His smile is contagious, and I find myself unable to hold back one of my own. “Good thing.”
Just then, some guy slips behind him and knocks Zayn forward, making his drink spill all down the front of me. My breath hitches at the cold liquid. The blond dude pretends to apologize before mumbling a not so subtle “you're welcome” into Zayn's ear and walking away.
Zayn's jaw locks. “Fucking Trayland.”
“S-so c-cold,” I gasp.
His expression changes to one of both panic and arousal as he notices the state of my shirt, though the latter is masked almost as quickly as it appeared. I probably should've thought twice before wearing a white shirt, being as now it's almost completely see-through. Then again, I also didn't expect to have anything spilt on me.
“Shit, Meelz.” He looks conflicted as he glances around the room. When he doesn't find what he's looking for, he sighs. “Come with me. I'll give you another shirt to put on.”
I wrap my arms around myself and follow Zayn through the house and up the stairs. We walk a little ways down the hallway before he turns into a bedroom. The smell of his cologne fills the air, and it's more intoxicating than any of the alcohol I've had tonight.
There are band posters on the wall, along with a few pictures of him and the guys. The bed is messily made, with the comforter thrown on top of wadded sheets. The nightstand is covered with lip and eyebrow rings, along with a copy of Inked Magazine. Out of the whole room, the only thing that looks out of place are the textbooks neatly placed on the desk.
He walks over to his dresser and pulls a T-shirt out of the drawer. It's tattered and torn from years of wear, but as he hands it to me, I can already tell it smells like him. I mumble a thank you and turn around, pulling my soaked shirt over my head and replacing it with his dry one.
I glance back to see him staring up at the ceiling, afraid to look anywhere near me. I chuckle softly.
Such a gentleman.
“What should I do with this one?” I question.
His brows furrow for a second before he realizes what I'm talking about. “Oh. Just toss it into my laundry basket. I'll wash it.”
Wow, okay. I hand him the crop-top. “Thanks.”
“It's the least I can do. Carter is a douchebag.”
My head tilts slightly to the side. “Carter is...?”
He snickers. “The asshole that made me spill beer all over you.”
“Ah.” Honestly, I'm thinking he's not all that bad, but that could be due to the fact that I'm completely surrounded by the smell of Zayn. It's messing with my headspace.
“Do you want to go back down to the party?” he asks calmly.
I know I should, but I shake my head. “Do you mind if we sit up here for a bit? The loud music is starting to give me a headache.”
“Sure,” he agrees and walks over to sit on his bed, leaning against the wall. “So, how was your first day?”
Following suit, I climb next to him. “It wasn't bad, except for the part where I walked into the wrong classroom.”
“You didn't.”
I cringe. “I definitely did.”
The laugh that leaves his mouth is one that I want to set as my ringtone and hear on an endless loop. “Was it as mortifying as it sounds?”
“Being as it was an ESL class, and I look as American as they come, absolutely.”
That only makes him laugh even harder. He runs his fingers through his hair and looks over at me, still snickering. I roll my eyes playfully and nod.
“I'm so glad you find humor in my trauma,” I tease.
“I'm sorry, drama queen,” he mocks me. “It's just such a you thing to do. Like the time you insisted on joining Easton’s all-boys sleepover.”
Groaning, I cover my face with my hands. “Oh my God, don't remind me. I was such a spaz.”
“No. It was cute the way you were all demanding.”
My thumb and index finger pinch the bridge of my nose. “I was crushing on you so hard I made a fool out of myself.”
The words leave my mouth without me even thinking about what I'm saying. It isn't until his laughter stops that I realize exactly what I just confessed to. My chest tightens and the air feels thin as I try to breathe. Fuck.
“Okay, you weren't supposed to hear that.”
He looks down at his lap and fiddles with a rip in his jeans. “I had no idea.”
Can the world just swallow me whole? Ugh. “You weren't supposed to. Here's an idea. How about we rewind to three minutes ago and pretend that never came out of my mouth? I like that plan.”
As if the tension couldn't be any thicker, he says nothing and just keeps his gaze locked on his pants. For a second, I think I see a hint of a smile, but that could just be wishful thinking. When I can't handle it anymore, I go to get up.
“I should probably go find Kennedy,” I murmur.
I'm halfway to the door when a hand on my wrist stops me and spins me back around. In one swift move, I'm pulled directly into Zayn's arms. I steady myself with a hand on his chest and look up at him. The fire in his eyes is like nothing I've ever seen. There's torment behind them. The kind that keeps someone up at night, but they hide it for the sake of others. The kind I want to learn like my favorite book.
He moves us closer to the door and swings it closed before pushing me up against it. His hand gently rests on my cheek, with his thumb caressing my face. I'm stuck in a trance as he bends down and finally presses his lips to mine.
Kissing Zayn Bronsyn is something I've dreamt about for years, since the day he showed up at our house looking like every parent's worst nightmare. Actually doing it, however, is something else entirely.
His mouth moves with skill as his lip ring rubs against me. It's nothing too intense, but it's everything all the same. He slips his hand underneath my shirt and gently grips my side. Just the feeling of his touch on my skin is enough to scorch me.
I'm not sure whether it's the alcohol giving me courage, or the shock of the situation, but I reach my arms up and wrap them around his neck. I pull on his bottom lip and let my tongue play with the lip ring. He lets out a moan at the sensation, and the sound sends shockwaves through my entire body.
We blindly make our way back over to the bed, and after lying me on it, he hovers over me. My breathing is heavy as I wait in anticipation. I'd be lying if I said a part of me isn't afraid he's about to stop, and judging by the look on his face, there's a good reason for that fear.
I thread my fingers through the thick hair on the back of his head. “Whatever it is, worry about it tomorrow.”
He lets out a breath, almost like he's in disbelief, and covers his mouth with my own once again.
The sound of birds chirping outside pulls me from my deep sleep. Usually, it would sound peaceful, but right now, I wish it would shut the fuck up. My head is pounding from what I can only assume is the hangover from hell.
Memories from last night come rushing back like a movie reel, and my eyes jolt open.
Amelia.
Fuck, Amelia!
Oh God.
No part of me planned on kissing her last night. I had every intention of keeping my distance. But then, everything changed. The second I saw her wearing my shirt, how good it looked on her, I felt like I couldn't fucking breathe. It took everything in me not to react.