I push myself up against the headboard, letting out a long sigh. “How long are they gonna be?” I ask Zayn, watching as he paces around the hotel room.

He pulls the phone away from his ear, turning his gaze towards me. “Not long, they’re close by.”

He brings the phone back up to his ear. “There’s fans outside, you don’t wanna look like a fan,” he says, advising the girls on the phone. “So you two just walk straight in, and get in the lift. If they ask you who you are say your name is Crystabel Riley.”

I let out a low laugh, listening in to Zayn stressing out on the phone. The press, media and a lot of fans assume that me and the lads regularly pick out fans we find attractive and invite them to meet up with us, which actually isn’t true. If someone told me this morning that at our show tonight, Zayn and I would be so mesmerised by you and your bestfriend that we’d get a security guard to pass you a note for both of you to come back stage, I would’ve laughed in your face.

I mean, I’ve never been opposed to the idea of hooking up with a fan. I’m nineteen years old, I have needs just like any other guy and girls fall at my feet on a daily basis. It sounds really big headed, but it’s true. It doesn’t make me have a massive ego like people would assume, but it’s sometimes hard not to think about the idea of hooking up with a fan.

At the end of tonight’s show you and your best friend came backstage, we talked about meeting up and planned for you both to come to our hotel tonight. If our managers caught wind of this it wouldn’t end well for us whatsoever. But, we’re only young once, right? So fuck it.

The sound of Zayn’s phone ringing again fills the room, I reach over grabbing his phone from the counter. “Are you here?”

“Yeah, we’re at the hotel, we got past security and stuff.”

“The room number is 17, come up and knock on the door.” I reply, a wave of nerves and anticipation washes over me as I think about the fact that we’ve never done this before, and we’re done for if people find out.