With an exasperated sigh, I combed a hand through my hair before turning my attention back to my laptop screen. I was supposed to be typing up the rest of my economic notes, but I couldn't concentrate for the life of me. 

Pressing two fingers to the bridge of my nose, I desperately tried to drown out the distant hum of other college students chatting and laughing around us. Brandon sat across from me at our little table with his psychology textbook spread out before him, and a pen between his teeth.

We were at our Uni café – which was a place where a lot of students liked to study and relax while also getting something to eat. Another moment of silence went by before I let out another frustrated tut as I found myself reading the same line for the eighteenth time.

Brandon lifted his head up and looked across at me with curious eyes. 

"Okay, you're officially tutting more than my judgmental middle-aged mother. What's wrong, Soph?" he asked gently. 

I cracked a smile and gave a little aimless shrug. "N-"

"And don't say nothing," he interrupted before I could finish. 

I sighed in defeat. "Okay fine, I just..I.. just still feel a little shaken up after my boxing lesson with Nathan," I mumbled.

 I'd already filled Brandon in on what happened between Nathan and me at the gym last night. And let me tell you, it was a long night of bitterness and complaint from my end. 

But can you blame me? The boy had stormed out of the room just because I had touched him like I was some creepy pedophile or something.

"Oh right," he winced. "That wasn't the best start to your plans for seduction, was it?" he piped in unhelpfully.

"You think?" I scoffed. "At this rate, I'm going to be eighty-five before he gives me the time of day!"

"Really; that soon? My guess was the year one-hundred-and-two," he joked with a cheeky grin.

 "Mean," I cried as I gave him a sharp kick from underneath the table. 

He jutted out his lip. "Oww," he cried as he reached under the table and started to soothingly rub up and down his leg.

"But no, seriously, Brandon, I don't get what the fuck his problem was? I barely even touched him at all. From the way he was acting, you'd think I had tried to grope his fucking dick or something," I laughed.

Brandon chuckled. "Yeah, I don't get that either. It's not typical player behavior at all," he drawled in confusion. 

"Yeah, maybe...maybe...I'm not his type," I mumbled quietly. It was a hard truth to swallow, but it was looking like the most likely. 

Brandon's eyes softened. "Well, if you're not, he's got shit taste," he piped in optimistically.

His comment cheered me up slightly, and the corners of my lips lifted slightly. "Yeah, I am pretty hot, aren't I?" I joked as I winked at him flirtatiously. 

"Hmm, and modest too," Brandon hummed as he picked up his cappuccino cup and took a long judgmental sip.

I laughed in response, and soon, the two of us got back to work.

I tried my best to shove all thoughts of Nathan to the back of my mind, but they kept fighting their way back to the surface. 

Wasn't his type, was I? Well, let's see who his type was then...

Before I could stop myself, my finger moved to open up a new window, and I logged myself into Instagram. I quickly typed his name into the search bar, and the first recommendation that popped up was his account. 

His profile picture was a typical rich boy type one. It was him lounging by a cocktail bar at an expensive-looking resort with his dark-tinted sunglasses on.

I felt the nagging feeling of jealousy burn within my chest. The only holiday I had been on in my life was a weekend camping trip when I was eight. And that mostly consisted of me peeing in a bush and praying to God I wouldn't be eaten alive by a bear. 

I mean, yeah, there were no bears in England, but that was beside the point; the point was that my life clearly sucked compared to Nathan's.

Stupid lucky bastard...

Slowly, my finger started to scroll down his account page, and I came to an abrupt stop at the first picture. It was a selfie with him in the back of a taxi with one of the most beautiful-looking girls I'd ever seen in my life.

 She had voluminous dark-brown hair that draped graciously down her shoulders, and her body was slender and long - with the sort of dimensions a model might have.

I swallowed as I took in more of the picture. I looked nothing like that, not even close. Don't get me wrong, I was proud of my body. I mean, I was in shape and all, considering I worked at the gym, but that certainly didn't mean I could pass for a model.

As I continued to scroll, I found more and more pictures of similar-looking girls, further strengthening my definite conclusion that I was not his type at all - not even a little bit.

I swiftly twisted my laptop around to show Brandon. "Well, I've solved our mystery," I spat bitterly. 

His eyes twinkled in amusement as he looked down at the screen. "Oh, so we're still cyberstalking him, are we?" he teased. 

"Shh, Brandon, just look at the pictures," I snapped. 

He tilted his head and inspected the images.

"Erm...what exactly am I supposed to be noticing apart from the fact that this boy takes way too many photos?" he joked.

 "True," I snorted. "But that's not the point. What I'm trying to get at is, he's clearly got a type. He's only into dark-haired, skinny fucking tall-chicks," I grumbled out bitterly. 

He pulled an awkward face as his eyes washed once more over the pictures. "Ooo yeah," he winced. "But it's fine; you can change his type," he shrugged.

"How on earth am I supposed to do-,"

I didn't get a chance to finish my sentence before my attention was swiftly pulled to the door. And, you guessed it; Nathan Woods walked through. 

His arm was wrapped tightly around a gorgeous young woman, who he had pulled tightly to his side. And I'll let you take a wild fucking guess what color hair she had.

 Yup, that's right, dark-fucking-brown.

I watched as he led them over to a booth at the back of the café. He let her slide in first before practically wedging himself in beside her. He leaned a little closer and whispered something to her, and it must have been funny because she started to laugh. My eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  What on earth was happening? This loser wasn't capable of humor...

I glanced around at the other tables, and I noticed a few other students were staring in his direction as well.

 Correction: a few other female students were staring in his direction. They whispered to one another and watched him with goofy smiles upon their faces. 

He broke eye contact with the girl he was with to give a quick sweep of the room. A small, little smile emerged on his face as he noticed some of the stares he was getting, and the dickhead looked like he was reveling in the attention.

And then my heart jumped a little in surprise as his eyes caught mine.

 Immediately, his smile faded, and he stared at me for a while - his gaze analytical and judgemental. Soon enough, the brown-haired girl he was with tapped his shoulder, and he quickly returned his gaze back to her.

I turned back to Brandon with a frown. "Jesus Christ, did you see the way he was staring at me?" I muttered.

"Yup," he snorted. He had the look of someone who would very much like to murder you," he joked. 

His comment did little to cheer me up, and I continued to look into the distance sulkily. "This plan is never going to work, is it? I'm not exactly a love expert or anything, but I'm pretty sure glaring at someone from across the room isn't a sign of budding feelings?" I sighed.

Brandon gave me a pitying glance and leaned forward in his chair. "Look, you're approaching this whole seduction thing in the completely wrong way," he explained. 

I furrowed my brows. "How so?"

"Well, have you seen a single rom-com movie ever?" he scoffed. "The guy never falls for the girl from physical attraction alone. You have to trick him into being your friend first and then worm your way into his heart," he stated matter of factly.

Seconds away from telling him how stupid his idea was, I stopped myself. "You know what, that's actually not that stupid," I murmured slowly. 

"Yeah, duh," he chuckled cockily as he packed up some of his stuff. "Anyway, I've got a lecture, so see you at the flat," he said as he rose to his feet.

"Enjoy your studying, or well more accurately, your stalking," he teased as he sent a pointed look over to my laptop.

"Yeah, yeah, Mr judgy, just go to your stupid psychology lecture already," I muttered as I made a flippant waving gesture with my hand. 

"Bye," he called out with a laugh before finally making his departure.

As soon as he was gone, my gaze unconsciously drifted back to Nathan's table. And I instantly regretted it; the second I took in the vile image before me. My nose wrinkled in disgust as I desperately tried to repress the urge to throw up.

Nathan and his model-looking girl were stood by their table, clawing away at each other in a likely effort to lodge their tongues deeper down each other's throats.

Hmm, doesn't like to be touched, my arse.

They finally pulled away, and she whispered a goodbye before sauntering herself in the direction of the door.

The moment she was gone, a bored expression overtook Nathan's face, and he slid himself back into the booth and whipped out his phone.

Perfect, he was alone. 

Figuring this was a good enough time as any to start my new plan of friendship, I slid my laptop into my bag before rising to my feet. With my eyes set firmly on my target, I marched my way confidently over to his table.

Before he even had a chance to look up, I dumped my bag into the seat across and slid in alongside him. 

"Sup," I said.

Nathan lifted his head up in surprise, and as soon as he drunk me in, his expression warped into one of annoyance. 

"Oh, great; it's you, again. What do you want?" he grumbled.

I smiled; despite the fact that he was being an arse to me. "Well, for one thing, I came over here to get an answer on why you ran out of my class like a weirdo?" I asked bluntly.

His eyes narrowed. "Simple - because you touched me, and I don't like to be touched," he explained simply.

My brows lifted in surprise. "Wow, those are interesting words for someone who was practicing for the tongue Olympics with Mrs supermodel chick mere seconds ago," I scoffed. 

He snorted. "Super model-chick? Am I detecting some insecurity...," he taunted in a baby voice as he protruded his lip into a condescending pout.

Well...yes.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, answer the question truthfully - Why did you storm out of the class?" I spat.

"I did answer it truthfully," he shrugged. " I left out one small detail. I don't mind being touched; I just don't like to be touched by you," he whispered, his lips lifting up into a small, little smile.

His insult felt like a punch to the face. I had my suspicions that it was the reason, but to hear it fall from his lips so simply was a little denting to the ego.

"Well, ouch," I laughed. 

"Sorry, Sophie, but the truth hurts," he shrugged. 

"I also don't like to be touched that sensually by girls who clearly have a boyfriend," he said, his gaze flickering over me judgmentally.

What the fuck was this geezer on about?

"A boyfriend?" I repeated in confusion. 

He somehow managed to look even angrier than before the moment the words left my mouth.

"Yeah, you know, the boy you were sitting and laughing with seconds ago. Or do cheaters like you forget you have one?" he scoffed.

Realization hit me like a truck, and I froze. 

Brandon was supposed to be my boyfriend. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I cleared my throat, desperate to rectify the situation. "Well, firstly, Mr cocky, I wasn't coming on to you at the gym, so don't flatter yourself. Just because a woman touches you; doesn't mean she wants to sleep with you. I was simply correcting your posture," I explained smoothly.

 I might have imagined it, but I swear I saw a slither of embarrassment flash through his eyes.

"And secondly, I am not a cheater. Never have been, never will be," I finished off snappily.

He stared at me for a while, then finally looked away. "Okay, whatever, fine, I admit I must have misread the situation," he muttered.

I smiled. "It's fine; you're forgiven, Natalie," I teased. 

He leaned back in his chair with a groan. "For fuck's sake, if you say that nickname one more time...," he grumbled warningly.

My lips twitched, getting a kick out of pissing him off.

"Did you come over here to annoy me or something?" he snapped.

"Well, yes," I chuckled. "But also because I want to get to know you better, Natalie," I smiled.

 "Why?" he asked cautiously.

I shrugged. "Because I figured the cure to your dick-itis might be to have a friend as awesome as I am," I remarked bluntly.

His eyes flickered back and forth between mine, and his jaw hardened. "I don't do friends," he spat bluntly. 

Before I even got a chance to respond, he shouldered his bag, slid out of the booth, and left. 

------------

Author's note:

Hope you enjoyed chapter seven xx 

What do people think Sophie is going to do next, to win Nathan over? 

Also, not gonna lie, I think moody Nathan might represent a hangry version of me...

Next update: Friday (6-8 PM UK time)