instafamous ✩ lrh [DISCONTINUED]

14. are you a virgin?

Instafamous
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,"