Marlboro Lights

Squinting in the blinding sun overhead, I peeked over my shoulder to check that Officer Porter was where I left him and when I positively ID'd his buzz cut and square shoulders, I turned the corner with satisfaction and retrieved my phone from my back pocket.

It wasn't that I was hiding so much as taking a moment to myself, but... I was also kind of hiding. Two hours into my first tour of Atlanta with Drew Porter and I was stocked up on social interaction for the month. He was exhausting to be around - constantly changing the subject from the city to me, telling bad jokes, and kissing up my father every chance he could. The experience was every bit as dreadful as I imagined it being. Only marginally worse. No matter what he said, the vibe that he was a sketchball weirdo stayed true.

I was just about to call my father for a way out, but stopped short when I saw Zayn's name at the top of my screen twice. One missed call, one new voicemail.

My heart actually skipped a beat. Either I was that taken with this obscenely gorgeous man, or I had medically inclined heart problems. Either way, I had to suck in an uncomfortably deep breath to calm the palpitations.

I cleared the missed call then dialed my voicemail, pressing against the wall and keeping an eye out for Porter.

The intro to the message played, then was followed by Zayn's rough accent, his voice low and lazy but (i)present(/i).

"Jette, babe-" I gulped, pressing my eyes closed as I tried my damnedest to not relive our night together at the casual use of a pet name (my attempts were futile, naturally)"-I'm still a day out of Atlanta, I'll be back tomorrow night. I miss you, and warning; I'll definitely be kissing you hello. Be prepared. See you soon." If the warnings and promises and pet names weren't enough to ground me, the soft giggle at the end finished the job quiet nicely. He knew what he did, and he enjoyed it. What a jerk.

My phone still pressed against my ear, I found it very difficult to keep myself upright, let alone respond to my name being called from where I remembered leaving Porter. I pocketed my phone as quickly as I could without throwing it, coughed the giddy smile from my face, and turned to meet Porter as he approached me with open arms. If that man tried to hug me...

"You lost, Marwood? Do I need to show (i)you(/i) around?"

I laughed, not at all genuinely, and shook my head. "Nope, sorry, just had to take a call."

We resumed walking down the street, with Porter just a little to close in step for my comfort, "A friend of mine is-," I paused to point across a street that would take us to the deli I had mentioned an hour earlier, "-having a mental breakdown, boy troubles is my guess. But we can finish here, and continue again later this week?"

I denied the eye contact he was straining for and led him across the street, barely hearing his reply over the sounds of the traffic around us.

"Sounds good to me, are you busy this weekend?"

I stepped through the door of the deli and stood back as he followed, "I'll let you know," I answered with a smile that I hope told him I was in control. He eyed me, but let his face rise in a smirk. He looked like the Grinch.

"It's a date."

"Oh no, not a date. My dad would never let me date within the precinct," I told him with a teasing smile.

I was trying to direct the conversation, but the look on his face after he let out his initial laughter told me exactly what to expect. I'd set him up and if I wasn't careful, I'd be stuck trying to explain how I wasn't available but not really in a relationship. I could lie, but we all know how great I am at keeping my mouth shut in sticky situations. I needed to avert the subject before it came up.

I took my chance while he ordered his sandwich, "How is your remodeling going?" I asked calmly, pointing at a bag of potatoes chips for the server behind the counter to retrieve for me.

Porter turned with a sandwich already in his hand, "Remodeling?"

Still keeping my eyes away from him, "Your kitchen? Have you finished?"

I didn't register the total confusion until I finally surrendered my attention to him. He was lost.

"I'm not remodeling, Jette, I live in an apartment... Couldn't remodel if I wanted."

Now it was my turn to lay on the space case face. Hadn't Zayn just told me that that was how he knew Porter? I mean... at first I hadn't believed it, but Zayn's reaction to being accused had done well to promote the innocent image of him - even if I was still prying behind his back, I genuinely hoped he hadn't outright lied to me.

Someone behind me cleared their throat and I lunged forward suddenly, stammering out an apology and moving from the line.

"Oh, sorry... I thought-" I really didn't know how to save myself, so I played the ditz, "Guess that's what I get for eavesdropping, must have heard somebody else." I added an innocent shrug for good measure. He bought it. Typical.

He cracked a terrible joke about growing up in a police station and then we sat for a minute, me entirely lost in racing thoughts of my newfound information and how I was going to let it affect Zayn and I.

When Porter physically waved his hand in my face to catch my attention, I apologized blushingly and ended our time together. From outside the deli, I gave him directions back to the station and turned down two offers to travel with him. I said I needed to call my suffering friend and that I'd meet my father. He left, but with one eye over his shoulder until he was forced to round the corner away from me.

Exhaling in relief of finally being away from him, I walked as far down the side street as I could, only hoping to find a quiet place to brood for a moment. I couldn't travel just yet... too much happening in my mind.

I sent a text to my dad asking for a car to the deli to pick me up, and just when I was pressing send, I heard it.

A motorcycle.

Clear as day and loud as constant thunder, it was there. And though part of me said there was no way it could be him, the part of me that was accepting the fact that Zayn had most definitely lied to me was more than willing to creep around the corner and peek around the side of the building. So that's what I did.

As soon as I did, I saw it. Coming to a final stop at a gas station just one street up, Zayn's motorcycle and Zayn were in my sights... despite the fact that he was supposed to be out of the city. He'd just told me he was out of the city. Why was he parked in a gas station in a city he was supposed to be a day out of.

Somewhere in my chest, I felt my heart kick up then drop to my stomach. I could rationalize the lie about construction if given enough time, I was great at that... but this, this was cold hard truth. My entire body ached as he dismounted the bike and removed his helmet. His hair was covered with a black beanie, and it was barely askew when his helmet was off - that really pissed me off. It wasn't human.

He was clean shaven, which struck me right in the chest - I'd never seen him so (i)clean(/I). His jawline was sharp and cutting, his cheekbones high and dominant. He looked like a different man. (I)But those shoulders(/I)... I'd recognize those anywhere.

He placed his helmet on the back of his bike and pulled out a phone, staring down at it for a minute before pocketing it and disappearing inside the store in the blink of an eye.

Deciding it would be best if I wasn't hanging around the corner when he came speeding by, I turned and power walked all the way back to the deli where I paced until my father's unmarked police car pulled up. He wasn't driving, but the officer who was was quiet enough. He drove me to the station, then left me with the car to drive home. I was beyond grateful for the chance to be alone.

I drove in silence the entire way back to Pine Lake and when I pulled my father's car down the hill and found my way to my door, I locked myself inside and kept my back against the door.

I needed to assess.

Zayn had lied about working construction for Porter. I did make him awfully uncomfortable that night, he could just be... embarrassed of something? Maybe. Zayn had also told me he was out of the city only to be seen less than thirty minutes later IN the city. That one struck me hard and for the first thirty minutes of being home, I paced and tried to rationalize.

Should I have been rationalizing? Should I be trying to make excuse for him... or should I accept that fact that despite his sinfully angelic face, Zayn Malik may be not only a liar, but a criminal?

Only I wasn't too keen on labeling criminals as such until I had solid proof. The number one reason I wasn't a Criminal Justice major like my dad wanted. Unlike the majority of law enforcement, I believed in 'Innocent Until Proven Guilty'.

But what did I find Zayn? Guilty of lying? Yes. Guilty of being a criminal? ...Up for debate.

Whichever way I looked at it, I was now in between a rock and a hard place.

If I accused him, I was the mistrusting 'girlfriend'. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but did that make me naive? Putting aside the lawful issues of what had been discovered, the mental emotional repercussions were disastrous.


I wasn't sure how I ended up there, but I eventually collapsed on my bed and tossed and turned in my day clothes for hours, refusing to let myself call Zayn or my father or even Ashley. I had to make a decision for myself. Was I going to make Zayn explain himself or was I going to keep my mouth shut, stay in my lane, and let him do his thing? I'd proven my petty immaturity the morning he tried to apologize to me - I wasn't ready for round two.

Refusing to admit to making a decision, like I was so good at, I let myself fall asleep and agreed to sort it out in the morning.


After successfully navigating a three hour shift at the hardware store where all I accomplished was the rereading of an old magazine, I bribed Grant to take over and I went back to my apartment. The quiet emptiness of my humble abode was a welcoming comfort and I fell into it immediately. And literally. I face planted into my couch and remained there for a solid twenty minutes.

When no decisions had made themselves, I forced myself up with an exasperated sigh. There was only one way to distract myself completely enough to accidentally on purpose make a decision. I was going to cook.

It took a half hour to prepare my kitchen (which meant throwing away empty wine bottles and washing six coffee cups - I had a problem). Once I was in the zone though, the apocalypse could have happened and I wouldn't have known. My cornbread was much more important (and for good reason, it was the best cornbread in the south - try me). I was just removing my pan of cornbread to add to the two pies I'd already finished and now I was just waiting on the chili to reach its simmering point. I checked the clock as I washed my hands and was surprised to see that I had successfully wasted nearly four hours. After a final chili taste test, I heard the motorcycle and was spent spiraling into the realization that I still didn't know what I was going to do. Zayn was knocking on my door before I could even get my apron off and I stumbled into the main room as I threw it behind me, trying my best to look like I wasn't having a nervous breakdown. Time to test that 'Grace Under Pressure' theory.

The door was barely open an inch before Zayn was pushing through and closing the distance between us. I tried not to shudder at the darkness in his eyes, or the way his teeth bit into his full lower lip, or the way his hands were on me in an instant. I tried.

"Hi," I squeaked, and he only grinned for a split second before kissing me so hard that I rocked back on my heels, happily being caught when his strong arms looped around me.

When we separated and his lips set to work on my throat, I struggled to keep my composure. I flattened my hands against his chest and pushed just slightly, forcing him to detach for a moment. A fleeting look of hurt crossed his face. My resolve vanished.

"Just...need a breath," I gasped, curling my fingers into the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

"Right, sorry," he grinned, pecking my cheek before moving around me and standing very still in the center of my living room. I took my moment of air to close my door, that would have been an interesting sight for anyone coming to visit.

"Were you cooking?" Zayn asked, turning to meet my gaze.

"Still am, technically. Chili is a slow process," I told him, slipping past him and into the kitchen, hoping that if he followed, he kept his lips to himself.

I was still in crisis mode.

"I've never had chili before," he mused, peeked over the top of the massive pot on my stove. He poked at it with one finger than drew it back, staring down at it. He finally popped the finger in his mouth and allowed the taste of the chili to hit him. I watched him incredulously, he was definitely the only person I'd ever known who had never had chili. It was mesmerizing.

"How is it?" I asked with a tiny smile.

"Spicy," he replied simply, turning back to me. "Did you make all this today?"

I nodded as he rounded the table and eyed my baked goods. I felt incredibly self conscious.

"What's the occasion?"

I swallowed hard. Now was my chance. But my mouth wouldn't open to accuse him again. I guess I'd made my decision.

"I was bored," I shrugged.

"So you baked two pies, corn bread, and made chili?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, "I'm Southern..."

Like it should have been so obvious.

His face broke into a painful smile and I wanted to run away. He just turned back to the chili and stirred it slowly with the spoon that had been laying next to the stove.

Leaning back against the door frame and crossing my arms tightly, I watched Zayn stare into the pot and stir the soup carefully, like he was going to break it if he moved any faster. Sort of like the way he kissed me sometimes, and the way he...

"You were born and raised in Georgia?" He asked, snapping my attention back to him and away from our night together.

"Yes," I confirmed, clearing my throat and nodding.

"Can I ask then..." He started, turning to me with the spoon poised over the pot, "Where's your accent?"

I was slightly taken aback at this question and I froze for a moment, my mouth agape.

Zayn's raised eyebrows and growing smile made my stomach flip, "Just curious... I've been here a while and you're the only one without an accent."

I blushed deeply, "I imagine I still have an accent... just buried under fifteen years of repressed aggression."

Zayn nodded as if to tell me to go on. "I went on a school trip to New York City when I was about seven and the local kids we spent time with made-" I gulped, feeling completely ridiculous for the story I was telling.

"They made fun of me! For three days, an army of seven year olds made me their chew toy and after that kind of trauma, I learned how to shut the drawl off. It's second nature now, I don't even realize I'm doing it. My dad says it comes out when I'm mad, but...I-I don't know. It's dumb, I know."

Zayn was laughing. I had told him my deepest and darkest secret (well, spying on him may have been deeper and darker, but irrelevant...) and he was laughing.

"Excuse me," I huffed, "That was a deeply personal story."

He was approaching me, lifting my face as I tried and failed to scold him away.

"I think its adorable, ...don't know if you've noticed, but I have a bit of an accent m'self."

I felt my eyes flutter as he thickened his accent and whispered down at me.

"Definitely noticed," I mumbled, putty in his warm hands.

He kissed my lips softly and slowly, making sure to cover every bit of my skin with his.
My fingers dug into his shoulders, holding him flush against me.

I mumbled his name is a whispered sigh and he responded with a tug of his teeth on my lip.

"Missed you, Jette," he spoke against my lips and I felt my knees weaken at the sound of my name in his accent.

I tried to respond in some sort of intelligent manner, but all that came out was a slight whimper. I wasn't even embarrassed anymore. Just smitten.

Zayn deepened the kiss and I stretched to meet him, locking my arms around his chest and gripping his shoulders to keep me upright. Just as I'm sure the mood was changing, two knocks on my front door snapped my eyes open and I froze.

Zayn pulled back with a cocked eyebrow, "Expecting someone?"

I wracked my brain, "No. Which means..."

"Jette, open up! I know you're in there," my fathers voice rang out loud and clear and Zayn's eyes perked up, an amused grin tugging the corners of his mouth up.

"And I see the motorcycle...one minute before I come in with or without your permission."

I pulled away from Zayn immediately and hastily flattened my hair, smoothing out the mess that had been created in the heat of the moment. I cleared my throat and immediately pushed Zayn as far away from the doors and windows as I could.

"Stay here, be quiet."

Zayn only smiled, clearly very amused by my mounting panic attack. I'd have to talk to him about that someday - the way he enjoyed me being flustered was alarming. And as it happened so often in his presence, it needed to stop. I was a strong, independant woman until Zayn Malik was near me, and then I couldn't be trusted to remember something as simple as my first name.

I ducked through the doorway and looked back to be sure he was out of sight, then finally pulled my door open, offering my dad a wide albeit forced smile in greeting.

"Hey pops, what's the occasion?"

He squinted down at me with disbelief written all over his age-hardened face, "He's here? I want to meet this guy."

"No."

He raised one eyebrow, "Pardon me?"

"You can't meet him. I won't let you interrogate him and scare him away."

"Jette, who do you think I am?"

He sounded so insulted, too bad I knew him better than he knew himself. "A cop, now...is there anything else you wanted?"

He narrowed his eyes, his brows knitting together in agitation, I smiled.

"Are you cooking? I smell chili."

"Its not done, I'll bring some by later. Anything else?"

"So I really can't meet him? Are you ashamed of me?"

I crossed my arms, "A little, yeah. Are you leaving now?"

He stood very still, his face set in a thin line. "Be smart, Jette."

My resolve broke and I relaxed on the spot, leaning over the threshold to press a soft kiss to my father's scruffy cheek.

"I always am. You raised me, after all."

I saw a hint of a smile appear on his lips as he nodded in resignation and finally turned to leave. When I was sure he was gone, I locked the door and composed myself, returning to the kitchen to find Zayn facing me, leaning against my kitchen table with his arms crossed over his chest. Something of a smirk rested on his lips and my cheeks immediately reddened.

"You're not ready to be interrogated by him, trust me," I told him, lingering in the doorway as I suddenly wasn't sure how to reclaim our previous position. I wanted so badly to cross the room and attack his lips once again, but now that I'd had a moment to clear my head of his seductive ways, I remembered my earlier crisis.

I cleared my throat and moved through the kitchen, quick to dodge him playfully when he reached out for me. I busied myself with the chili, stirring it slowly and pretending it needed more spices.

"Do you always leave town for work?" I dared to ask, keeping my back to him.

I had no visual on him, but I'd grown so use to his energy in our short time together that I could feel the air stiffen. I had to tread very carefully.

"Not always," he started - pausing to pull a chair out noisily and take a seat, much closer to me now, "Most times I work in Atlanta. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," I replied too quickly, turning to smile down at him. "Just nosy, I guess. I feel like you know so much about me and what I'm doing with my life and I don't know much about you. That's all."

I thought I covered my tracks well, but he frowned and stood up, closing the distance between us. "Again with this stranger business?"

I remembered back to the time when Zayn saved me from falling to my death; told me my life story after only a few days of subtle observation; drove me through rural Georgia on the back of his motorcycle and got me drunk on wine at the lake. Such fond memories. The simplicity seemed decades away. It had barely been a month. I was a certified drama queen.

"I don't consider you a stranger," I informed him, "But I've been wondering - do you have a house? Do you live on the road? Are you some sort of British Jack Kerouac?"

"Who's Jack Kerouac?"

My eyes closed in defeat, "I forget you're not American sometimes. I'm sorry," when I opened them again, Zayn's eyes were boring into me and I could feel my knees weakening. It was clear I wasn't getting anywhere with the interrogation tonight. He was far too good at distracting me. But there were other ways of getting to know him. Ways that didn't involve asking questions and being kissed silent.

"I want to stay the night with you, Zayn," I told him lowly, letting my fingers wind into the loose hair at the nape of his neck. He responded with narrow eyes, but a cheeky smile pulled at his lips. He thought he was getting lucky.

"At your place."

For the first time since I'd met him, Zayn was in full control of his facial expressions. Narrowed eyes and cheeky smile remained in place, but for just a moment too long to be fluid. I was on the verge of stammering out an apology when he pressed a hot kiss to my lips.

"Okay."

I blinked a few times to test reality; he was serious. "Okay? Really?"

"Really. Should we go now?"

My eyes darted around my kitchen frantically, there was no way I could leave just yet. "Twenty minutes?"

Zayn reached out to me and lifted my chin, his lips centimeters away from mine. His hot breath fanned over my face and I felt significantly dizzier than moments before.

"Take your time."

With a soft kiss, Zayn released me and took a step back. I didn't know why it was necessary for him to make me so weak before leaving me to my own devices, but I knew better than to question it. Zayn had a way with me. He seemed to know what he was doing.

"How can I help?"

Notes

Alrighty, you are all caught up now! Hope you've enjoyed the ride...from here on out, every chapter is plot heavy and vitally important. Thanks for much for the awesome feedback. I love you.

xx Katie