The Cookie Girl. (edited version)

(A One Direction Fanfic) From the author of Cats, Kisses, And Wagon Wheels, here's Liam's story--The Cookie Girl!!! Esmée Minton knows a lot of things. Liam Payne isn't sure he knows anything anymore. When the two of them meet; it’s the worst possible situation and they are the worst people to meet. Or are they? ...

Actual real-life reviews I do not kid you:
"I am so captivated by this story! It's beautifully and amazingly written!" - "[Esmée] is my girl crush and she doesn't even exist!" - "This has to be the most adorable perfect thing I've ever read." - "I'm more invested in thsi story than in my own life. I love this; don't talk to me." - "I'm addicted to cocoa now."


11. Pictures Of A Hangover

Pictures Of A Hangover



I’m drunk.

I know that because in the back of my mind, I know what I’m doing is a shitty idea and what I’m saying will make me look like a proper twat, but I still do it. That’s alcohol for me.

But I’m not pissed, okay? I’m not really, really drunk. Just regular drunk, as in, I make shitty decisions but I will still remember them in the morning. Which sort of sucks, really.

“What about him?” I ask Clary, gesturing to a blonde guy leaning to the bar with his back to us. “He looks fit.”

“You can only see his back, Mint, how would you know?” Clary has had way more drinks than I have, and even though, being Irish, she takes alcohol better than me, she’s really drunk. Not-able-to-walk-a-straight-line drunk. I feel a bit guilty, but then again, she’s still able to talk normally.

I shrug.

“Do you want another drink?” Justin grins and I elbow him in the ribs.

She shakes her head, laughing. “Nope,” she says, and I notice that her speech is a tiny bit washed out already. It’s unnoticeable, unless you encounter as many drunk people on a daily basis as I do. (Which is a lot.)

“He is fit, though,” Justin says when the guy turns and we can see his profile.

“I like him,” Clary agrees.

Justin looks at me like he’s waiting for something and I sigh.

“Wait a second,” I say and get up to walk over to him.

“Ask him if he wants to shag me,” Clary giggles and I roll my eyes. But I still have to laugh.

“Hey,” I say when I reach the guy. He turns and grins at me. It’s a cute grin, sort o lopsided, and it lights up his face and makes him look really cute.


I cut to the case because, let’s face it, I’m not good at stuff like this and I sort of hope I never will be, either.

“You see my friend Clary over there?” I gesture to our table and when his eyes find her, he nods and raises hi glass a bit as he catches her eyes.

“Your friend Clary is hot,” he says, and his Irish accent is even heavier than Clary’s.

I shrug. “I know.”

He laughs and his breath smells of vodka.

“You should dance with her,” I tell him.

He grins. “I might.”

I nod and watch him as he saunters over to Clary, chest puffed out, desperately and drunkenly trying to impress her. They talk for a bit until he leads her to the dance floor. Over his shoulder, Clary grins at me and mouths a thank you, and I smile. Well, that went well.

I walk around the club, trying to find Justin, but to no avail. I pass a few snogging couples, but no lanky blonde best friend.

See? That’s what you get for having a gay best friend. They get lost a lot. Especially at clubs.

“Justi-in,” I whine, stomping my foot. I know it’s not like that’ll make him hear me and that it’ll do anything but make me look like a bloody twit, but as I said, I’m slightly very drunk.

“Who’s Justin,” a deep voice says behind me. I turn to see a tall, broad guy with black hair and eyes that are so dark that they look like they’re black. He looks like he may possibly be more drunk than me.

“I bet I can show you a better time than that Justin ever will.”

I stare at him.

“Ew,” I say. “Go away.”

“You sure about that?” he asks, coming even closer.

“Yes, now piss off before I make someone punch you!” The alcohol is pretty much burned out of my system as I’m faced with one of Dublin’s finest horny-drunks.

“Who would punch me? Justin?” He scoffs.

“He might,” I say. “Or, you know, so might my boyfriend.” I don’t even really realize I just called Liam my boyfriend—because he was definitely in my mind when I said that.

“Yeah, sure.”

I squint at the guy. “Now listen here, you little shit, I—”

“Sorry!” someone interrupts me. “Sorry, sorry, I gotta get through here, sorry.” The lad whom that voice belongs to finally arrives to stand next to the horny-drunk and shoots me an apologetic grin. “Sorry, babe, he gets like that when he gets drunk,” he tells me; then he calls out, “Mates! Over here; I found ‘im!” Three other guys turn up, all considerably more drunk than the one that just arrived but still considerably less drunk than horny-drunk.

“C’mon, Alex,” one of them says, and they start manoeuvring the horny-drunk away.

“You coming, man?” the ginger one asks, but the guy standing next to me makes a dismissing hand move.

“I’ll catch up with ya later,” he says, and his friends bugger off without another word.

He rubs his neck nervously. “Look, I’m really sorry ‘bout him. Alex is a great lad, he just gets a bit weird when he gets drunk.”

“It’s fine,” I say, even though, well, actually, it’s not. But this guy actually looks cute when he’s nervous, and he looks super-cute when he smiles, and he’s also really nice. In other words, I sort of like him. I would totally find him attractive and try to get some if it wasn’t for Liam. But this way, I just smile at him and think to myself that he seems like a decent sort of lad—like, proper nice.

“I’m Ben,” he tells me, holding out his hand for me to shake.

I take it. “Esmée.”

There is a bit of an awkward silence.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Esmée,” he says.

“You, too, Ben,” I smile, and I find myself not minding that I’ll never see him again. Nevertheless, he was nice.

I roam around a bit and have a few more five-euro-mojitos; and I finally find Justin when it's already three a.m. but honestly, it doesn’t even matter.

Justin is sort of really drunk, and, frankly, so am I.

“It’s been a while since we did this,” I giggle as we stand outside the club, waiting for our taxi.

He grins widely. “Yea, it has. I love you, Mint.”

I put a hand over my heart, swaying a little in my heels. “I love you, too, Jus. I love you very much.”

He sniffs. “I love you very much, too.”

“You know what?” I giggle. “We should have a sleepover. Like when we were younger. Because—“ I pause because I have a little bit of a hiccup, “Because Clary will be having noisy sex in our teensy flat and because I’ve missed you. And we haven’t done that in ages.” Actually, we just did that about two weeks ago. But still.

Justin gloats. “Yes, we should do that! Oh, let’s do that!”

I smile at him drunkenly. “You’re the bestest friend, Jus.”

“I know, babe.”





“You’re boring, Lili.”

“You’re annoying, Niall,” I say, not even looking up from my phone.

“I wanna do stuff,” he says, shifting so that his head if blocking my view of my phone. “Let’s do stuff.”

I readjust so that I can see the screen again. “No.”

Niall is jumping up and down on the bed now. I’m pretty sure there are only few people who can jump up and down while being in a half-sitting-half-lying-down position, but Niall is definitely one of them. “Let’s do stuff! Let’s kill a person.”

“Niall, no.”

“What are you even doing?” he pouts.

I sigh. “I’m texting. Go and annoy Zayn or something. Better yet, get Louis and Harry out of the bathroom; I don’t wanna clean that up again.”
“Ew, no.”

I shrug. “You wanted to do stuff. Go on. Do that.”

“I don’t wanna. And Zayn’s skyping with his mum; I don’t wanna be inbetween that.”

“How awfully considerate of you,” I scoff.

Unfortunately, Niall is the most oblivious person in the world when it comes to sarcasm. “Thanks.”

I sigh.

Niall starts jumping again.

After a while, I give up and put my phone into the pocket of my jeans. “Okay. Fine. You’ve won. What do you wanna do?”

Niall grins. “Let’s go have a pint.”


“Why not?” he whines.

“Because I don’t fancy being recognized.”

He crosses his arms. “Esmée’s going out.”

“You don’t have to do everything that Esmée does,” I tell him.

“We should all go out. We should all, as a band, go out in our normal-guy-disguises and have a pint in Ireland and have fun like in the old times.”

I shrug, because that actually sounds like a nice thing to do. “Alright. But you go get Louis and Harry.”

Niall groans, but complies, and ten minutes later, we’re all sitting in a taxi, wearing horribly scratchy wigs, giggling like twelve-year-olds.

“We haven’t done this in ages,” Zayn says.

Harry grins. “Guys, guys. What did the burger say to the chips?”

We all sigh, but of course, Louis humours him. “What, Harry?”

“Nothing, a burger can’t talk!” Harry starts laughing as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

I roll my eyes.

“That was particularly awful,” Louis says.

Zayn crinkles his nose. “Yeah, mate, even for you.”






When I wake up, I feel sort of sick and grouchy like I always do when I’ve had too much to drink. Fortunately, when I have a hangover, I sort of don’t get an actual hangover. I don’t get sensitive to light and noise. I just feel like killing someone and like my head probably won’t fit through a door and like I can’t decide whether to sleep for 86253825 years or eat chocolate and cold pizza until I have to throw up.

I stretch like a cat and press my eyes tightly shut before opening them altogether. The sunlight is blinding me, but the sky is a beautiful blue and makes Justin’s hair shine like gold. He’s lying next to me on his gigantic bed—which is actually just a mattress on the floor—with his head buried under a pillow and his limbs all stretched out, except for his right arms which is cuddling the fluffy pillow he’s had since he was four.

I sigh and get out of bed slowly, running a hand through my messy waves. There’s no bloody way I’ll be able to untangle them until I’m home, I realize as soon as I’m stood in front of Justin’s bathroom mirror. Then again, I really can’t bring myself to care. I brush my teeth with a spare toothbrush and take an aspirin; then I go hunting for some sort of clothes. I’m pretty sure I left a pair of jeans at Justin’s when I was here last time, and yes, there they are, lying neatly folded on a chair. Bless him. I tug them on, but I don’t have a shirt, so I just stay in J’s t-shirt that I wore to sleep.

Carefully avoiding all mirrors on the way, I traipse into the unfamiliar kitchen and make myself a strong cuppa. By the time I’ve had the second one I’m awake enough to make pancakes because that’s always been our hangover breakfast (at least if there’s no cold pizza around). Thin, british pancakes with either lots of cheddar (and then folded) or lemon juice and sugar. It’s heaven. I open the fridge to get out the eggs and the milk when I also see some orange-strawberry juice. I smile. That’s also part of the hangover-breakfast and let me tell you, for some reason it does wonders.

Justin comes stumbling into the kitchen just as I’m putting the second pancake on a plate, mumbling something into his nonexistent beard and not even saying good morning before he digs in. I smile fondly and pour him some tea, not even bothering to put anything in it because, let’s face it, with a hangover, you need the slightly tangy taste as well as as much caffeine you can get. As lucky as I am with hangovers, as unlucky is Justin. He always gets it bad. But, in turn, he can hold his liquor a lot better than me.

Justin downs the tea in two big gulps.

It takes him two more cups of tea and a total of one and a half pancakes to be awake enough to mutter a “mornin’,” to which I nod and make a noise not even I can define into my tea, handing him the aspirin. Mine is slowly starting to show its effects and it’s like a Gospel Choir singing Hallelujah.

He grins. “Thanks.”

“S’alright. They’re yours.”

Justin laughs. And then, so do I.

“So,” he says when we’ve calmed down a bit.

“So,” I mimic him.

“Clary’s great,” he grins, and that’s right, they haven’t met before yesterday evening.

“She’s awesome, isn’t she? I love her.”

“Same. — Can you pass the nutella, please? Cheers.” He starts putting nutella on a sugar-and-lemon-juice pancake and I almost throw up. Honestly.

“Wow, J,” I say, crinkling my nose. “You have exceeded yourself. This is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. And I work for snooty rich people.”

He shrugs. “Don’t judge. I’ve brought you food during your strawberry time.You can’t judge.”


“You love me.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“Yes I do.”




"Excuse me but are you dumb?" Louis' voice is shrill. 

I stare at the boys. "There's this thing called knocking. It's common courtesy in most cultures, actually," I say, pointing at them with my cookie-dough spatula. 

"Shut up," Niall tells me. 

If Niall Horan is angry at you, you know you've fucked up. 

"What's wrong?"

"Apparently, something about your brain," Louis tells me. Well, thanks. 

I put the spatula back into the bowl and turn around fully to face them properly, leaning to the counter.

Zayn still looks the most calm out of them, while Louis and - surprisingly - Niall seem just livid. Harry is standing in the back, all awkward limbs and disappointed eyes. Liam is missing and I raise my eyebrows in a silent question. 

"We didn't want to discuss this in front of Liam," Zayn tells me. 

"Bloody right we didn't!" Louis exclaims.

I have a strange feeling they're not waning to discuss Liam birthday present. Especially since his birthday isn't for another few months. 

"What are you talking about?" I ask. 

As an answer, suddenly there's a phone in my face. 

"This might surprise you, but I can't read so well if something's less than an inch away from my face," I quip. Nobody laughs. 

I take the shiny iPhone out of Niall's hand and look at the page that's opened. It's a sugarscape article and I sigh inwardly because what do they ever do if not annoy me. 

"Read it," Niall commands. 

My eyes scan the page and grow wide. 

"This is about me," I say incredulously. What news could there possibly be now? And why is it about me, the least interesting person in all of Europe?

Zayn sighs. "Just read it."






Yes, you read that right. Esmée let someone take her home (pardon the pun) - and it wasn't Liam.

The girl who lately has been seen out and about with Liam Payne on coffee dates was spotted yesterday going to a club in Dublin with a friend and a blonde mystery guy. At the club, she was reportedly chatting up random guys, but in the end, she left with the blonde hottie. And as we were typing this with tears in our eyes and in total denial, we got in pictures of her leaving a flat in Dublin's Lower Gardiner Street sporting sex hair and a guys’ t-shirt. (For everyone who, like us, has no idea about the streets of Dublin, that's literally on the other side of the river from the infamous Éireann hotel.) So does this mean that she and Liam really are just friends? Or is she already cheating on him?

We'll let the pictures speak for themselves - what do you think?


I frown and scroll down to read the comments. 


Callie: omgaldhdiabdkrhe what my shipper heart is crying


MilaStyles: Esmée is such a bitch how could she do this to Liam?


Yammie95: Esmée clearly doesn't love Liam as much as he loves her and this just proves it. I'm so angry with her. 


Allisonnnn: she needs to find out what my foot down her throat feels like. 


LenaHorann: Liam must be so sad fuck I wanna kill her. 


Ruthie: why would anyone cheat on Liam with that guy what. 


AnnaH: guys we don't know if any of this is true shut up everyone she's just a girl like us why would she cheat on Liam are you ok


I look up. "This Anna has got her shit together," I just say. 

"What?" It's the first time Harry speaks. 

"I mean that this one girl who left a comment knows her stuff. Why on earth would I cheat on Liam when we've barely been going out on dates? Are you okay?" I look at Louis. "Excuse me but are you dumb?" I mimic him. 

"Then would you please explain why there are pictures of you leaving his flat this morning with sex hair and wearing his shirt?"

Just as I'm about to answer, someone knocks at my door. 

"Nobody's here!" Niall calls. 

The door opens and a blonde head of hair peeks through.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Mint? Clary let me in; I gotta talk to you. There are pictures of me on the... Fuck me sideways, One Direction are in your room!"

"Is that..." Zayn trails off. 

Niall looks at me angrily. "I don't believe you! I was so happy that Liam found you and now you don't only cheat on him but that guy just walks into your flat!"

"Now listen here, everyone..." I try to say, but chaos sort of breaks loose. 

I'm sat there on my bed, totally helplessly watching how the boys freak out and Niall is about to hit Justin while Justin just fangirls over the boys, until Clary barges in. 

"Shut the fuck up everyone!" She screams. Everyone grows silent. "I'm trying to sleep out a hangover in the room just next to this one and until you finally stop being fuckers I can't do that." She breathes in deeply and Louis tries to say something, but is interrupted by Clary who looks at him murderously. "Now listen here you little shit," she tells him. "Justin over there aka your gayest fangirl-" 

"I take offense to that," Justin mutters. 

"Justin is Esmée's best friend. Okay? Fucking listen for once, I'm so done with all of you."

"... oh." Niall looks a bit embarrassed. 

"So... You guys are best friends?" Harry asks. 

I nod. "Yea. As in, we're not gonna have sex because that would be gross."

"Oh," Niall says again. 

I sigh. "Okay. Who wants a cuppa?"

I don't wait for an answer but just start walking down the stairs to the small kitchenette. 

Ten minutes later, we're all sitting together in the loving room, talking and laughing.

"So then," Justin says, spilling a bit of his tea because he's laughing so hard, "she walks out of the bathroom with this puppy dog face and a dipping blackberry in hand; and she just looks at me and says in this slow voice, 'I think I just dropped my phone in the loo' and I fucking lost it, man. The most glorious moment of my life!"

The lads, of course, are dying from laughter. I roll my eyes. 

"Do you always have to tell that story?"

He nods, grinning. "Everyone needs to know." He looks at the boys and lowers his voice. "Pass it on."

Niall almost chokes on his laughter. 

"Did you drop it into the loo before or after..." Harry trails off, grinning. 

I hake my head, but even I am smiling. "Before, you idiot. I wasn't even in there to go to the loo. Just, like, to freshen up my lipstick and check if I has sweat stains on my dress and stuff." Someone knocks on the door and I put my mug on the table. "Excuse me." I scramble up from where I was sitting cross-legged on the floor and make my way to the door. When I swing it open, Liam smiles at me. 

"Hey," he says. 

"Hi," I sigh. 

He hugs me and I melt into him. "Would you hit me if I kissed you now?" He asks. I shake my head slowly and he takes my face into his hands and pulls me into a kiss. When we break away, he smiles at me. 

"The lads sort of disappeared, so I thought I'd come to see you. And, of course, because I wanted to see you."

I grin. "They're here," I say, walking into the living room and motioning for him to follow me. 

"What? -- Oh, hey lads. Justin."

Justin lifts a hand as a greeting. "Hi." 

"They've met," I explain to the other lads.

“Oh,” Louis says. “Oh. Well, this is sufficiently awkward.”

I grin. “You think?”

“Yes, well whatever.”

I laugh and go to get Liam a cup of tea. In the tiny kitchenette on the hallway, he catches up with me.

“Don’t just leave me with them,” he pouts.

I smile. “Alright. They’re your friends, though.”

“I know. But you’re my …”

“Not-your-girlfriend,” I help him out.

“Right. Yet.”

I roll my eyes and playfully swat him on the chest, but I can’t hide my glowing cheeks. “Loser.”

“Thank you.”

“So are you up to having me take you where I wanna go then?”

Liam blinks. “What?”

I laugh. “I mean, you got to choose the last date. I get to choose the next one, right?”

He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my head. “I guess you’re right.”

I tilt my head to look at him. “You lookin’ forward to it?”

“Lots.” I don’t even have to see his face to know he’s smiling.

I turn around again and rest myself against his chest. He probably doesn’t have to see my face to know I’m smiling when I say, “Good. So am I.”

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