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it‟s also kind of the best thing that has ever happened.

Then Zayn looks up.

“Fuck,” Louis says under his breath, glancing back. Harry‟s got one fist

pressed to his mouth in anticipation, eyes darting from Louis to Zayn to

Liam and back again. Niall is next to him, whispering, “Yes, yes,” to

himself, his eyes wide.

For half of a second, Zayn seems frozen in place. He stares at Liam.

Liam stares back, and then gives a tiny little wave.

This, it seems, is enough to snap Zayn out of his stupor. A change

comes over him, rippling through his body from head to toe. He slings

his shirt over one shoulder, rolls his hips just a little to the side. As he

covers the last stretch of pavement between himself and Liam, he is

positively feline.

The bitch is hungry, scream the Scorpions, and Louis could not agree

more.

Zayn downright saunters up to the window of Liam‟s SUV, leaning

languidly against the side as he greets him. Liam, for his part, is wide-

eyed but appears to be trying to carry on a normal conversation, bless

him. The music blasts on and, oh, this is good.

55

Not taking his eyes off of the scene unfolding in front of them, Harry

clasps Niall‟s hand, shaking it firmly, and then does the same to Louis.

“Gentlemen, we have a lot to be proud of today.”

Louis can see Zayn flexing his pecs from here. A victory of this caliber

deserves refreshments. He reaches down into the ice chest, snagging a

can of soda and cracking it open.

“You two are officially on the crew for the spring musical, because that

is the highest production quality this school has ever seen,” he says. He

lifts his drink toward them briefly in a mock toast before taking a swig.

“I don‟t think that bloke is prepared for how clean his car is about to

get,” Niall says sagely.

“Oh, I‟m sure Zayn will take care of all his crevices,” Harry throws

back, and Louis chokes on his drink.

Liam says something and Zayn makes a show of laughing at whatever

it is, rubbing his hand over his stomach like it‟s the funniest thing he‟s

ever heard. When he pulls his hand away, there‟s a smear of grease

spanning half of his waist, too perfect to be accidental. He looks down

and laughs again, and then bends down to the bucket, picks his rag back

up, and deliberately wrings it out over his skin before beginning to

slowly, thoroughly, actually rub himself down.

“Jesus Christ,” Niall says, both hands clutched to his face. Harry buries

his face in Louis‟ shoulder.

“Observe, the Zayn in its natural habitat,” Louis says, slipping into his

announcer voice. “A Zayn in the mating season is truly a magnificent

thing to behold. See how he carefully greases and prepares his body for

his mate. So majestic.”

“I can‟t handle this,” Niall says. “I. I wasn‟t prepared.” He takes his

phone out and starts snapping pictures.

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“This is the best thing I have ever done,” Harry says, fingers digging

into Louis‟ side. “Do you think it‟s working?”

“It‟s hard to say,” Louis says. “This particular species of Tragic

Fireman is often immune to the Zayn‟s potent pheromone.”

“Nature is amazing,” Harry says.

From what Louis can tell, Harry seems to have an entire playlist of „80s

rock already on his iPhone. Louis wonders exactly what kind of life

Harry has led up to now that would necessitate such a thing, but really,

knowing Harry, it‟s not that surprising. He probably spent a summer

abroad as part of a hair-metal nudist circus or something. “Rock You

Like a Hurricane” fades into “Here I Go Again” and Louis half expects

Zayn to climb up on the hood of Liam‟s car and writhe around for a

while. He‟s thankful that he doesn‟t, though, because the girls on the

side seem to be convulsing already, and he doesn‟t fancy having to turn

the hose on any of them. He and Zayn get away with a lot, but that

would still probably get him fired.

Zayn just carries on, washing Liam‟s car like he‟s in a damn calendar

shoot. Louis wonders if Harry‟s managed to accidentally stumble upon

the cure to Zayn‟s hopelessness with Liam. It sort of makes sense,

when he really considers it. Two of the main driving forces behind all

of Zayn‟s actions are his vanity and his inflated sense of romance, and

creating a gratuitous public spectacle combines both of those into a

Zayn Malik sex crème brûlée. Louis wonders why he never thought of

it before.

“D‟you think it‟s really necessary for him to stick his arse out like that

while he washes tires?” Niall says, head tilted slightly to the side like

he‟s watching an interesting program on the telly.

“Technique is the key to a good rim job,” Louis says, and Niall doubles

over in laughter. Harry looks like the cross between a proud parent and

a scandalized nun, which, when Louis thinks about it, is exactly what

he was going for.

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They‟re both distracted, though, by Zayn standing up, dipping the

sponge back into the bucket of suds, and wringing it out over his face

and neck. He shakes his head like a wet dog, scattering droplets

everywhere before running his hands through his hair to get his fringe

off his face. The suds run down his torso slowly, leaving behind

shining trails that criss-cross his tattoos. Def Leppard wails on

somewhere in the background. Pour some sugar, indeed.

“Not subtle,” Harry swallows. “But not ineffective either,” and Louis is

too stunned to even try to interpret that.

“Christ, I think I felt something there,” Niall says. “Well played.”

“Well, let‟s hope that one did the trick,” Louis says, “because it looks

like Zayn‟s time is up.” Every inch of Liam‟s car is sparkling, and the

line behind it is going to get out of hand if things don‟t keep moving.

Harry‟s been waving the boys toward other cars to keep them away

from Zayn‟s blast radius, but even so there are too many people waiting

for Zayn to keep this up.

Harry heaves a sigh and picks up his phone. “It was fun while it

lasted,” he says, and cuts the music.

Zayn, who had been talking to Liam again while leaning up against his

car in a ridiculously arched position, looks like a puppet with his

strings cut, his posture suddenly slouching back to normal. He looks

over at Louis, who jerks his head at the line of cars forming. Zayn

pouts but turns back to Liam, pointing out the donation area up ahead.

Liam nods frantically and pulls away. Instead of going to the next car

in line, though, Zayn jogs over toward the three of them.

“Tell me, Jessica Simpson, are your boots made for walking?” Louis

says as he approaches.

“Fuck off, where‟s the hose?” Zayn says, shivering and looking around

desperately. “I have so much soap in my eyes, Jesus Christ.”

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Louis holds out the hose, but then pulls it back before Zayn can grab it.

“So you‟re saying you risked blindness to throw yourself at this guy,”

Louis says. Harry and Niall are both laughing so hard they look like

they‟re about to wet themselves.

“Fuck you, Louis, this fucking burns.” He snatches the hose from

Louis‟ hands and starts washing the soap off his face. “Go distract him,

I can‟t let him see me like this,” he says, cupping handfuls of water and

bringing them up to his eyes.

“Are you seri—” Louis starts, but Harry interrupts.

“You can gather intel, Lou, go on,” and well, the man does have a

point. Thankfully, there‟s a line at the donation area too, so Louis has

time to saunter over before Liam‟s left. Louis walks up to the driver‟s

side window and leans over, doing his best to look normal-friendly and

not your-discomfort-delights-me-friendly.

“Hello, there,” he says, offering his most winning smile.

“Hi,” Liam says. His face, Louis notices, is a very interesting shade of

red, but beyond that, he still seems to be behaving as if this is an

ordinary thing to happen to a man who just wanted to get a wash and

wax for a good cause. “I, um, I think this is where I‟m supposed to give

a donation?”

“Yes, right this way,” Louis says, gesturing elaborately to the group of

teenagers just ahead. “We appreciate your contribution.”

“Great, thank you,” Liam says. “I‟m happy to help.”

Poor sod. Poor, oblivious sod.

59

He pulls up, and Louis watches as he pulls out his wallet, counts out a

couple of notes, pauses, and then empties the entire thing into the

bucket.

60

"Rod Stewart," Harry says. Louis stares blankly at the contents of his

refrigerator, phone wedged against his ear. Just moments ago he was

standing here wondering how long ago he bought that feta cheese, and

then Harry called and effectively commandeered all of his attention.

"What?"

"Rod Stewart,” Harry says again. “I was right. It was totally Rod

Stewart, not Barry Manilow."

Louis leans against the door of the fridge, trying to pin down the

sudden smile inching up his face. "Christ, that was like two weeks ago,

Harold."

"Yeah, but I just remembered to google it," Harry tells him. Louis can

almost see his shrug, the smug set of his mouth, and he‟s thankful

Harry can‟t see the way his own smile keeps spreading.

"Well, I hope you're pleased with yourself," Louis says. He snags a jar

of cherries off of the shelf and closes the door with his hip, twisting the

lid off as he pads over to the kitchen counter.

"I am,” Harry says, and then he drops his voice and rasps down the

line, “If you want my booody, and you think I'm seeexy, come on sugar

let me knooow."

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Louis squeezes his eyes shut for a moment but doesn‟t miss a beat.

"Did you only call to serenade me with the smooth, sultry sounds of

Not Barry Manilow?"

"Pretty much, yeah,” Harry says. “And there are a lot of songs by Not

Barry Manilow, so you should settle in. It‟s going to be a long show."

Louis sets the jar down on the counter and leans against it. “Is that so?”

Duchess leaps up to the counter, and Louis pets her absentmindedly.

“Mhmm,” Harry hums.

Louis can‟t help himself. “So you‟re going to keep me up all night,

then?” he purrs. He hears a sharp intake of breath down the line that

could be the start of a laugh, but before he gets to find out, Duchess

swipes out a paw and bats the jar of cherries off the counter.

It hits the floor with a crash and shatters into a puddle of glass, cherries,

and syrup that starts spreading alarmingly fast. “Shit, shit, shit,” Louis

says, jumping across the kitchen to grab a dishtowel off the side of the

sink. Duchess just watches him, her tail swishing angrily.

“Lou?” Harry‟s tinny voice reminds him he still has his phone between

his ear and shoulder. “You all right? What happened?”

God, should he try to soak up the syrup or sweep up the glass first?

“Jesus! Haz, I‟ve got to let you go, my cat‟s just broken a jar all over