Marlboro Lights

For as long as I'd been in school, I'd always been a daydreamer. I managed decent grades and I never failed a class, but I was rarely ever one hundred percent present while in class. I guess that's a side effect of growing up in one of the dullest towns in America. I had better things to think about than Algebra and Physics. I had better things to dream about.

University life was no different, even one year shy of graduating with a degree that could take me out of my little town and into a new life. Sometimes I imagined strangling the group of girls in front of me who spent the first thirty minutes of our Psychology class gossiping about the frat party they'd attended the night before. Sometimes I imagined blowing off class and skipping town, forgetting about my degree and my father and our store.

Today, I imagined the handsome and ever mysterious Zayn throwing open the double doors of my lecture hall and taking me away. Where he was taking me didn't matter, as long as it was away and as long as it was with him.

I imagined hopping on the back of his motorcycle and riding into the sunset, and I imagined a good night kiss for the storybooks. While I knew my imagination was running wild again, I had no intentions of stopping it. Either I was incredibly bored with learning behavioral statistics for men with Heroin addictions, or Zayn was that mesmerizing that I wanted to see his face all day, every day - even if it was only in my mind.

Of course, it may have had a lot to do with the fact that I hadn't seen him since our encounter in my store - which was one week ago. He hadn't dropped in to surprise me in the store; I hadn't spied him having sketchy conversations in the city; I hadn't even heard his motorcycle in town.

It was like he'd completely vanished, and I was beginning to wonder if I'd dreamed him up entirely. In all honesty, it wouldn't surprise me. He was too good to be true. Too handsome and too mysterious. He was straight out of a romance novel - or worse...straight out of my imagination. He was what I'd always dreamed about, and now that I'd seen him, I was sure it was all some elaborate hallucination.

By the time my final class of the day had ended, I left campus with the sullen notion that I had driven myself crazy with boredom while working in the store and daydreamed the entire Handsome Stranger/Agent GQ/Zayn scenario. I was sure I'd never see him again.

I was wrong.



I opened the store late that day, thought it made little to no difference, and busied myself (mostly to drive away the images of Zayn's face) stocking the shelves of all the deliveries I'd received in the last two weeks and hadn't yet bothered to put away. I was halfway through the case of oil I'd been tripping on for ages when I heard it.

A motorcycle.

My head immediately popped up, my heart rate quickening at the familiar roar. Ithad to be him. As I stood and pushed the near empty box against the wall, I pinched myself to check if I was dreaming. I could have fallen asleep studying at the counter, it wouldn't have been the first time.

When the roaring continued and I didn't jolt awake, face sticking to the pages of my Psychology book, I had to tell myself to breath normally and not suffocate from the adrenaline surging through my veins. Quickly, and admittedly clumsily, I found my way through the maze of boxes - some empty and some overflowing - to the window I'd first spotted Zayn through. I peeked through the blinds and saw nothing, though I still heard the roar. With bated breath, I waited, and was not disappointed.

It didn't take long for the glimmering chrome of his bike to ride into view, and as it did, I felt my heart actually skip a beat. I couldn't imagine why he'd be coming back into my store - no one visited my shelves as often as he did - but I had no complaints to file. If he had asked to set up a tent in aisle three and sleep there I wouldn't have said no.

Standing on my toes, fingers gripping the thin window ledge, I watched as he kicked the stand down, letting the bike rest at a slight angle. He removed his helmet next, twisting to place it behind him, his leather jacket and t-shirt underneath riding up just slightly and revealing what looked to a small tattoo on his hip. I swallowed hard. This was already too much for me.

I felt like a peeping Tom as I watched on, but I couldn't turn away. He was magnetic, everything about me was attracted to everything about him, and if the only way I could get my fix was to peep through my store window, then so be it. I was hardly ashamed.

Zayn remained seated on his bike, but dug through his pockets until he drew out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He brought one to his lips and lit it, taking a short drag before setting the box and lighter down in front of him. As he exhaled a small cloud of smoke, I realized that I'd never been so attracted to such a disgusting habit. He didn't get too far into the cigarette before he was rummaging through his pockets again, this time pulling out a phone and bringing it to his ear immediately.

Holding his cigarette low and out, keeping the smoke from smothering him, I watched his mouth move quickly as he spoke into the phone. He looked angry - or maybe impatient - but it didn't last long before he was stuffing the phone back into his jacket pocket and snubbing out the cigarette beneath the toe of his boot. Off the motorcycle and crossing the dirt parking lot, he quickly vanished from my view and I immediately dropped down to my normal height, clearing my throat and preparing for him to enter the store.

I stayed back away from my counter, attempting to look casual and not like I was waiting, but when the sound of the door opening didn't come, and no one was waiting at my counter, I turned back to my window and resumed my position. His bike stood alone, and no one was outside save for the man across the street delivering mail. I had a dreadful sinking feeling he wasn't coming in, and that he'd only used my parking lot as storage. That just figured.

"Lookin' for me?"

The voice came from directly behind me and I spun wildly, hand clapped over my mouth in surprise. Zayn was standing a mere six inches from me, dressed head to toe in black, and smelling like cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. His proximity and the intoxicating blend of smells was overwhelming and I felt dizzy, but I stood my ground.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," I snapped, too quietly to be perceived as chastising. "How did you even get in? I didn't hear the bell."

"Must be broken," he replied, the corners of his lips curving upward into a smirk, "You shouldn't spy on your customers like that."

I would have to check the bell later, but in that moment, I wanted to disappear. I found myself wishing Zayn was a figment of my imagination because at least then I wouldn't have to deal with this level of embarrassment.

"I wasn't spying," I denied, "I was making sure Mr. Tompson across the street was okay. He had a heart attack last month, he really shouldn't be delivering mail so soon."

Zayn's smirk grew and I knew he didn't buy my bullshit story.

"Right," he replied simply, staring down at me and blinking slowly, allowing me to see just how perfect his eyelashes really were. The longer we stood in such close quarters, the more I needed to get away from him. So I cleared my throat once more and ducked around him, politely excusing myself.

Returning to the safety of my counter, I tried not to watch as Zayn navigated the aisles of my store, casually turning his hot gaze upon me one too many times for my comfort. He stayed on the outside of the aisles - in my line of sight - and when he found what he was looking for, he wasted no time in strolling up to my counter, gently placing the patching kit down and reaching into his front pocket for his wallet.

"Six fifty," I managed aloud, my voice small and very intimidated.

As he rifled through his billfold, he glanced up at me with a soft and only slightly amused smile. "So, how often do you check on Mr. Tompson's well-being?"

"Whenever I've got nothing more pressing to do," I lied, "This is a small town, we like to keep an eye out for each other."

"That's very kind of you," he replied, handing over a twenty like he was in slow motion. "He's a lucky man to have your watchful eyes looking out for him."

I kept my eyes on the cash register and only nodded, unable to continue lying because I was having a hard enough time breathing. Plus, he knew I was lying and there was no sense in continuing - it was a lousy lie to begin with.

I turned to hand Zayn his change and very carefully dropped it into his hand, terrified that we'd touch and I would faint. I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin and I pulled my hand back a little too soon, dropping coins and watching as they bounced across the counter.

Zayn gathered them up quickly enough, smiling at me with raised eyebrows like he was endlessly amused by my clumsiness in his presence.

With a defeated sigh, irritated with my lack of self control around Zayn, I offered a polite smile as a goodbye. He pocketed his change and grabbed the kit, turning for the door. Before he opened it, he pulled his cigarette box from his pocket and crushed it in his fist, dropping it into the waste bin against the wall near the door.

As the door opened - I noted that again, the bell did not sound - I called out to him, much like I had when I'd asked his name.

"You really shouldn't smoke."

He flashed a grin in my direction - even from my distance I could see that his tongue was pressed to the inside of his teeth - and paused on the threshhold.

"You really shouldn't spy."

The door closed as he disappeared into the parking lot and I sank to the floor behind my counter, my face hot and in my hands. I still wasn't convinced Zayn wasn't a hallucination caused by severe boredom, but I was beginning to wish he was.

One thing was for sure, imaginary or not, Zayn brought out a bumbling side of me that I'd never dealt with before, and I needed to get it under control, or risk making a complete idiot of myself every time he came near me.

* * *

The next day, with nothing but Psychology chapters to read and quarts of oil to stock, I made myself comfortable at my counter and cracked open my book. I tried to keep my head in my studies, but the truth was - I was waiting. I was waiting for the roar of Zayn's motorcycle to break to monotonous silence of the dead street I had the misfortune of working on. I was waiting to look up and see that tongue-against-teeth smile and dark scruff looking down at me with amused eyes, framed by lashes begging to be photographed for beauty books.

I was waiting for Zayn, and the anticipation was making me sick. I slammed my book shut, leaving it on the counter as I moved around it, stopping at the case of oil near the exit and hoisting it into my arms. Carrying it to the same aisle I'd stood in with Zayn, I dropped it to the floor and crouched down beside it, dropping to the floor completely and sitting cross-legged as I began to pull the old quarts out to make room for the new ones.

Humming a country song that I couldn't name but somehow knew the melody to, I fell into my task, forgetting who I was trying to forget and instead realizing that unleashing my anal-retentive organization skills was liberating and all-consuming. Zayn's perfectly defined features hadn't crossed my mind once.

Fifteen minutes into my obsessive restocking of my store and I was on a ladder, stretching to stock the enormous display of 100-watt lightbulbs that my father had ordered three years ago and never finished arranging. So determined to reach the back of the shelf despite my lack of height and the short ladder, I was standing on the top rung, my hips pressing into the seat as the upper half of my body was suspended over the boxes already in place. It was uncomfortable and incredibly dangerous, but I was almost done and I refused to give up.

Lost in concentration, I failed to hear the door opening (I'd replaced the sensor bell with an actual bell; it wasn't nearly loud enough). In fact, I didn't know there was someone in my store until he was standing five inches from the ladder, looking up at me. It wasn't until I heard my name in Zayn's telltale accent that I jumped and looked down, my body turning just enough that my foot slipped off the ladder rung it was perched on.

You know that feeling you get when you begin to fall? The feeling of weightlessness; of extreme and immediate danger; a complete and utter lack of control? Every nerve in your body is in overdrive and your brain is telling you that you're in trouble, but you're too far gone and there's nothing you can do but reach out and pray you catch something solid to keep you upright. It was ironic that I was literally falling in front of Zayn, because I experienced that same feeling every time he looked at me. The moment I slipped from the ladder was no different, except that the feeling was multiplied because there was actual danger of crashing to the floor and breaking bones.

The angle I'd been in made it so I was falling horizontally, and I was mere feet away from belly flopping into the cement floor. I was already on my way down and even as I tried to catch a shelf to stop myself, I knew it was no use. Thankfully, my body straightened out enough so that when I landed, I wouldn't bellyflop - I'd just break both my legs.

The painful landing never came, and though I didn't see him moving under me, I felt strong arms wrap around my hips, stopping my fall just before I crashed before allowing me to drop safely to the floor. Though my feet found solace in the solid ground beneath me, my legs were hardly steady enough to keep me standing.

Zayn straightened up, unhooking his arms from around me and rising to his full height. Without him holding me steady, I stumbled and reached out for the ladder for purchase. It was ironic, really, that I was holding myself up with the thing that had nearly dropped me to my death.

Zayn closed the distance I'd created between us and raised an open hand to the curve of my neck, cradling the side of my face in his hand as his thumb rested gently against my cheek. His other hand found my waist and steadied me, allowing my shaking hands to drop from the ladder.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his thick and nervous, "Jette, are you okay?"

I nodded, my head still spinning from the near-disastrous fall. My legs felt like jelly and my arms like lead. If I didn't sit down soon, I would throw up. I lifted a shaking hand and touched my fingers to the side of Zayn's hand still holding my face.

"Can I sit?" I asked dumbly, my voice tiny and as shaky as my hands.

Zayn didn't reply, but his hand on my waist moved around to my back and his hand on my face dropped to my shoulder, my fingers following him. He guided me backwards a few steps before pushing on my shoulder just enough to tell me to sit. I slowly sank to the floor, Zayn following in a crouch. For a moment, his hands left me and I immediately wished they hadn't. I didn't have to wait long, as both his hands found my face, pushing my hair from my eyes, lifting my chin just enough to make eye contact with me.

"Better?"

I nodded and removed my fingers from their grip on his jacket, dropping both my hands into my lap before immediately raising them to cover my face. As the shock of falling wore off, the shame set in and I felt my face burning.

"Holy shit," I whined into my hands, lowering them enough to look up at the ladder.

The ceilings of the hardware store were relatively high to make room for the tall shelves, and the ladder barely cleared them. The fall couldn't have been more than twenty feet, but when you're falling face first and you can see everything happening, twenty feet can feel like an eternity.

I turned back to Zayn, my hands dropping my face completely, "I can't believe you caught me."

"Lucky I was there, they might have hurt," he joked lightly, pulling his hands away from me and resting them on his knees.

"Thank-you," I replied quietly, making sure to keep eye contact so he knew I truly was grateful. If he hadn't caught me, I would have hurt more than just my pride, and with no one around, I would have been in heaps of trouble.

"Of course," he said simply, "But I think we should get you some air. You look a little green."

I blushed even deeper, but nodded in agreement, taking the hand he offered to help me up. On my feet again, I felt weak and nauseous, but Zayn wound his arm around my waist and allowed me to rest my weight on him as he guided me to the door. It was a slow process and more time with Zayn touching me than I would have normally been comfortable with, but the aftermath of falling was putting things into perspective. Zayn had not only saved me from becoming a broken mess, he was now keeping me upright and leading me away from the scene of the crime. I had no right or reason to complain. He'd really done me a solid.

Through the door and outside with the blazing sun overhead and a cool breeze blowing, I immediately felt better. Letting go of Zayn, however reluctantly, I leaned my weight against the building and sucked in a deep breath. I gave a reassuring smile to Zayn and he finally stepped back, pulling a pack of Marlboro Lights from his jacket pocket.

As he pulled a cigarette out and replaced the box in his pocket, he offered an apologetic smile in my direction. "Saving lives takes a lot out of me."

I tried not to smile, but failed, and as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag, I couldn't help but notice how incredibly sexy he was when he was smoking. It was amazing how he made such a terrible habit look so endearing.

"Can I give my honest opinion?" he asked, flicking the ashes from the end of his cigarette and waving a cloud of smoke away from me.

I nodded, curious to hear what my savior had to say - so long as I got to hear the accent. I was still shaken up, but his voice had a strange calming sensation over me.

"I think you need to get out of here for a bit," he told me, nodding to the building behind me. "Spying on customers, falling from ladders, you need a break."

I scowled. "I wasn't spying."

Pulling the cigarette from his lips, he laughed as a puff of smoke left his lungs. "Fine, but I still think you need a break."

I eyed him, unconvinced. "What do you suggest I do?"

He paused a moment, taking another drag from his cigarette and exhaling the smoke before replying. "Come with me. I know a great place to unwind."

I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly, but a quick mental rewind confirmed my thoughts. He was suggesting I go with him, somewhere, and he was serious.

"Where?"

"About an hour north of here, Lake Lanier," he answered, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out under his boot.

Okay, so I knew the area and the idea of getting away from the store was intoxicating. Still...

"I can't just take off with you, we're practically strangers."

This seemed to irritate him, and he took a few steps toward me. I stood very still, trying not to show the intimidation I was feeling.

"My name's Zayn Malik, I'm twenty-one, I was born and raised in Bradford, a city in Northern England. I've been in America six months. I have three sisters and a dog back home. Your name is Jette Marwood, your family owns a Hardware store, you're studying Social Work in university, your father is a Detective for the Atlanta Police department, and you're an only child. Are we still strangers?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. He made a valid point. I knew more about him now than I did about the boy I lost my virginity to, and he seemed to know an awful lot about me. Still, something about his knowledge rubbed me the wrong way.

"How do you know all that?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest in my best attempt to appear headstrong.

With an impatient tut, he shook his head and took another step forward. With a low and almost lazy voice, he spoke to me as he closed the remaining distance between us. "I saw your textbooks; you were visiting your dad at the police station and he was wearing a suit, the hardware store is just common sense - your name is on the sign and you're the only one there, and the only child bit...lucky guess," he explained, taking a final step and bringing us closer than we'd ever been. He looked down at me through his thick lashes, "Come with me, Jette. Trust me."

I swallowed hard and drew in a sharp breath through my nose, then nodded. "Okay."

His response was a triumphant and proud smile, and as I excused myself to lock up my store, I couldn't help but think back to the daydream I'd had in class the other day. So far, it was alarmingly similar to what was happening right then. But no matter how surreal it felt, I wouldn't say no. I couldn't say no, actually. Zayn had a way about him that made it near impossible to think coherently. Either I was about to ride to my death at the hands of an incredibly handsome stranger, or I was about to be swept off my feet and charmed senseless.

Whichever way I looked at it, I was going with no further objections.

* * *

"Jette, this is an hour drive down a Georgia dirt road, one hand on my shoulder isn't gonna cut it." Zayn called back to me, his voice muffled slightly by the helmet he'd just placed over his head.

Blushing and grateful for his back being turned to me, I shifted uncomfortably before resting both of my hands on Zayn's narrow waist. My apprehension wasn't nearly as one-sided as he may have believed. Not only was I anxious to wrap myself around a near stranger, I was also more than a little terrified of being on the back of a motorcycle. Before this very moment, I'd never even seen one up close, let alone ridden one. I was sure my father would have my neck if he ever learned of the events of today, but for now - I shifted my butt until I settled in as comfortably as possible, then waited for the machine beneath me to roar to life.

My waiting ears were greeted with silence instead, then a chuckle from Zayn.

"Close..." he teased.

Wanting to disappear in the terribly awkward moment but simply huffing in mock-impatience, I let my arms wrap around his waist, pulling my chest against his back. Linking my fingers together against his middle, I let my hips slide forward, pressing me gently into him. I thanked the high Heavens that he couldn't see the fifty shades of red flushing through my cheeks. I really needed to work on controlling my hormones in his presence.

"There we go."

Releasing a sigh of relief because I'd finally found a position to satisfy him, I was distracted and nearly jumped out of my skin when the bike finally came to life. I was shocked at how loud it was when it was beneath me and not in the parking lot of the hardware store, with a solid brick wall between my ears and the beast. The idling motor caused goosebumps to erupt all along my arms and I clung even tighter to Zayn, now in need of solidity.

As we took off, I had a moment of regret where I strongly considered begging Zayn to stop and let me off. The sensation was overwhelming and almost felt the way it had when I was falling from the latter. It was a total lack of control and I didn't like it. I didn't even like being in cars, and those had four walls to keep me inside. This was the beginning of a nightmare.

Apparently, my body language spoke volumes, because as Zayn came to a stop at the one and only stop sign in town before hitting the open road, he leaned his head back and raised his voice just loud enough so that he could be heard over the engine.

"You're okay, Jette, no need to python my lungs."

Face hot with shame, I nodded and swallowed thickly, releasing the spine crushing hold I didn't realize I had on his ribcage. I steadied herself with a long and deep breath, and when Zayn took off again, I was prepared...or rather, as prepared as I could be riding on a motorcycle for the first time ever, pressed against the most good-looking man I'd ever seen.

Though still nervous with the new sensation, it didn't take long before I was relaxing against Zayn's back and leaning back slightly to take in the stunning view around me. As we drove on at a speed I was sure was wildly illegal, I admired the backwoods of Georgia that I'd somehow missed despite my twenty plus years as a resident. I really needed to get out more.

It wasn't until the last fifteen minutes of the ride that I began to form an idea of where we were headed. As we cruised down the lone hill in the area, a lake began to come into view. It was more of a private lake than anything, as it was small enough to see around all sides. There were no bridges or rivers branching away from it, just a round natural pool of water with a smattering of sailboats and docks from family cottages. It was picturesque, to say the least.

The speed of the bike began to decrease and as the wind stopped and the warm air returned, I let out an amazed sigh. The sun was beginning to set and the view was nothing short of breathtaking.

Finally, after a total of forty-five minutes (instead of the predicted 60, because Zayn clearly wasn't afraid to speed - not even with the daughter of a detective on his bike), the bike came to a complete stop and Zayn leaned expertly, kicking the stand to the ground. After I reluctantly released my grip on him, he dismounted, pulling his helmet off at the same time and revealing the perfect hair that never seemed to stray...even while smashed under a helmet.

He offered a hand to me and patiently waited as I removed my helmet. I could tell immediately that my hair hadn't made the trip as nicely as his had, and before I took his hand, I made a desperate attempt to tame the wild mane on my head. When I finally took his hand and stepped off the bike, I was greeted by a terribly amused smile from Zayn. I blushed again. This was getting old.

On shaky legs that were no longer used to the steadiness of the ground, I made a slight whining noise. "How long does it take to get used to that? I'm not sure I can stand right now."

Zayn grinned, "You'll be a pro in no time, don't worry."

I smiled sheepishly and turned my attention to the lake, scanning the horizon.

"It's beautiful out here," I mused aloud, turning sharply to meet Zayn face to face. "You didn't bring me out here to kill me, right?"

"Your belief that I'm some kind of serial killer is hilarious, I've gotta say."

He wasn't phased in the slightest, and this only made me crinkle my nose at him. "So, why - of all the places in the Atlanta area - did you bring me to a secluded lake on the back of your motorcycle?"

Zayn took a few steps forward and I froze, thinking he was coming directly to me, but instead - he reached around me and lifted the seat of the motorcycle, pulling out what looked like a very soft, plaid throw blanket. Before I could question what in God's name he was doing with a blanket stored inside of his motorcycle (Conflicting ideas? Hard enough to ride a motorcycle, but gentle enough to carry the softest blanket known to mankind with him), he let the folds of the blanket fall away to reveal a bottle of red wine. Naturally, my eyes lit up.

"You brought wine? I may be in love with you."

Zayn looked pretty happy with himself. I was pretty happy with Zayn. It was happy times.

"I was saving this for myself, but you've had quite a day, so I figured...why not drive you out to the middle of no where, get you drunk, then risk you throwing up on me on the drive back."

I snorted, "You already know me so well. You gonna pour, or what?"

Zayn lifted his eyebrows at me as if to question my newfound confidence, but said nothing...for which I was grateful. My insides were still fluttering with nerves, because Zayn wasn't getting any less attractive, and I was still a bumbling fool - but that motorcycle ride had done something. I felt high. It was fantastic.

While I waited, Zayn took his time in laying out the blanket and digging out two plastic cups from under his seat. He motioned for me to take the first seat and I did so, pleased that I could still see the horizon clearly even from so close to the ground. When Zayn finally joined me, it was with two filled cups of wine, the bottle having been discarded out of my sight. The cup that he was handing me was noticeably more full than the one he kept for himself, so I raised a suspicious eyebrow as I took my first sip, letting the cool liquid warm my throat and chest.

"Should I be worried that I'm obviously being favored in the wine pouring department?"

Zayn's smile grew to a painful width and I almost choked on my wine. This guy...how was it humanly possible to be that beautiful?

"I'm driving, can't get too sloppy."

"How responsible of you, my father would be pleased."

"I'm glad, he's an intimidating man," Zayn admitted, finally taking a drink from his cup and leaning forward over his crossed legs. He looked so small, yet so commanding of his surroundings. I wanted to watch him all day.

"Please, he's harmless. Absolutely all bark and no bite. Though, he won't be too pleased to hear about me riding into the setting sun on the back of a motorcycle with a stranger."

Seeming to ignore everything else and focus all his attention on the word stranger, Zayn set his cup down and cleared his throat. "This 'stranger' stuff's gotta stop. Time for twenty questions. Ready?"

I was halfway through my wine. I was ready for almost anything.

"Go."

"Jette...airliner or Paul McCartney song?"

Ooh, not off to a good start.

"The song, but it's not a Paul McCartney song, it's a Wings song," I corrected, raising a warning eyebrow.

"Sorry, sorry, let me guess...that was the song playing your mom first felt you kick?"

"Not quite, according to my dad - it was the song I was conceived to."

Zayn giggled something magical and I had to take a double drink to keep myself from passing out.

"What about you, huh? What's the story behind 'Zayn'?"

Even under the perfect tan of his cheeks, I swear I spotted a blush. "It's Arabic for 'beauty'."

That was it; I choked on my wine and had to wipe a tear from my eye. "How fitting."

The rest of our time at the lake is somewhat of a blur. I'm almost ashamed to say that despite how much I love wine, I'm a pathetic lightweight. I do remember that once the sun had set and the air cooled, Zayn wasted no time slipping his leather jacket over my shoulders. While he poured me another cup of wine and left his cup empty, we turned to face each other instead of remaining at each other's sides.

For the life of me, I couldn't tell you what we talked about, but to be honest - it didn't really matter. The situation itself was unreal and I hadn't thought about my dreadful life even once. I forgot about school and even nearly falling to my death. I spent a lot of time staring at his face and wondering how I had managed to get so lucky. He spent a lot of time speaking in that husky accent that had more of a warming effect on me than the wine did.

I was content to stay in that spot for the rest of eternity, but when the first rain drop fell, I knew our night was coming to an end. It was still warm, though a cool breeze now blew across the lake and chilled my wine flushed skin. I jumped slightly when Zayn's warm hand took mine to help me to my feet, but graciously accepted his help as I stood and allowed the wine to rush to my head.

Gathering up the blanket and glasses and quickly stuffing them under his seat before returning it and locking it into place, he turned back to me with a helmet in hand. Swaying on the spot, I bowed my head just enough to signal that I needed him to put it on me, because I was clearly incapable of any productive movement at that moment. The wine was hitting me hard, and I was spinning. But Zayn obliged and lifted my head so that our eyes met.

"You good?"

I grinned drunkenly up at him and nodded a little too roughly, "I'm wonderful."

He smiled broadly down at me, "That you are. Ready for this?"

It was starting to steadily rain now and though I was still in Zayn's jacket - with my arms now in the sleeves, my fingertips just barely peeking out of the ends - I was chilled and ready to be away from the lake.

I nodded once more, then waited for Zayn to mount the bike and kick start it to life. I shuddered slightly because really, watching a man as skinny as Zayn use such force to physically kick a motorcycle alive was the hottest thing I'd ever witnessed.

Climbing on behind him and immediately wrapping my arms around his waist, I felt my heart rate kick up as we took off. The sensation was entirely different now, as I was slightly drunk and more than a little tired. But the hum was almost a lullaby for me, and as we sped down the dirt road, kicking up more mud than dirt, I lost myself in the moment.

It was straight out of a romance novel, and in retrospect - it was almost cheesy - but at the time, it felt good. Even with the cool wind whipping every part of me and the rain pelting Zayn's jacket, I was more comfortable and content than I'd ever been. At one point, I even tipped my head back and marveled how the cold rain felt on my hot skin.

It wasn't long enough before the few lights in my little town were visible and I could see the larger than necessary sign for my hardware store. I held on to Zayn tighter because honestly, I wasn't ready for the night to end. In my drunken state, I was honestly a little worried that I would wake the next morning to find everything had been a dream.

While I contemplated his existence, Zayn parked the bike and removed his helmet, gently lifting the helmet from my head and flattening the wild hair under it. He helped me off the bike, then stood slightly awkwardly.

"In all my questions, I forgot to ask...do you live here or should I take you somewhere else?"

I hiccoughed. "Here, the basement's an apartment."

"I'll walk you down," he offered, holding an arm out for me. I took it happily and tried my best to lead him in the direction of my front door. When we successfully reached it without me toppling down the tiny hill, I let go of him and began to shed his jacket, already shivering, but he stopped with with a surprisingly warm hand to the side of my face.

"Keep it, I'll see you soon."

I swallowed hard, "Okay."

In a majestic and swift movement, he bent down just slightly and pressed a hot kiss to my cheek, causing my eyes to actually flutter. He pulled back just enough so that our noses were nearly touching.

"Good night, Jette."

"Night, Zayn," I all but whispered, remaining firmly in place until the light from Zayn's motorcycle was long out of sight. I let myself into my unlocked apartment and immediately collapsed on my bed, barely kicking my shoes off before curling up with a stupid, giddy grin on my face.

Burrowing into the depths of Zayn's jacket, I fell asleep with the final thought being that maybe Zayn was real after all.

Notes

Anybody? :)

xx Katie