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I'M STANDING OUTSIDE, SMOKING a cigarette, when Amelia comes out. I had expected her to leave right after Kennedy woke up, but Easton insisted they haven't spent enough time together lately and encouraged her to hang out.
It's a special kind of torture to have to see her in my favorite shirt and not be able to touch her. Especially when I know what she feels like. Sounds like. How she tastes. So, I did the smartest thing I could think of at the time, and made myself scarce. Now, however, with her standing there looking like my every damn weakness, I know I can't run forever.
“Can I have one?” she asks.
I smirk and shake my head but won't meet her gaze. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don't smoke, and you're not about to start.”
She rolls her eyes. “And I thought Easton was the only one trying to control my life.”
As I exhale, smoke fills the air around me. “He's just looking out for you.”
“I know,” she says, taking a step forward. “But I want to have fun, too.”
Gently, so light I should barely feel it, she runs her finger down my arm, but I do feel it. It's a burning sensation, leaving a tingling feeling in its wake.
Fuck me for this.
I take a step away and watch as the flirty expression drops right off her face. Already, I hate myself for what I'm about to do, but there's no other way. Only two things could come from me getting involved with Amelia. Either Easton murders me in my sleep and eliminates the problem, or he goes back to doing the drugs we've worked so hard to get him away from.
“Meelz,” I breathe.
She presses her lips together in a failed effort to conceal her disappointment. “Oh.”
“No. It's not like that,” I protest.
A sarcastic laugh bubbles out of her mouth. “I'm a big girl, Zayn. You don't need to placate me.”
I'm not even sure what placate means, which is just another one of the many blatantly obvious signs that she's way too good for me. She deserves someone she can be proud of. Someone she can talk pre-law with and likes to play Sudoku for fun. Not a scumbag like me.
“Last night was...” My voice fades out as I try to find a word to describe our time in my bedroom, but I come up empty. “But it has to stay as a one-time thing.”
She runs her fingers through her hair and takes a step back. “Okay. Yeah, that's fine. I shouldn't tie myself down anyway, having just gotten here and all.”
The thought of her with anyone else has me instantly seeing red. My hand twitches and crushes the cigarette between my fingers. But what can I really do about it? Maybe I could make it known she's not an option, without her knowing. Great, I’ve turned into a selfish little bitch.
“I should go,” she says as she looks down at her phone. “Kennedy wants to do lunch.”
“Do you want me to drive you?” I offer.
She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “That's okay. The walk will probably help my hangover.”
Tossing the cigarette on the ground, I put it out with my foot and then open my arms for a hug. It's a dumbass move, proving I’m nothing but a sadistic fuck. She comes willingly and wraps her arms around my waist. I bury my nose in her hair and breathe in the smell of her.
“Let me know when you make it back,” I tel
l her.
“I will.”
But she never does, and I can't blame her for it one bit.
THREE DAYS PASS LIKE decades, and I shouldn't be this wound up over not seeing her, but I am. It's pathetic. Every time I see a head of blonde hair, my heart lurches in my chest and I wonder if it's her, only for the disappointment to set in when I realize it's not. Which is probably how I ended up here, outside her dorm, clenching her washed and folded shirt in my fist.
Just as I'm approaching the entrance, the door opens, and the familiar face I've been dying to see comes walking out. She looks incredible, with her hair thrown back in a messy bun and a pair of sweats hanging low on her hips. I don't understand why she bothers getting dressed up if this is how she looks when she isn't even trying.
