“What have you got on for tomorrow?” Zayn asks while we eat. He declared it was the best spaghetti he’s ever had after his first mouthful, much to my delight.
“Nothing, actually. No uni and no work.”
“I’ll take a sick day if you want to hang out,” he says casually.
My fork pauses in front of my mouth. “You’re going to chuck a sickie?” I ask, eyebrows raised. “To hang out with me?”
“Yes,” he twirls some spaghetti on his fork. “I’ve never taken a sick day. They owe me.”
The fact he wants to skive off work to spend more time with me after we’ve practically been joined at the hip for the last two days, orhipsI should say,makes happiness ping off the walls of my chest.
“Okay,” I say, grinning stupidly into my pasta. “What are we going to do? And don’t say stay in bed! I’m getting cabin fever being locked away as your sex slave this weekend.”
He chuckles and nudges me with his thigh. “As good as that sounds, lets go out instead. Any ideas?”
“When’s the last time you explored Melbourne city?”
He looks at me with raised brows. “Never? I don’t really have time to ‘explore’ much.”
“Great, leave it to me.”
My brain starts plotting everywhere I want to take Zayn and I finish dinner with a smile that couldn’t be wiped off my face if you tried.
We startthe next day with an early stop off to my apartment to finally get a change of clothes. Wearing a white ball gown at seven in the morning was an odd experience, to say the least, and Zayn sits on the edge of my bed and watches me while I peel it off. I’m turned away from him, trying to squeeze a pair of tight jeans over my ass, when a strangled groan sounds behind me. I glance over my shoulder at Zayn, who’s sitting with his forearms on his knees, his gaze glued to my ass with a hungry look in his eyes.
“I know you wanted to get out of my apartment, but how do you feel about yours?” he asks while running a hand across his mouth, looking just about ready to take a bite out of me.
“You’re insatiable.” I laugh, finally pulling my jeans up and turning to face him.
“You’re irresistible.”
I drag him out of my apartment and to my favourite small laneway cafe for breakfast.
Spending time with Zayn still feels like a novelty. Like I’m living in some alternate universe where Zayn never left and here we are as adults, doing normal things together that somehow feel far more exciting than they should be.
After breakfast, we stroll to the Queen Victoria markets hand in hand. The air is especially chilly today, but neither of us suggests taking a tram. We’re not in a hurry.
At the markets, Zayn humours me by browsing through the stalls, pretending to be interested in things that would look so out of place in his pristine penthouse that more than once I have to stifle a giggle. He rolls his eyes affectionately when we come across a stall with novelty mugs. I squealwhen I spot a mug that has ‘I put the LIT in LITIGATOR’ written across the face and buy it for Zayn ‘for his office’.
I have absolutely no expectation of him bringing it to his office. In fact, even the thought of it sitting on his immaculate desk tugs my cheeks into a smile.
“Now we have matching mugs,” I say as he takes the bag and my hand once again.
“To drink our morning coffee together,” he says so casually I swear even my heart is smiling.
Next stop is the aquarium. Zayn doesn’t say a word as I pull him through the entrance with enough enthusiasm for the both of us.
“You really know your way around here,” he drawls a half hour later when we stop in front of the crocodile.
“I come here with Leo all the time. It’s his favourite place.”
“You enjoy it,” he says. It’s not a question.
“Yeah, I do. Are you enjoying it?”
He looks down at me as I stand beside him. “I’d enjoy watching paint dry if it was with you.”
My heart soars, but I don’t tell him the feeling is mutual, even though it is.
