“How did I look at him?” I ask, exasperated.Did nothing get past this man?
“The same way you used to look at me.”
My mouth goes dry. Thankfully, there’s a knock on the door, interrupting the moment. I jump up from the couch, but Zayn stops me with a growl. “I’ll get it. You’re not answering the door in that.”
I sit my ass back down with a pout and wait for him to come back with dinner.
“This is perfectly acceptable sleepwear,” I mutter sulkily when he returns and puts a paper bag on the coffee table before us. “All my bits are covered.”
“Barely.” He rips the bag open. “Not enough to open the door for Jerry.”
“Jerry?”
“The delivery guy. Aren’t you going to ask me what your favourite sushi is?” He says as he hands it to me, his smug smirk reaching whole new levels.
I open the salmon sushi and take a bite. “All you’veproven is that you have a good memory and I sadly haven’t matured since I was sixteen years old. I know nothing about you.”
“You do.” He gets his own food out and picks up the remote, taking over the quest to pick a movie. “What’s my favourite colour?”
“I don’t -” I cut myself off, old memories flooding back to me from our last night together as teenagers in love. “Green.”
He doesn’t acknowledge my answer, just moves onto the next question while propping his feet onto my coffee table. “What’s my favourite movie?”
Releasing a sigh, I lower my sushi roll. My appetite seems to have vanished as I take a punt at the answer. “Let me guess.American Pie?”
The rice tastes like lead in my mouth when he nods.
“You know me better than you think.”
I stare at Zayn’s perfectly sculpted profile, and can’t help but compare this man to the boy I knew. The differences between them seem vast and many, to the point I struggle to believe they can be the same person, but are they so different? Can the boy I fell in love with still be there, underneath this beautiful, controlled facade?
What is Zayn even trying to accomplish with all this?
“Well, you definitely achieved number one onyourbucket list,” I sink back into the couch as he hits play on my favourite movie ever,Titanic. He’s just rubbing it in now.
“Oh?” He shovels rice into his mouth like he doesn’t know when his next meal is going to be, and I start to wonder if he actually has changed all that much.
“Get a job that makes you richer than God,” I quote him back to himself, starting to enjoy this game. Replaying memories from that time in my life usually feels like bluntforce trauma to my chest, but to sit here with the man who was once the boy that stars in those treasured memories… it feels surreal. Less painful.
Dare I say it... joyful.
“That was always the plan wasn’t it?” He says, referring to our idle conversations over books in quiet libraries. “Get the job, buy the house in Toorak, get married and pop out a couple kids.”
The nostalgia hits me so strongly I feel like I’ve been winded.
“Well when you put it like that, you’ve achieved one quarter of your bucket list.”
“Half,” he says around a mouth full of rice. “I own a house in Toorak.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “Of course you do.”
21
Asoft thumping sound rouses me from my sleep, but I’m so warm and comfortable, my cheek pressed into the firm pillow beneath me, that I keep my eyes closed for a few moments longer as I consider surrendering to the sleepy pull that tries to claim me back.
Wait.
Firmpillow?
