𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒! | harry styles

𝐈𝐈

I don't see Dr. Styles again for the rest of the week. Not that I look for him or anything. This is merely an innocent observation.

However, it's soon apparent that Cameron is aware of the little soiree we had in the hallway. He greets me one morning with a devious, knowing grin and inconspicuously says, "So… I hear you and Dr. Styles did a little mating dance in the hallway the other day."

I can't hide my gasp of surprise. Meredith, eavesdropping as usual, throws a dirty look in my direction.

"How did you hear about that?" I demand, my voice low in warning. I'm fairly certain Zoey is the only other person who knew. Did she rat me out?

Cameron's answer is simple. "He told me."

"He? Who's 'he'?"

"Dr. Styles, of course. Come on, Pockets. Wake up." He waves his hand in front of my face and I instantly smack it away.

Dr. Styles talked about me? Holy crap. This can't be good.

"You talked to him?" I ask eagerly, and I know I must sound pathetic. I should be pretending like I don't care about any of this.

"Yeah, we hang out," he says. This is apparently old news, but I'm surprised.

"Well, why didn't you say something?" My tone is accusing. I don't mean to sound this way, but damn, it would have been good to know. He could have added that shit before or after his stupid little Tyra Banks speech.

He looks confused. "Should I write down a list of everyone I hang out with or something?" he asks sarcastically.

"Shut the fuck up, Cameron. You know what I mean." He shrugs. "So what did he tell you?" I persist.

"That he's wildly turned on and wants to father your children."

He says this with a straight face. And I should know better...I really, really should. But as fathering said children would require some deliciously naughty foreplay – the sort that have admittedly occupied my mind on more than one occasion this week - I do possibly the dumbest thing ever and allow my mouth to open before I think.

"Really?"

The word actually sounds kind of hopeful, which is terribly embarrassing. I wish I could take it back not even half a second after it leaves my mouth.

Cameron snorts. "No, not really."

I rarely blush, but I suspect my face is hot enough to fry bacon.

"Yeah, good. Cause that would be weird," I say, attempting to play it off. But Cameron isn't fooled. He eyes me curiously.

"So have you met many people around here yet?" he wonders, and I'm grateful for the subject change.

"Not really. Just you guys. Oh, and this weirdo who lives two doors down from me. I can hear him puking through like five sets of walls every morning. It's disgusting."

He seems impressed. "Wow, Pockets. You've got me beat. My neighbor just borrows milk and shit. I never get the luxury of hearing her puke before breakfast."

"Yeah, well. You have to choose your apartment wisely these days. Otherwise, you miss out."

"Right, right. Well it sounds like your social life is really thriving." His tone is conversational and yet sarcastic, but I don't take offense. My social life is crap right now. I know this.

After work, I usually just go home and watch a little TV before passing out on the couch. On days I don't work, I procrastinate while unpacking and running errands so that I actually only accomplish two or three things but still feel as though I've done a whole days worth of chores. Keeping busy helps me feel slightly less pathetic.