I force a chuckle past my tight throat. “I’ve been hearing that a bit lately,” I joke, clasping my coat together to shield myself from the cold wind and the drunken declaration I hope isn’t about to follow. Brett is a good friend to me, one of the rare people I value having in my life. I’d hate to lose him again.
“From that Zayn guy? Is he your boyfriend now?” He swallows heavy, an air of melancholy surrounding him. “Did I miss my chance again?”
“He isn’t my boyfriend-”
The rest of my words are cut off when Brett’s mouth crashes down onto mine. He kisses me, and it’s sloppy and off centre and tastes like beer, and I just stand there for a few seconds, frozen in shock, before I place my hands on his chest and push him away.
He staggers back slightly, looking at me with wide eyes.
“Brett.” I step back, briefly acknowledging to myself that I felt absolutely nothing when Brett’s lips met mine. Not a shiver, not a rush, not a single little firework. Nothing like the sky show that goes off inside me when Zayn kisses me. “I don’t feel that way about you,” I continue as I wipe my mouth with my coat sleeve. “I’m sorry if I gave you any impression otherwise, but that was way out of order.”
He stumbles back against the wall and closes his eyes. “Gia, I’m so sorry. That was so stupid, I’m so drunk-”
“Come on,” I say, grabbing him by the arm and turning back to the waiting Uber with a sigh. “Let’s get you home.”
I wakeup the next morning to two text messages.
One from Brett an hour ago.
Brett: I’m so sorry about last night, Gia.
And one from Zayn at 2 a.m.
Zayn: Leaving the office. Can I come over?
So he was at the office until two in the morning with Monica? I leave that text unanswered like his last three, needing time to work through my feelings about it. It probably wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of space to step back to assess how I feel about Zayn and me, anyway.
Another thought strikes me as I roll over and bury my face in my pillow. Do I need to tell Zayn about Brett?
It was a completely one-sided kiss. Should I make him worry about Brett when he has no reason to on my end?
Undecided, I reach for my kindle and try to get lost in my latest read, hoping a mafia romance can distract me from my conflicting thoughts.
I should have known Zayn’s draw is stronger than a Bratva boss.
Tossing my kindle aside, I run a bath instead. I’m about to submerge myself completely under the hot water, hoping to quiet my busy mind in the stillness of the water, when my phone vibrates against the bathroom tiles. My heart skips a beat when I see Zayn’s name on my screen.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” he breathes out, and I detect a hint of relief in his voice. I bite down on my lip, regret at ignoring his texts biting atme. “How was your night out?”
My anxiety somewhat dissipates at the sound of Zayn’s deep, smooth voice in my ear. His attention has to be the most addictive drug in the world, and my heart can’t decide whether it wants to still or start racing as I absorb my latest hit.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only woman who feels this way.
“Fine.”Brett kissed me.“How was your night?”Did Monica kiss you?
“Fine.”
“Guess we’re both fine then.”
“Guess so.”
We both go quiet. I scoop up some bubbles and blow them off my hand.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Having a bath.” The line goes quiet again, and I wonder what Zayn’s thinking. He clears his throat.
