me up and down. I try not to do the same, as well as attempting not to let my uneasyness show.

God, I think. His smile's even prettier in real life.

Yes, his smile's fucking pretty, and it's fucking gorgeous just like the rest of him. I wonder what he'd do right now if I decided to spontaneously combust into full-fangirl mode.

Would he turn away, I wonder? Would be run, ditch the roses and call for a limo to take him back to his Hollywood worthy house in the Hills? Or would he stay, not buying it for a second because he knows how I am?

These thoughts plague my mind as we slide in a booth meant for two. It's funny, because in every fanfic I've ever read, the café's always conveniently empty for the main character to sit in and have a nice, long conversation with someone famous- this is no different.

"I didn't think we'd meet like this," Luke chuckles. His voice is deeper than I anticipated, but that's because I hear it mostly from the band's old Keeks and impulse performances.

That, and the occasional moan audio.

Shut up, I tell myself, inhaling a deep breath. I sound like a psycho, and I'm not afraid to admit that I feel like one, too. Don't think about things like that right now.

"Neither did I," I tell Luke, truthfully. "I'm sorry for smashing into you,"

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'm the one who wasn't paying any attention to where I was going," he says kindly. "I was the one too busy staring at his phone,"

"Doing what?" I crack a small smile. He does the same, only his is much more attractive than mine and he doesn't even have to try.

"Texting you."

My heart flutters, and I don't know why. I'm afraid of moving ever so slightly in my seat because it might burst out of my chest at any given moment now.

It's surprisingly calm between us. Why I'm surprised is beyond me. After all, Luke is just a person. Yet I don't feel like this- sick, tense and holding a baited breath- around Dylan, or around Chase.

But that's different, the voice in my head says again. You've never cummed over Dylan. Or Chase.

Goddamnit. If sexual frustration was a person, it'd probably be my best friend.

"I got these for you," Luke's own voice rips through my thoughts as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I think he notices, but he doesn't act on it as he hands the small bouqet of roses over. "Kinda why I was late," he chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. " I'm sorry if you don't like them,"

"I love roses," I say, the smile on my face evident as I take them from him. Then I frown, guilt replacing the butterflies. "But I didn't get you anything,"

"You didn't have to. I wanted to surprise you," Luke says. "I'm really glad you agreed to meet me, doll."

Doll. Doll.

Do you hear that?

That's the sound of my legs clamping together and my heart racing at a million beats per minute. "I-I'm going to need you to stop saying stuff like that," I say, growing even more nervous with every word that I say.

Oh, my god, I face palm internally. You sound like one of those sappy characters that Ashley always writes about in her Wattpad books.

"Stuff like what?" Luke asks, looking confused.

A part of me thinks that he's asking that on purpose, just to get a reaction because he already knows.

The other part of me tells me that there is no other part, and that he's just a cocky fuck, and that I might as well strip naked right in front of him right now if I'm already letting him have this much of an impact on me.

All in all, I can't win. It's been like that since day one, though, when he began replying to the groupchat messages and I very nearly lost my mind.

"Stuff like doll," I reply, looking at my fumbling fingers.

"What's wrong with calling you doll?"

"Nothing,"

"Then what's the problem?"

"Have you even seen my Instagram?" I raise an eyebrow, the confidence in me making a surprise appearance. Luke bites his lip. "'Doll' does things to me, Hemmings."

"Oh, baby. Trust me, I know."

"Fuck off," I glare. He smirks. "'Doll' is bad enough."

"What? Turns you into one?"

"What?" my eyes narrow as he chuckles, shaking his head.

"Nothing, nothing. I just read something last night and it really freaked me out," I want to say, 'hey, so did I, I read a fanfiction about you and dolls and it was really creepy, but that's okay, because I only touched myself twice to the thought of you last night', but I don't because I have morals. And although they might not necessarily be the best morals, I have them.

"What was it about?" okay, so we're having a nice, civil conversation. This is good, this is going great, this is-

"Dolls." nevermind, then. My thighs are back to clamping together and I want to stick a knife through my right eyeball. Maybe swirl it around a little bit, just so it touches the tip of my brain and erases part of my memory.

Fuck you, Hemmings.

"But that's not the point," Luke says, leaning back and stuffing his hands in his jean pockets. "I won't call you doll if you don't want me to, Soph."

"It's not that I don't want you to. It's just that I barely know you," lame excuse, I know. Especially since we've been talking for about three months now, and he probably knows more about me than I've gathered about him in the past four years I've been a 5 Seconds of Summer fan.

"You know me," Luke says, raising an eyebrow.

"I know what social media tells me," I retaliate.

"Okay, then. Go on, ask me anything," I'm a little relieved we're off the topic of the word 'doll' now, because I have no idea what I would have done if we carried on the conversation.

I probably would have gone into the kitchen of this unknown café and stuck my hand in a moving blender, or something.

"Anything?" I repeat, unable to control the small expression of awe that tugs on my lips.

"Mhm. Anything."

"You promise?"

"What is this, a contract?" he laughs. I laugh, too. "But sure, whatever. I promise."

"You're brave," I say, honestly. "I could ask you some pretty personal stuff, you know, and you'd have to answer because you just promised me that you would."

"Isn't that the whole point of this, though?" Luke says back, grinning. "You'd get to know me better, then. And not just through a screen."

"Can they be like, really, really, really personal?"

"Define personal,"

"Worse than asking you for your favourite colour."

"Damn, that's wild. I don't think I can do it," Luke sighs, and I laugh, feeling myself loosen up. He laughs along with me, before nodding his head, smile wide. "But I'd be fine with that, sure. Shoot."

"Okay-"

"On one condition,"

"Okay?" I squint my eyes slightly.

"You can ask me whatever you'd like, but only if I get to ask you the same thing back."

"But what if it only applies to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if I ask what your favourite chord is? You can't ask me that, I don't play guitar."

"Then I pass, and you can ask the next question."

"This is the most thought-out game of twenty-one questions I have ever played," I say, breathing out slowly, and Luke smirks.

"Alright, doll. Ask away."

I decide to ignore the petname, knowing fully well that he's doing it on purpose. "Okay. What's your favourite song on Sounds Good Feels Good?"

"Is this a radio interview?"

"I'm just trying to ease you into it," I roll my eyes.

Luke bites his bottom lip, and I want to so badly drag him into the tattoo parlour across the road to ask for a new lip ring for him to shove back into the gap. "None of them,"

"What?"

"None of them. I hate my band. Next," he smirks, and I resist the temptation to groan. I can already tell this boy will be the bane of my frustration. "Actually, wait. What's your favourite song?"

"Out of what album?"

"Any,"

"Girls Talk Boys," I reply simply. Luke looks surprised.

"Oh, really? How come?" because the way your voice cracks when you say sweetheart makes me want to cry, touch myself, and call the police all at the same time.

"I just really love the new Ghostbusters film." I say slowly, and Luke nods in understanding.

"Next question," I clear my throat, as Luke quickly gestures to a waitress for two coffees. I'm baffled at how she has the capacity to understand him from where she's sitting, but she does what he wants nevertheless. "Are you a virgin?"

"Is this uncomfortable territory?"

"Not even close," I mumble. Luke's smirk widens as I lay my head on my hand.

"Good to know," he says, nodding. "And no. I'm not a virgin."

"Figured." I say.

"Are you?" he asks, looking at me through the fringe that he eventually brushes out of his face. I purse my lips. "Judging from what you post, though... I'd be su-"

"Yes."

"What?" Luke's eyes widen, crystal blues getting even bigger and making me want to fall into a black hole even more.

"Mhm,"

"How the-" he stops himself as the waitress comes towards us with two mugs. She places them down on the table, and upon walking away, Luke lowers his voice.

"How the fuck are you a virgin?"

"How the fuck have you not cut your hair yet?"

"Okay, that was rude," Luke huffs, slumping back in his seat. I giggle.

"Sorry," I say, though I don't sound apologetic in the slightest. "I like your hair, really."

"Sure you do," he says, tone slightly sarcastic. "Any more?"

"What, questions? Yes, I have a whole list of them,"

"I feel like you're going to turn around at any moment now and tell me that you're only here for information to leak back to a 5SOS exposing account," Luke jokes, shaking his head and laughing to himself as he starts to sit up.

I pause, suddenly remembering why I even called him to meet me in the first place.

Well, the devil on my shoulder clears her throat, whistling nonchalantly whilst looking from side to side. She taps her watch, and the angel on my other side faints. It's a little too late for that now, isn't it?

"Okay, now I have a question for you," Luke states, snapping me out of my mental war with both sides. I furrow my eyebrows.

"That's not how the game works,"

"We were playing a game?"

"Yeah. I ask the questions, you answer, then you ask me the same one," I reply.

"Can't we make an exception? Just this once?"

"But why?"

"You'll see,"

"You're annoying."

Luke smirks. "Can I ask you the question, now?"

"If you must," I sigh, melodramatically.

I feel Luke lean forward, his shadow blocking the light of the lamp above our booth. His legs are so long that they brush against my own under the table; as well as the warmth of his hands, but I try to convince myself that it's an accident.

As Luke's chest pressed against the edge of the booth, a shiver runs down my spine. I notice only now that I've been leaning in much like he has, and now his face is just inches away from mine as he speaks; his voice low, deep, and rough.

"Who's your Daddy, Soph?" Luke murmurs, a mischevious glint in his eye. "And why do you miss him?"

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