Dirty Games (Florida Devils Book 1) (Florida Devils Series)
Dirty Games: Chapter 6

AS PROMISED, Zayn is parked in is what’s quickly becoming his usual spot as I leave work. This time, Bella walks out with me and waves to Zayn as she passes by his Jeep and heads to her own car.

Once I’m inside, and we’re zipping back to Zayn’s place, I tell him, “It was really sweet of you to extend an invitation to Bella for Sunday.”

He grimaces. “I hope that’s okay? I figured the two of you were friends, and it would be nice for you to have some company when you come to watch me.”

I tilt my head and look at him. “How did you know Bella is my friend? She could’ve been a co-worker I disliked with the passion of a thousand suns, and after your invite, I would be stuck sitting next to her.”

“Wow. A thousand suns? Harsh.” A deep throaty laugh spills out of him, and then he risks a quick glance in my direction before returning his focus to the road. “I knew Bella was your friend because you talk about her when the subject of your job comes up. You like her. I can tell.”

I gnaw on the inside of my lower lip. I guess the fact I do really like Bella, and right now she may even be the best friend I have, isn’t lost on Zayn. The man is perceptive. I’ll give him that.

I tuck my brown hair behind my ear. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Of course I would. Bella’s important to you, so how can I not? I pay attention to everything you say.”

I smile. “You really are a good listener, and that’s rare to replace in a man these days.” A thought pops into my head again about the fact this seemingly perfect man is still single. “You seem too good to be true. What’s your flaw?”

His head snaps back. “Flaw? Shit. Where do I even fucking begin?”

“I’m serious, Zayn. Why are you single? How is it you’re not already married or shacked up by now? You would be my ideal man to marry.”

A flash of something splits his features for a quick moment. It disappears as quickly as it came, and his expression is stoic. After a long pause, he shakes his head. “Let’s just say I’m not the marrying type, and if you knew everything about me, I doubt you’d think I’m anywhere near close to being fucking perfect for you.”

That was not the type of response I was expecting. After living with Zayn and getting to know him better, he hasn’t been an asshole or as so much as had a negative tone with me since the first day we met. The Zayn I’ve been getting to know is sweet and thoughtful, so this is a change from his regular. I wonder what would cause him to say such a statement—to think he’s not a good person?

“What is it that makes you think I would change my mind about you? You’ve been nothing but kind to me—well, other than when you snapped at me about keeping my body covered and the fact I was here without Robert. I think you’re an amazing person, and you’ve helped me out when I really needed someone, which means whatever you think is so bad, it probably isn’t.”

His fingers wrap around the steering wheel, and they squeeze it a little tighter. “Trust me, Sunshine, not everyone’s darkness can be seen on the exterior. Those of us who have it in us get very good at burying it and putting on a show good enough to keep society fooled that we’re okay. But someone who knows a truly fucked-up person is subject to the worst part of them. They experience the darkness with them, and that shit can scar a person. It would send a sweet thing like you running for the fucking hills.”

“What makes you think I haven’t had some traumatic shit happen to me too—that I’m not the most fucked-up one in this car?” I have no clue why I’m arguing this with him. Maybe just to get him to see he’s not a bad person. “A past doesn’t define a person. What they do in the present and how they treat people does. Whatever you did or think you’ve done, it’s in the past, and you’re not that person anymore. If you were some kind of evil monster, I would know it.”

He huffs, and then his gray eyes flick to me for a second. “And how do you think you can tell? You’re only twenty-four and haven’t even experienced life yet.”

Now, it’s me who is fired up. “Age doesn’t matter. It’s a fucking number, and believe me, I know evil. When you grow up like I did, you see it firsthand and can spot it a mile away.”

My chest heaves as my mind flashes through the memories of living back at home and all the violence that occurred inside the walls of my house. It was relentless and never-ending, so whatever in the fuck Zayn’s been through, I promise I’ve been through worse. If it weren’t for Grandma teaching me not all love is violent, I would probably be in a severely toxic relationship like my parents.

We’re both quiet as the gates of Zayn’s subdivision open, and we drive to his house.

He cuts the ignition off once we’re parked inside the garage. Neither of us makes a move to get out first.

A long sigh releases from him, and he breaks the silence. “I’m sorry for what I said. You’re right. Age has no effect on someone’s trauma. But you have to understand, no matter how good of a person you think I am…I promise I’m more fucked up than you could have ever dreamed up. A girl like you—someone sweet and perfect—should be with a levelheaded and kind man. It sounds like you’ve been through some shit too, so you don’t need a guy like me dragging you through more of it.”

“Zayn—” I start, but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.

“We shouldn’t even be talking like this. The two of us—nothing can or will ever happen, so whether you think I’m the perfect guy for you doesn’t even fucking matter because we’re never going to happen.” He grabs the door handle. “Now, let’s forget this conversation ever happened and go inside and eat dinner.”

He gets out of the car and heads inside, not bothering to wait on me to get out and follow like he typically does. Clearly, whatever haunts Zayn is off-limits.

I sit in the quiet for a moment, replaying all the words we just said to one another.

He’s right about it being wrong to even entertain a relationship between us. Our pasts are neither one of our business. He’s my ex’s uncle, not a guy I’m dating. I think being here with him, getting to know him and spending so much time with him has fucked with my head. I’ve allowed myself to take a liking to Zayn a little too much, and I’m glad he snapped me out of it before I went and did something really crazy and allowed this little crush I have to get completely out of control.

Zayn left hours ago to head to the stadium, but the car he arranged to take Bella and me to the game arrived two hours prior to the start of the game. Thankfully, the driver doesn’t talk much to me as he heads to Bella’s apartment. It takes almost thirty minutes to get to her place, but it’s along the route we need to take to get to the field.

After I text her to come out, the driver gets out and opens the back door for her to get in. Bella is nothing but smiles as soon as her ass hits the leather in the back seat. She’s dressed cute in her Devils tank top and cutoffs while her black curls bounce around her beautiful face.

“I could get used to this.” She laughs. “Personal drivers and premier seats at a Devils game? We are living the life!”

I stare down at the tickets poking out of the side pocket of my knock-off designer bag. She’s right. Even I know row one on a lower bowl of any event is an amazing seat location. It’s just too bad this isn’t a ticket to see BTS or Ed Sheeran because I would be super excited to go to that. Football doesn’t thrill me like it does Bella, though, so I’m happy she’s happy.

“Do you think we’ll be able to meet any of the other players?” she asks as the car pulls away from the curb and down the road again. “I would love to meet Joey Fouts. The man is so fine.” I stare at her, and she quickly releases an exasperated sigh. “He’s the quarterback. You really don’t know shit about football, do you?”

I grimace and raise both of my shoulders toward my ears. “No. I kind of hate sports in general.”

She quirks one dark brow. “Hating football or loving it, either way, there’s no denying some hot men play the sport. Don’t even get me started on how amazing their bodies are.”

This time, it’s me who laughs. “You’re not wrong about that. I’ve seen Zayn shirtless a couple of times, and I’ve only seen bodies like his on the covers of a fitness magazine or in the movies. It’s like a work of art.”

“Right?” she agrees. “Men with abs and muscled arms are hella hot. I like the idea of knowing they can fling me around and take control of me any time they want. A dominant man makes my kitten purr, if you know what I mean.”

We both burst out into a fit of laughter in the back of the black Town Car. While I would never admit I’m completely lusting after my roommate, it’s nice to know if I did ever tell Bella, she would understand where I’m coming from. And maybe that is all I’m really feeling about Zayn—natural attraction—because how can someone not be attracted to his perfection? It’s like staring at an ice cream cone and being told you can never have a lick even though you can already taste it on your tongue.

We arrive at the stadium about an hour and a half prior to the start of the game, but that time zips by as Bella drags me all over the place to shop for more Devils gear and snapping selfies in every prime location for her Insta.

She snaps one last pic of herself, making a duck face while posing in front of a wicked-looking statue of a horned man who I’ve come to learn is the mascot of Zayn’s team when she notices the time on her phone. “Oh, shit. Kickoff is in thirty minutes. Let’s grab a beer and go replace our seats. I don’t want to miss a second of the game.”

As promised, the seats Zayn secured for us are top-notch and located right behind the home team’s bench, where Zayn will be on the sidelines. I could practically reach down and pat some people walking by on the top of the head if I bent down far enough and Bella held my feet. Music pumps through the speakers, and even I have to admit this feels like it’s going to be a good time. I bet tickets like these sell for a lot of money. It’s nice to have connections.

“Okay,” Bella starts in on me the minute we sit down. “Do you know anything about football? Like, how much do I need to walk you through in order for you to understand what’s happening on the field?”

“You’re going to have your work cut out for you, I’m afraid. The only thing I know about this sport is there are two teams, and they have to score a touchdown by running to the end of the field.”

Her lower lip pulls down at one corner. “Wow. Okay. So it looks like I’m going to be walking you through the entire game.”

I smile at her. “That is why you’re here, to be my Yoda.”

Soon, more fans funnel into their seats, and the surrounding air heightens with eclectic energy. Everyone is smiling and excited to be here. It makes a little more sense to me now after seeing over fifty thousand people packed into one place to see these two football teams go at it why people seem to lose their minds over Zayn. He’s a rock star, and this really is a grand show. There’s a singer from one of the reality singing shows performing the national anthem, decked out cheerleaders, Mascots dressed as devils carrying pitchforks, and tons of workers running around making sure everything goes off without a hitch.

“This is crazy,” I say to Bella. “There are so many people here.”

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet. The game itself is going to blow your mind.”

Now even I’m excited to watch this football game, which is something I never thought would ever cross my brain.

“There’s our seats!” a deep voice says, coming from the aisle next to Bella. “We’re on the other side of the brown-haired girl with the big tits.”

My head whips in the direction I just heard the gross remarks and glare at the large bearded man who has a bit of a belly. My daggered stare doesn’t faze the man as he brushes past Bella and me to get to his seat with his equally large friend.

These seats suddenly got less fun when sitting by these peaches. I refuse to glance at the rude man who’s sitting next to me so close that our shoulders touched for the briefest of moments before I automatically leaned in Bella’s direction. The weight of the man’s stare is easy to feel, but I will not make pleasantries with a random stranger who addressed my body in such a crude manner.

“Sorry, babe,” the man addresses me. “I didn’t mean to bump into you, but I’m a big man and need all the space. You know how it is for us big-boned people.”

I stare at him, and my nostrils flare as I try to decipher if he’s calling himself or both of us fat with his last comment.

Now, I’m wondering how long it’s going to be before this game is over, and I can get away from this jackass.

I don’t bother responding to him because honestly, I just don’t want to speak to him. All I want to do is watch Zayn and get the hell out of here.

Smoke fills the tunnel in the opposite corner of the field from us, and Bella pats my arm. “Here we go! The away team is about to run out of the tunnel first and head to their side of the field, and then the Devils will come out. Watch for number forty-four—that’s Zayn’s number.”

Right on script, the Tennessee team runs out into the stadium with little fanfare, but a huge devil inflatable complete with whipping fabric that’s emulating fire arches over the tunnel with clouds of fog blasting around it when it’s time for Zayn’s team to come out. The second the first guy from the team emerges from the smoke, the crowd is instantly on their feet and screaming. The place is absolutely electric, and I can feel the energy vibrating in my bones.

Finally, I spot Zayn wearing his number forty-four jersey. Those muscles I’ve been eyeing since I’ve met him appear even bigger when he’s in uniform. Tight, white pants show off his powerful thighs and toned ass. I bet you could bounce a quarter off that thing. His shoulders look huge, but I know he has some protective gear on that makes them look even bigger.

Zayn is fucking hot.

I get it now—why women drool over him without even seeing his face or knowing him at all. I can see why that crazy-ass fan stalked him because touching a body like his is worth going to jail over.

Zayn jogs over the sidelines, glancing up as if he knows exactly where I’ll be sitting, and nods his head at me while wearing a crooked grin.

“Damn,” Bella says next to me. “Did you see that look he gave you?”

The man beside me laughs as he eavesdrops on our private conversation. “Ha! He looks at all the women like that, so don’t flatter yourself. The guy gets around.”

“For your information, buddy…” Bella snarls, and I place my hand firmly on her forearm.

“Don’t,” I tell her sternly in her ear. “He’s not worth getting mad about and isn’t worthy to know what we know. Let what the asshole says go in one ear and out the other.”

Her head whips back, and her expression tells me she doesn’t agree. She wants permission to put the man in his place, but I shake my head and mouth the word, “No,” to her.

“Fine.” She huffs and leans back in her seat. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” I say.

I’ve never been one who likes confrontation if I can help it. Don’t get me wrong, because I’m not afraid of it. I just don’t like it. My parents fought all the time—every fucking time we were in public as a family—and it embarrassed me because they would argue over the most minor thing. It was nothing that couldn’t wait until we got to the car and some privacy before they started in on one another, but they were both drinkers, and unfortunately, they were both different people when they were drunk—cruel, selfish people.

If I fight with someone, it has to be because some majorly awful shit is going down, and I need to right it. Some jackass calling me fat or unworthy of attention from a man like Zayn isn’t something I haven’t heard before. Does it hurt to hear those things? Yes. But I can’t fight every single person on the planet who says a mean thing to me, so I’ve developed a thick skin over the years. Nothing will ever hurt more than my own mother calling me names like cow, whale, or fat ass, so this guy’s remarks next to me are nothing.

The game begins with a kickoff as Bella explains, and the sound of the men smacking into each other is enough to make me cringe. “Jesus.”

The scene before me continues to unfold, and it’s like witnessing gladiators go at it, and the craziest thing of all is how these massive hits don’t seem to faze these guys. If someone ran into me as hard as these guys are pummeling one another, I’d be dead or at the very least be carted off via stretcher. Watching a game on television doesn’t do the violence of the game justice. These guys are tough, and Zayn may be the most reckless of them all.

Zayn starts off on what I have learned is the defensive side, and his job is to make sure whoever has the ball doesn’t get past him. And no one has this game. Zayn launches his body into his opponent full force, taking down anyone who dares try to cross him.

One particular hit leaves the man stunned and on the ground for a few seconds before he makes a move to climb back to his feet. This causes Bella to chuckle and say, “And that’s why they pay Zayn the big bucks.”

I replace myself mesmerized, taking everything in, and I have to admit after seeing this football game played out in front of me, I understand why they get paid so much. They’re literally risking their body and health to win a game at all costs, and not everyone is willing to go that far.

As the last minutes of the clock tick down, Bella and I are already on our feet as the crowd cheers are so loud they cause my ears to ring. The Devils have won, and according to Bella, they’re on the path to have an excellent shot in the playoffs to make it to the Super Bowl—you know, the game where most of us are only invested in the halftime show and commercials.

Countless other players from both teams hug Zayn as he walks across the field. They’re congratulating him on a job well done by patting his back and leaning in to talk to him. It’s clear to see he’s won the respect of not only his fans but the people he works with as well.

Zayn rips his helmet off, and his typically styled hair is disheveled and dripping wet with sweat. He’s never looked more attractive as his gray eyes lock with mine, and he struts in my direction. Bella and I both lean over the rail as he approaches because it’s difficult to hear him with so much commotion and noise going on around us.

He tucks his helmet under his arm and stares up at me. “I’ve got some press to handle after I shower. It might take me an hour, but if you’re cool waiting, we can grab something to eat afterward.”

I look at Bella. “Are you cool with waiting?”

She grimaces. “I would love to, but I actually have a date at eight this evening.”

“A date?” I question. “And you’re just now mentioning this to me?”

She waves me off. “It’s just someone I met on Tinder, so it will probably be a complete bust, and if it is, pretend you knew nothing about it.”

I laugh and then turn back to Zayn. “She’s out, but I’m game, and I’m sure you’re hungry after all of that.”

He smirks. “Starving, actually.” Someone calls his name, jerking his attention away from me, and he nods. “I got to go. Wait for me by my Jeep in the player’s lot.”

“Okay,” I tell him, and he heads off toward the locker room, swarmed by several other players, coaches, and staff.

“The two of you are finally going on a date?” Bella says in a conspirator’s tone.

“No. We’re roommates,” I correct her.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” She eyes me suspiciously.

I know what she’s thinking, and I would probably assume something was going on between Zayn and me too if I were her after she witnessed all the trouble he’s gone through to bring me to work and to bring my forgotten lunch, but she wasn’t there for when he told me nothing would ever happen between us.

“Coming through, girls,” the burly man next to me rumbles. When I scoot back to give him a bigger berth, he looks at me and says, “See you around, babe.”

Ugh. I resist the urge to shout, “un-fucking-likely,” in his face as he passes by me.

Once they’re out of earshot, Bella says in a sarcastic tone, “They were so damn fun to sit next to, right?”

“Good riddance,” I mumble. “The guy sitting next to me smelled like hot dogs and beer. I hope the next person I sit by at a game has better personal hygiene.”

She bursts out with laughter, and then once she calms down, she focuses on me. “Wait. Did you just say next game? Are you saying you actually liked the game?!”

I shrug. “I don’t know if I’m in love with the game as much as I enjoyed watching Zayn in action.” One corner of her mouth turns up into a knowing grin, but I quickly shut her down. “Roommates!”

She holds her hands up in surrender while wearing a smirk. “I didn’t say a thing.” She loops her arm through mine. “Tell you what, since you’re now a Devil’s fan, let’s go replace you a Zayn North jersey as a souvenir.”

I could argue, but the truth is, the idea of wearing the name North on my back next time I come to a game makes me smile. “Let’s go.”

Bella’s car drops me off next to the gated parking area that houses the player’s vehicles. Right in the middle, towering over several of the fancy sports cars, is Zayn’s green Jeep. She pokes her head out of the window, still talking to me about how awesome the game was and detailing some plays that went down. She really is a football fan.

I glance down at the clock on my phone. “It’s nearly six thirty. You should take off. I don’t want to make you late for your date.”

Her lips twist. “Are you sure? I feel bad leaving you out here alone.”

I wave her off. “Zayn just texted and said he would be here in about five minutes, so I’ll be fine. Go.” The hesitation on her face is clear, but I don’t want to make her late to meet who could be her possible Prince Charming. “Promise, I’ll be fine. Don’t be late for your date on my account.”

“All right, but text me the minute you get in his car, or I’m going to worry,” she says like a concerned mother hen.

“I will.”

This seems to appease her because she jumps out to hug me goodbye before climbing back inside to head home.

I lean back against the concrete wall connected to the entrance gate and study my phone, trying to pass the moments by replaceing a book to read on my Kindle app.

“There she is,” a voice says, and the moment I glance up and see who it belongs to, I groan.

Not these two assholes again.

“Having a little trouble getting into the lot?” the big guy who sat next to me asks, pointing at the gate. “I can help with that.”

“I’m good,” I tell him, trying to distance myself from him as he approaches.

The man turns his attention to the guard in the shack attached to the gate who refused me entrance. “What’s up, Billy? You’re still working here, man?”

Billy, the scrawny Black guy with braces, nods. “Yep. I’ll be here until I finish college next June.”

“Damn. Seems like yesterday you were in high school working here.”

Billy smiles at him and replies, “And you were playing here.”

Then I realize, Hot dog-beer man was a player at one time. It’s how he got such great seats next to us.

“Say, can you let this girl in? I can vouch Zayn told her to meet him by his Jeep. The dumbass obviously forgot she wouldn’t be able to get through the gate and left her out here all alone for crazy men like me to harass her fine ass.”

This causes Billy to laugh, and he hits the button inside the guard shack, causing the gate to slide open. “Go on in.”

“Thanks, Billy,” he says, then turns to me and gestures for me to head inside the locked area.

As much as it pains me, and even though I didn’t ask him to do it, he helped me, so I feel it’s only right to be kind. “Thank you.”

“The name is Taber, and you can thank me by giving me your number.” He tugs on his long, red beard.

His reply catches me off guard, and I stop just short of reaching Zayn’s Jeep. “While I appreciate the help, I’m afraid giving you my number will not happen.”

He flinches and shakes his head while his buddy, who is equally as large, chuckles at the rejection. No, doesn’t seem like a word Taber hears too often, and judging by his expression, I’ve pissed him off. “You don’t think you’re special because Zayn asked you to meet him here, do you? Zayn North doesn’t do relationships. He fucks bitches like you for sport, but I have to say you’re the first fatty I’ve ever seen him go for. It looks like he’s finally going to try out chunky dunkin’ in that luxury pool he’s got in his backyard.”

My mouth drops open, and my lip curls. “Fuck you. You don’t know anything about Zayn and me, so shut your damn mouth, you repulsive piece of shit.”

Taber steps in front of me, and his belly bumps into me. “You know what? I changed my mind. I don’t want your number. Your foul mouth isn’t worth the lousy lay you’d probably be, you fat-assed bitch.”

“What the fuck did you just call her?” Zayn’s voice growls, and Taber and I whip our heads to the side where he’s standing. Zayn’s shoulders visibly tense beneath the soft fabric of his olive T-shirt. “I know you’re not stupid enough to call her fucking names, Taber.”

Taber rolls his shoulders back as he takes a step back away from me and squares his stance to face Zayn. “I called her a fat ass. What of it? The truth hurts, but sometimes, a mouthy bitch needs to be put into her place.”

“Huh. You’re right. Sometimes bitches like you need to be put in their place.” Zayn allows the duffel bag with the Devil’s logo he’s carrying to slide off his shoulder and fall to the ground. His fingers flex by his sides as he locks eyes with Taber. “This is the one and only fucking warning you’re going to get. Leave. Now.”

“Or what?” Taber challenges while taking a few steps, closing the distance between Zayn and himself. “We both know you aren’t going to touch me and risk any more trouble heading your way. You can’t afford it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, motherfucker. I’ve been waiting for years for an excuse to beat your ass. Say one more fucking word, and I promise you, you’ll wish you hadn’t.” There’s an ominous tone in Zayn’s words, and it’s scary, but Taber is obviously too stupid to sense how venomous his words are because he doesn’t budge.

Taber chuckles darkly before he turns, acting as if he was going to leave, but out of nowhere, he swings his right arm, sending a fist flying at Zayn’s face.

In a flash, Zayn throws up his left arm to block and then smashes his right fist into Taber’s face, causing blood to spew from his nose and onto both his and Zayn’s shirt.

Taber drops to his knees, clutching his face, trying to stop the blood pouring from his nose. “You broke my nose, fucker!”

Zayn stands over him, chest heaving and fingers rolled in, creating tight fists on both hands by his side. “You’re lucky that’s all I did. Now, apologize to Vivi!”

“I’m not apologizing to her!” Taber yells, and Zayn’s mouth twists as he reaches down and pinches Taber’s nose, squeezing hard. “Ow! My fucking nose! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I apologize!”

Zayn glances up at me, and I nod, giving him the okay to release the man. Zayn jerks his hand back, and the blood continues to gush. Taber whimpers as his friend rushes over to help him stand.

“One more thing,” Zayn calls as Taber walks away. “Never speak to her again. If you see her, you better turn around and go the other fucking way.”

Taber doesn’t respond, just stalks off with his friend back to the gate where Billy lets them back out.

When we’re locked in alone, Zayn looks down to inspect his bloodstained knuckles and shirt. “Well, shit. I can’t take you out looking like this.” He bends down and opens his bag, pulling out the white dress shirt he had earlier out of his bag to wipe his hand. “This isn’t fucking working. Let me head back inside to get cleaned up, and then we can go.”

When he stands, I clutch his bicep in my hand, halting him in place. “Don’t leave me.” He furrows his brow as he stares at me. “We don’t have to go out. Let’s pick up a pizza and have a Harry Potter marathon.”

“Really? You’d rather do that than go out and celebrate the Devil’s win?”

“Well, yeah, and what better way to party than with Harry Potter?”

He gives me a heart-stopping crooked smile, and I do my best not to swoon given the fact he’s not too fond of the idea of me liking him, but he’s pretty damn cute. It’s easy to forget he was beating the shit out of someone a few moments ago and is still currently covered in the man’s blood. But it’s not like he went ape-shit on the guy for no good reason. He was defending me, and I can never fault him for that.

Zayn picks up the bag from the ground and then reaches deep into the front pocket of his jeans, digging out the key fob for the Jeep.

Once we’re on our way back to Zayn’s place, I order pizza for us to pick up on the way. I like the fact we’re so casual. It seems neither of us needs to lead extreme party lives to have fun when the option of a quiet night staying in is there.

I carry the pizza in and set it on the counter, and Zayn tells me he’s going to take another shower quickly to make sure he gets all the blood off. While he’s gone, I flip on his television and check his streaming accounts to locate his Harry Potter collection. I ready the first movie and then return to the kitchen to grab two plates while Dobby follows me around.

A text alerts my phone, and I see it’s from Bella.

Bella: Date was a bust. Had fun today. Tell Zayn thanks for the tickets.

That’s a bummer. She was so excited.

“Ah. You found the movie,” Zayn says, walking into the kitchen with damp hair and wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt and loose-fitting red basketball shorts. He walks into his pantry and comes back holding two beers. “Want some beer with your pizza?”

He extends a bottle out to me, and I take it, feeling the chill of the bottle against my skin. “Thanks.”

After we fill our plates, we head to the living room and settle on the couch while the dog jumps up between us. Zayn presses play. Rewatching films I’ve seen a million times is one of my favorite things to do. I study them—each time catching something I didn’t notice the first time and try to dissect what makes me love it. Someday I want to be the one helping to create these works of art.

Toward the end of the first movie and three beers in, I glance over at Zayn and notice he’s watching me instead of the screen. While I’m studying the movie, it looks like he’s been studying me. I smile at him and then turn my attention away and take another drink, all while every nerve in my body is on edge. The idea of his eyes on me sends a thrill through me and kicks my pulse up a notch.