Marlboro Lights

Not that I'd thought much about the idea of dating in the past three or so years, but I really underestimated how unprepared I was for a dinner date until about two hours before Zayn was expected at my door, that is. I had nothing to wear; no idea what to do with my hair; and I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach with nerves. In short, I was an absolute wreck.

After a full morning of classes, all of varying degrees of importance for my final grade, where I only paid half-attention to the lectures, I covered the hardware store until Grant finished with school, and I bribed him with just shy of fifty dollars to cover the rest of my shift. I got into my apartment with nearly three hours to spare and that was when it all hit me.

I hadn't gone clothes shopping in so long that I couldn't even come up with a vague date - I never had the time. Before Zayn, if I wasn't in class, I was in the store. Which was another reason why I didn't go shopping more often - I was a student who worked in a hardware store...how decent did I really need to look? I lived in jeans and boots, and right now - that definitely would not cut it. Well, maybe it would - Zayn seemed liked a laid back kind of guy, but damn it all to hell if I didn't want to look decent for what I figured was our first proper date.

Sitting in a mound of every clothing item I owned, I dropped my face into my hands and wracked my brain for a solution. I couldn't drive into the city and buy something new - not enough time. I could just wear leggings, but no...that was far too casual for anything involving Zayn and dinner. He looked like an Italian model - I needed to step my game up if I wasn't going to keep him interested. That basically left me with nothing, and I was on the verge of giving up all together and just greeting Zayn in my sweats and telling him I was sick with something wickedly contagious. But I had one last thought.

I didn't have many friends left in Pine Lake, as I was the only one of the twelve graduating seniors from my year who remained in our town, and I'd lost touch with most of them since high school, but one did remain and she was a glimmer of hope. Little Ashley Wilkins - the only other girl in my year and the only person I knew who could look fresh in a potato sack. She had a gift; and I needed to borrow it.

I crawled out of my mountain of clothing and found the land line (my cell was all but useless in a basement in the middle of no where), punching in her number and tapping my knees impatiently as I waited for her answer. After three rings, she picked up. "Jette! Oh my God, I haven't heard from you in ages...how are you?"

"Ashley," I whined, "I have a date in less than two hours and I have literally nothing to wear. I need you."

I could hear laughter, then Ashley cleared her throat and came back to me, serious as ever, "I've been waiting for this call for years. Okay, first - what's he like?"

I really didn't understand that. I was the one in crisis; he probably rolled out of bed looking holier than Jesus.. "Why does that matter?"

"Jette, just answer the question." She seemed awfully sure that Zayn's description was as important as anything, and who was I to assume otherwise.

"He...I don't know...rides a motorcycle, has tattoos, and wears a leather jacket. Well, actually...I have his jacket. But anyway, I don't know what--"

"That's it...all I need...do you still have your dress from graduation?"

I turned to look at the pile of clothing and sure enough, the simple black dress was on the top of the pile, the red belt sewn in visible in the mess of hoodies and jeans. I tossed it aside originally because I hate dresses, but if Ashley had an idea - I'd entertain it.

"Yeah, why? What are you thinking?"

I could practically hear the excitement in Ashley's voice. "Black tights, black shoes, hair down and wavy - like you did at Prom - and his jacket."

Everything she said sounded perfect, until...

"What do you mean 'his jacket'? I can't wear his jacket on a date with him."

"Sure you can, leave it unzipped, roll the sleeves, and go. You'll not only look hot, you'll look like his."

I considered that for a moment. She had a point...the outfit sounded fantastic, and my dress was just casual enough to avoid giving off the impression that I was trying too hard, but...

"You don't think I'll look crazy?"

"Have you kissed him yet?"

I covered my face with my free hand, hiding from no one, as I remembered the day before when Zayn had shut me up. Twice. I'd never understand how she did it - but Ashley just always knew.

"I'll take the silence as a yes. So no, you won't look crazy. This guy sounds like a badass and I know you're standards, so he's gotta be a keeper. Wear his jacket and watch the magic happen."

She sounded so sure, so I stood and nodded, mostly to myself. I wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea, but I had no other options. "Okay. I'll do it. I've gotta get dressed now, I'm already way behind."

"Don't worry babe, just take a picture of you and your man. I gotta see this. Call me tomorrow?"

"Sure," I told her, sucking in a deep breath to steady myself, "And Ash...thank-you. You have no idea how badly I needed this."

"I know, babe, and promise me something..." she started, and I held my breath, anxious to hear what she had to say, "I know how you get around guys, just...calm down. Kay?"

I let out a sigh of laughter, "I'm trying. But this guy--you have no idea."

"I full expect you to give me one tomorrow. Now go get ready!"

And so I did.

I hung up the phone and threw it on my bed, snatching my dress from the pile and digging out my sole pair of tights that I'd only worn once because they were so uncomfortable. I found my cleanest pair of boots and after scrubbing red dirt from them, I put myself together in record time.

Within thirty minutes, I was practically a new person. I only felt slightly ridiculous, but I figured it'd all catch up with me once I put Zayn's jacket on. But I'd wait until it was closer to his arrival time to do that.

To kill the last hour of my wait, I pulled a bottle of Peach wine from my refrigerator and poured half a glass. My intention was to calm my nerves enough to interact with Zayn without hyperventilating, but keep sober enough to full function throughout the night. But my wait was longer than I expected, and when Zayn wasn't there at six like I'd expected, I poured another half glass, this time finishing it in half the time.

By six thirty, I was well into my third half glass, the bottle resting between my knees as I sat on my floor with Zayn's jacket at my feet. I was just drunk enough to not assume he'd been shot dead, but just sober enough to begin thinking I'd been stood up.

Halfway through the bottle, I decided to stop. I was fuzzy and warm, and hitting the limit I'd set for myself, and unless Zayn didn't show up at all - I had no plans to finish an entire bottle of wine before a date. So, I replaced the cork and left it waiting, because at that point - I wasn't sure I wasn't going to need it.

I waited twenty more minutes before I heard a vehicle pull into my driveway and park. I anxiously stood, assuming it was my father over Zayn because Zayn didn't drive a car...but when I peeked through the window and saw Zayn stumbling out of the car and struggling to flatten the collar on his black button down, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest. His hair was wet and falling in his eyes and if it was possible, he looked better than I'd ever seen him. As he approached my door, I moved away from the window, refusing to be caught spying again.

He knocked almost immediately after I moved away, and I tried my hardest to open the door nonchalantly, which probably meant that I threw it open like I was Scarlet O'Hara. Zayn was fixing his hair, his tattooed hand running through it and lifting it off his forehead. I gulped down my remaining nerves and smiled.

"Jette, I'm sorry - work, I'm late, I know," he was rambling and the drunk half of me was soaring through the roof because finally, I was the calm one. But then he stopped, his hand dropping to his side as he seemed to look me over.

"You look..." he started, pausing to swallow, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat and catching too much of my attention, "Way too good to have had to wait. I'm so sorry."

I only shrugged, playing it as cool as I possibly could. I felt like I was on fire, but I blamed the wine. Mostly. "It's fine, promise. We can go now, if you'd like?"

Zayn nodded, making another attempt to sort his collar out. With the little attention he was paying to it, he kept missing one corner and as adorable as it was to watch him struggle, I couldn't stop myself. Reaching out, I flipped the stubborn fabric down and quickly smoothed it out. Zayn's reaction was about what I expected. He looked at me like I was an entirely different person. And that was when I knew my pre-date wine was a solid idea.

I just smiled, before turning to retreat back into my apartment, quickly slipping his jacket over my shoulders - the sleeves unzipped and rolled to the middle of my forearms - my phone and tiny clutch in hand. I crossed the threshold and pulled the door closed behind me, trying not to react to the fact that Zayn was staring me down, no doubt having noticed his jacket on my shoulders. He was quiet and still for a moment, before breaking the silence with, "Definitely looks better on you."

I beamed.

I could feel it. I felt like the sun. And when he dropped a hand to my lower back to guide me up my hill and to his waiting vehicle, I thought I might explode. It got worse when he opened the door for me, waiting until I was completely inside and settled into the seat before closing the door. He hurried around and took the seat beside me, immediately reversing the already running car and pulling out of the driveway.

"Borrowed this," he said, eyes on the road as he navigated the many turns it took to get away from my store and onto the highway, "Figured I'd give you a break from my bike."

Fidgeting much less in my seat that I would have normally, I turned to smile at him, "Thanks. I definitely appreciate it. Though, gotta admit, I'm warming up to it."

He smiled, his tongue pressed behind his teeth, "Good."

That was all he said, before turning his attention back to the road.

Between my liquid courage and his attention focused on the drive out of Pine Lake and into the city, we rode in a comfortable silence that I genuinely never expected to experience with him. The radio played a song by Ne-Yo that I would have sang along with had it been louder, but I instead just basked in the moment of silence we were able to share.

It was twenty minutes of driving before I could see downtown Atlanta begin to materialize on the horizon. It wasn't dark just yet, but the sun was beginning to set and the city was coming to life. I had never spent much time in the city, especially at night, so it was enthralling to see a side of my neighboring city that I was always too busy to appreciate.

"Can I ask..." I started, clearing my throat and straightening up, because I was beginning to feel the nerves kick in again, "Where are you taking me?"

Zayn kept his eyes on the road, as traffic was thickening as he moved deeper into the city, but I could see a smile tugging at his lips, "I've got a friend who manages a little restaurant on the edge of town, best Salmon in the state."

I nodded, satisfied with his answer (or rather, the wine was satisfied, my sudden movement had restarted the dizziness that came from downing half a bottle of wine before getting into a car), "Sounds good to me. Do you have many friends in Atlanta? You haven't been here very long, it's kind of impressive."

Zayn laughed, a little chuckle that made my heartbeat hitch, "My job takes me all over the place, I've met quite a few people along the way. Not all of whom I consider friends."

His tone seemed to darken at that, and I desperately wanted him to elaborate, because I was suddenly remembering that I needed to question him about Officer Porter, but the night was young as annoying as I could be - I refused to become the nagging date before we'd even arrived at the restaurant.

So I nodded and let him focus on his final few turns. When we'd finally arrived, I struggled with whether or not to open my own door. Was I safe in assuming that he'd be a gentlemen and open the door for me, or did I stand my ground as a 21st century feminist and open my open damn door?

As it turns out...when you dawdle and unbuckle your seatbelt at one-sixteenth of the speed of a normal human being because you're so preoccupied with proper first date etiquette, your door is opened for you because your date probably thinks you've lost your marbles.

I blushed deeply as I slid out of the car, standing and smoothing my dress down the back of my legs. Zayn closed the car door behind me and pressed the button on his key to lock it, then surprised me nearly breathless by slipping his hand inside my (correction, his) jacket, looping his arm around my waist and resting his long fingers against my side.

He smiled broadly down at me and I sucked in a deep breath, allowing myself to be led inside and trying to my hardest to look like I wasn't about to pass out from the proximity of Zayn and myself.

With just a few words to a hostess who looked incredibly bored with herself, Zayn led me all the way through the restaurant to the very back where an empty booth waited, tucked back from all the customers, with only a few staff members meandering about, preparing for their shift. It was quiet, secluded, and very understated, and something inside me swelled because it was the perfect location for a first date with me. I couldn't embarrass myself in front of an entire room of people. I couldn't worry myself with wondering what everyone around me was thinking.

It was perfect.

He waited for me to sit before taking his seat across from me, and when we were both seated and stationary, we shared a nervous glance. I could see the similar questions forming in his mind. What now?

I suppressed an amused smile and slipped out of his jacket, laying it beside me and dropping my hands into my lap as I gazed around. Zayn seemed to be searching the room for someone, and when a man in a black button down appeared from what I assumed to be the kitchen, Zayn let out a sigh of relief.

"Jack," he called out, "Good to see you."

I watched as Zayn stood and greeted "Jack" with a handshake, admiring how he used both hands, cupping Jack's hand as if they'd known each other all their lives. My father had always said that you could accurately judge a man by his handshake. I had a feeling he would approve of Zayn's.

"Ah, you must be Jette," Jack stated, turning on me and offering out his hand, "Zayn's told me all about you, of course."

I accepted his handshake and smiled up at him, unsure of whether or not I was supposed to stand. I didn't. I figured I was safe. I was the lady in this situation, after all. My eyes flickered to Zayn who seemed to be caught between beaming at me, and cringing in embarrassment. I could have taken flight. Nothing gave me more power than knowing that Zayn was just as wavering as I was.

"Pleasure to meet you, Jack," I spoke in my most polite tone, "Thank you for the table, it's perfect. And your restaurant - it's beautiful. Have you managed it long?"

Jack's face lit up, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Zayn's bewildered expression at my seemingly newfound confidence. I just smiled up at Jack, all of my attention focused on him.

"Ten years this August; my pride and joy," he told me.

"As it should be. I'm sure the food won't disappoint," I started, "Zayn says you've got the best Salmon in the state." I figured if I was going to lay it on at all, I might as well lay it on thick and in favor of Zayn, as it was his decision to come to this restaurant. I didn't want to steal too much of his thunder.

As Jack grinned painfully wide, he waved down a server and told her to 'take special care of his good friends' and while the server didn't appear nearly as smitten as Jack was, I was endlessly amused.

He excused himself to the kitchen and the server excused herself to bring us water and menu's. Zayn reclaimed his seat and for a moment, he just stared at me, and incredulous smile lifting his cheeks to his eyes.

"That was incredible," he mused.

I grinned, "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's schmoozing. Perks of tagging along to every department baquet my father's ever been a part of. I've had a lot of practice."

Zayn just sat back in silence, smiling at me from across the table with a look on his face that suggested he was reevaluating the girl in front of him. Which was great, considering that was exactly what I'd hoped tonight would do.


Just over an hour of casual small talk and short intervals of comfortable silence had passed before our meals were finished and I was beginning to feel incredibly heavy. I'd already excused myself to the ladie's room twice because the wine was catching up with me and it didn't help that I was trying to sober up entirely by downing as much water as I could fit inside me.

I felt better though, and a sort of comfort was washing over me. I still got that electric feeling when Zayn looked at me, or we touched lightly or accidentally, but I was just relaxed enough to actually enjoy our time together.

I realized early in the evening that Zayn was more of a listener than a talker, but that there was something him that just drew you in. I wanted to tell him my life story, because I felt like he actually cared. So when he asked where my mother was, I didn't create some elaborate story about how she was chasing tornadoes in Kansas. I told him the truth. That she'd bailed when I was four and I hadn't seen her since.

He went quiet after that, but it didn't last long. I asked him about his family back home, and while he was slightly removed from talking about his parents, when he got to the subject of his little sisters, his entire face lit up. It was certainly a sight to see. He talked about them for the longest, telling me how he missed them more than anything, and how he spent an hour a night chatting with them on Skype. It was a soft side of Zayn that I hadn't seen yet and I was so charmed that I never wanted the topic to change.

But, in true Jette fashion, word vomit got the better of me and I brought the subject back around to his business in Atlanta. In my head, it was only natural - he missed his family, and I wondered why he'd left home, which led into the topic of work...which changed the mood incredibly fast. While I had wanted to know his connection to Officer Porter, I had been more than willing to skip the topic all together and save it for another night, but sometimes my mouth said things without my brain's consent and there I sat, watching as Zayn's entire body language shifted.

I'd asked what brought him to Atlanta, and though it was a fairly vague question, the tension in his shoulders told me it was more to him than I'd ever know.

"A friend of mine moved out here a few years ago," he started, swallowing a gulp of water he'd taken just as I'd asked my question, "Asked if I wanted to make some extra money. I'd never been to America, so I figured - why not."

Okay. Fair enough. But that didn't exactly answer my question.

"So, what is it that you do?" I pushed, swirling the water in my glass and only looking up at the last second, fluttering my eye lashes the best I could.

He narrowed his eyes just slightly and part of me wished I could take everything and get back into talk of his family. Much simpler.

"I work, uh--construction," he finally said, though not to convincingly. Something in his eyes struck me hard though. He didn't look guilty. He looked accused.

I felt bad.

Very bad.

Guilty as all hell. I'd unwittingly channeled my father's inner interrogator, and put Zayn on the spot. I was a horrible, terrible person, and even if he was lying - I had no right to pry. We weren't an item, he had every right to keep things to himself.

So I chuckled as softly as I could, trying to lighten the mood, "I'm sorry, I sound like my father. I only asked because of Officer Porter. I saw you with him a few weeks ago, and I was just curious. Thought maybe you worked with the police."

That was a lie. I knew he didn't work with the police. But it was a decent enough cover. But Zayn's face changed again, and this time it hardened. I could practically see the walls going up and I wanted to shrink into my seat and disappear.

"He's remodeling," he spoke out of no where, causing me to lift my eyes curiously, "Helped him put in a new kitchen."

And that was the last we spoke of Officer Porter and Zayn's business in Atlanta. The check arrived and Zayn very quickly snatched it up, excusing himself to take care of it. He dropped down to place a light kiss on my cheek before he made his way to the back counter with the POS register, and while he was gone - I took a moment to assess the situation.

Zayn definitely wasn't acting like things had changed, but I'd seen the look in his eyes and the way he squared off his shoulders when I mentioned Officer Porter. He was on defense mode and while the construction story could have been the truth, he was hiding something.

I'd leave it be for the night, maybe even the week...or month, depending on how my ride home went, but eventually - I would find out why Zayn was meeting a police officer in an alley and why he disappeared for weeks on end when he was working.

For now, I stood when Zayn returned to me, draping his jacket over my arm as he rested a hand on my waist, leading me through the doors and out of the restaurant. I was slightly disappointed that I couldn't say goodbye to Jack, but I said nothing. I just slid into the passenger seat and smiled up at Zayn through the window as he closed the door for me.

The ride home was silent, and not nearly as tense as I had expected it to be. Zayn turned the radio up just slightly, but made sure to cast me the occasional smile as we drove.

By the time we reached my store, the lights to the entire town were out and Eric had long since gone home. Zayn opened my door for me and I stepped out carefully, purposely leaving his jacket resting in the passenger seat. He walked me to my door, and as I turned to politely thank him for dinner, he pulled me tight against him and kissed me, his lips crashing into mine as his fist balled the fabric of my dress.

He kissed me so hard - yet somehow, so gently - that I momentarily forgot about the rough ending to our date, and instead focused entirely on how soft his lips were. How the scruff of his growing beard rubbed against my cheeks and caused gooseflesh to erupt everywhere not covered by the fabric of my dress.

I linked my arms around his shoulders just in time for him to break from the kiss and reveal a tiny smile. "Did you enjoy your night, Jette?"

I swallowed hard and nodded. "I did," I told him, matter-of-factly.

He grinned, his tongue behind his teeth again. He released me and I sadly dropped my arms to my side.

"Good, I did too," he said, stepping back from me, the distance immediately causing a longing in in my arms. "I'll see you soon."

And with that, he was gone, and I was left on my doorstep with tingling lips and stars in my eyes, wondering if he'd meant to leave me so dazed and confused, or if that was just a natural side effect of being properly kissed by Zayn Malik.

Notes

Zayn's hiding something... Any ideas what it might be?

xx Katie