Half an hour later,I emerge from my bedroom freshly (cold) showered in jeans and a sweater and stop dead in my tracks. Zayn is leaning against my kitchen bench, lookingfifty shades of delicious in a grey hoodie. A fuckinghoodiehas just about brought me to my knees. The way it stretches across his broad chest? Exquisite. Why does he have to look so damn attractive in his gym clothes, for Christ’s sake? The suit I understand. But this? It’s unfair to the rest of the male population for him to look so good, and if we’re being technical, it’s unfair to me because I know for as long as I shall live I will compare all my future boyfriends tohim.
Who could ever live up to that?
“Locks all changed, then?” I take a wide berth past him and switch on the coffee machine, looking for the kind of fix I can actually get my hands on.
He slides the phone he was typing on into his pocket and folds his arms across his chest. “Locks are sorted. Your new keys are on the bench.”
“Thanks for organising the locksmith.” I pull down two mugs from the overhead cupboard when a thought occurs to me and I turn to Zayn with a gasp.
“Daniel’s been in my apartment before yesterday!” I breathe, roughly releasing the mugs with a clang and placing a hand over my chest. “The day you came over here to tell me about your sister. I found paperwork from your office on my bench that IknewI had put away in this cupboard! It must have been him. How many times has he been in here that I don’t even know about?”
My hands shake as I experience another wave of the fear and anxiety I felt last night after discovering my personal space had been violated. Zayn doesn’t hesitate to comfort me. He closes the distance between us with long strides and wraps his strong arms around me. I rest my cheek on his chest, letting the sound of the steady beat of his heart flood my mind and calm my nerves. I think about the Zayn I met in the hotel room, so detached and arrogant, compared tothe Zayn now who has, somehow, become the person in my life that I’ve come to depend on the most. How and when did that happen? He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not even my friend. He’s my… I don’t know how to label him. Lawyer doesn’t quite cut it anymore. Neither does ex-boyfriend. It’s confusing, and I’m struggling to process what-ever it is that’s developing between us while my life continues to ride like a rollercoaster.
I lay my hand on Zayn’s chest -thefuckinghoodie not doing me any favours here - and gently push him away.
We have history.
We used to care deeply for each other.
We still have insane sexual chemistry that I’m way too scared to properly acknowledge in case I act on it.
The Zayn before me is too much like the boy I used to know. If I continue to keep Zayn’s company, allowing him to save me like a damn damsel in distress every second day, I can see how easily it could become something more, for me.
Case in point: I’m thinking abouthimwhen I’ve just discovered my house has been broken into at least twice by my psychotic husband.
“He won’t be able to get in again,” Zayn assures me, letting go as I turn back to the coffee machine. “But I’d still feel better with an Intervention Order in place. Then I can act within the law if he tries again.”
“I’m not making a statement to the police, and I know they’ll make me to get an IO. They don’t just give out restrictive orders on a whim.”
He’s quiet for a long moment while I grind the coffee beans. “You looked into it.”
I keep my back turned to him and hit a button on the machine. Caffeine pours smoothly into both cups. I turn to the milk. “Of course I did.” I pour the milk and place the capback on. “It’s no use. Daniel would fight me every step of the way to squash down my allegations. He has a powerful support system behind him.”
“You’ve got me.”
I froth the milk to distract myself from the emotion welling inside me. “Do you think you’re stronger than the might of an entire football team?” I pour hot milk over the coffees. “It’s a powerful organisation that would silence me before I even started talking.”
“Iamstronger, Gianna. I wouldn’t let you be silenced.”
“No. And that’s my final answer.”
There’s a weighted silence between us, but Zayn doesn’t push the matter further as I reach for the chocolate shaker and sprinkle some on top to complete the cappuccinos. I haven’t told another soul about what happened with Daniel. I’m not going to start broadcasting it now.
I turn and hand Zayn his cup, careful to avoid his gaze. I can’t stand to see the disappointment there. Our fingers graze when he takes it, sending a jolt up my arm.
Then Zayn lifts the mug in front of his eyes.
“What does ‘Property of the High Reeve’ mean? And why is there a picture of Draco Malfoy on my mug?”
“Whoops, that one’s mine.” I take the mug off him and place the other one in his hand.
“What have I missed in the Harry Potter world? Don’t we hate Draco?”
I lean back against the sink with a smile, grateful for the light-hearted change of topic. We’re facing each other, coffees in hand, in my tiny kitchen. Such a mundane, normal thing to be doing on a Saturday morning, and I can’t believe I’m doing it with Zayn.
“Oh, you’ve missed so, so much. It’s all about Dramione for me now.”
“What the hell is Dramione?” He takes a sip of his coffee and I thank the heavens he doesn’t spit it out like Brett did last night. The beauty of a coffee machine that does it all for you.
